Hu Tao Is Monetizing My Existence. [167]

“My crew’s food, clothing, everything—we rely on my ship. And with someone like you, one of the Qixing, breathing down my neck every day, of course I worry.”

“If you’d stop trying to exploit every loophole in the regulations, I wouldn’t have to keep an eye on you.”

Though the words between Ningguang and Beidou were barbed, the atmosphere remained light.

Jiang Bai noticed something interesting—these two seemed like rivals on the surface, but their relationship was actually quite solid. There was mutual recognition behind the back-and-forth, the kind of rapport shared by worthy opponents.

Sensing Jiang Bai’s confusion, Hu Tao kindly leaned over to explain.

“Every year during the Rite of Descension, the Archon issues divine edicts—stuff like which goods will be taxed more or less.

“But these edicts are only general directions. The details—how to implement them, how to regulate them—that’s up to the Qixing.

“Policy shifts like this affect all kinds of industries and can stir up some market turbulence. But it’s usually within a controllable range.”

All this talk about policy, taxes, and economics was pretty far removed from Jiang Bai’s world. He nodded to show he understood, but truthfully, he didn’t follow much of it.

The Rite continued. The Geo Archon—towering two men tall—hovered in the air above the incense burner, his solemn voice echoing through the terrace.

One divine edict after another.

The scribes stationed nearby were already prepared, recording every word without missing a beat.

This year, the Geo Archon had issued seventeen edicts, touching on everything from economy and trade to diplomacy, civil affairs, and military defense—covering nearly every aspect of governance.

The crowd gathered at Yujing Terrace listened with rapt attention.

Most of them were traveling merchants, here to catch the Archon’s words firsthand so they could ride the tides of policy and turn a profit. Every detail mattered.

Jiang Bai and Hu Tao, on the other hand, were far more relaxed.

No matter how the policies changed, people would always die—and funerals would always be needed. The funeral business wasn’t something policy could shake easily.

…Unless they suddenly raised taxes on funeral rites. Then they’d have a problem.

As the final edicts were recorded, the Rite drew to a close.

There was, however, one final segment—though not held at Yujing Terrace. It would take place at Yuehai Pavilion, where the Qixing worked.

Each year, after the Rite, the Geo Archon would spend some time in the Pavilion, reviewing the year’s affairs and discussing outcomes.

If any of the new policies were unclear, the Qixing could seek clarification. For major unresolved decisions, they could request the Archon’s judgment.

Of course, what transpired in that meeting was not meant for outsiders.

As the last chime rang out, the Geo Archon shifted into human form. Surrounded by the Millelith and led by Keqing, he began his walk toward Yuehai Pavilion.

With the god’s departure, the crowd began to disperse.

Jiang Bai stepped onto a summoned stone pillar, lifting himself into the air for a better view, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Geo Archon’s human appearance.

But even from that height, all he could see was a white hood and a flowing cloak that covered the figure entirely.

So this is what the Archon really looks like? It does kind of resemble the Statue of The Seven…

The statue of the Geo Archon wore a hood too, though its attire was simpler—no cloak.

Ningguang had already departed for Yuehai Pavilion. Beidou followed shortly after. Hu Tao reached up and knocked on Jiang Bai’s stone pillar, calling up to him.

“Come on down, let’s go eat! After lunch, I’ll take you to meet my poet friend, Xingqiu!”

She’d finished the outline for Snowfield Chronicles over the past two days—what remained was fleshing out the details and prose.

That wasn’t exactly her forte. She needed help from a real writer—someone like Xingqiu.

Though to be fair, she hadn’t had time to read any of Xingqiu’s books lately. She wasn’t even sure what kind of stuff he wrote.

“Coming!” Jiang Bai replied.

The stone pillar crumbled, and Jiang Bai spun mid-air before landing with a dramatic pose—earning him a withering eye-roll from Hu Tao.

“Director, let’s get going! I’m starving…”

“With that much energy? Sure doesn’t look like you’re starving to me.”

Jiang Bai immediately slumped, dragging his feet like a half-dead ghost. “Director… I—I’m gonna… starve…”

The two of them laughed as they strolled down toward Liyue Harbor.

…

Yuehai Pavilion.

In a small meeting room, the Geo Archon sat at the head of the table. Below him sat the Qixing and several key officials from Yuehai Pavilion.

Standing beside the Archon, serving as both the secretary of the Qixing and his appointed representative, was Ganyu—half-adeptus, half-human. She held a brush and paper, ready to record at any moment.

Morax slowly flipped through a stack of documents on the table. Beneath the hood was a refined, handsome face—similar to Zhongli’s, but not the same.

His expression revealed nothing as he read.

The Qixing sat quietly in their seats. Though no one spoke, they were each preoccupied with their own tasks.

Morax needed time to read through the documents. The others used this time to process the divine edicts issued earlier in the day.

Not every year brought world-shaking events. Much of what the documents recorded was mundane, complicated administrative work.

Morax already knew most of it—but he read through it all anyway.

He compared what he knew with what had been recorded, examining for inconsistencies. And through the way each Qixing had handled their tasks, he could better understand their judgment and temperament.

Once the routine review was complete, Morax prepared to leave.

But just as he stood, Keqing spoke.

“Lord Morax, there is something I’d like to ask.”

Her tone was serious, her gaze bold. She looked directly into the god’s eyes—borderline disrespectful, yet completely sincere—as she voiced the question that had long weighed on her mind.

“You have protected Liyue for a thousand years. But what about the next thousand? Ten thousand? A hundred thousand? Will it always be so?”

A small, thoughtful smile appeared on Morax’s lips.

This was not the first time he had heard these words. Back when he stood as Zhongli on Yujing Terrace, he’d heard something similar. But the feelings evoked were entirely different.

Back then, it was simply a mortal expressing her fears about the future—thoughts she kept to herself.

But this time, she said it directly to a god.

And not just said—it was a challenge, an assertion of will.

That changed everything. It meant she was ready.

She was ready to lead, even without the guidance of gods. Ready to shape a Liyue where mortals took destiny into their own hands.

Some might expect a god to take offense at such heretical words—but not Morax.

He admired her for it.

Only with this kind of ambition—this will to replace the gods—could humanity truly walk its own path.

Very well, then.

Let’s see what you can do.

—

This is a fan translation of 胡桃拿我冲业绩 by 余溯. All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!