Water Ink Whispers: My Dance with Xingqiu at the Irodori Fête

I still recall the way moonlight bled into violet horizons during that spring of '22, when Inazuma's shores became a living parchment for poetry. The Irodori Festival wasn't merely an event—it was a haiku composed of clashing blades, floral whispers, and the promise of a rain-swept swordsman waiting at its finale. Like ink dispersing in a sake bowl, time has blurred the details yet deepened the essence: that elusive chance to embrace Xingqiu, the Guhua disciple whose hydro blades cut through combat with the elegance of calligraphy strokes on silk. He remained suspended between event requirements and artistic fulfillment, a prize requiring not just strength but poetic sensitivity.

🎋 The Gateways to Violet Dreams

Before tasting the festival's sweetness, I needed to become worthy. Adventure Rank 30 stood as the first torii gate—a barrier separating casual wanderers from true participants. Beyond it lay the "Ritou Escape Plan," an Archon Quest demanding navigation through political storms sharper than Raiden Shogun's Musou no Hitotachi. Completing character stories felt like collecting scattered petals:

• Sangonomiya Kokomi's strategic depths (a coral reef's hidden currents)

• Kamisato Ayato's political dances (cranes folding origami secrets)

• The Shogun's eternal paradox (lightning trapped in a porcelain vase)

Though not mandatory, these narratives transformed the festival from spectacle to symphony. Without them, the Irodori's colors would've remained muted, like viewing cherry blossoms through frosted glass.

🎭 Four Acts of Artistic Alchemy

The festival unfolded like a four-panel screen, each segment revealing tests of different sensibilities:

Activity	Challenge	Xingqiu's Key Requirement
Moon & Stars Inscribe 📜	Crafting verses from nature's fragments	Completing the "parting"-themed poem
Theater Mechanicus 🛡️	Elemental tower defense ballet	1,500+ score in Springtide Advent
Clash of Lone Blades ⚔️	New parry mechanics & duels	Victory on "Serious" difficulty
Floral Courtyard 🌸	Ikebana-inspired arrangements	Fourth floral theme completion

Each felt like a brushstroke contributing to the masterpiece. Poetry composition became catching falling maple leaves mid-air—fleeting words crystallizing emotion. Theater Mechanicus required orchestrating pyro and cryo towers like a conductor balancing fireflies and snowflakes. And the floral arrangements? They weren't mere decorations but frozen haiku, where placing a lavender melon felt as deliberate as choosing the final character in an epic.

💧 The Hydro Swordsman's Revelation

After completing these trials—these "Friendship in Writing" rituals—I finally approached Xingqiu. His silhouette against the festival lights reminded me of a heron poised above moonlit ponds. Claiming him felt like sealing a watercolor masterpiece before the rain could smudge it. Yet this gift came with ephemerality woven into its core:

• One-time redemption only (like catching the same sakura petal twice)

• Deadline-bound grace (expiring April 25, 2022—a sandcastle facing high tide)

In combat, Xingqiu proved worth every requirement. His Rain Swords didn't just mitigate damage—they danced around allies like protective ink wash dissolving enemies' intentions. Hydro application became liquid calligraphy, each wet stroke enabling elemental reactions with the precision of a poet choosing rhyme schemes. He transformed battlefields into collaborative art, where every teammate's element became a different pigment on his watery canvas.

Now years later, I wonder—were we truly collecting characters during these limited-time festivals? Or were we gathering fragmented reflections of ourselves, each event a mirror held to different virtues: patience in grinding, creativity in mini-games, persistence in combat trials. Like festival lanterns cast adrift on seawater, these opportunities glow intensely before vanishing into memory's depths. What does it mean for a digital swordsman to exist eternally in our accounts yet remain bound to a single, unrepeatable spring? Perhaps all of Teyvat's wonders are but temporary ink on life's scroll—meant to be cherished, not owned.

💭 Does the value of a fleeting gift deepen because it can never be held again?