Wendy paused, words catching in his throat.
He nodded slowly, a faint smile tugging his lips.
"You're right—thanks for penning that tale of the boy and Barbatos," he said.
"If the wind god read it, he'd be over the moon," he added.
"Still, you've got a grip on old secrets—stuff nobles lost ages ago," he mused.
Ye Ruo lounged back, sipping tea with a casual nod.
"Naturally, as a Mondstadter, I'd spotlight Barbatos' finest moments," he replied.
"Plus, as a kid, I dug up a tattered book in the library's dusty corner," he explained.
"Half-gone, but it held scraps of history—my spark for this," he finished.
Wendy's brow arched, skepticism painting his face.
Really now? he thought, biting back a scoff.
This Wind Knight spun lies smoother than a bard's tune.
Outrageous—almost rivaling his own flair.
No, wait—he prided himself on honest poetry.
A good bard answered straight, no fibs.
Yet here he was, doubting, nearly buying it.
Keep weaving, fox—I'll wait, he smirked inwardly.
Ye Ruo sighed, a dreamy glint in his eye.
"Imagine Barbatos reading my work—moved to tears," he said.
"My prose is gold—he'd shower me with wind treasures," he fantasized.
"Not asking much—just a dozen or so," he added, deadpan.
Wendy choked, tea nearly spraying from his mouth.
A dozen? Like they're market cabbages? he sputtered silently.
The gall—thick as Mondstadt's walls.
No such treasures existed, wind-blown or otherwise.
Ye Ruo's delusion left him speechless, numb.
"Is there a chance Barbatos left nothing behind?" he ventured.
"Maybe you've all overhyped him—he's broke," he teased.
Ye Ruo shook his head, sternness creasing his brow.
"Bard, you're young, so I'll let it slide," he warned.
"Don't say that outside—folks'll rake you over coals," he cautioned.
"You're slighting Barbatos—they'd riot," he added.
Wendy slumped—truth didn't dent their faith.
This chat was a dead end, a wall of zeal.
Mondstadters gilded him beyond recognition.
Good thing he stayed incognito, a shadow in the breeze.
Imagine them hounding him for phantom loot?
He'd flee to the hills, trembling at the thought.
No wine, no secrets—time to bounce.
Ye Ruo's mask would slip someday, lies bared.
As wind god, he had eons to wait.
He slipped away, but voices trailed on the wind.
Ye Ruo nudged Noelle, tone soft and sly.
"Treat that bard kindly—he's a pitiful sort," he said.
"Young, scorned by tavern keepers—like a kid," he chuckled.
"Limit the wine, though—he's a lush," he warned.
Wendy's face darkened mid-step, ears burning.
Me, a kid? A drunkard pity case? he fumed.
Ye Ruo perched on his balcony, gazing afar.
A commotion stirred below, drawing his eye.
A yak caravan lumbered in, laden with spoils.
Mondstadters gawked, marveling at the beasts.
Sumeru yaks—hulking, sinewy, dwarfing horses.
Ten of them towed carts with ease, horns gleaming.
Goods piled high—ores, pelts, rare finds.
Two knights rode atop, others flanked the load.
The Knights of Favonius wielded them deftly now.
They'd sweep the wilds, purging monster dens.
Safety grew; resources flowed back in droves.
Outposts sprouted, guarding rich veins.
Fruit, meat, gems—they hauled it all.
Yaks transformed the grind, a mighty boon.
Residents buzzed, voices rising in awe.
"So much loot—better than horse carts!" a smith cheered.
"Those beasts outpull anything we had," a baker agreed.
"Warhorses went with Falga—good timing," a guard noted.
"What are they? Not Mondstadt stock," a kid puzzled.
"They're no cows—too grand," a florist murmured.
A merchant laughed, stepping into the chatter.
"I know 'em—saw 'em in Sumeru," he boasted.
"Lost Mora there, bad prep, but learned plenty," he grinned.
"Sumeru yaks—docile pack beasts," he explained.
"Caravans flaunt wealth with 'em," he continued.
"Four or five's solid—eight's elite," he said.
"Our Knights? Ten in one go—insane!" he crowed.
Two teams meant twenty yaks total—a fortune.
Mouths dropped, pride swelling in their chests.
"The Knights nailed it—Sumeru's best!" a brewer roared.
The system thrummed, Ye Ruo's fame a steady gust.
His quill and whims shaped Mondstadt's pulse.
***
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