Jean's mind reeled from Ye Ruo's bombshell, a storm of awe churning within her.
She managed a wry smile, murmuring, "Leave it to you, Senior, to shake the world again."
"I trust you've got a plan behind this madness," she added, faith unwavering.
Ye Ruo's presence had long eased the weight of Falga's absence from her shoulders.
Without him, she'd drown under the Knights' burdens, a mountain too vast.
She shrugged off the shock—time to dive back into her endless duties.
Reluctantly, she tucked Idol Debut into a drawer, hidden from prying eyes.
It was her guilty pleasure, a glimpse of a carefree life with Barbara.
In that tale, they danced as sisters, unshackled by duty's chains.
At the Mondstadt Library, Lisa lounged in her sanctuary of tomes and tea.
Once the north's grandest archive, it had shrunk to a shadow of its past.
A fire had gutted its halls, leaving only the basement's poplar gate unscathed.
Now a sixth of its former glory, it still brimmed with faded wisdom.
Lisa, the witch in charge, savored her afternoon with languid grace.
She stretched, her mature charm glowing, black silk legs gleaming in the light.
Sipping tea, she flipped through Windhaven, her routine a blissful escape.
Ye Ruo's note caught her off guard, sparking a flicker of intrigue.
"A new book? The Tower King and Barbatos—now that's a twist," she purred.
"How'd little Ye Ruo dig up that dirt?" she wondered, brow arching.
"He's fished for my secrets before, but I never spilled this—nor do I know it," she mused.
"You're hiding more than you let on, cutie—the Doctor's obsession makes sense now," she teased.
A sultry chuckle escaped her, witch-like and knowing, as she resumed her repose.
Kaeya sprawled in the Cat's Tail Tavern, a grin splitting his face.
He skimmed Ye Ruo's words and erupted into hearty, unrestrained laughter.
"This is gold—Ye Ruo, you've outdone yourself," he crowed, eyes gleaming.
"What tale will you spin now? Even I'm hooked, you sly dog," he chuckled.
"Still, Detective Windhaven's my jam—brain games and intel suit me best," he admitted.
"I'd bet one of those heroes is me—mirrors my style too well," he boasted.
"Diluc's probably fuming over it, and that's the sweetest part," he snickered.
The thought of Diluc's icy mask cracking sent Kaeya into stitches.
Rarely did his brother's cool facade shatter—Kaeya lived for it.
In his mind, Windhaven's duo echoed him and Diluc, shadows too clear.
Diluc couldn't miss it either, and that mental image fueled Kaeya's glee.
Near a bustling square, Wendy dodged a pack of curious kittens with a wince.
He settled on a bench, safe at last, and fished out his prized bottle.
Two bottles from the tavern were his limit—now one remained.
He cradled it like treasure, eyes alight with tender reverence.
Back in the day, two bottles wouldn't have scratched his thirst.
A wind god's appetite once demanded rivers of wine, not trickles.
Now, scarcity turned him sentimental—tears threatened if he dwelled.
Better days loomed, he assured himself—more wine would flow.
He pulled out Windhaven's latest, a normal copy he'd snagged.
The signed first editions—and wine bundles—had slipped his grasp.
Mondstadters snatched those combos fast, leaving him drooling.
A novel paired with Angel's Gift vintages? Pure torture to miss.
Ye Ruo's note hit him mid-sip, wine spraying in a shocked burst.
"Me and the boy—three thousand years back?" he sputtered, stunned.
He mourned the lost drops, then gaped at the page in disbelief.
How did Ye Ruo know that tale, etched only in Barbatos' memory?
Old Mondstadt's fall, the rebel boy—secrets buried with the winds.
Had Ye Ruo clocked him in the tavern, piercing his bard's veil?
No way—no one in today's Mondstadt pegged him as Barbatos.
He passed as a wandering minstrel, origins shrouded in haze.
Maybe Ye Ruo stumbled on scraps—rebel descendants' whispers?
Most of it had to be fiction, a knight's fancy spun from dust.
Wendy's lips curled, playful curiosity sparking in his gaze.
How would Ye Ruo paint him, the god watching from the crowd?
The irony tickled him—his own legend, retold by a stranger.
Mondstadt buzzed with fresh vigor, a thrill he hadn't expected.
He hummed, eager for Old Mond's release, testing Ye Ruo's craft.
A week of fevered waiting gripped the city, anticipation thick as fog.
The book dropped—ten thousand copies vanished in a heartbeat.
Fifty thousand more rolled out, then a third wave, demand insatiable.
Ye Ruo opened branches across Mondstadt, books flooding every corner.
Staff hauled stacks to east, west, north, south—supply finally met the craze.
The system purred, fame surging with each sale, a quiet triumph.
He'd woven modern hits, but this plunged into Mondstadt's primal heart.
Barbatos versus Dvalin waited ahead—this was his boldest stroke yet.
Mondstadt's voices carried his name, a chorus he'd never escape.
***
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