Wanmin Restaurant, back kitchen.
Xiangling propped her cheek in her palm, saying nothing to interrupt Ji Ming's meal. Instead, she quietly counted his eyelashes.
One… two… three…
Too many.
So many that it felt like she could count them for a lifetime and never finish. Xiangling felt a little indignant—she'd been counting since they were kids, yet every time she still had to start over.
Her gaze drifted downward.
First, those clear, handsome eyes.
She panicked and quickly looked away.
Then the straight bridge of his nose.
Finally, lips tinted with a healthy color.
"Xiangling, aren't you eating?"
She jumped, instantly averting her eyes. Twirling the hair near her ear, she pretended to act normal.
"Well… um… Dad and I already ate. You go on."
A blatant lie.
Neither she nor Chef Mao had had time to eat—she just wanted to watch Ji Ming.
As a chef, Xiangling enjoyed being praised by him. Every dish she served was met with over-the-top compliments.
And as a childhood friend, keeping him company once in a while was only natural, right? As they grew older, the time they spent together had grown less and less.
Whether as a chef or as an old friend, Xiangling felt she had every reason to sit with him while he ate.
At the counter, Chef Mao wore a deeply aggrieved expression. He wanted to say something—but seeing his daughter turn and silently threaten him with her eyes, he wisely backed off and left the kitchen.
Ji Ming had wandered the jianghu for years. How could he not see through this little chef's thoughts?
Smiling, he said gently,
"I'm not a kid anymore. You don't have to take care of me like this."
"Just because you're barely an adult doesn't mean you've grown up," Xiangling shot back. "To me, you're still a kid!"
Then her tone softened, and she suddenly looked downcast.
"When we were little… I didn't take good care of you. You disappeared for so long. And when I finally found you again… you'd changed."
After Ji Ming's parents passed away, Xiangling hadn't seen him for a long time. Back then, he was about eight, and she was only six. Separation was unfamiliar—and cruel—to a little girl.
When they met again, two years had passed. Ji Ming was ten by then, completely different—cynical, guarded, full of tricks. No one knew how he'd survived those two years alone.
Sensing the shift in mood, Ji Ming quickly reassured her.
"It's not too late to take care of me now. I'm willing to let you."
Afraid she wouldn't believe him, he hurriedly shoveled the rest of the noodles into his mouth. He ate too fast and choked a few times—finally coaxing a smile back onto Xiangling's face.
Honestly… every time the past came up, they both grew heavy-hearted.
Life wasn't meant to be shackled to what had already happened. Ji Ming believed that—and he hoped Xiangling would too.
Besides, where there was parting, there was reunion. He didn't think their bond was anywhere near exhausted.
So for now—
Just enjoy the present.
Once Ji Ming confirmed Xiangling was no longer upset, he placed the money for the noodles on the table and prepared to leave.
But the crisp clink of metal didn't come from him.
It came from a young man who still looked boyish—his features unmistakably foreign.
"This gentleman's meal is on me," the youth said politely.
"May I have a word with him?"
The first sentence was addressed to Xiangling.
The second—to Ji Ming.
There was no such thing as a free lunch.
Unprovoked generosity was always suspect.
Ji Ming immediately went on guard—especially when he noticed the Fatui mask and the insignia of a Delusion.
Among people of the underworld, danger had many tiers. And the most dangerous of all were Fatui operatives active in Liyue—madmen who didn't care about Liyue law and killed without hesitation.
Seeing Xiangling about to question why a stranger had entered the back kitchen, Ji Ming signaled her to leave with his eyes and pushed the money pouch back.
He smiled—but there was no warmth in his eyes.
"Sir, accepting kindness without cause is a terrible bargain. It leaves one indebted."
"Don't be so tense," the youth laughed lightly.
"I just want to chat with Mr. Ji Ming. Maybe ask about the ways of Liyue."
So he's already investigated me…
Ji Ming decided to probe.
"Why me?" he said flatly.
"If you want to learn about Liyue customs, turn left outside Feiyun Slope. Wangsheng Funeral Parlor has a consultant named Zhongli—far more learned than I am."
"Ah—so you don't trust me?" the youth replied cheerfully.
"Let's fix that. I'm Tartaglia. You may call me Childe—a humble Fatui Harbinger."
Overly familiar, Tartaglia plopped down beside Ji Ming and tried to sling an arm around his shoulder.
Ji Ming slapped it away.
His expression turned cold.
"Get to the point. What do you want?"
From what Ji Ming knew, Fatui Harbingers rarely showed themselves to ordinary people. Names like "Tartaglia" or "Childe" were clearly aliases.
For someone of that rank to introduce himself so casually—it screamed ill intent.
Tartaglia didn't seem offended. He clapped his hands and laughed.
"Alright—straight talk, then. I want to cooperate with you."
"You—or the Fatui?"
"Whichever you prefer. Just a simple partnership. I know you're short on mora," Tartaglia continued.
"The Fatui's Northland Bank can pay to bail out your sworn brothers."
He placed a contract—distinctly Snezhnayan in style—on the table and tapped it lightly.
"Of course, you'd owe the Fatui a considerable sum of mora. With interest."
Ji Ming didn't even look at it.
"What if I refuse?"
"Don't you want to hear the terms first?"
"What if I refuse?"
He repeated the question.
Ji Ming knew full well that refusing the Fatui outright wasn't something he could do—unless the Liyue government intervened. Senior Sister Ganyu held an official post, but she ultimately stood on the adepti's side. It was best not to drag the adepti into this.
He repeated himself to gauge his value in the Fatui's plans.
Was he disposable?
A pawn that could be discarded at any time?
If so, he'd agree on the surface. And if Liyue chose to ignore it, he'd pull out Cloud Retainer as his final shield.
If not—
Then he had bargaining power. Real leverage. Perhaps he could truly use the Fatui to free his brothers.
Of course, that meant being used in return.
Give and take.
Tartaglia's interest finally sparked.
He'd only been following the Tsaritsa's orders, conducting investigations in Liyue and picking a local underworld figure to serve as an information tool.
After digging deep, he'd found the most promising candidate—
the once-infamous Old Nine Gates.
Though only one gate remained, Ji Ming's survival alone proved his capability.
Now that they were speaking face to face, Tartaglia realized Ji Ming understood timing, restraint, and negotiation far better than expected.
Using him as a disposable pawn would be a waste.
Perhaps he could be cultivated—used long-term.
Perhaps even to seize a Gnosis.
"Mr. Ji Ming," Tartaglia said at last,
"you're free to refuse. I won't harm you. The Fatui do honor their word."
After a long pause, Ji Ming picked up the contract bearing the Fatui insignia—but didn't open it.
"Besides bailing out my brothers," he asked calmly,
"what else do I gain?"
Tartaglia looked surprised.
He's planning to use the Fatui in return?
Even if the Old Nine Gates once shook Liyue, they were long gone. Ji Ming was, at present, just a street hustler and con artist.
Still—
As long as it didn't harm Snezhnaya's interests, Tartaglia didn't care what price the Fatui paid.
Let his colleagues deal with the headache.
"If you agree," Tartaglia said,
"you'll have unrestricted access to Northland Bank from today onward. You may review all intelligence stored there—and withdraw mora at will."
He removed his mask and handed it directly to Ji Ming, utterly unconcerned about being taken advantage of.
Ji Ming accepted the mask—
—and signed the contract without hesitation.
Extending his right hand, he smiled.
"Then… a pleasure working together."
"A pleasure working together, Mr. Ji Ming."
Returning the contract, Ji Ming slid the money pouch back to where it had been and called out toward the kitchen, where the little chef was waiting anxiously.
"Xiangling, I left the money here! I'll come chat again when I've got time!"
Fatui money wasn't money you refused.
If they wanted to use him—
they'd better be prepared to be milked dry in return.
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