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ArabicGenshin Impact: A Guide to the Unofficial History of Teyvat — Chapter 12
Chapter 12: The Harbor’s Newest Sensation
A soaking wet Lovia sat perched on the edge of the weathered wooden docks, dangling her feet into the cool, rhythmic swells of the sea. The lingering warmth of the setting sun painted the horizon in strokes of bruised purple and burning gold, casting a soft glow over her damp form.
She cradled a modest canvas bag of Mora against her chest. It was far from bulging, but the weight of it grounded her. She had earned every single coin inside.
Her thoughts drifted back to the afternoon she received her very first manuscript fee. When Shopkeeper Sun had handed her that feather-light money pouch, her stomach had plummeted straight into the Abyss. Weighing the meager sack in her palm and counting the mere thousand-plus glittering coins inside, her initial reaction had been absolute, crushing despair.
‘I’m completely screwed…’she had wailed internally at the time, staring at the gold as if it were a death sentence.’I poured my soul into writing all that, and this is it? What can this even buy? Going by Teyvat’s standard prices, I probably can’t even afford a decent bowl of noodles. A single Bird Egg costs two hundred Mora!’
She had carried that “huge sum” to the market with the tragic, heavy-hearted mindset of a condemned prisoner, intending to buy only the barest survival necessities before inevitably going bankrupt.
Reality, however, had delivered a rather pleasant shock.
To her deep astonishment, the purchasing power of Mora in the actual world mirrored the currency from her past life. A few dozen Mora secured enough rice and milled flour to last an entire month. Just over a hundred Mora bought a large, thick cut of windproof fabric. That initial thousand-plus Mora—which she had mentally reserved for her final funeral expenses—actually carried her through her roughest patch. It even left a small surplus, allowing her to gradually patch up her temporary, leaky home.
“What a joke…” Lovia plucked a single Mora from the bag and held it up against the dying sun. The gold caught the light, reflecting a warm, reassuring sheen. “I really thought I was dealing with ridiculous video game inflation. I thought a single Bird Egg was going to run me hundreds of coins. When I first saw that thousand Mora, I was half-convinced Shopkeeper Sun had heartlessly embezzled ninety percent of my royalties. I was this close to marching back and flipping his desk!”
A soft giggle escaped her lips. The sea breeze caught her damp hair, cooling her skin.
If the local economy truly operated on game logic, her hard-earned writing money would barely cover a few pinches of salt and pepper. Forget improving her standard of living; she would have starved to death in the gutters of Chihu Rock within a week.
“It seems Teyvat’s economic system is incredibly stable. A certain wandering consultant is truly… governing effectively,” Lovia murmured, her voice carrying over the crashing waves. “A stable currency is the greatest blessing the common folk could ask for.”
Yet, this realization only deepened her understanding of the current crisis. It explained exactly why the citizens of Liyue were so violently sensitive to the rumors that Rex Lapis had ceased minting Mora.
The credit and sheer divine authority backing a currency recognized across the entire continent was immeasurable. If that foundation were shaken—even by a baseless, fictional rumor—it was enough to incite mass panic.
Only now, sitting by the sea, did the Little Melusine fully grasp the terrifying magnitude of the storm she had brewed.
Fortunately, the Millelith hadn’t kicked down her door yet.
Teyvat’s economy was resilient enough to withstand her minor literary mischief. Besides, macroeconomic collapse was vastly above the pay grade of a Melusine who had only just clawed her way out of poverty and was currently saving up for a cooking pot that didn’t leak.
“This is fine.” She let out a long breath, carefully tying the bag of Mora shut. “If reality matched the game, where beating up a few Hilichurls dropped thousands of coins, my hard-earned manuscript fee would feel utterly pathetic.”
She smiled, turning her gaze back to the sunset-dyed waters.
“Realistic Mora is good,” she concluded, her mood lifting with the evening tide. “It makes every word I write feel like it’s genuinely worth its weight in gold.”
Inside the quiet, incense-scented halls of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor.
Zhongli sat by the window, leisurely sipping a freshly brewed cup of premium tea. The fragrant steam curled into the air, carrying the delicate scent of dried silk flowers and roasted leaves.
The tranquil atmosphere broke when a young Ferrylady hurried into the room. She clutched a cheap, freshly printed booklet in her hands, her expression a complicated mix of amusement and sheer disbelief.
“Mr. Zhongli, please take a look at this. It’s been spreading like wildfire through the harbor all afternoon…”
Zhongli set his porcelain teacup onto the saucer with a soft clink. He accepted the booklet. His golden-amber eyes swept over the bold, dramatic ink of the title: The Name Morax: Does It Conceal Twin Deities and a Life-and-Death Contract!
His expression remained perfectly placid as he opened the cover and began to read.
A moment later, a microscopic flicker of emotion shattered the calm of his ancient eyes. His index finger, resting on the armrest, tapped the wood exactly once.
Zhongli remained silent.
He slowly closed the booklet and placed it on the table. His handsome features betrayed nothing. He simply lifted his teacup again, blew gently across the steaming surface, and spoke in a voice as smooth as polished jade. “It is merely street gossip. Forced interpretations and wild flights of fancy, intended only for cheap entertainment. The Hall Master need not take it seriously.”
Yet, the hand gripping the delicate porcelain was unnaturally still. His gaze drifted out the window, settling on the bustling, lantern-lit streets of Liyue Harbor. Beneath his calm exterior, the gears of his mind turned rapidly.
The pen name “Li Xin” had, in a thoroughly unexpected manner, violently forced its way into the retired deity’s field of vision.
“I haven’t even bought a copy yet! They said it sold out in an hour! Quick, let me see!”
A chaotic whirlwind of brown hair and plum-blossom eyes burst through the parlor doors.
“Hahahahaha!” Hu Tao’s laughter echoed off the wooden beams. “Zhongli, look at this! This author claims the Lord of Geo is currently flat broke because he’s too busy mourning his dead wife to mint money! And it’s written with such tragic conviction! Hahahaha! Who wrote this? They are an absolute genius! I’m half-convinced myself!”
Zhongli closed his eyes for a fraction of a second.
A subtle tension tightened his jaw. He set the teacup down once more, turning his piercing golden gaze toward the ecstatic Hall Master. When he spoke, his tone was measured, laced with a very deliberate, scholarly curiosity.
“Oh? Based on universal rationality, the Geo Archon commands the earth and created Mora itself. All currency in this world flows from his divine power. Even if… he were to wander the mortal realm in disguise, he should be entirely divorced from the concept of ‘lacking funds’.”
He paused, carefully selecting his next words. “The author’s claim that he ‘imitates his deceased lover’ and thus refuses to create Mora is certainly a dramatic literary device designed to evoke sympathy. But logically speaking, does it not present a rather glaring… inconsistency?”
His delivery was flawless. Unhurried, objective, and purely academic.
“Aiya, aiya, my dear consultant, you are only looking at the surface! You lack vision!” Hu Tao bounced on her heels, thoroughly energized by the debate. With a theatrical flick of her wrist, she produced another slightly crumpled booklet from behind her back.
The cover read: The Wanderings of the Mortal Rock: Part One.
She shook the book triumphantly, the cheap paper rustling loudly just inches from Zhongli’s face.
“Look at this! This is the hottest folk tale in the harbor right now, and it explains everything perfectly!” Hu Tao cleared her throat, adopting the exaggerated, rhythmic cadence of a seasoned Iron Tongue storyteller. She flipped to a dog-eared page and read aloud, emphasizing every syllable:
“…This Young Master Jueyun Chili, with his composed demeanor and generous spending habits, looked exactly like a man who never carried a single coin on his person.”
She paused, winking at Zhongli to let the sheer authenticity of the prose sink in.
She continued: “…Upon hearing the merchant’s price, the young man remained entirely unbothered. He raised his hand to reach into his sleeve—a habitual movement ingrained over thousands of years. Mora? With a mere shift of his divine will, it would gather at his fingertips like golden sand. However, this time, his reach came up empty…”
“See? See!” Hu Tao slammed the book shut, smacking the cover with her palm. “It’s not that he doesn’t want to create it! It’s a habitual movement! An ingrained custom! He was the Lord of Geo for so long that he got used to money just magically appearing whenever he wanted it. He simply lacks the mortal concept of ‘remembering your wallet before leaving the house’!”
Her logic was building momentum. She planted her hands on her hips, her eyes shining with absolute certainty. “So! According to the authoritative lore of The Wanderings of the Mortal Rock, the Emperor didn’t lose his power—he just forgot he needed to carry cash! And according to this new sequel—”
She snatched up The Name Morax: Does It Conceal Twin Deities and a Life-and-Death Contract! and waved it like a banner. “—He stopped creating Mora later on because the act itself triggered his tragic memories, making him ‘unwilling’ to mint more!”
“You combine the two, and the lore is flawless!” Hu Tao clapped her hands together, immensely proud of her own deductive reasoning. “Therefore, it is completely, undeniably reasonable that Lord Jueyun Chili didn’t bring any Mora with him today! The logic is airtight! A perfect, tragic explanation!”
Zhongli stared at her in absolute silence.