Wealth of Words

Xingqiu, known to his readers as Zhenyu, wielded a quill that captivated Teyvat.

His tale, The Autumn Blade Chronicles, swept across the continent, earning him the title of Master Zhenyu.

His knack for vivid characters and twisting plots marked him as a literary titan.

In Teyvat's storytelling circles, Xingqiu shone as a celestial talent.

Yet, his works clung to Liyue's roots, weaving martial epics and immortal legends.

Imagine a world of mortals suddenly overrun by beasts and spectral fiends.

A hapless soul leaps from a tower, only to awaken as a demon lord in alien lands.

A battered warrior rises, each blow forging them into an unstoppable force.

A thunder slime hunts Yuheng Star Keqing through storm-lit wilds.

An invincible hero crosses worlds, only to find their saga a hollow jest.

Xander's wild ideas struck Xingqiu like lightning, fresh and untamed.

Even classics—history, valor, and mysticism—bent into bold, unfamiliar shapes.

Tales of the downtrodden rising, invincible braggarts, absurd curses, and ultimate cheats.

Xingqiu's notebook filled, page after page, his mind ablaze with inspiration.

"That's the gist of it, I'm just a reader, not a true wordsmith," Xander said.

He sipped tea, soothing a throat hoarse from hours of storytelling.

Dusk had crept over Liyue, the sky dimming beyond the window.

Their talk had stretched long, time slipping away in a torrent of ideas.

Xingqiu set his quill down, gratitude lighting his youthful face.

"Your words opened my eyes, a gift I'll cherish deeply," he said.

"Here's your reward, 100,000 Mora, please take it with my thanks," he offered.

He handed Xander a signed note, drawn from his own novel-earned wealth.

Xander accepted it with a grin, "You're generous, Xingqiu, I won't refuse."

A thrill coursed through him, the weight of Mora a tangible triumph.

Xingqiu waved off the formality, "Just Xingqiu, no titles between friends."

He saw a kindred spirit in Xander, rare and worth keeping close.

"Xingqiu it is, call on me anytime you need a hand," Xander replied.

He welcomed the bond, eager to weave ties with Teyvat's familiar faces.

Xingqiu, the Hydro prodigy and Feiyun heir, was a prize worth befriending.

Xingqiu escorted him downstairs, already plotting a night of fervent writing.

Xander clutched the note, bound for the bank to trade it for cold Mora.

He missed the ease of digital payments from his old life, a tap and done.

Now, cash ruled, though his system space spared him a clinking purse.

At the bank, he cashed the note, swelling his savings past half a million Mora.

Xander, just twenty-three, now raked in 500,000 Mora monthly.

Pride swelled in his chest, a young man thriving in a strange world.

His wealth grew because Liyue offered little to drain his coffers.

Back home, games, gacha, models, and tech upgrades devoured his funds.

Here, beyond rent and meals, his Mora piled up untouched.

His modest rental near the docks kept costs low, far from the city's core.

Soon, he'd save enough to buy a home, rooting himself in Liyue's soil.

He grabbed dinner from Wanmin Kitchen, a savory bundle for the night.

On the walk home, he brushed past Tartaglia, a fleeting shadow in the crowd.

Tartaglia flashed a sly smile, offering a nod of casual greeting.

Xander ignored it, unwilling to tangle with the Fatui's ruthless harbinger.

Fools like Tartaglia cared only for their Tsaritsa and kin, nothing more.

To him, lives—be they minions or Liyue's folk—were pawns to discard.

The Golden House clash proved his recklessness, spared only by greater might.

Tartaglia watched Xander's retreating form, a smirk curling his lips.

"A wanderer from beyond, strong too, worth a spar someday," he mused.

His blood sang for battle, craving a test of Xander's rumored skill.

Only Liyue's peace held him back, a leash on his violent whims.

Xander reached his rental, the harbor's hum a soothing backdrop.

He stashed his Mora, the system space swallowing it with a flicker.

Half a million felt like a fortune, a testament to his cunning and luck.

Xingqiu's payment alone dwarfed most commissions he'd ever claimed.

He unwrapped his meal, the aroma of spices filling the small room.

The Shadowfang Blade gleamed at his side, a silent partner in his rise.

Twenty-three and thriving, he'd carved a niche in Teyvat's tapestry.

Pride wasn't just warranted, it was earned, a badge of his ascent.

He ate slowly, savoring each bite as dusk deepened into night.

The broadcast lingered in his thoughts, its next jest a brewing storm.

Keqing's threads, Ningguang's lipstick, Vergil's brew—his last draw mocked him still.

Yet, Xingqiu's Mora proved his worth beyond the system's fickle rolls.

He'd build on this, a foundation of wealth and wit in Liyue's embrace.

The harbor lights glittered outside, a promise of more to conquer.

Xander leaned back, plotting his next move in this grand, borrowed world.

Tartaglia's gaze lingered in memory, a challenge he'd sidestep for now.

Friendship with Xingqiu, though, was a treasure worth more than Mora.

He finished his meal, the night stretching ahead, ripe with possibility.

***

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