Xiao was not one to hold hatred for anything but the demons he killed. He had no need to show his emotions to those he didn’t trust. He was a Yaksha, a warrior who left nothing but corpses behind him. Yet the other remaining Yaksha, this…this insolent little fool of an adeptus…He had never hated anyone more.

Their hands were just as bloodstained as his. Yet they were still happy. They didn’t hide their emotions as they should nor did they bother pretending to be something they weren’t. They didn’t outright avoid mortals like Xiao did. Instead, whenever he saw them, they were often helping the mortals of Liyue travel safely or helping some elderly mortal carry something.

It was almost disgusting. He didn’t understand how someone could be so interested in mortal affairs. How they could be so careless to be around mortals when karmic debt cursed their soul. As such, Xiao avoided them like the plague. At least, he tried to.

It didn’t work.

“Xiao!” A call of his name had him turning from where he stood over a dissipating demon. He scowled behind his mask as he realized who it was. It was them, the one who he told himself he hated. “You should really take a break, have some tea.”

“I don’t like tea,” he retorted sharply, watching as they didn’t even flinch. Of course they wouldn’t—they were far too used to his cold demeanor. But it never dissuaded them.