Wendy's tavern performance wrapped, and he bent to retrieve his hat from the dusty floor.
He brushed it off, revealing a modest pile of Mora glinting inside.
Bards thrived on applause and coin, an old Mondstadt custom he relished.
This stint back in the city was fresh, his earnings still trailing the veterans.
Yet he dubbed himself the world's finest bard, a boast he aimed to prove.
Time favored him—centuries of songs and lore crowned him unmatched.
He smirked, imagining rivals left in the dust of his ancient melodies.
Mora in hand, his true prize beckoned, lighting his eyes with glee.
He dashed to the counter, slapping coins down with a triumphant shout.
"Bartender, a plate of beans and two bottles of your best wine—quick!"
The bartender paused, squinting at Wendy's youthful grin, then frowned.
"Wait a sec—you're not old enough to drink, are you?" he challenged.
"Kids stick to juice—adults get the wine," he added, arms crossed.
"I'll pour you two glasses of cider, on the house," he offered firmly.
Wendy's joy crashed, his face crumpling like a scolded kitten's.
He wasn't even allergic to cats, yet the sting felt just as sharp.
"Sir, you've got it wrong—I'm plenty grown and can handle my wine," he protested.
The bartender stood unmoved, "Minors always try that—it won't work on me."
He puffed up, proud of safeguarding Mondstadt's youth from vice.
Wendy groaned, "Last time I was here, no one cared about age."
"Why's it all strict now?" he muttered, shoulders sagging.
A wind god, millennia old, barred from a drink by his own people—absurd.
A clear voice cut through, smooth and assured, easing the standoff.
"Bartender, fetch this bard two bottles of your finest—he's no child, I vouch for him."
The bartender blinked, then nodded with respect after spotting the speaker.
He turned, grabbed two bottles from the rack, and set them before Wendy.
Whoever spoke carried weight, a presence that shifted the room.
Wendy's curiosity flared as he eyed Ye Ruo, stepping in with a calm smile.
Ye Ruo had slipped into this lesser-known tavern earlier, one of Mondstadt's many.
Beyond Angel's Gift and Cat's Tail, smaller haunts dotted the city.
A sprawling place like Mondstadt couldn't funnel every drinker to two spots.
Bards would claw each other's eyes out for stage time otherwise.
He'd chosen a shadowed corner, unnoticed by the drunken haze around him.
The Wind Knight's fame stayed quiet here, drowned in ale and laughter.
He'd caught Wendy's plight, a farce too rich not to savor.
This could spice his next novel, a gem of absurdity to tuck away.
Wendy, oblivious, beamed at him, "Thanks, friend—who're you?"
"You saved me from a sober night—pure misery without you," he chirped.
He cradled the bottles, eyes narrowing in bliss, a true wine lover's glow.
The bartender shrugged, conceding since Ye Ruo vouched for him.
Ye Ruo waved it off, "Just a passerby—don't mind me."
Wendy's brow arched—ordinary passersby didn't sway bartenders like that.
This guy's humility masked something bigger, a vibe he couldn't place.
No matter—his memory, sharp as the wind, would unravel it later.
Each return to Mondstadt meant relearning faces, a bittersweet ritual.
Humans faded fast against his endless years, new souls replacing the old.
He'd pin this one down soon enough, a puzzle for the breeze to solve.
Ye Ruo nodded, "Chat away—I've got to run."
To them, he seemed a fleeting savior, stepping in then slipping out.
In truth, he'd come to scout, not linger, filing Wendy away for later.
Barbatos wasn't going anywhere—Mondstadt was his playground now.
Ye Ruo mused on Diluc's dandelion wine stash, a lure for this tipsy god.
Wendy was easy—wine and song could sway him any day.
His presence hinted at the Wind Dragon stirrings, though not yet urgent.
Falga's absence left the city calm, and Wendy had months before trouble brewed.
Ye Ruo pressed on with his own path, novels his shield against fate.
Wendy watched him go, noting the Vision at his hip, a wind-wrought gleam.
Whispers of "Wind Knight" drifted from the crowd, sealing his guess.
The wind on Ye Ruo sang loud, beyond just a Vision's gift.
Something unique pulsed there, a mystery Wendy itched to unravel.
He turned to the bartender, "That's the Wind Knight, right? Gentle as they say."
The man nodded, "Yep—him, Jean, they're our backbone with Falga gone."
"Mondstadt stays free and bright because of them," he added warmly.
Then he squinted at Wendy, "I trust him, but you? Two bottles, no more."
Wendy's jaw dropped, "You can't be serious—me, cut off?"
He clutched his wine, betrayed, while Ye Ruo's laugh echoed in his mind.
The system ticked up, fame from Windhaven swelling his unseen hoard.
He'd turned a god's confusion into fuel, a quill's quiet triumph.
Mondstadt sprawled beyond, its winds carrying his name ever further.
He'd dodged one destiny—now he wrote his own, step by step.
***
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