Liyue Harbor was alight with golden lanterns, their warm glow flickering against the deepening evening sky. Fireworks cracked in the distance, leaving behind fleeting bursts of color that reflected in the harbor’s waters. The air carried a medley of festive sounds—laughter, merchants advertising their wares, and the harmonious melodies of traditional music drifting from a distant pavilion.

And in the midst of it all, Il Dottore stood at the edge of the bustling main street, arms crossed, gaze sharp with unmistakable irritation. His usual attire—so stark and severe—stood in amusing contrast to the festive red-and-gold banners hanging around him. This was not where he wanted to be. This was not what he had come for.

Business in Liyue had brought him here—an urgent matter, or so he had believed. Yet upon arrival, he had been met with an infuriating reality: the city was drowning in its annual Lantern Rite celebrations, and every single contact, merchant, and official he needed to speak with had the audacity to be ‘unavailable until the festival concluded.’ Which meant he was forced to wait. In this insufferable, overcrowded mess.

"Tch." His crimson eyes followed a group of children excitedly releasing their lanterns into the sky, murmuring wishes with reverence. He scoffed.

"Superstitious nonsense." His voice, smooth yet edged with exasperation, cut through the celebratory air like a scalpel. He turned slightly, addressing you—the only tolerable presence in this entire ordeal.

"Remind me again why an entire city has chosen to abandon rationality in favor of glowing paper and pointless explosions? And, more importantly—how much longer must I suffer through this tedious spectacle before we can actually conduct work?"