Sometimes, choosing to give something up brings you closer to what you truly need.
Only now did Wanyan grasp the meaning behind what Mr. Zhongli had said.
She should have heeded Zhongli's advice—to give up the Salt Ruler.
Just as Seino Yaku had predicted, she was starting to regret her choice.
Because what she now saw before her was a sword—snapped cleanly into two pieces.
Continuing deeper into the ruins, past abandoned corridors and passageways, stepping over the skeletal remains of rotted moss, they reached the very end. Pushing open the final bronze gate, they found those two halves of a broken sword enshrined on a small altar.
Dust lay thick upon the sword fragments; fine, web-like cracks spread across the blade. Time had scrawled its mottled traces there, so corroded that its original color was impossible to determine.
Its cut line was straight and smooth, as if speaking of some pivotal battle it had once endured.
"It's… a sword. The God of Salt's own blade," Wanyan murmured, eyes shining with emotion as she fixed her gaze on the broken weapon. "It's broken—evidence that the God of Salt fought back."
Compared to the Salt Ruler or the Salt Jar, this fractured relic—damaged in battle—had far more value in unearthing the truth of history.
To the researchers at Yinyuan Hall, these twin sword fragments were the most precious find!
She should have abandoned the Salt Ruler and taken the sword instead.
Wanyan looked at Mr. Zhongli with a complicated expression, recalling his earlier suggestion. Could it be he had anticipated all of this from the start?
—Did he know what the next relic would be?
Had she been outsmarted by Zhongli?
But in reality, it was quite the opposite: Zhongli had given her perfectly sound advice. Unfortunately, she hadn't listened.
She always knew Zhongli was a well-read figure of mysterious origins, but for things to turn out this eerily exact… Wanyan felt beads of sweat forming on her brow. Indeed, regret was gnawing at her.
Or perhaps more accurately, deep regret.
By the rule of taking items in turn, these broken sword fragments should now belong to Seino Yaku.
"Wait a moment…" she blurted out impulsively.
Seino Yaku stopped in his tracks, looking back at her calmly but saying nothing.
It was Lumine who spoke up, annoyance plain in her golden eyes:
"And what do you want now?"
Lumine did not like this bespectacled scholar in the slightest. She kept calling Seino Yaku's past self a "sinful immortal," as if he had been some monstrous traitor. That big dummy, a villain? Ridiculous. He wasn't even smart enough to be that devious. And on top of that, this woman had swiped Seino Yaku's Salt Ruler.
"I…" Wanyan paused, mouth half-open. It was as though her pride wouldn't let her say the words. But finally, for the sake of what she believed was "right," she lowered her head. "You two wanted the Salt Ruler… I'll return it to you if you'll let me have this broken sword. We—maybe we can both win that way…"
She herself realized how outrageous a request this was.
Downcast, she bit her lip, nails pressed painfully into her palms. Zhongli's earlier words echoed again in her mind—"Likewise, if you yield, what is rightfully yours will one day come back to you."
Was he referring to Seino Yaku's side of the bargain with that latter half of the advice?
And now here she was, proposing to give back the Salt Ruler…
Wanyan glanced at Zhongli with an almost fearful look. Had he foreseen even her second-guessing?
Zhongli, however, looked as calm as ever, those golden eyes revealing nothing, like a serene lake of amber.
Sensing her gaze, he cleared his throat, turning those golden lakes upon her. Reflected in their depths was the flustered look on her face.
"Miss Wanyan, according to the contract, you have already taken the Salt Ruler. Therefore, the broken sword pieces belong to Seino Yaku," Zhongli said steadily.
"But… but," she managed, pressing her cracked, dry lips together, "couldn't we do an exchange? As long as he agrees, we can trade. It's a perfect compromise… A win-win!"
It was rather comical: an hour ago, Wanyan had been so adamant about claiming the Salt Ruler; now, just one hour later, she was anxious to hand it back in exchange for the broken sword, calling it "win-win."
And from a strictly practical standpoint, it was a win-win arrangement.
Seino Yaku merely glanced at the broken sword fragments, then turned away disinterested.
To him, that sword was useless indeed. His vow mentioned only the Ruler and the Jar. Agreeing to her request and swapping relics sounded like a logical, mutually beneficial deal.
Yet…
Seino Yaku felt a sense of being once again morally cornered—compelled by Wanyan's lofty ideals. From the start, she'd come at him with talk of "mission" and "justice." If he always ceded ground to that line of argument, he would never find peace. Besides, once a contract was signed, it ought to be kept.
He studied Wanyan calmly:
"Your plan is nice, but I refuse."
He had a laid-back temperament. People said he was as placid as a stone, but that didn't mean he never got angry. Even a boulder can be shattered by enough force.
In truth, Seino Yaku had decided to live a carefree, selfish life this time around. Every vow he fulfilled was for his own contentment, for the clarity it gave him. So from his perspective, it was all "selfish," and he wouldn't let others guilt him into changing.
"You…"
Wanyan froze, face knotted in frustration. She tried the rational approach—cultural scholars were adept at such arguments. Her tone turned gentle:
"Yaku, this sword is broken. Most of its divine power is gone; it's just a historical artifact now. It won't fetch much money, whereas that bottomless Salt Jar is far more valuable. Why not let this come back to Yinyuan Hall for proper research? If we can restore the record of events and correct the false history—"
Her eyes grew brighter as she spoke, "That would be a glorious deed, and you'd be part of that legacy, too. If you need money, Yinyuan Hall can pay you… as much as you want."
"Miss Wanyan," Seino Yaku replied calmly, "I'm afraid you've misunderstood. I don't need that kind of money—and I couldn't care less about your 'noble cause.' You keep trying to pin these assumptions on us."
"My only reason for coming to Sal Terrae is to fulfill a friend's promise. And maybe to take a trip with a certain blond traveling companion. That's all."
What…?
Not after money or fame? Impossible. Traveling…?
Travel all the way to Sal Terrae, just for fun?
Wanyan stood there stunned, instinctively doubting him.
"But we've already agreed on a contract," Seino Yaku went on, "and you want to break it. You yourself said earlier that a contract is sacred and fair."
His pale-blue eyes calmly reflected her face as he bent down to pick up the broken sword, placing the fragments in front of Wanyan. "I could trade with you—"
He could.
Wanyan's eyes lit up once more.
"But," Seino Yaku continued evenly, "under the contract, you'd have to accept punishment for breaking it."
Punishment…
The one who reneges on their words shall suffer the wrath of stone.
Seino Yaku had no idea what "wrath of stone" actually meant. Zhongli had a habit of tossing around cryptic phrases—he doubted it was literally some method of forcing people to eat rocks. But from Seino Yaku's impression of Zhongli, he doubted it would be anything that absurd or malicious.
His only wish was to see Wanyan pay some price for wanting to break the contract under the guise of righteousness—he was tired of being guilt-tripped.
Wanyan glanced instinctively at Zhongli, who was also looking at her.
"Miss Wanyan," Zhongli said calmly, "the contract cannot be undermined or violated. Its real test lies in human nature itself."
He paused. "If you truly intend to swap relics, you'll have to face the Wrath of the Rock. Decide carefully."
Wrath of the Rock…
Wanyan froze, biting her lip, a faint tremor in her eyes. At length, she lifted her head, eyes burning with fierce resolve:
"For my faith… For the God of Salt I believe in, even if it means violating a contract, I'd do it!"
She spat the words with an air of righteousness. "Morax must have falsified history!"
It sounded grand, upright—accepting punishment for the sake of her faith and her God of Salt. Seino Yaku watched this fervent devotee and couldn't help wondering: What was her idea of the God of Salt like?
She clearly envisioned some mighty power, an Archon who might have threatened Morax enough to send Bosacius to assassinate her—that was the deity Wanyan believed in.
But perhaps that was just the "God of Salt" in her own mind.
A random thought flickered through Seino Yaku: Humans are remarkably good at labeling, at imposing illusions, forging a concept of "god" that they then devoutly worship.
Zhongli spoke again, unruffled. His voice echoed in the vast emptiness:
"As punishment, Wanyan—" he turned to her, "I'll tell you the truth. That is your penalty. And Seino Yaku, do I have your permission to share it?"
"The truth is her penalty?" Seino Yaku asked in surprise. Why is he asking for my permission?
Yet Zhongli's gaze settled on him. Instinctively, Seino Yaku nodded. "Sure, go ahead."
"Wanyan," Zhongli said quietly, "you must form a new contract with me right now. Namely, whatever you learn, you cannot spread it."
His gaze lowered as he spoke, as if harboring some conflict. Seino Yaku sensed an odd contradiction in Mr. Zhongli's demeanor—what he was about to reveal clashed with what he might truly want.
Wanyan felt a sudden, inexplicable pang of unease. She realized something was off, but blind devotion stifled any deeper suspicion.
She lifted her chin and stared at Zhongli. "If you really know the truth, then tell me!"
Yes. He must know. Wanyan thought so. He understood Sal Terrae's mechanisms, guessed each relic in advance… He had to be "in the know."
And not letting her broadcast it… was no more than a shameful attempt to preserve the image of Liyue's adepti…
It was so transparent.
She'd had enough of Liyue's hypocrisy. She locked eyes with Zhongli, "Tell me the truth!"
At that moment, the entire world seemed to fall quiet.
The hiss of wind through brittle grasses, the flakes of rust peeling from bronze doors, the drip of water from the vaulted ceiling—everything else faded.
They stood in long silence, all eyes on Mr. Zhongli.
Finally, he spoke, voice quiet yet weighing heavily on Wanyan's ears:
"Liyue's official records were indeed… falsified by Morax."
He said it without hesitation.
Liyue's history was indeed altered by Morax.
That sentence echoed in Wanyan's mind.
The colossal weight in her heart dropped away, replaced by a surging tide of thrill. She had been right. Her research had been correct; they had been right. All that effort was finally vindicated—Morax had doctored the record of events.
"Our research was correct… the proof stands… so the God of Salt was murdered by Bosacius, with all of Liyue's adepti covering it up…" Wanyan muttered, eyes shining with near-delirious triumph.
But Zhongli spoke again before she could fully savor her euphoria:
"However—"
"The story that 'Havria was slain by Bosacius'…"
Zhongli's voice carried the weight of unyielding rock:
"—that is exactly what Morax fabricated, done to fulfill an agreement with his friend."
"Marshal Vritras Bosacius was never a traitor."
Zhongli may have addressed Wanyan with these words, but his gaze turned to Seino Yaku. The boy couldn't fathom the depth of that look. For the first time, Zhongli revealed open emotion in his golden eyes, swirling with sorrow and regret.
Was that… an apology?
Seino Yaku couldn't be certain. All he could do was give a faint smile, waving a hand as if to say Hey, it's all ancient history to me. I've forgotten everything already.
…
"What," Wanyan stammered. "That can't be."
Silence.
She froze, mind blank. Seconds before, a triumphant joy had soared inside her, but now it felt like a crushing hand snatched that moment of elation away, leaving her gasping for air.
Bosacius… was not a sinful immortal?
How was that even possible?
"No. Impossible," she said, staring daggers at Zhongli, eyes tinged with red. "You're lying! You're deceiving me!"
"The adepti never tried to hide the truth. They, too, were misled," Zhongli said gravely.
"Some of your so-called 'historical evidence' was deliberately planted by Morax so that the adepti would believe Bosacius was guilty."
He paused.
"That was the entire point—to make them accept Bosacius as a criminal."
Her entire worldview was turned upside down.
"Then how did the God of Salt really die?" She glared at the broken sword. "Look at these two fragments said to belong to the God of Salt's blade—what's your explanation for that?!"
"I never said," Zhongli replied softly, "that this was the God of Salt's weapon."
What…?
"On the contrary—it belonged to a mortal," he went on, voice calm but razor-sharp in her ears. "It was wielded by the people of Sal Terrae—Havria's own followers."
Each word was more piercing than the last:
"And they used that sword," Zhongli paused for emphasis, "to kill their own god."
Shattering revelations.
"You're lying. No mortal could have—how could we have—" Wanyan backed up a step, "taken the life of our powerful Havria?!"
"That's only your imagined version of Havria," Zhongli said, shaking his head. "In truth, she was far too gentle, too weak, unwilling to fight. She had zero chance of becoming one of the Seven… just a loser in the Archon War who chose to run from conflict. Yet in her final bid to keep her people safe, she ended up murdered by those very same followers."
"Then wh-what about Bosacius? Where does he come in?!" Wanyan demanded, eyes locked on Zhongli. "Why would that so-called traitor willingly accept the blame?!"
"Because," Zhongli answered quietly, meeting her gaze. "He… was stubborn, and not the brightest."
"He was always that way."
Seino Yaku flinched slightly.
There was a depth in Zhongli's voice then—uncharacteristically direct. Normally so composed, always maintaining a refined air, he allowed himself to softly shake his head at the mention of that "sinful immortal." A faint, wry smile even twitched at the corner of his lips.
It was the look of someone who had long grown weary but remained powerless to do anything else.
Wanyan bit her lip, the tension drawing blood. "You're lying. All of this is just a lie."
She had believed in something for so many years—she couldn't let it all collapse just because of Zhongli's words. He had to be lying, trying to manipulate her. Of course—he was a follower of Morax. That explained everything.
Clutching the two sword fragments tightly, Wanyan gave Zhongli one final glare and then fled through the bronze gate, disappearing into the distance.
"Mr. Zhongli… that Wrath of the Rock was pretty brutal," Seino Yaku remarked, watching her retreating figure vanish. Definitely more punishing than chewing rocks…
In truth, Seino Yaku himself was feeling quite shaken. He, too, had more questions left unanswered.
Even if he kept saying he didn't care about his former life… in the end, part of him still did.
His thoughts were simple:
If, in his previous incarnation, he wasn't some sinful immortal despised by all—if he never hurt them—
Maybe then… he and Xiao and the others could truly be friends.
That would be… wonderful.
Seino Yaku glanced at Mr. Zhongli, sensing that he was recounting all this not just for Wanyan's sake but also for him:
As if Zhongli wanted to say, My friend, you never betrayed anyone.
"A contract is a contract—there's no going back," Zhongli said, shaking his head lightly. "Besides, even if I hadn't told her, she was bound to find out eventually. Now at least she's had a heads-up."
He gazed further into the depths of the ruins. "Because if we keep going, there's likely a spot where the truth will stare her in the face, whether she wants to see it or not."