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Often, Venti finds himself sitting on the highest branch of the tree at Windrise, muttering stories about his children to no one in particular.
He speaks about the Knights and the one who leads them. Compassionate, driven, a mirror of an old friend. He manages to insert a line about the little girl who blew up part of mondstadt with her bombs.
He speaks about the winery far south-west of the city, almost bordering Liyue. He complains about the borderline blasphemous way its owner treats their very own archon. Surely, he's warranted a lifetime supply of wine, right? He was the who taught his children how to make them after all. Business wouldn't be booming without him.
He speaks about the church his children built for him and how he finds a certain idol—Venti has to stop himself and explain what that is halfway through his sentence—amusing. She'll talk about their Great Lord Barbatos as he companies her to pick up herbs in the forest and Venti will soak in every word that comes from her.
To anyone else, it would seem as if he's only recounting little tales about the people who hail from his land as his hands mindlessly strum a tune on his lyre.
But the wind has known him for so long after all, and it catches quickly on what he wants them to do.
The wind takes note of his little tells, notices the delighted lilt in his voice and the way his hands strum a gleeful song on his lyre (its one that sits familiar on their ears, painting a vague image of two gods ridding themselves of the weight of the world under the stars a millenia ago).
The wind picks up its pace, traveling through planes across Mondstadt and the frozen heights of Dragonspine and the mountains that stand tall and proud across Liyue until it reaches the outskirts of the harbor where a certain man is taking his nightly stroll.
He's walking at a leisurely pace, mind wandering far off and eyes trained on the vast night sky. The stars twinkle at his every step and he starts to wonder if it senses how delighted his stomach is from his filling meal at the Wanmin Restaurant when a gust of wind lightly slaps him in the face.
Zhongli possesses not the power of the wind, so the message its trying to convey falls unrecognizable on his ears, but he's familiar with the archon who controls it enough to understand what they mean based on how they act.
There's a grin tugging at his lips as he saunters towards the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. The wind continues to blow excitedly around, his coat flapping to its rhythm.
Perhaps he's ought to visit an old friend, it’s been such a long time after all.