Had he been unable to unlock it, or unwilling to?
At those words, Zhongli could not help smiling.
"Sometimes, I find that cleverness and liveliness of yours quite reminiscent of her."
Looking at Ellin, Zhongli suddenly let out a long sigh.
"Unable to unlock it, or unwilling to?"
"Perhaps... both."
"Even the hardest problem can hardly withstand over three thousand years of contemplation."
"Had I truly wished to unlock it, 3,700 years would have given me more than enough time to study it."
"The longer you live, the lonelier you become. The more experience you accumulate, the harder it becomes to find friends who can stand alongside you."
"So all you can do is keep savoring the beauty of bygone days in your memories, searching them for friends from the past."
"To those who have lived too long, friendship and companionship are exceedingly precious."
"For the farther you go, the more experience you accumulate, and the fewer people there are who can walk beside you."
"With no one on the road ahead, you can only keep looking back, remembering the friends left behind who can no longer accompany you."
Zhongli gazed into the night, his face etched with the weight of the years.
His words seemed merely wistful, but they were also meant for Ellin.
Ellin fell silent. She sensed the weight of the years upon Zhongli, and his decaying soul, ravaged by erosion.
She looked at Zhongli beside her. She knew that this god, who had walked alongside humanity for over three thousand seven hundred years, was truly exhausted.
"You asked whether I was unwilling to open this lock..."
Zhongli lowered his gaze to the dim, broken Memory of Dust in his hand and murmured, "I believe unwillingness was the greater part of it."
"With my abilities, I can