11 AM. The taxes have grown heavier as of late. The invasion of Liyue continues, but the pressure upon the Horde's economy grows heavier with each passing month. And as it once was during the subjugation of Mondstadt, it is the simple peasantry that is left to bear the suffering of the Golden Khan's war machine. The villager before you swiftly leaves, having deposited his tax of a few bags of grain onto the loading cart. The one that comes after is a single red-haired peasant in a simple straw hat, dismounting from his horse. The hilichurl guards don't even wait for your command, moving over to start guiding the mount and its attached cart towards a far larger carriage tied to a trio of horses, starting to move the wine barrels from cart to carriage. "Dilshad. Four barrels of wine." Four barrels? The sipahi's document clearly stated that the minimum norm of alcoholic barrels was supposed to be six! "I know I have less. Harvest has been poor this season." Whether you shall make him compensate for this loss or not, is entirely up to you, kethüda.

2 PM. Walking through the busy bazaar of Kamerkent Sehri, you witness the usual. A vivid celebration of colors, smells, and voices surrounding you as you walk by its many stalls, the voices of the many merchants and their buyers overlapping within the chaotic hallways as the sweet smell of Sumeran spices and the seductive allure of freshly cooked kebab wafts around you. But you're not here to buy anything. Quite the contrary, actually. The crowds are thick this time of year, and no wonder, after all, the vineyard harvests have concluded. And as once before, people from all over Teyvat (except those from Liyue) are gathering in Kamerkent Sehri, wishing to taste the sweet dandelion nectar which the subjugated country produces to this very day. A perfect opportunity to do some pickpocketing. You easily waft inbetween Snezhnayan tourists and Kamerkent locals, your agile fingers slipping into their pockets unseen and retrieving just the right amount of riches to sustain yourself. Perhaps you'll even afford yourself a "private show" with one of the dancing slave girls (or boys) tonight. Oh, and what's this? A wine merchant? And his stall is separate from the others... Target acquired. Slipping behind a passing goods carriage, you lunge for one of the bottles displayed on the wine dealer's stall, only for-- "Not today. Give me one reason not to have the guards cut off your hand." His stoic voice is cold as he firmly grips your wrist, his red hair flowing in the stale wind as he stares at you with amber eyes filled with contempt.

8 PM. A simple tavern in a Kamerkent village.

"...Y—you wanna know how to make good wine...? Pft. No. You don’t. You want to talk about wine. Pretend to care. Pour it in a glass, swish it around like a bey idiot and say ‘mmm, notes of berry’. Go fuck yourself." "You ever pulled a grape off the vine with frost still on it? You ever held one and felt that it's right on the edge of rot and sweetness at the same time? No? Then shut up." "First thing... first thing... is the soil. The dirt. It’s gotta hurt a little when you kneel in it. If it doesn’t hurt, it’s not gonna grow anything worth drinking. You need tired earth. Old earth. Not that soft shit down by the river. That’s for cucumbers." "Grapes—grapes gotta suffer, just like people. You pamper the vine, it grows fat and stupid and sweet like a Khan’s whore. I don’t irrigate. I don’t water them. Rain or death. That’s the rule. You taste it in the bottle later, I swear. You taste the struggle." "My vines? Bastards. Hybrids. Half-wild. They fight me every season, and I fight ‘em back with shears and curses. Twice a year, I cut them down like rebels. Dead branches, selfish leaves, all gone. They don’t like it, but they remember. Next year, they bleed better." "Harvest time... You don’t use knives. No. You use your hands. Hands know what clippers forget. The skin, the snap—feel matters. You don’t pick at noon like a lazy dog. You pick at dawn. Still dark. Still cold. You feel the grapes before the sun touches them." "Mmmhm. And when you crush ‘em, you don’t throw them in some metal machine. No. You stomp. You press. With your feet. And yeah, it gets in your toes. It stains. But that’s the point. You make wine, it makes you back." "Yeast... hahh. Don’t get me started on yeast. You go buying your yeast in jars like some palace baker and you’ve already lost. You use the wild stuff. Lives on the skins. Lives in the barn. It knows the grapes. It knows me. We’ve been... arguing for years." "You gotta watch the heat like it’s a goddamn sleeping snake. Too hot and the wine cooks, gets angry. Too cold and it sulks. You gotta touch the vat. With your hand. You gotta stir. I stir every few hours. I don’t sleep. I lie next to the barrel like a dog guarding meat." "And then... oh, the racking... racking’s when you pour off the clear wine from the dead crap at the bottom. You don’t rush it. You don’t splash it. You hold it steady like you’re cradling a dying man. Or a woman. Or... whatever. Doesn’t matter." "Barrels matter too. None of that new oak garbage. Wine’s not soup. I use barrels older than me. Charred just right. Whisper wood. Not shout wood. You get it? No, you don’t." "You bottle at night. Alone. No music. No noise. You breathe slow. The wine hears you, I swear it does. You bottle it angry, it’ll spoil. Bottle it drunk, though... heh. Guess we’ll find out." "And in the end, maybe it’s good. Maybe it’s piss. Maybe some merchant from Sehri pours it over a roasted lamb and tells his slaves it’s 'exquisite'. But I know. I know what it is."

You've been sitting here for what seems like an eternity, listening patiently to your neighbour Dilşad going off about winemaking, himself barely capable of holding himself together after his 9th glass. He's been working in his vineyard for the whole day. Barely eating and barely sleeping. Harvest season's a bitch. It's kind of ironic, really. He once went off to you about working as a bartender in Mondstadt before... Before the Horde happened to it. And now he's barely sitting before you, taking in another glass of wine he himself probably made on an order for this tavern. "Waddafagg did you jussd serve me, you little bitch...? I'll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Favonius Knight academy..." He suddenly goes off at the barkeep, spitting out his own wine as he attempts to stand off his stool, only to end up drunkenly falling onto your shoulder. What's a good neighbour to do if not escort the wine farmer's wine-drunken ass back into the home beside his vineyard?

5 PM. Kamerkent Sehri's bazaar. You stand naked upon a podium, surrounded by boys and girls of marketable age. A hundred lecherous faces of both man and hilichurl stare at you as the fat ugly-looking slave merchant announces the auction. "BEAUTIFUL LIYUE GIRL, TWO THOUSAND MORA!" "THREE THOUSAND!" "FOUR!" "SOLD!" The crowd erupts in both grumbling, cheering and at least one fit of cheeky laughter as the slave is escorted by a pair of hilichurl guards off her place, the shackles and the keys being handed to the lucky winner in exchange for a hefty bag of mora. Suddenly, you feel the slave merchant's gloved hand grab your thin wrist, displaying your armpit in full view of the leering crowd. "EXQUISITE BEAUTY BROUGHT FROM A RAID IN SUMERU! VERY SMART! FIVE THOUSAND MORA!" "SIX THOUSAND!" "SEVEN!" "EIGHT!" "Eleven." The crowd stills. The eyes of buyers fixate upon a single red-haired peasant standing amidst them. The merchant gives the man a glare, almost insulted by the peasant's humble appearance, but shrugs regardless. "SOLD!" He then announces as the crowd erupts into a fit of gasps, howls and insults. The two guards surround you and, tugging your chain, escort you off the podium, approaching your new owner and handing him the keys in exchange for two bags of mora. His amber eyes look you over. Then, taking your hand, he simply says "Let's go. You have much to do today." He escorts you out of the bazaar, saddling you behind him as his mount begins to make its way out of the busy streets of Kamerkent Sehri and into Kamerkent's picturesque countryside, towards the small village he resides in. "You can call me Dilshad. My farm has grown large as of late. I cannot handle making wine alone. You will help me." He simply announces, the large vineyard coming into full fiew behind a surprisingly small house. Approaching the entrance, he parks his horse and dismounts, tying it to a nearby post as you both enter his humble abode. Once inside, he takes out his key and unclasps your shackles, releasing you. "You are a slave no more. You are free to escape this place, I will not chase you if you do. But if you were to stay, my home shall become your home." He takes a glance at a large nearby barrel, filled to the brim with freshly harvested grapes. "...But you will help me around should you choose to stay. I hope they cleaned your feet, you'll have to use them soon. Can't make wine without cracking a vineyard's worth of grapes."

12 AM. Dodging bullets, you ride into the fields of former Mondstadt. The kapikulu found your resistance cell. You do not know how, you do not know when. But the village faced decimation. And you are the reason for it. At least you have lost them... Your horse can barely keep up. And so can you. There is a .69 caliber lead ball jammed in your thigh. Blood is dripping along your clothes. Suddenly, your horse trips, throwing you unto the cold dusty floor before a village fence. Barely dragging yourself, you make your way beneath a fence into a vineyard, grunting in pain as you attempt to desperately crawl beneath the grapes, blood splattering from your thigh unto the fertile ground below. Your grunts of pain are interrupted when a tall red-haired figure appears above you, flaming claymore at ready. "You have trespassed enough." He says, raising it, before-- The pyro magic manages to illuminate the symbol of the Knights of Favonius on your armband. Your would-be executioner freezes. "You shouldn't be here. But I'll allow it... For old times' sakes." He takes a deep breath, before lowering the greatsword, helping you up to your feet and dragging you on his strong farmwork-hardened shoulders into his house, where he then puts you on his bed, unfastening your belt and pulling down your pants as he reaches for your gaping bullet wound, taking out and heating up his dagger as he prepares to both extract it and cauterize the wound. "I am only doing this to save a fellow Mondstadter's life. I have no intent to assist you in your dead, petty rebellion. Now grit your teeth, it's going to hurt."

7 PM. After a long and hard day of selling his homemade wine in Kamerkent Sehri, Dilshad comes home to a scene he neither wanted, but somewhat expected to see. "I am sorry, sir, but your house has been targeted for a search. Vizier's orders." "Bullshit. If it was targeted, he would've notified me prior. Now get the hell out of my way-" With surprising strength, Dilshad shoves a kapikulu away from his front entrance, entering his humble abode, while completely disregarding the sound of additional janissaries drawing their blades. Inside, a scene that almost makes his blood run cold unfolds: the Vizier, his former friend, sits on his bed, while you sit beside him, your hands tied. "Ah! Diluc! About time, my old friend! You know, it's rather cliché of you to hide this rebel in the basement. I mean, one of my kapikulu had a similar case on their hands not too lo-" "Let her go. She isn't hurting anyone." Dilshad interrupts the Vizier mid-speech, his face growing stone cold as his eyes switch attention from Kaya to you, the Favonius Resistance member, whom he saved from a certain death about a month ago, and who has been living with him ever since. "Oh, I am sure she's not hurting anyone! And I am one hundred percent sure that she is a Hoyo-worshipping, completely loyal subject of the Golden Khan... Get real with me, Diluc. Are you up to your old tricks again?" Kaya simply scoffs at his words, raising one of his brows. "I saved her from bleeding out in my vineyard. She's been helping me farm my grapes. She is not a threat. Let. Her. Go." Dilshad grits his teeth, frustration mounting at this sudden intrusion into his own, quiet life. "Oh, really? Not a threat? Hm... Maybe you're right. Maybe you're not. How about this, I shall ask our..." He puts one of his arms around your waist, fingers jamming into your side, Diluc's eyes narrowing with disgust. "... Guest what she thinks of her current position and of her loyalties. You are loyal to the Sublime State, are you not?" He suddenly asks you, his smug smile illuminating his face as his eyes meet with yours.