The debate in the Jade Chamber raged on, a storm of pragmatism, fear, and grand strategy. The voices of Liyue's most powerful women wove a complex tapestry of possibilities, each thread heavy with the weight of the future. They spoke of control, of security, of the immense, terrifying responsibility that had just been thrust upon them.
And then, a small, quiet voice cut through the storm, and the entire room fell silent.
"You should give it to everyone."
All eyes turned to Ren. He was no longer sitting in his chair. He was standing, his small form a point of quiet, unshakeable stillness in the eye of their hurricane of debate.
"Ren," Keqing began, her voice gentle, as if speaking to a naive child who couldn't possibly understand the complexities of the situation. "We understand your sentiment, but it's not that simple. If everyone has this power…"
"I know," Ren interrupted, his voice not loud, but carrying a weight that demanded to be heard. "I understand your fear. You're afraid that if everyone can wield the power of an element, some people will use it to do bad things. To hurt people. To start wars."
He looked at each of them in turn—at Keqing's pragmatic worry, at Ganyu's gentle concern, at Xianyun's analytical caution, and at Ningguang's calculating ambition.
"And you're right," he said, the two words stunning them into a fresh silence. "They will. Some people will use it for evil. That's not a risk; it's a certainty."
He then walked over to the table and gently, reverently, touched one of the gauntlets. "But anything that is made with good intentions can be used for bad things. It is the nature of the world. A blacksmith forges a knife to help a chef cut vegetables, but a thief can use that same knife to threaten someone. Does that mean the blacksmith should stop making knives?"
His simple, powerful analogy hung in the air, a truth so fundamental and so undeniable that it was impossible to refute.
"You are all thinking about the consequences of giving this to the world," Ren continued, his gaze sweeping across their faces. "But have you thought about the consequences of not giving it to them?"
He looked at Ningguang. "You would be hoarding a power that could change the lives of everyone, just for the security of one nation. You would become the very thing the Raiden Shogun is, a god who believes only she is worthy of holding such power."
He looked at Ganyu. "You would be denying a chance for a better, safer life to the very mortals you have sworn to protect, all because you are afraid of what a few bad people might do."
He then looked down at his own hands. "I made this because I saw something that was wrong. The Delusions… they hurt people. They are a power that comes with a terrible, hidden price. So I made something better. A power that comes with no price, a gift."
His glowing azure eyes, now shining with a fierce, compassionate light, looked up at them once more. "To lock this gift away because you are afraid of its consequences… that doesn't feel like being wise. It just feels like being scared."
He thought of the look on Lan's face, the pure, unadulterated joy of a normal person touching the sublime for the very first time.
"I am sure," he finished, his voice now a soft, powerful whisper, "that right now, Lan is excited. She's thinking about all the ways an element could help in her daily life, in her adventures. Not as a weapon, but as a tool. As a joy. If I have the power to give that happiness to her, to everyone… then why shouldn't I? Does the fear of what one bad person might do outweigh the happiness of a million good ones?"
His speech was over. He had not offered a complex strategy or a political solution. He had simply, profoundly, spoken a moral truth. He had issued a child's decree, a declaration based not on the calculus of power, but on the simple, unwavering belief in the fundamental goodness of people.
The four most powerful women in Liyue were silent. They looked at the child before them, and they were not just seeing a genius inventor or a political asset. They were seeing a moral compass, a true and unshakeable north that pointed, always, towards compassion, towards trust, and towards hope.
Ningguang slowly, deliberately, leaned back in her chair. A long, slow smile, one of pure, unadulterated admiration, spread across her face. The child had not just challenged their arguments; he had challenged their very philosophies. And he had won.
"Well," she said, her voice a low, amused murmur as she looked at the other stunned women. "It seems the Azure Savior has spoken."