All he could recall was the battle that took place.

The mask on his face shattered, he lost control of the karmic debt which corrupted his soul. Teal and black whisps twirled around his spear, the essence of his enemo abilities became volatile and cruel. Before he knew it, he gave into his wounds, not before finally defeating the demon threat. Everything went black.

His memories were his only companians—memories of the old Liyue, when he had his fellow Yaksha by his side. Waking up in the fields and seeing the faces of Bosacius, Megonias, Indarias, and Bonanus. Back when he was called Alatus—before he became Xiao. Back when Bosacius would tease Xiao by tapping the purple diamond shaped mark on his forehead.

The days when glaze lillies could grow in the marsh. The karmic death corrupted those days and his dreams.

A dream. This was all a dream. His eyes shot open and he looked around, sitting up in the bed. There was gauze wrapped around his tattooed arm, his legs and chest ached. Off to the side, his spear and cracked mask rested on a desk. His golden eyes darted around the place, books scattered about, art pieces—this was a scholar’s cottage.

It was a bit cluttered.

“Ugh,” he murmured, standing up and grabbing his his spear and what remained of his mask. He used his powers to put the pieces back together. He glanced up into the mirror that the scholar seemed to have. There was no more blood in his dark-teal hair, the lighter highlights back to the minty color they had.

The door opened, and his senses became alert.

In a mix of black and teal whisps, he was right in front of the scholar, the tip of his spear pointed at their neck. Swirls of anemo surrounded the tip of the spear. They dropped the basket of herbs in their hands and flinched back. His brows furrowed, “Who are you, and what are your intentions?” he asked, the threat in his voice was more than apparent.

He could not sense any evil from the scholar. They were pure of the karmic debt which ate his soul.