i swim in hollow lakes carved from memories

Wei Ying was used to drawing the attention of strangers. As he walked through Xiangyang Dongjin Railway Station—for the second time, so he was sure to know where he was going as he filmed—he held his phone out before him. Attached to it was a handgrip and gimble as well as a bulging, bulbous lens that caught the light, winking intermittently. It probably wasn’t the phone that drew most people’s regard, so much as the large red scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face and the baseball cap pulled low over his forehead.

In the early days, he’d bought a plain black mask, but too often he got people thinking he was some idol or other, so he stopped doing that. Better for people to think he was just a weirdo. Besides, it was kind of a signature now. His thing.

“Here we are in lovely Xiangyang.” He imagined the viewers who would be watching this once it was uploaded and spoke intimately to them into the microphone curled against his mouth, attached to a separate recording device so that, when he dubbed over his own vocals, he’d be able to keep the ambient sound that the phone picked up. Verisimilitude. Otherwise the dubbing sounded far too polished. Another reason the scarf worked wonders, gave him just the sort of effect he liked.

Wei Ying didn’t like too much polish. If he did, he’d have gone into videography. But instead, he wanted it to be real, idealized, perhaps, but real all the same.

“The weather is a truly delightful thirty-four degrees celsius and I—” He laughed and plucked at the scarf, a tease for the audience. His words were perfectly timed to match his arrival at an array of brightly colored lockers. He might have practiced that, too. “—I’m going to melt, so let’s make this quick, huh?”

Reaching for the phone, he spun it to get a better view of the lockers before returning it to its original position, holding it away so he could tap in the passcode on the locker’s keypad. The metal door clicked and released and he wagged his finger for the camera. “Sorry, friends, that passcode is for this week’s recipient only, but I do have something for your eyes, too.”

With practiced ease, he swung his pack around and rifled through it with one hand. Though it wasn’t visible through the scarf, he was smiling as he did so. And though he would probably cut it, he was whistling, too. It distracted him from the way his arm was beginning to ache from holding his rig.

I should work out more, he thought and then laughed, something he’d definitely lose in editing. Who had time to work out?

“Aha, here we are!” In his palm now sat a small, wrapped box, robin’s egg blue with golden, gleaming ribbon that spilled, curling, over the sides. He turned it between his thumb and forefinger and hoped the camera picked up the delicately embossed cranes on the paper. “Pretty, huh? I liked it, too!” With care, he placed the box in the locker and closed it. Eagerly reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled a burner phone from inside. “My favorite part. Let’s let our mystery romantic know, huh?”

So many people wondered about this part, even when past recipients explained the process and even though the rules were clearly stated. Periodically, Wei Ying opened submissions for stories from fans, stories of romance, of lost loves mourned, of new loves cherished, of old loves reignited, and in return he picked one of those stories and turned it into a dessert of some sort based on whatever inspiration he struck from the letter he received. The lucky recipient would find out exactly two weeks after submissions closed whether they won or not, receiving a text message out of the blue with a location and directions for retrieving their gift, always as near to their home as he could manage.

This one was for a young woman who wanted to ask out the girl she’d liked for over two years.

After a handful of moments, the phone dinged. Wei Ying waved it at the camera and pushed it in close in a variety of ways to ensure at least one of them captured what he wanted it to capture: an excited string of characters followed by a meme Wei Ying was getting too old to recognize.

“And with that, I say goodbye to each and every one of you. Don’t forget to tune in on Saturday for the recipe along with the usual weekend update. If you haven’t subscribed already, don’t forget to do so and you can, of course, reach me at all the usual outlets.”

He smiled his biggest smile, the one that crinkled his eyes and always seemed to go over well with the fans. When he watched the playback, he was always struck by how happy he looked for them. Lifting his hand one last time, he pressed his fingers together to form a heart shape with his thumb and forefinger. “As always, from Yiling with love.”

The lights in the bathroom somehow seemed both harsher and brighter despite there being no appreciable difference between the ones outside the door and these ones. Then again, these moments always left him a little breathless, as he transitioned from his role as Yiling back into regular old Wei Ying. The monstrous camera setup was the first thing to go, pieces breaking away in his hands with the ease of long practice. Perhaps he was just sensitive. This was always the most troublesome moment.

The chances of being discovered were slim, but if he was going to be discovered, it would be now.

Stowing his gear in his bag first, he then stuffed his hat and scarf inside, too. For good measure, he quickly pulled his t-shirt off and replaced it with a white dress shirt, wrinkled at the forearms from where he constantly rolled it up. No amount of laundering could save it. He rolled the sleeves up today, too, as soon as it was buttoned up.

The weight of the bag was familiar and welcome as he slung the battered leather across his shoulder, the strap worn and soft against his clavicle.

Approaching the mirror, he rifled his fingers through his hair to separate the strands and make it look a little less like he’d been sweating under a baseball cap for the last hour. He… partially succeeded.

The edge of the counter dug into his hips as he leaned toward the mirror, breath fogging it with every puff. “That’ll have to do, won’t it?”

A toilet flushed in one of the stalls. Wei Ying jerked back in surprise as a man of about fifty came out, eyebrow raised and unimpressed mouth twisted in a frown. Yeah, yeah. Wei Ying talked to himself in the mirror, big deal. No doubt this guy did worse on a daily basis to have earned enough money to buy the ugliest Memorigin watch he’d ever seen, burnished gold and garish with four more dials in the clock face than was strictly necessary.

He knew the type.

Fighting the sneer that threatened to turn his smile into a grimace, he waved at the man and drawled, aggressively cheerful, “Have a nice day, boss!”

The door might have banged a little loudly as it closed behind him, but if nobody asked him about it, Wei Ying didn’t have to admit to purposefully slamming it in the man’s face as he followed Wei Ying out.

The set of his shoulders eased as he joined the gently swaying crowds of people making their way to and from the platforms outside. It will be another forty minutes until his own train arrives; he had plenty of time to wander.

He was enjoying himself immensely, surreptitiously taking some less than stellar footage just in case, and found himself soon even more delighted by a trio of teenagers, two girls and a boy, huddled around a cell phone near the platform he needed.

“Ay, he’s so cute!” one of the girls, decked out in a pink dress, said, tapping at the screen as she plastered herself across the other girl’s back.

The other girl rolled her shoulder, but it did little to dislodge the girl clinging to her. “You don’t even know what he looks like.”

“It’s all in the eyes! Look at them. They’re sparkling. Any guy with sparkling eyes is going to be cute!”

The boy elbowed the second girl, who was still frowning as though this argument—a very compelling argument at that—was complete and utter bullshit. He brushed aside the hair that fell into his face and managed to say, both earnest and completely deadpan, “They are cute eyes, Xiao Xing.”

The girl, Xiao Xing, lifted her chin and sniffed. “He probably has a girlfriend,” she said, staring at the first girl. And then to the boy: “Or a boyfriend.”

Grinning, Wei Ying approached. As slyly as possible, he glanced at the screen, peeking from over Xiao Xing and the first girl’s shoulders. He was overjoyed to discover it was one of his own videos they were looking at.

“Is that Yiling?” he couldn’t help but ask. “I heard from my sister that he’s single.”

Actually, she asked him if he was ever going to give dating a shot, but that didn’t sound quite as impressive.

The glare Xiao Xing raked over his body was nothing more nor less than a complete, scathing indictment of his very being. It took all of his willpower not to laugh at her. “Who are you?”

His hands lifted, a dubious declaration of innocence if ever there was one, but none of the three suspected him of anything beyond a hint of weirdness. Not so different than scarf-clad Yiling, then. “Nobody, nobody. I’m just saying!” The soles of his shoes slapped lightly against the linoleum floor as he backed away and he couldn’t help but wink with his departure. “He is super cute though.”

All three of them stared at him, mouths slightly open. It was a familiar enough occurrence that he took it as a sign that he’d done the right thing. It wasn’t a good day if he wasn’t leaving someone flabbergasted. With a laugh, he waved at them and slipped past another group of waiting travelers, working his way further down the concourse.

Snapping a careless picture, he opened Weibo and typed, “enjoying the sun in Xiangyang!” before hitting send.

He thought he could hear the three of them screeching about Yiling being here from halfway across the terminal.

Not too long later, his phone pinged with a message from Nie Huaisang.

Nie Huaisang: weixiong are you going to participate?

“What are you even talking about?” he muttered. As always Nie Huaisang was ten steps ahead of him.

Before he could ask, Nie Huaisang was already forwarding a link to him. A colorful splash page flashed before his eyes when he opened it. Heart beating furiously all of a sudden, he read the text, phone gripped tight between his fingers.

His phone dinged again, sounding almost impatient to Wei Ying’s ears. Or perhaps he was the one who was impatient, the thought of cutting his teeth against the best of the best vloggers in China too much for him to bear peacefully.

Nie Huaisang: weixiong???

As he readied a response, his phone rang. The light, delicate sound of a guqin lifted in what few spaces the noise around him allowed. It was sometimes a hassle, picking such music to be his ringtone, but he’d never change it, carrying the recording from phone to phone, day to day, since the first moment he set it as his ringtone.

At least this time he hadn’t missed the call because he couldn’t hear it.

“Jiang Cheng, hello.”

“Tell me you’re not still in Xiangyang,” he replied.

“Thank you, Jiang Cheng. It is, in fact, a lovely day.” It was lovely if you considered ‘hot and miserably muggy’ to be lovely, but Jiang Cheng didn’t need to know that. “I’m fine. It’s so nice of you to ask. How are you?”

“Cut the crap! I saw your Weibo post and the time stamp was ten minutes ago.”

Tapping his finger against his lips, he smiled. “Jiang Cheng, I didn’t know you followed my Weibo page. What a good brother you are!” Thoughts of the competition faded under the reality of his situation. Where would he find the time? And anyway, why did he want to draw attention his way with something like that? No, it was a bad idea.

“Wei Ying!”

“It’s fine! I’m already waiting for the train. I’ll be back in time for my shift. Don’t worry so much! I’m already changed and everything.”

“Oh, good. You've changed. That's certainly going to make a difference to the customers who might not want to smell the train on you.”

That was… maybe not the worst point Jiang Cheng had ever made, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Jiang Cheng either. Frowning, he took a brief sniff of himself and then shrugged. If Jiang Cheng wanted to be unhappy about it, that was his problem. “You shouldn’t have asked me to take a shift today if you’re so concerned about the trains. You know I’m busy on Tuesdays.” He paused only long enough to draw in a breath and then slipped closer to the edge of the tracks. “Train’s here. I’ll see you in about two hours. Bye, Jiang Cheng, bye!”

But of course Jiang Cheng had to get the last word always.

“I'll see you in hell if you're not here ten minutes before your shift starts! You know everyone hates my lattes.”

Wei Ying opened his mouth to respond, but all he heard was the dial tone and wasn’t at all surprised that he’d pull such an underhanded trick. Letting out a frustrated groan, he shook the phone. “That’s because you suck at making them, Jiang Cheng!”

A woman nearby threw him an incredulous look and took a large step away from him.

“You’d understand if you ever had his lattes,” he explained, earning himself another step’s worth of distance from the woman.

Scrubbing his hand across his face, he sighed and returned his attention to the contest rules, scanning them quickly to ensure he qualified, and then swiped back over to Nie Huaisang’s message. It was a nice thought, but it was just that: a thought.

Wei Ying: Probably not

Wei Ying: I’ll cheer on the participants

Wei Ying: Why don’t you do it

Nie Huaisang: xiuzhe employees are exempt or i would

Nie Huaisang: huange himself is promoting the competition

Nie Huaisang: i didn’t say this, but i know for a fact lan entertainment corps is looking for new talent hes probably using this as an opportunity to find it

Nie Huaisang: wei ying honestly you should youd definitely win

That might or might not have been true, but Wei Ying won’t be finding out. The truth of that fact struck him deeply and he found himself annoyed both at the discovery of this chance and the subsequent loss of it.

Wei Ying: I don’t have the time

Wei Ying: And jiang cheng would kill me

Wei Ying: Thank you for thinking of me tho 😜

It was for the best. The less he had to do with the Lans, the better. Besides, it was entirely possible that Lan Huan would personally figure out a way to disqualify him the minute he saw his name anywhere near the competition. Then again, Lan Huan had always been fair and even-tempered. Wei Ying might get past the application stage and then lose simply because oh, coincidentally he just wasn’t good enough, imagine that, so strange, so funny. No, thank you. He didn’t need a competition to tell him he was the best.

Nie Huaisang: wen chao is already signed up

Oh, fuck that. Yes, please. He’d spent years wanting to smash Wen Chao’s ugly, smug face into the concrete. He’d absolutely demolish him in this, it didn’t even matter if Lan Huan ultimately nixed him. He would still happily make an attempt on Wen Chao and that was worth risking Jiang Cheng’s wrath for and potentially embarrassing himself in front of a Lan. What he did in his own time was his own business anyway. It wouldn’t affect his work at Lotus Pier.

Wei Ying: Fuck you, huaisang

Nie Huaisang: promises promises you could just say thank you because i already signed you up youre welcome!!!!!!

Lan Huan wasn’t generally in the habit of taking over Lan Zhan’s kitchen as though it was his own, but sometimes the inexplicable, utterly improbable urge to make tea for himself and then bully his brother into having some, too, was just too strong. As long as Lan Zhan didn’t see fit to complain or call him on it, he figured he could continue to pretend that was exactly what he was doing instead of what he was actually doing: which was worrying and doting and maybe snooping a little bit. The fact that the view from Lan Zhan’s kitchen made it easier to watch him without being noticed was not something Lan Huan felt the need to explicate further. If Lan Zhan failed to realize the kitchen was a singularly convenient spot from which to see the living room, then that was his fault, not Lan Huan’s.

There was even a convenient counter which faced that direction.

He was making tea anyway, his third round of it. That wasn’t a lie.

As long as he didn’t actually ask the question that sat on the tip of his tongue, it would be fine. Lan Zhan always appreciated tea and he was more receptive to it this morning than normal, accepting each cup with a thank you in his mouth and grim determination in his eyes as he fought his guqin through every moment of practice, only stopping to take a sip, half turning away to ensure none accidentally spilled on the instrument. It was going to be the same with this cup, Lan Huan supposed, except Lan Zhan suddenly stood before Lan Huan could even get the kettle heated up again.

Lan Huan had been here for over an hour already and this was the first time Lan Zhan had so much as stood.

It would have been a cause for celebration if he hadn’t merely relocated to his dining room table, much closer to the kitchen and therefore making it a little harder for Lan Huan to subtly keep an eye on Lan Zhan. But harder wasn’t impossible and Lan Huan did his best.

With careful deliberation, Lan Zhan arranged his iPad, laptop, and a stack of notation paper on the table and then he sat, lost for a moment, not even noticing that Lan Huan was paying even more attention to him than the tea at this point.

So maybe Lan Huan overestimated the difficulty. That only made him worry more.

Though Lan Zhan began tapping at the iPad as seriously as he plucked his guqin’s strings, the notes rang out with the cold indifference of a computer imitating a stringed instrument of some sort or another—maybe an unholy amalgam of all of them. It was not ideal.

To say it was unpleasant to the ear was probably too harsh, but Lan Huan couldn’t say it filled him with confidence that his brother was well. Better to stop him before he frustrated himself into a corner.

“I noticed you no longer have the white tea you used to like,” he said, gentle, taking the seat nearest to Lan Zhan, but pulling it away so as to give him as much space as he required.

It wasn’t the question he wanted to ask, it wasn’t a question at all, but he was curious all the same. If Lan Zhan was one thing, it was this: eternally devoted to the things he loved best and he loved that tea, there was no doubt about it.

Lan Zhan’s fingers slipped across the iPad’s surface. Whatever app he was using tried to keep up, but failed miserably, falling silent so quickly that Lan Huan might have attributed to it a sense of shame in its owner.

A tinge of guilt filled him that he hadn’t really noticed before that Lan Zhan had stopped keeping it. He wondered how long it had been. It must have been years since Lan Huan had seen the box now that he thought about it, since before Lan Zhan bought this apartment at least.

“It stopped tasting right,” was all Lan Zhan said, staring fiercely at the table. “If you’d like some, I can order it for you.”

“Here.” Lan Huan shook his head and tried to hand Lan Zhan’s favorite cup to him. It was molded from blue and white toned clay and was shot through with veins of silver. He’d had it long enough that some of the grooves in the handle seemed to fit Lan Zhan’s grip perfectly. “The oolong is fine.”

He said again, when Lan Zhan made no move to take the cup, “Here.”

Lan Zhan raised his head and wrapped the long, slender fingers of both hands around it, pulling it from Lan Huan’s grasp. “Thank you.”

Finally, Lan Huan was able to find the words he was looking for. Even if Lan Zhan got mad at him, he couldn’t hold them back any longer. “Are you alright, didi?”

Brisk, brittle, not at all pleased: “Mn. I just needed to step away from the guqin.”

The guqin. Not his guqin.

Somehow, Lan Huan didn’t think it was as easy as that, but it didn’t seem like the right time to say as much. In truth, Lan Zhan was struggling a great deal of late and it only seemed to be getting worse as time went on. Gesturing at the iPad, he said, not unkindly, “You hate this thing.”

At this, Lan Zhan released a pent up breath, the closest he’d ever get to admitting his frustration. “I also hate not being able to compose.”

The frankness of the words startled Lan Huan. He wasn’t above admitting that to himself and, for a moment, he wasn’t certain what to do with the information. Should he press further in the hopes of getting Lan Zhan to open up further? Or should he simply show support, pleased that Lan Zhan had shared even this much with him?

With a guarded expression, Lan Zhan looked at him, seeming somehow like he was six years old again and waiting with patient, fearful fragility for Lan Huan to offer answers too big even for him to give despite his seniority. Sometimes, Lan Huan still awoke in a cold sweat, that child’s image lingering in his mind, those questions ringing in his ears. When is mom coming back? What happened? Why are you so sad? Should I be sad, too? “Nobody is expecting you to share new compositions,” he said, well aware that he was stalling. “People who go for traditional do tend to enjoy traditional.”

Lan Zhan merely huffed again, as was his right. The comfort was shoddy at best, half-patched together in ways that Lan Huan wanted to be ashamed of. It sounded too much like settling and Lans never settled for anything. They always strove for more.

Lan Huan very politely didn’t mention that he knew Mo Xuanyu had met with Lan Zhan multiple times about this problem already, asking him again and again when he’d be going back into the studio. Even his more vocal fans online were beginning to make posts about it. Both of these facts he’d learned from Meng Yao, because he didn’t wish to pry too deeply most days. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t accept the information that came his way. And it didn’t mean he didn’t sometimes reach the end of his rope. Like this morning.

It was an older brother’s prerogative to want to protect his family.

And Lan Zhan had never before gone so long without an album release. Clearly he was unhappy about it.

A thought struck him.

“Is this because you’re performing in Yunmeng?” Lan Huan couldn’t believe he’d never considered the possibility. He’d always declined before or skirted the issue entirely when it came time to make arrangements. Sometimes, Lan Huan wasn’t even sure he realized what he was doing and Mo Xuanyu never pushed this one issue. It wasn’t until Uncle brought it up that Lan Zhan finally capitulated. They’d begun planning this tour over a year ago, but it was entirely possible he’d kept this turmoil hidden much longer than that. For a time, especially in the years just after he graduated from university, he’d been nothing except perfectly productive at the cost of every other aspect of his life. But the strain here, the desperation, that was new. That was, perhaps, about a year old.

What a coincidence.

Lan Zhan said nothing, which told Lan Huan everything.

“Didi, why did you agree if…?”

Jaw clenching and eyes flashing, he tightened his hands into fists on the table. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to do this. I can have A-Yao look over the contract. He’d get good terms for you if you’d like to break it.”

“No. I agreed to do it. I will do it.”

Of course. Lan Zhan would never do differently. Even he was not strong enough to stand against Uncle and the fans he’d disappoint now that the tour had been announced and included multiple dates in Yunmeng. Once his word was given, it would not be taken back. But it felt important to Lan Huan that Lan Zhan knew he had support if he needed it.

When he needed it, Lan Huan did not allow himself to think.

Instead, he offered Lan Zhan a smile and clasped his forearm, squeezing lightly. “Cut yourself a little slack. You’ve never done any engagements in Yunmeng before. They’ll be ecstatic to hear any of your work.”

Lan Huan took it as a win when Lan Zhan bowed his head in concession. At least there was that. But then he lifted his cup and ran his finger around the rim, an uncharacteristic gesture, so full of uncertainty that Lan Huan’s chest ached in sympathy. “It’s been so long,” Lan Zhan said, voice somehow steady despite that uncertainty. “What if…”

He didn’t have to finish the question. Lan Huan already knew. It was the same fear most people in creative industries faced at one point or another. What if I can’t do it anymore?

“If you’re really devoid of inspiration for good—” Lan Huan seriously doubted this, but he would not brush aside his brother’s worst fears with platitudes. “—then you will figure out another way to do what you love best.” He paused. “But I don’t believe that’s the case and I don’t think you really do either. You never know. A change of scenery might do more good in the long run than bad.” The fragrant scent of Lan Zhan’s tea filled the air as Lan Huan took a sip from his own cup. “Why don’t you take a short break? A real break.”

Lan Zhan shook his head and tapped morosely at the iPad. “In a few minutes.” He eyed Lan Huan uncertainly. “Please don’t stand on ceremony. You won’t interfere with my work if you…” Gesturing delicately toward the iPad, he then pointed at Lan Huan’s own phone where it was still sitting on the kitchen counter, screen lit up with a notification. “…do that.”

Lan Huan flushed. If he could claim one failing as a Lan, maybe as a person entirely, it was this. Silly internet personalities. At least these days he could pretend it was research for work, he supposed, though that would never fly with Lan Zhan. “It’s fine. I can watch it later.”

The doleful stare Lan Zhan sent his way left Lan Huan no room to misinterpret. But then he rubbed salt in the wound anyway. “You will be returning to your office soon.”

And after that, who knew how long it would be before he had a few minutes to spare for himself. Lan Zhan didn’t have to say it. They were both aware of how busy Lan Huan’s schedule could get.

“Didi, you hurt me,” he replied. But he pulled a pair of earbuds from his pocket anyway, a compromise he was willing to make in the face of this small indignity. “Would you like to watch, too?”

“Absolutely not.”

Sometimes, very rarely, he felt the need to defend things that didn’t need defending. It wasn’t as though Lan Zhan was actually judging him after all. “It’s cute. The host is…”

Honestly, Lan Huan couldn’t explain what it was he enjoyed about Yiling’s screen presence, other than the warmth and familiarity of it. He’s spent his entire adult life in the entertainment industry himself and had met many charismatic people, but few were as genuine as this random young man who wouldn’t even show his own face on camera, as though he was worried for anyone to know him despite the complete confidence he expressed otherwise.

“The host is selling himself as a product,” Lan Zhan offered, deadpan. Not cruel, but blunt. “He wants you to like him.”

“And you’re not?” Lan Huan pressed one of the earbuds a little too forcefully into his ear, winced at the mosquito bite of pain the action earned him. Softening his argument slightly, he added, “And I didn’t before I retired?”

“People can like me or not,” Lan Zhan insisted. “I don’t care. I sell my work. You don’t have to sell yourself no matter what. Everyone loves you.”

Lan Huan smiled, because he might otherwise have smacked Lan Zhan lightly on the back of his head. Sometimes, he could be a complete dolt. A breath in through his nose and out through his mouth set him right again. “Okay.” Rising to his feet, he reached out to Lan Zhan one more time, squeezing his shoulder. “Good luck. Let me know if you need anything.”

Even though he was only moving to the couch, he felt like he was abandoning Lan Zhan and that didn’t sit right with him.

But Lan Zhan didn’t seem to notice, already neck deep again in the quagmire of his own life.

“Mn,” he did manage to answer distractedly.

After a handful of moments, Lan Huan peeked over the couch and found that Lan Zhan had pulled his composition notebook and the iPad toward him, frowning with distaste and determination at both.

When Lan Huan spared a glance in his direction not ten minutes later, his brother was dejectedly poking at the laptop, a message half-composed in his email client, the only sort of composition he seemed able to accomplish still.

At least some work was getting done, he supposed, even if it wasn’t the work Lan Zhan would have wanted to be doing.

As Wei Ying stepped into Lotus Pier, he whistled sharply and glanced at the clock on the wall. 1:48. The perfect moment at which to best annoy Jiang Cheng: early enough that he couldn’t find fault with Wei Ying and late enough that he no doubt still felt like Wei Ying had inconvenienced him by a good three minutes anyway. The topper? Considering Wei Ying was just slightly earlier than Jiang Cheng requested, he could only blame himself for his annoyance. He was still going to blame Wei Ying anyway if his startled glare was any indication, but what did that matter when Wei Ying actually had succeeded at being just the right degree of on time? It was fate. It really was. And Wei Ying was absolutely gloating on the inside.

An orderly column of people were lined up at the counter, all turning to look at the source of the sudden noise. The number wasn’t unreasonable for the time of day, but was busy enough that Jiang Cheng felt the need to step in and assist Wen Yuan as he worked diligently through each person’s request, unflappable despite his young age and how short a time he’d been working here. He was a good kid, Wen Yuan was, despite Wei Ying’s knee-jerk reaction to his last name and the fact that he was distantly related to that asshole, Wen Chao. But from what Wei Ying had gleaned—not much, because he didn’t pry—Wen Yuan’s branch of the family weren’t particularly impressed with Wen Chao either.

“Good afternoon, everyone!” Wei Ying said, charming by his own account of it. To a short woman with a dusting of white hair on her head who was happily sipping an Americano: “Good afternoon, auntie!” With a slight bow to the people in line: “Good afternoon, loyal customers.”

In the corner, Nie Huaisang was curled toward his laptop, chin perched on his fist. “Nie Huaisang,” he called loudly. “It’s not a good day until I see your handsome, smiling face!”

Even half-hidden behind his laptop, the mischievous look on Nie Huaisang’s features was obvious and tempting. When Nie Huaisang beckoned him with a slight jerk of his head, Wei Ying could not help but go.

Wei Ying bounded over to him despite the now scorching glare from Jiang Cheng’s—Jiang Cheng did have so many of them, one for every occasion, and Wei Ying liked them all so very much—direction. His eyes momentarily glimpsed the pristine porcelain mug sat next to the laptop. A latte, like always, with a canary drawn in the foam. “Sang-xiong, I know that glint and it can’t be only because you’ve got the cutest latte art on the planet courtesy of Wen Yuan.”

Nie Huaisang leaned in and offered Wei Ying a conspiratorial grin when Wei Ying perched on the padded arm of Nie Huaisang’s chair. “A little birdie might have told me that you’ll be receiving an invitation into the competition very, very soon.”

Wei Ying rolled his eyes. Nie Huaisang had always been his own little bird, so Wei Ying didn’t know why he bothered with the artifice. The person he got the information from was himself. In fact, given the timing, he probably already had it when he so unceremoniously informed Wei Ying that he’d been signed up barely two hours ago.

Which was great. It made it easy to let his excitement get the better of him since he wasn’t given time to think about how bad an idea it probably was.

Not that he could celebrate, because if he was too happy, Jiang Cheng would get suspicious and he would have to explain and he didn’t have it in him after four hours of traveling time total with an evening shift still stretched ahead of him to reassure Jiang Cheng that he took his real job just as seriously as his ‘hobby.’

Jiang Cheng would not understand. He will never understand.

“Ah, Sang-xiong. I have to get to work, but take a look at this footage when you get the chance. I want to know what you think.” He handed over his phone. There was, sadly, nothing else on there risqué enough to worry about Nie Huaisang seeing. Perhaps one day, he’d try to change that.

Jiang Cheng’s voice cracked through the air, sharp as lightning and loud as thunder. “Wei Ying!”

“Ah, so mean, so mean,” Wei Ying said to Nie Huaisang, nudging him in the elbow, sharing the words as though they were a secret. “How about a smile for the road, eh? If you don’t give me one, I won’t stand up and then Jiang Cheng will be really mad about it.” He pushed his thumb against Nie Huaisang’s cheek. “Eh? Come on, Sang-xiong! Big smile.”

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes, but did as asked.

“Pretty enough. Tell Wen Ning I said hi.” Wei Ying patted Nie Huaisang’s head, mussing the careful coif of his hair. “Alright, alright. I am reporting for duty, oh, fearless leader!” Giving Jiang Cheng a salute, he slipped behind the counter. “Please guide me as I struggle to master the ability to show up on time and wow the customers with excellent coffee. Oh, wait. I did that already.”

The second customer waiting in line, a young woman with cute dimples and a spiky haircut, turned her head and laughed lightly. Wei Ying was emboldened as he donned his black apron and tied it neatly around his waist and winked at her.

“Please note for the record that my shift doesn’t actually start until two.”

“Noted,” Jiang Cheng said.

This time, it was Wen Yuan who laughed, though his eyes widened immediately and he anxiously looked at Jiang Cheng, who only had eyes for Wei Ying—eyes filled with murder. Wei Ying cuffed Wen Yuan around the shoulder and leaned close as he offered the customer his drink.

“Go on and head out, A-Yuan,” he said, quietly. “I can take it from here.”

“That’s okay, boss. I can stay. It’s only five minutes.”

Wei Ying wasn’t above admitting he was touched that Wen Yuan didn’t immediately spring away from his station the second Wei Ying offered, but also… “Get to class, didi.”

If Wen Yuan stayed, he would probably end up working five minutes into Wei Ying’s shift and that just wasn’t fair to him, not when he had other places to be.

Wen Yuan gave in and favored Wei Ying with a smile, nodding briefly to the people still waiting in line. His brow furrowed when he mouthed the number, but Wei Ying shoved him toward the back anyway.

As good as Wen Yuan already was, at this, he wasn’t as fast as Wei Ying. It would take him no time at all to get this line down to nothing. Even Jiang Cheng was aware of this fact and now that Wei Ying was ensconced right where he believed Wei Ying belonged, he was happy to wander to the back and do all the managerial things he did that Wei Ying didn’t have the mind or degree to care about.

“Jiang Cheng!” he called as he finished steaming the soy milk for a rosemary honey latte. “Will you change over the music, eh?”

Though Jiang Cheng said nothing, the soft, longing ache of guqin music filtered through the sound system that Wei Ying had also requested they get installed for fear of losing his mind to boredom without it.

All in all, the response to it had been good and some of the other baristas had followed suit.

“It’s not one of your shifts if guqin music isn’t playing, is it?” one of the shop’s regulars said, fond, as she approached the counter.

“Hey! Sometimes I pick dizi music instead!”

The hours passed quickly enough, a steady, but not too steady, stream of customers coming in to purchase drinks and pastries. He enjoyed days like these, the sort where everything went smoothly. He kept a tight hold on the experience of such calm moments, to protect him through the worst of the bad days. If he didn’t consciously work toward remembering, these memories would slip through his fingers and then he would be haunted only by the most viscerally heinous of his shifts. Where was the fun in that?

It didn’t stop him from periodically checking the clock, but it was enough to keep him from wishing he was anywhere else instead.

Nie Huaisang was still in his corner, working very diligently on… something, body contorted in his chair now, a smirk on his mouth as he stared at his laptop screen. Wei Ying was morbidly curious about what had put that expression on his face, but also absolutely terrified, too. With Nie Huaisang, it was usually better not to know what was going on until well after he’d already done what he set out to do. By then, it was already settled and there was no longer any reason to worry about it. Knowing in advance just made even someone like Wei Ying nervous.

He hoped it was just work business. That tended to result in the fewest troubles. He remained only a little while longer before packing away his things and returning Wei Ying’s phone to him with a crooked smile. “It’s cute, like always.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“You may want to go bigger.” And with that, Nie Huaisang swept onto the street, just ahead of the evening rush.

By nine, so close to closing that he could taste it in the back of his throat, Wei Ying found himself biting back yawn after yawn. Customers slowed to a trickle, the post-work and working-past-close-of-business crowd having rushed in and retreated just as quickly, and Wei Ying was left with little to do but swipe a damp towel over every surface to look busy enough that Jiang Cheng wouldn’t yell at him for not being more properly productive.

His attention caught on a pair of girls sitting at one of the tables by the window as he scraped his nail over a small, caked on stain of something on the corner of the counter. Probably just a spill, but it was persistent. The important thing was it gave him an excuse to watch them, smiling and laughing quietly with their heads ducked together. It wasn’t in his nature to pry quite so brazenly, but they were so sweet together, sweet enough to cause a toothache if one wasn’t careful.

After a bare handful of moments during which neither one wanted to let go of the other’s hand, one of the girls approached the counter, a pink cast to her cheeks that was rather becoming. Love looked good on her.

“How can I help?” he asked, encouraging, drawing her back over to the cash register with a smile.

“Another pot of tea?”

“Mm, that was the pear green tea, yeah?”

She nodded quickly. “Yeah!”

His mind wandered as he heated the water and dumped the tea leaves into a wire basket and settled it over the pot. How long had they known one another? Had either of them confessed or did they just know? What was it like, sitting at a table with linked hands and hearts in their eyes? Did they realize how lucky they were? Though his thoughts drifted on the tide of such musings, he kept his eye on the timer he’d set and pulled the basket at precisely the right moment.

It wouldn’t do for him to get a reputation for brewing awful tea, not when he’d gone through all the trouble of insisting that Jiang Cheng spring for good quality blends.

When he placed it in front of the girl, she reached for her phone to pay.

His palm covered the scanner. “It’s on me tonight!”

She nearly dropped her phone, but her reflexes were good enough that she caught it between her fingers. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly. That’s too generous! Please let me… I didn’t…”

Perhaps it was a bit forward, but he decided to lean close anyway and said, “It’s always good to see a happy couple.”

Blushing an even brighter red, the woman stared down at her hands. “We just reconnected,” she admitted. “I didn’t even realize… thank you! You’re very kind.”

Wei Ying’s heart seized up at her words, the warmth in him going cold and icy as his stomach twisted up. A switch flipped inside of him, souring his good mood with ugly, devastated jealousy. Even though it proved almost physically painful to do so, he widened his frozen smile so she wouldn’t know.

As Yiling, he often helped disparate people come back together in his small way. But as Yiling, too, he wasn’t confronted with them face to face either. “Congratulations!” His attention strayed briefly to the woman waiting with a besotted expression on her face, nothing but gentle curiosity in her gaze as she watched her speaking with him. “Hold tight to her.”

“I will this time. Thank you for the tea and the advice.”

His mood buoyed itself up on her good nature of her gratitude, jealousy dissipating as she returned to her girlfriend. What a pointless feeling it was now, when it was too late to do anything with it.

He scrubbed more ruthlessly at the counter with the thin, ragged towel, tearing a small hole through it in the process, and took vicious pleasure in finding the caked-on whatever was completely obliterated finally, like it hadn’t even been there at all to trouble Wei Ying’s heart and mind.

It didn’t even leave a stain behind.

Yunmeng was somehow nothing like Lan Zhan imagined it would be and yet everything like it and that, he was beginning to think, was the problem with it. Every step he took within this county made him think of things better left in the past, allowed him to understand things he didn’t particularly want to understand.

He had only been here since about 4AM and he was already exhausted with it and considered the very real possibility that if he called his brother now, he could get a train ticket and then be back in Suzhou before the end of the day, easy.

Even Xiaogan proper might be better, might feel far enough from danger to keep the headache at bay that was attempting to form like storm clouds behind his eyelids.

He should never have agreed to this in the first place. Nobody else with an ounce of business acumen would have agreed to it and Lan Zhan had better reasons than many to stay away. Then again, most people didn’t have the bizarre concentration of fans that Lan Zhan had here, a phenomenon that nobody put much thought into except Lan Zhan himself and he wasn’t going to ask anyone to do interest surveys to find out why. It was just one of those sick coincidences in life.

Mo Xuanyu had presented a very compelling argument suggesting he’d win a great deal of goodwill by performing here and, as luck would have it, probably even a great many of his fans from nearby cities would also attend.

It was, in Mo Xuanyu’s mind, an easy yes to make, particularly when he told Lan Zhan he could leverage it against the rest of his team, who were chomping at the bit for new material, material both he and Mo Xuanyu knew wasn’t yet in the offing.

So here he was in Yunmeng’s Chengguan Town, not so different from the many other places named Chengguan Town in China and he didn’t like it. Not at all.

Though it was still early morning, the sun only just rising, already the heat felt oppressive. Rationally, it should not have, of course. It wasn’t so very different from the temperatures back home, but:

But he remembered the way he heard Yunmeng spoken of in the past. Hot in the summer, drier than Suzhou, and somehow still superior for what seemed, in Lan Zhan’s estimation, to suggest it was uncomfortable here at the best of times. Lan Zhan wasn’t certain how being more mild was a bad thing, but apparently it was. “There aren’t enough lakes, Lan Zhan,” he heard in the back of his mind, the voice unbidden and unwelcome, and he recalled once arguing about how that was demonstrably untrue. “They aren’t the right kind of lakes,” was the response he’d gotten back at the time, a tease, a joke spoken through a smiling mouth. It was a response he’d scoffed at. What did it even mean? He still wasn’t certain, but he wished he had the right to ask for clarification, wished he’d thought to show more of an interest back then.

The nearest lake, as far as he could tell, was at least an hour away from his current location by car. Back home, he could walk maybe thirty minutes and find his way to the shore of one if he was desperate, which he was not.

He glanced down at the map on his phone, orienting himself, a street he didn’t know in a district he didn’t want to be in, searching for nothing in particular as he did his best to keep to his usual habits, which included a morning walk. Only walks back home didn’t hurt with every step, didn’t bring back memories he didn’t wish to analyze too closely. Walks back home were safe or safe enough as long as he avoided certain streets, certain parks, certain restaurants and shops and his former home.

“Good morning!” an older man said, favoring Lan Zhan with a smile. Were people from Yunmeng especially friendly? Or was Lan Zhan extrapolating based on incomplete information? Would anyone in Suzhou have been so nice this early in the day? It was only a quarter to six now. Most people kept their heads down.

The man held a brightly colored cup, steam rising from the small hole in the lid. It smelled very good as they passed one another.

His voice was low when he offered a greeting in return, possibly too low for the man to hear. His attention remained fixed on the scent of the tea, very familiar to him.

Continuing his walk, he grew more and more frustrated with himself, uncertain why he was so disturbed. Sure, he did not wish to be here specifically, but knowing that should have mitigated his concerns. Understanding the source of his emotions had always helped him in the past. Not today. Not in Yunmeng.

He was about to turn and make the return journey to his hotel—checked into late last night on his behalf so he could go straight there if he wished to—when his eyes caught on a shop across the street. Large glass windows allowed him to see inside.

The elegant purple scripting of the sign drew his attention as nothing else in Yunmeng had.

It was the same color as the cup the man had been holding.

“Lotus Pier,” he said aloud, each syllable pleasant on his tongue.

A woman was working behind the counter, hair drawn up and a smile on her face as she made drinks for the line of people before her. Even this early it seemed cheerful and welcoming. Indecisive, he remained rooted in place for a long time before he turned away.

And then, for reasons he couldn’t explain even to himself, he rushed back over to the crosswalk and crossed his arms, impatient for the light to change.

It was only once he reached the door that he hesitated again. His eyes traced the frosted, etched image of a stylized lotus on the door, each line a pleasant, wandering curve that curled back toward its center unerringly.

The shiny silver handle was cool under his hand.

When he didn’t open it immediately, the option was taken from him by a woman carrying a large cardboard box with a spigot near the bottom. She had a harried expression on her face. In her other hand was a cardboard carrier with four cups. “Excuse me,” she said, brusque, more in line with what he knew of reality.

So Yunmeng wasn’t especially friendly. It was just normal.

He searched her face for any sign of recognition and sighed in relief when there was none. It wasn’t that he was the most well-known musician in China or anything, but he maintained a fairly high-profile reputation despite his best efforts and sometimes—sometimes he faced inconveniences that he didn’t wish to deal with. An annoyed individual who knew who he was and could complain online when the sun hadn’t fully risen yet was one such thing he’d rather have avoided.

The slight hint of panic building inside of him eased.

He might have mitigated it with a mask if he was back home or in a larger city or if it was later in the day. His hand clenched at his side, tempted to pull from his pocket the one he kept on him just in case.

Still feeling awkward, he finally stepped inside and drew in a sharp breath as he took it all in. Before he could consciously acknowledge what he was seeing, he already knew what he was looking at.

This was it.

Tall, vaulted ceilings gave the shop a feeling of infinite space and the clean, white walls were simplistically pleasing. The glass let in so much light and the space behind the counter led to what he presumed were offices and stock rooms that could be turned into his office and his practice rooms. There were stairs that led up to a partial second level to a room Lan Zhan couldn’t begin to guess at, which might work as a small recording studio. The front could serve to allow for meetings and classes—not that he’d ever imagined giving lessons before, but he could see it so clearly suddenly that he found himself aching with the need to do just that, a neat row of children staring up at him from behind the gleaming bodies of new instruments.

An exposed brick fireplace that wouldn’t be lit for some months yet lined one entire wall, the centerpiece of the seating area, looking beautiful and inviting. That would be incredible come wintertime, even here, even if it never truly froze in Yunmeng—did it freeze here? He didn’t know; he’d never heard any complaints or longing for snow from back home one way or the other, never heard the rare snowfalls in Suzhou compared unfavorably even in jest.

The soft sound of dizi music from a superior set of speakers hidden somewhere in the room threatened to rip a hole in his heart. Even the acoustics here were not bad.

In truth though, it wasn’t the actual space that struck him. He might have found any building with such features. It was just this particular configuration, the sense of belonging he felt here. It was unlike any other place he’d ever visited that wasn’t his own or his brother’s apartment.

The bell over the door tinkled brightly as the door closed behind him and a woman’s voice cut through his thoughts, the barista at the counter. It was then that he noticed he was blocking the way for yet another customer.

“You planning on getting in line any time soon?”

Startled by the woman’s bluntness that contrasted so strangely with the bright smile on her mouth, he approached the counter, uncertain about everything including what he might have wanted. The barista worked competently and quickly through the handful of customers ahead of him and by the time he reached the front, he’d already memorized the name given on her name tag. Luo Qingyang.

“What can I get for you?” she asked, pleasant, as he continued to peruse the quaint chalkboard hung above her head. There was something familiar about the careful carelessness of the script, like the writer had tried their best to keep it legible, but he couldn’t quite place why it was so.

He was surprised, too, to see his old favored blend of white tea listed as an option, one that wasn’t particularly easy to stock. It looked, according to the other listed blends, like this shop might have partnered with them in some capacity, as theirs was the only brand listed.

“Coffee, black,” he said instead, feeling eyes on the back of his head.

“Drip? Pour over? Cold brew?” She looked at him closely, as though to divine the answer herself.

“Drip.”

Apparently knowing a lost cause when she saw one, Luo Qingyang rang up the order, took his payment, and turned away before he could think to change his mind—not that he would now that he’d committed. Almost before he thought it was possible, he was already on the receiving end of a small, disposable cup’s worth of a liquid he didn’t actually enjoy consuming all that much.

“Creamers and sugars are over there,” she said, pointing at an array of packets, bottles, and other vessels sitting innocently on a table pushed against the wall near the windows.

She was already smiling at the next customer when he winced and cleared his throat. Patiently, or seeming so, she waited for him to speak. It took him longer than he would have cared to admit to even get the words out and he immediately noticed the way the customers around him were beginning to fidget, agitated.

“Who is the owner here?”

Just as he might have feared, this drew everyone’s attention and, worst of all, Luo Qingyang’s suspicions. “Why do you want to know?”

Every single person in line was hanging on the silence as he tried to formulate a response that didn’t boil down to I’m really very sorry, but I want to take your job from you because I need this building.

Before he could reply, she sighed quietly and bent down behind the counter. Popping back up, she held out a card to him. In purple ink so dark it was almost black, there was a name, Jiang Cheng, and an email address. Her eyes flashed a warning at him. If he had any follow-up questions, he could take it up with this Jiang Cheng apparently.

Let it never be said that Lan Zhan didn’t know how to get the message. Sometimes it was too late, but he got it eventually.

“Thank you,” he said, despite the fact that she was already taking the next customer’s order.

Outside, the sun was beginning to rise properly, air heating further beneath the warm, reddish-yellow light. He felt clumsy holding the cup and the card while trying to fish around in his bag for his phone, which didn’t seem to be anywhere in evidence despite having it not twenty minutes ago when he was using it to navigate.

Though it was still early, he wasn’t concerned that his brother wouldn’t be awake.

“Didi, good morning.” His voice was a warm and welcoming presence in his ear. If he was concerned about the unexpectedness of the call, he didn’t suggest as much in the tone of his voice. “How is Yunmeng?”

Yunmeng was Yunmeng. Lan Zhan did not feel accurately equipped to evaluate it as anything other than a source of pain. Besides, there were more important things to focus on at the moment. Everything else, including how he would function spending so much time here, would have to wait. “I found something.”

“What did you find?” Lan Huan’s chair squeaked, audible even over the slightly crackling connection between their phones.

Lan Zhan frowned and clenched his jaw. “My new studio. Here. In Yunmeng.”

It was something he’d been pondering for the last few years, getting a new space, one that was all his own. He had the disposable income and he’d wanted the freedom for a long time. Every other place he’d scouted in Suzhou paled in comparison to what this could be to him. He could feel it.

It might not solve this block of his, but he was willing to try anything and everything, even this.

“Your new studio?” There was the sound of a choked-off cough on the other end of the line. “In Yunmeng? A-Zhan…”

He could not help where it was. And he regretted that he was going to make his brother’s day a little more difficult in the process. But it couldn’t be anywhere else.

“Are you sure about this? You’d probably have to take an apartment there, you know. You didn’t even want to go. You still don’t sound like you want to be there.”

“Ge, this is it.” In truth, he didn’t know why it was so important, but his heart was fluttering in his chest in a way he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Lan Huan wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t feeling what Lan Zhan currently felt. “The rest doesn’t matter.”

“Okay,” Lan Huan answered, because he was a good brother and he knew Lan Zhan as well as he knew himself. Which was why his next question didn’t come as a surprise. “So what’s the problem if you’re calling me about it this early in the morning and it’s not the fact that it’s in Yunmeng?”

“The building is currently a coffee shop.”

There was a pause during which Lan Huan didn’t make a single sound. “I take it they’re not looking to sell?”

Lan Zhan looked back into the vibrant, bustling shop. “I doubt it.”

Lan Huan hummed and Lan Zhan imagined he could see his brother leaning back in his chair, glancing thoughtfully at the ceiling as he pondered it. There was a hint of warmth in that hum that allayed the worst of Lan Zhan’s concerns.

“I’m sure A-Yao has worked more difficult acquisitions than this one, didi. He spends a lot of time in Yunmeng, too. I’ll have him look into it for you. Do you have any contact information?”

“I’ll text you.”

“Good! Think about what kind of apartment you’ll want. It’ll move fast once he’s got his hands on this.”

Lan Zhan wasn’t going to panic at the thought of that. He wasn’t. “I’d still need to complete renovations. They haven’t even agreed to it yet.”

“No, but if you do it now, you won’t have to waste more time later, right?”

Lan Zhan opened his mouth to argue further, but no words came out. Lan Huan was, sadly, not wrong.

He rarely was.

But he at least had the grace to not sound smug about it. “Think of this time as you acclimating to Yunmeng and remember: you don’t have to remain there full time even if you get an apartment. Congratulations, A-Zhan!”

Lan Zhan could only be gracious in the face of such kindness. “Thank you, brother.”

He was at the point of wishing his brother farewell when he spoke again. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to attend your first performance this weekend. Have you been to the hotel yet? How’s the conference space? I wasn’t certain how well it would work, but you and I have both performed in stranger places.”

“It’s okay. There will be others.” Four, all told, spread across the next three weeks between other commitments back home. Why had he agreed to this again? “And even then, you are not obligated to come. You already attend so many. I haven’t seen the hotel yet, but I’m sure it will be suitable.”

“I enjoy it and it’ll be a good excuse to see Yunmeng. Mingjue tells me I haven’t inadvertently shamed Huaisang into behaving just by existing in his proximity enough lately anyway.”

“You’ll like it less than Xiaogan.” Or perhaps that was Lan Zhan’s own biases speaking for him. “It’s very… quaint.”

“Then I’ll have an excuse to go to Xiaogan as well, if that is the case,” Lan Huan replied, placid, too kind to remind Lan Zhan that he liked quaint and, in fact, liked most of the places he visited, quiet and bustling alike. “I’ll see you next weekend, though, yes?”

As though he would forego one of his brother’s charity events, especially since he was the one performing. “Mn. I wouldn’t miss it.”

Meng Yao was keenly, exquisitely aware that the look he was giving to Lan Huan’s assistant was not one of his nicest, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care, not when the assistant was glaring back at him with equal ferocity. Like he knew exactly what Meng Yao was thinking.

Lan Huan had a reputation as a revolving door for assistants who wished to hopscotch their way to better postings within Lan Entertainment Corps. Meng Yao found it personally offensive, not least of all because he himself was the first beneficiary of Lan Huan’s generous spirit and he still felt a little bit guilty for that. It sat poorly with him that Lan Huan wouldn’t look after himself enough to keep someone around for more than five minutes before encouraging their own personal growth.

It was one thing to help people; it was another, in Meng Yao’s opinion, for others to exploit that impulse. And those with enough ambition to try began to do so around Assistant Number Three. It was just a shame of sorts that none of them really understood their employer.

There were days when he was infinitely grateful for LEC’s stupidly competitive benefits and Lan Huan’s ridiculously earnest insistence that Meng Yao was too smart to remain the man behind the man, as though Meng Yao wasn’t perfectly happy to occupy such a position. But then there were some days, like today, when litigation was stacking up and his phone wouldn’t stop ringing, that all Meng Yao wanted to do was ensure Lan Huan’s tea was the blend and temperature he preferred.

With his hand poised to knock on Lan Huan’s door—the one man in the world who was allowed such freedoms—while Assistant Number Seven did a very poor job of hiding the fact that he’d gotten the wrong tea from the wrong shop, he figured, why the hell not?

“Your first mistake was going to Starbucks,” he said, approaching the assistant’s desk where the cup sat, forlorn, on the corner, “your second was ordering the venti, and your third—” His finger flicked the colorful cardboard tag still hanging from the cup. “—never, ever order the jasmine.” He picked it up and wasn’t surprised to find that it was half empty anyway. Lan Huan was really too much. How long had he suffered before he finally threw in the towel and had it removed from his desk? Tossing it into the small garbage can by Seven’s desk, he shook his head. How likely was it that this pristinely sleek young man with too many empty holes in his ears wanted to move on to talent? He looked like the kind of guy who’d want to go into talent, thought his own tastes were so superior to everyone else’s, wanted to change the face of entertainment with the find of the century. “I’m going to do all of us a favor, okay?”

He hated conceding anything to Seven, but he valued Lan Huan too much to let him keep suffering this way, drinking tea he didn’t like simply because he couldn’t bring himself to express his actual preference when someone did something ‘nice’ for him.

This was maybe not the first time this had happened, this sort of nice yet painfully wrong act of service, but it was the first time Meng Yao was going to do his rival a favor in rectifying it. Well, he’d first and foremost make himself look good, of course, but Seven would receive a hint of the reflected glow in the future and that was as generous as Meng Yao was willing to be with anyone who wasn’t Lan Huan.

He dug around in his bag and pulled free a small zipped pouch from inside. At least the assistant had enough sense to follow him when he began making his way to the kitchen area that everyone else was too scared to use.

“What are you doing?” Seven asked.

Pulling down Lan Huan’s favorite porcelain cup, teapot, and tray, he stared at hapless, hopeless Seven. “What does it look like?” Dust coated the inside of the cup, like it hadn’t been used since the last time Meng Yao did this.

Unfortunate.

With the cool efficiency of long practice and muscle memory, he filled the electric kettle and set it the correct temperature and then pulled a large, empty linen sachet from the drawer and began filling it with loose tea leaves from the pouch.

“It looks like you carry around bags of Lan-laoban’s favorite tea?” His tone was dubious, like Meng Yao was the strange one here. The nerve.

“You’re observant,” Meng Yao answered.

He quickly showed Seven how to make the tea correctly and then handed the remaining bag of loose leaves to Seven’s care, tapping the drawer as he closed it. Maybe he’d mess it up, but now Lan Huan had a shot at getting a decent cup of tea when Meng Yao wasn’t around, which was far too often for his liking.

With tray in hand, the weight of it across his palm warm and welcome, just like old times, he returned to the door. The heavy wood trapped sound, but he knew precisely how loud to knock.

“Come in,” he heard, muffled, but Lan Huan’s voice still managing to carry despite its deceptive quietude.

Shoulders squared almost to the point of aching, Meng Yao donned the smile he always greeted Lan Huan with, dimmed slightly from the smile that naturally graced his features when he thought of Lan Huan. It wasn’t quite the truth, this smile, but he couldn’t bring himself to bare the entirety of himself to Lan Huan just yet.

Perhaps one day. Even though one day had been a long way off for even longer than Meng Yao cared to consider.

He didn’t wish to show himself to be too eager.

Glancing down at the tray in his hand, he muttered to himself, “It might be too late for that.”

In short order, he realized he wouldn’t have to worry about how he presented himself because Lan Huan didn’t even look up when he entered, the entirety of his attention focused on his phone. That wasn’t necessarily the odd part, of course. Who could conduct business without it? Rather, the thing that struck Meng Yao was the fact that he was watching a video by the sound of it and the way he stared with such an odd expression on his face.

And not a training video or something that could conceivably be for work, no. From the jaunty music and pleasant voice, it sounded…

“Er-ge, it’s… what are you watching?” The question was inelegantly phrased and he winced, but Lan Huan paused the video and smiled up at Meng Yao as though he hadn’t just made an awkward misstep.

“A-Yao,” he answered, confident and calming. His eyes crinkled in what could only be pleasure and Meng Yao’s heart, once so stolid in the face of others’ emotions, nearly crumbled beneath the pressure. “You’re late. And you’ve brought tea.”

“I’m only late because I brought tea,” he said. Stupid, stupid. It’s fucking obvious, isn’t it? “I saw the Starbucks cup on Seven’s desk. You know you can tell them what you actually want, right? You don’t have to…” Struggling to find the right words, he placed the tray on Lan Huan’s desk. There was, as always, plenty of room, with only his laptop taking up a small portion of the space. He’d always been minimalist in his tastes and somehow it always managed to come across as calming rather than cold or sparse.

“It was nice of him to go,” Lan Huan said, just like Meng Yao knew he would. “And he has a name, you know?” Then, looking up at Meng Yao through lowered lashes. “Maybe I just miss your tea.”

“It’s his job, I’ll forget his name the minute you tell me, and you could always just—” Okay, better to shut that line of thought down. The first was the truth. The second was a lie and they both knew it: he just didn’t want it cluttering up his thoughts going forward. If Lan Huan told him, he’d remember it forever and that was just placing too much importance on the guy. The third, the third was a wish and a wish Meng Yao had no business wanting to see fulfilled. “Anyway, you’re distracting me from my point.”

“You had a point?” Teasing. Lan Huan was teasing him now. That was just… great. Good. That wasn’t an undignified flush crawling up his neck.

Okay, so maybe an undignified flush was crawling up his neck. Sue him. He’d beat it in court.

Lan Huan didn’t even have the temerity to look shamed at being caught out watching… Meng Yao still didn’t know. “That,” he said, pointing at the screen. Now that he was a little closer, he could crane his neck and see it was a… “You watch cooking videos?”

“Not as such, no.” Lan Huan handed over the phone. It looked a whole hell of a lot like a cooking video to Meng Yao, who, admittedly, had very little experience with such things. “Well, yes. In this case, I guess. Have you ever heard of Yiling?”

“I’m assuming you don’t mean the district?”

Lan Huan leveled him with an even stare and then shook his head, a fond smile playing around his lips. Too bad it was directed toward something or someone known as Yiling.

“Yiling is a… I’m not sure what he is exactly. He does a lot with pastries and chocolates? Anyway, he takes requests from fans and makes desserts for them and posts videos about it.” He bit his lip, as though realizing for the first time how silly it sounded. Meng Yao wanted to assure him he wouldn’t judge, not beyond finding it surprisingly adorable. He thought he knew everything about Lan Huan, but this was something new. “Then he travels around and leaves the desserts in places where the recipient can find them. It’s very sweet.”

“And who is he?”

Lan Huan shrugged as Meng Yao returned the phone to him. “Nobody knows. In these videos, he only shows his hands and does voice overs as he explains the recipes he used.” Swiping through the phone, he held it up again, this time showing what looked to be a young man swaddled in a scarf at a railway station. “When he goes out, he dresses like this.”

“That’s a little weird, er-ge.”

Lan Huan rolled his eyes. “It’s obviously a gimmick and one that works. Half the buzz he gets is from people trying to figure out who he is. He’s one of the most popular vloggers on XiuzheXiuzhe. If I knew who he was, I’d try to get him onboard over here.” Before Meng Yao could open his mouth, Lan Huan added, “I’ve already attempted to reach out to him on the outlets he’s provided. No response. I probably should take that as a good indication he’s not interested in going fully professional except that Huaisang said he was at the very least willing to participate in XZ’s upcoming competition.”

“So you’re doing research?” That made a lot more sense than what Meng Yao was currently thinking.

Lan Huan seemed to realize it, too, smiling ruefully and gracefully not taking the out provided. “Not really. For all that I think he’d be a good asset for us, I really do just think it’s cute. A lot of people have said he brought them together with his creations. It’s sweet. I like it. Is that so odd?”

Meng Yao didn’t know what to say to that. He’d never considered, outside of his own fantasies, of course, Lan Huan in such a context, maybe wanting that kind of contact with another person. For all that he was warm and personable, he seemed as distant as his younger brother and just as touchable, which was to say: not at all. “Er-ge, I didn’t realize you were such a romantic.” He inclined his head and blinked a few times while his head was bowed. “Regardless, you are, of course, allowed to like whatever you wish.”

Even if it’s not me. Not that Meng Yao was going to allow himself to be jealous of an Internet personality.

“Does er-ge wish for Yiling to make chocolates and pastries for him?” Or maybe he was.

Lan Huan slanted a searching glance his way, one that Meng Yao couldn’t parse. Maybe admonishing? “A-Yao…”

It was only brittleness that made Meng Yao so uncharacteristically forward, perhaps a touch cruel in his teasing. “It would really be no problem. I’m sure I could make that arrangement for you if you so wish it.”

“That would really be too much,” Lan Huan replied, relaxing back into his chair, as though he’d figured something out and could be at ease again. Strange. “Especially when I already called you over here to do a favor for my brother.”

“I’m sure I could manage both.” His mind was already turning over the possibilities. How hard could it be to find one man? And one who was intent on putting himself out there on the internet, scarf or no?

Lan Huan’s eyebrow climbed his forehead, but he said nothing more about Yiling. All business, he spoke. “A-Zhan would like to acquire a coffee shop.”

Uh. Maybe not. Mouth curling slightly and deeply confused, Meng Yao said, “Has his block really gotten that bad?”

“A-Yao.” And this was definitely admonishing. “He wants to turn it into a studio.”

“Oh. Well. Those are happier circumstances than giving it all up for coffee. Where is it? Isn’t he in Yunmeng right now? How did he have the time to—”

“It’s in Yunmeng as well.”

Both of Meng Yao’s eyebrows rose in response to that. “Well. That’s—if that’s what he wants, of course I’ll do this. Anything for er-ge.”

It was weird as hell if Meng Yao was being entirely honest, but Lan Zhan was an adult and could make his own decisions, never mind that Meng Yao had heard on multiple occasions from Lan Huan about how Lan Zhan refused to perform anywhere within Yunmeng’s borders and wouldn’t explain why.

He’d also gotten to hear all about how Lan Zhan had suddenly agreed to do so, again sans explanation, but straight from Mo Xuanyu’s mouth, said in such a way that meant he was relieved and Mo Xuanyu was never relieved about anything. All of this told him that Lan Zhan had, at best, a complicated relationship with the place. Even so, it wasn’t his business. His business was making sure Lan Huan got what he wanted.

His schedule rearranged itself easily in his mind, his upcoming appointments slotting easily into new configurations. The worst part would be seeing those appointments rescheduled, and that he could leave to Su She.

“You’re too good to me, A-Yao,” Lan Huan said, ridiculous even in the face of it, when Lan Huan had done so much for him.

“It’s nothing—” Flushing slightly and annoyed at himself, he frowned. “I owe everything to you, er-ge. I’m happy to repay your kindness…”

He wasn’t above admitting he trailed off at the first sign of the sad smile that crossed Lan Huan’s lips.

“I’m asking for the help of a friend, A-Yao. If you feel pressured by a nonexistent debt to—”

“No, I…” Fuck. Sometimes he really hated his father for instilling in him such precious values as ‘every interaction with another person is really just a transaction’ and ‘never do anything for free when you can solicit a favor first’ and ‘it’s not a good friendship if you don’t make them pay for it some,’ and wished he’d thought to break entirely with the patriarch of his shattered family sooner. Jin Guangshan’s philosophy worked remarkably well in business and law, but it wasn’t so good when you were just trying to have a normal friendship with another human being.

A totally normal, platonic, non-romantic friendship.

“I didn’t mean to imply otherwise, er-ge. I’m happy to do it. No qualifications. As your friend.”

Nothing tasted quite as bitter in his mouth as that word, but as long as Lan Huan didn’t realize it, it didn’t matter what Meng Yao thought privately.

And the sooner he forgot about Yiling and Lan Huan’s reaction to him, the better. Working on behalf of Lan Huan’s brother would be a fine distraction from that revelation even if it did mean he’d have to go to Yunmeng so soon, as though he hadn’t already had his fill of Nie Huaisang to last him for at least another month.

Meng Yao’s resolve lasted all of four hours, enough time that he thought he was safe, but not so much that he didn’t feel pathetic as he gave in and watched ten of Yiling’s videos, all neatly organized into a playlist of his latest, read each and every horridly schlocky comment speculating on his life, and still had no fucking clue who Yiling was or even where he lived.

He told himself that this was all for Lan Huan’s edification and not because he was a jealous creep. He was only half as successful at convincing himself as he wanted to be.

He was also happy to blame the fact that Jiang Cheng hadn’t yet answered his e-mail. That was the only reason he was anywhere near enough to an internet browser to become the guy who did this sort of thing. Waiting for an e-mail. Absolutely. That was what he was doing.

The offer was comprehensive and beyond fair and anyone else would have jumped at it no matter how passionate they were about their business. The lack of response made Meng Yao wonder if Jiang Cheng was the sort who needed the personal touch. It was a rather small company, quaint in a quaint place from his earlier research, so different from a lot of its neighboring city centers’ more ambitious shops.

Just the thought sent a shiver of despair through Meng Yao. He hated dealing with the earnest types. They were all so very difficult, needing things that real business people didn’t bother with, like promises that the new owners would take care of the property, as though that mattered once so much money was being thrown around, or wanting to be involved after the sale was concluded, another way of exerting control.

At least, he admitted to himself, it was only Lan Zhan who wanted the space. There was no one else of Meng Yao’s acquaintance who might better assuage a hesitant owner’s misgivings than him. Sure, he wanted to turn it into a studio, but he’d probably be willing to bend on the renovations if need be or honor the place’s history with photos or something if it was really important.

It was those thoughts that drove him to his laptop to begin with to pull up the train schedule, browse tickets to Yunmeng and shudder at the hour he’d have to leave in the morning to get there at a reasonable time. Once he’d resigned himself to that, how easy was it to just… browse. The internet. As normal people with time did.

And now he was here. Doing this. Trying to figure out where the hell Yiling was from.

It would have made sense if it was Yiling, but armchair detectives on Weibo had determined this was probably a purposeful obfuscation by the person behind Yiling and therefore unworthy of further consideration. Anyone who believed otherwise was just a sad little newbie to the world of Yiling’s videos.

The main evidence: he spent way too much time accepting fan letters from inconvenient locations to the east and not enough in his backyard so to speak. It would make more sense if he was more central. Like, say, Yunmeng.

Meng Yao was maybe five seconds from combusting when he read a little further.

Another piece: I’d bet everything he’s from Yunmeng. It’s the spicy chocolates that give it away. Yunmeng specialty. All the shops have it.

Yun. Fucking. Meng. Again. Also complete bullshit, because he’d been in a lot of shops in Yunmeng and he only saw a normal amount of chocolate that proclaimed any decree of spice, no more nor less than anywhere else. It wasn’t an unpopular combination of flavors. But Meng Yao was above this. He was.

Then Meng Yao began tapping on his keyboard and he realized that he was not actually above it. Even from his fifty-third floor corner office, floor to ceiling windows overlooking a truly spectacular skyline, lights twinkling on a clear, crisp summer night, he was willing to engage with a pack of idiots in the hopes of bringing back a scrap of useful information to Lan Huan.

Pathetic.

“Do any of you actually know anything?” he typed out and said aloud, disdainful, since nobody could hear him anyway and he hadn’t actually seen anyone else to talk to in hours now.

It was just his unfortunate luck that he took no great satisfaction in pushing back at these so-called fans and their ridiculous assertions. Having put those words out there, he felt no better.

He supposed if the most authoritarian of the bunch, xiaomaobao, was right and Yiling was some expert chocolatier based in Yunmeng, then ultimately it made his job easier rather than harder. Still, some random person with a cutesy cat avatar shouldn’t be taken as an authority on anything and Meng Yao refused to buy into it the way that a small pack of die-hard lackeys seemed to have done.

Leaning back and brushing his hand through his hair, he caught sight of the clock that seemed to be judging him. Ten o’clock. That wasn’t so late, was it? Who was it to judge what he did? He pulled later nights for worse reasons all the time.

It was still too late to be fighting with people on Weibo and XiuzheXiuzhe, but if he was guilty, so was everyone else, because suddenly there were a large smattering of defensive replies, as though they didn’t impugn one another even more severely on the average day simply because they could.

He read each one and found nothing of use and told them as much in terse, cold language.

“So you don’t know anything.”

That seemed like the best response to end on and he angrily slapped his laptop closed once it was sent and hoped that whatever fifteen year old was on the other end enjoyed spending the rest of their night fuming.

He checked his email one last time from his phone because he wasn’t going to open his laptop again, nope, not risking getting into another argument.

There was still no reply from Jiang Cheng.

He glanced at the clock again. 10:05. He should head home and get to bed. Early departure time and all that. Very important to be well rested.

Instead, his fingers hooked under the laptop screen and pulled it back up.

Unerringly, he found himself back at Yiling’s page on XiuzheXiuzhe. He was already familiar with it and quickly queued up another playlist of Yiling’s videos, this one helpfully titled ‘Yiling’s Greatest Hits.’

Leaning forward, he perched his chin on his hand, thumb stroking absently over his lower lip.

To the screen, he said, “What exactly does er-ge see in you?”

At least he didn’t find himself checking the comments section again.

This is the place Lan Zhan lost his mind for, Meng Yao thought as he stood outside of Lotus Pier. What the hell does Lan Zhan see in you?

This was a question he was getting tired of asking himself when it came to the Lan brothers.

There was entirely too much purple in the décor.

Though his hand reached for the door, he was beaten to the punch by a slight man in a very real hurry, head stuck in a book, the scorching cup of potable magma in his hand forgotten, which was Meng Yao’s bad luck because it found itself splashed across the front of his expensive suit and exposed neck.

Hissing, he ripped the book from the man’s hand and startled at the instant familiarity that had been hidden behind—he glanced at the cover and groaned—a romance novel. Something about a shifter? Meng Yao did not want to know and tossed the novel to the pavement. Pain momentarily forgotten, he whispered vehemently, “Nie Huaisang!”

“San-ge!” Nie Huaisang chirped in reply, not in the least ruffled by the sudden attack on his person. “What are you doing here?”

Meng Yao could say a lot of things for Nie Huaisang and one of them was that he was quick on the uptake. For how much he tried to pretend he was an idiot know-nothing, he was too sly by half. There was no mistaking the calculations going on behind those blank eyes before he decided to smile vacantly. All the while, Nie Huaisang kept talking without any input on Meng Yao’s part. As per usual. “Isn’t Huan-ge keeping you too busy in Suzhou? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? Da-ge might have stayed a little longer if he’d known.”

The chances of Nie Mingjue wanting to see him were slim-to-none and that was how they both liked it. Plastering a fake, fake, really fake smile on his mouth, he brushed at his now damp shirt and hoped Nie Huaisang wouldn’t see through it, both the smile and the shirt, but the smile was perhaps more important.

If Nie Huaisang came to this specific shop for coffee, he definitely knew something that would be beneficial for Meng Yao to know. Which meant Meng Yao needed to get him back inside so he could grill him in relative privacy.

“Oh! Shit! Sorry,” Nie Huaisang said, suddenly digging through his bag, as though he was only now realizing he’d basically dumped his drink all over Meng Yao. He pressed a handkerchief, printed with a pretty watercolor scene, all blues and pinks and golds, to Meng Yao’s chest and startled theatrically when Meng Yao flinched at the feel of sticky coolness against his chest. “Sorry, sorry. Here, why don’t I—”

Meng Yao snatched the handkerchief away. “Give me that.” He winced as he surveyed the damage and then sucked it up, saying sweetly, “Why don’t I buy you a replacement and we can catch up?”

Nie Huaisang’s expression managed to convey both a dread for his immediate future and a bright cheerfulness, like he was being led to his execution, but maybe he was looking forward to the fallout.

“Ahh, san-ge, what is it you want from me, huh? That’s much to kind of you.” His hand slapped lightly against Meng Yao’s sternum and he grimaced when he got a taste of his own medicine, his knuckles coming away, Meng Yao hoped, sticky and cold. “You know da-ge would kill me if I indulge too much…”

“I thought you said he wasn’t here.”

“He isn’t. And yet somehow he always knows the truth.” Nie Huaisang tapped his finger against his chin and sighed deeply, aggrieved by the tragedy of his struggle. “Ah, well. I can never say no to coffee and this is the finest in all of Yunmeng.”

“Is that really saying much?”

“San-ge, that is really very unkind. Yunmeng is a charming place.”

“Tell that to someone who doesn’t keep having to come here on business.” If there was one thing he disliked about working for Lan Huan, it was all the bridging he had to do between him and the Nies. Working with Nie Mingjue was alright when they weren’t arguing, but having to come to Yunmeng whenever he needed to see Nie Huaisang was a pain in the ass.

It was like watching a rich kid slum it, except Nie Huaisang had exactly zero edge, so he found a pleasantly cozy corner of the world to occupy instead. It was too ridiculous.

The door jingled pleasantly as Meng Yao held it open for Nie Huaisang to squeeze back through. A competent young woman was working the counter, her tag indicating that her name was Luo Qingyang. After only a short time—even accounting for Nie Huaisang’s ridiculously complicated order—they were seated near a fireplace.

He looked around and still couldn’t figure out what Lan Zhan saw here. It was a coffee shop. Big deal. Meng Yao saw nicer coffee shops every day. It was a little bit bigger than he was expecting maybe, gratuitously so, but that was the only thing that brought any value to the place.

Maybe Lan Zhan just had never seen one before and was startled by how much warmer places could be when you weren’t determined to emulate the most minimalist of Scandinavians at all times. He was a monk even compared to his brother and didn’t get out and do much.

Meng Yao prepared himself to go through the expected pleasantries when he heard a girl at a nearby table squealing over something on her phone. Then, because Meng Yao’s life was just one hell parading after another: “Yiling!” she said, fingers curled against her lips.

He wasn’t at all surprised to see that scarved face doing what looked like a livestream, complete with scrolling commentary and artfully inept shakycam. Of course, he couldn’t tell what was going on specifically—if it matched the other live streams, it was just him strolling through some city or town hyping his latest set of lovebirds—but he tried and failed to stop himself from imagining Lan Huan watching, too.

Nie Huaisang was smiling softly at the girl.

Meng Yao wasn’t above a bit of physical violence, not at all, and slapped at Nie Huaisang’s shoulder with the back of his hand, rolling his eyes all the while. “Not you, too!”

“Huh? Not me, too, what?”

“Yiling! It’s all I ever hear about anymore.”

For reasons that Meng Yao had never understood, Nie Huaisang was perfectly willing and able to play the fool at any moment. But sometimes when Meng Yao was really lucky, his curiosity got the better of him and he chose to drop the act entirely.

If that luck didn’t hold, it could get terrifying very quickly, but perhaps it wouldn’t go quite that far today.

Narrowing his eyes, he leaned into Meng Yao’s space, so close that he could feel Nie Huaisang’s breath as it ghosted across his skin. “And why would you know about Yiling?”

“Why would you?” Yes, he already knew that Nie Huaisang was aware of his existence and he really didn’t need to understand Yiling’s appeal, but he was curious.

Nie Huaisang smiled enigmatically and returned Meng Yao’s personal space to him. It took every ounce of Meng Yao’s not inconsiderable self-control to stop himself from pouncing on Nie Huaisang for answers, terror be damned. Maybe xiaomaobao was onto something.

Then again, maybe not. Nie Huaisang traveled a lot, too. Just because he decided to stay in Yunmeng—Meng Yao would never understand, perhaps it was merely another way Nie Huaisang avoided doing work—didn’t mean Yiling was here also.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Nie Huaisang’s chin slanted at an imperious upward angle. “Not all of us choose to live under rocks with Huan-ge in Suzhou, hmm?” His fingers snapped, the sound almost cracking through the air. “Of course, please forget I said anything. We all know you like to pretend you’re not, you know…”

Meng Yao had mustered dignity in worse circumstances than these, but it still took a mental scramble to find it with the way his heart pounded in his chest. As rare as it was, any reference to his feelings for Lan Huan did this to him. Only Nie Huaisang had ever guessed; for reasons Meng Yao still didn’t understand, Nie Huaisang kept it to himself.

Probably he’d use it for blackmail one day, but as yet… as yet, he usually didn’t mention it.

“I’m not sure I do,” he answered, a formality, a request to table the topic for another time.

“Of course. It can’t possibly be a dream of yours to crawl under a rock with Huan-ge, not at all. You don't like him. Why would you? He's not handsome and kind and all the things you most definitely are not. Well, I suppose some might consider you handsome. You are sort of cute.” The last was said teasingly, kindly, as he cupped Meng Yao’s cheek and patted it a few times. Then, a little mean, though it was a question Meng Yao had asked himself on multiple occasions, was the one reminder that stopped him from doing anything too foolish: “What could he possibly see in you, I wonder?”

Because the answer was nothing and the sting of hearing it from Nie Huaisang couldn’t be covered up quickly enough, he gritted his teeth and said, droll to cover the hurt, “If you're ever left wondering why nobody likes you? This is why.”

“My husband would disagree with you, but I'm okay with you believing that. What I'm not okay with is not knowing why you're so mad about Yiling's existence.”

“I’m just curious. Why do you even care why I care anyway?”

Laughing lightly, Nie Huaisang took a sip from his coffee. “It's interesting! You usually reserve your pissiness for your competitors and people trying to get in Lan Huan's perfectly tailored pants. Yiling is neither a competitor nor a romantic rival to you.”

Meng Yao scrubbed his hand across his face, conflicted. On the one hand, Nie Huaisang couldn't be trusted. On the other, he's never once told anybody about Meng Yao's… crush.

As pathetic as it was, it might have been nice to talk to someone about it. God. Talking. It was the worst. Dignity finally in complete tatters, he said, “I caught er-ge watching one of his videos.”

Nie Huaisang choked on his coffee.

Despondent, Meng Yao gave Nie Huaisang’s handkerchief back to him. It sounded so, so stupid when he said it aloud.

Swiping the fabric across his mouth, Nie Huaisang replied, high-pitched, “Excuse me, what?”

“You heard me, Huaisang!” Then, a pause as he gathered his thoughts. “And he seemed… wistful? Like he wanted someone to do that for him? I tried to find out anything about the guy, but he’s a ghost. Who on the internet can even manage to be that private?”

Nie Huaisang choked again, though Meng Yao couldn’t guess what he’d managed to choke on this time since he’d set his cup well away from him. Maybe it was his own amusement at Meng Yao’s situation.

“He wants someone to send him candies from Yiling?”

“That is—I have no idea what he wants. And anyway, shouldn’t you know this already? You’re the one who told er-ge that he was participating. Why are you so surprised that he knows about him?”

“Yeah, no. Just because I forwarded him a list of the official participants, doesn’t mean I knew he actually watched! Or cared! The rest, I, uh, really don’t know, san-ge.”

The latter was a lie, but Meng Yao wasn’t interested in digging out the truth of it from Nie Huaisang. It would take one-hundred million years at least to get to the bottom of it; besides, it never bore fruit when he got this cagey. “Of course you don’t.”

Nie Huaisang’s hand was gentle on his forearm, squeezing lightly. “Have you considered sending Yling a message? He loves romantic stories like this. He’d pick up your case in a second! And then Huan-ge would know how you felt.”

“Lan Huan deserves better than what everyone else gets.” Scoffing, he shook his head. Imagine giving Lan Huan random railway station chocolates. Impossible. Besides, Meng Yao was in a unique position to offer two things: whatever silly candy this guy could make or the man himself.

And the more useful one was the latter. The better one was the latter. Nobody else could give Lan Huan that. Which was…

Not a bad idea.

“Then what is your grand plan here? Mope about it until Yiling pops up out of the blue for you to steal away for Lan Entertainment?” Nie Huaisang’s mouth fell open unattractively. “That’s not what you’re trying to do, right?”

“No, God. I’m not that stupid.” He definitely wasn’t still harboring dreams of meeting Yiling, not at all, not with Nie Huaisang practically vibrating in his seat when Meng Yao said that.

Except that, well. He was exactly that stupid and Nie Huaisang was vibrating because he fucking knew it, too.

“Well, you never know, san-ge. I think you’ll have better luck finding him here than anywhere else though! How’d you even manage to find it?”

A brick to the head would have been more subtle and Meng Yao was left reeling by the thing Nie Huaisang didn’t actually say, by the fact that he might have actually stumbled on what he was looking for. What were the odds? Meng Yao must have looked really unhinged or desperate. So xiaomaobao was right? Fucking of course. Meng Yao was never going to tell them.

His heart stammered in his chest anyway, threatening to burst through his sternum.

“Yunmeng? Oh, you know, I just pulled up a map and there it was.” A formality. They both knew what Nie Huaisang really meant.

Nie Huaisang’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Maybe that’s what I mean, yes.”

This was, Meng Yao could tell, the only prize he’d be getting out of Nie Huaisang today and it was the crown jewels of intimations at that. Meng Yao couldn’t expect more though a thousand questions crowded his mind and owed him something in return. Quid pro quo, a payment toward future breadcrumbs, etc, etc. “Swear on your life that you won’t say anything?”

Nie Huaisang nodded eagerly. Even when he couldn’t talk, he liked gossip.

“Swear as da-ge’s younger brother that you won’t interfere?”

Heaving an aggrieved sigh, Nie Huaisang nodded more slowly.

Good enough for Meng Yao. “Lan Zhan wants to buy the place.”

If Nie Huaisang wanted to live his life as a goldfish, he was well on his way to looking exactly like one from how he gaped. “Oh. Ohhhh. Well, ah, good luck with that, huh?” Scurrying to his feet, he glanced at the clock on the wall by the counter. So fake. He knew exactly what time it was. “It’s been nice running into you, san-ge! I’m sure I’ll see you soon! Good luck again! I like this place! Don’t succeed too quickly.”

Meng Yao failed to snatch Nie Huaisang back by the wrist, which gave him plenty of time to get a head start on Meng Yao.

He was in luck though. Meng Yao really wasn’t in the mood to give chase and he had more important business anyway.

Like staking the place out until Jiang Cheng arrived and maybe figuring out just when Yiling was likely to show up.

Meng Yao usually prided himself on his discretion; it was at least half of the reason why he’d managed to claw his way to the position he now enjoyed. But right now, discretion was doing him no good. Glancing at his watch, he was not surprised, but definitely displeased, to see that only a few more moments passed between now and the last time he looked.

Nie Huaisang could be a tricky bastard when he wanted to be and though he usually hid those tricks in his actions—or lack thereof—rather than words, choosing instead to speak nonsense with every utterance he made, Meng Yao was willing to take a chance assuming that when he said Meng Yao would have some luck hanging around here, he meant, specifically, Lotus Pier.

Two birds, one stone since he was looking for Jiang Cheng anyway. Again. Day two now. Well, one and a half. Yesterday afternoon… counted, but barely, since he’d been told outright that Jiang Cheng wouldn’t be in once he’d asked the barista as soon as Nie Huaisang left.

So. Around here Meng Yao hung. The barista—the same as yesterday of course—was beginning to look at him like he was from outer space, but that was a price he was willing to pay, especially since she’d already confirmed that she wasn’t sure if or when Jiang Cheng would be in today. That still left Yiling, who hadn’t shown either.

On the hour, every hour, he dutifully purchased a coffee and even left a considerable tip each time in the hopes of buying even a small degree of support from her. It kept her quiet, though he could tell after the third trip to the counter that she was debating saying something or maybe calling the cops no matter how much money he dropped.

He ran out of work to do by the fifth hour without any sign of anyone who matched Meng Yao’s far, far too accurate mental image of Yiling. By the sixth, he was ready to strangle Nie Huaisang for not just coming out and telling him who Yiling was. Truly, how earth shattering could the revelation be? Or was this mysterious individual just that arrogant and he’d somehow suckered Nie Huaisang into keeping his secrets in the process?

“White tea,” Meng Yao said as he met his nemesis once again, her eyebrow arched high above her forehead.

Maybe she felt like she knew him now—he certainly felt like the only person left on the planet who was familiar to him was her—because she snorted as she took the order. “Giving up on caffeine, huh?”

“I wouldn’t want you to have to call for medical assistance,” he answered, glib. In truth, there was an almost troublesome twang in his chest that he only ever got when he was trying to pull an all-nighter, the price of aging and stress, he supposed. At least those circumstances had gotten rarer as time went on and he could delegate more.

“Your date’s never going to come.” The cup she handed back to him was incandescently hot. Too hot for brewing white tea, that was for sure. She merely grinned at him, as though able to read his mind, the both of them knowing she’d done it on purpose. “I’ve seen more than enough people get stood up to know all the signs.”

Meng Yao was above sputtering, but he still managed to choke on his tongue just a little bit. “I’m not waiting for anyone.”

She looked like she didn’t believe him. Unusual, given how smoothly his words always played for others. He didn’t peddle lies on the regular, but he was known, perhaps, for massaging the truth a little bit. Another expression of discretion, obviously.

That was what lawyers did and he had to do it less for Lan Huan than he ever would have done for Jin Enterprises if he’d stayed with them.

“Just Manager Jiang? I can have him call you when he shows up if you’re that desperate.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Uh huh. Well, I’m very sorry I won’t get to see this play out, but my shift’s just about over.” She pointed at the clock on the wall. 1:42PM. Was that all? He was certain he’d lived through a hundred ages today. “Good luck with your not-date.”

“I’m sure I’m devastated.” He lifted the cup, still too hot. It was going to be disgusting, he was certain. “Thanks for the tea.”

Returning to his seat and very conspicuously not jamming earbuds into his ears so he could flick through his phone and watch a few more of Yiling’s videos, he sipped his tea and lifted his gaze whenever new patrons arrived. Wrong nose, wrong eyes, wrong gait. Every single one of them was wrong.

It was like this for fifteen minutes.

“Aiyah, Jiang Cheng is going to kill me,” someone said as they yanked open the door, loud enough to break through the haze of the videos playing out on Meng Yao’s phone. He practically sprinted through to launch himself across the whole span of the floor, dodging the handful of customers in line. The woman at the counter rolled her eyes and beckoned him over. His hair was short, closely shaved around the sides and a little long on top. It curled over his forehead. To someone else, it might have been cute.

To Meng Yao, it was jackpot and his heart thundered victoriously in his chest. Though Yiling always wore hats in the videos where his face was visible, they didn’t always hide the wave of his bangs, but even so, there was no mistaking those eyes. And honestly, even his voice was exactly the same. Seeing the man now, it seemed impossible that he’d never been found out before.

Then again, most people of Meng Yao’s acquaintance just weren’t particularly observant and didn’t go out of their way to be so. Perhaps it was only obvious to Meng Yao.

Meng Yao frowned at him as he donned an apron and adjusted the gleaming nametag on it. From this far away, Meng Yao couldn’t read the characters and because he still had half a cup of tea left, he didn’t feel like approaching just yet.

It was, perhaps, an excuse.

But one that gave Meng Yao time to consider his pitch again. Though Meng Yao was rather known for taking chances—what was this, in fact, if not a chance—but he never did so without considering all his options.

Yiling smiled and laughed as he swapped spots with Meng Yao’s nemesis, his gaze briefly flicking his way as his nemesis spoke. He said something to her, but from the way his head was turned, Meng Yao couldn’t tell from reading his lips what it was.

Then his nemesis was ducking into the back and Yiling leaned his hip against the counter, waiting for something to happen. He was still smiling, the upward curve of his mouth both absentminded and sweet. It was too bad he felt the need to conceal his identity; surely he would endear himself to his fans even more if they could see that smile. Even Meng Yao was not unaffected, though he would always prefer Lan Huan’s more elegant looks. All it proved was Lan Huan had a good eye for talent.

One question wound its way through Meng Yao’s thoughts. What the hell was he doing working in a coffee shop?

And there it was: the angle. Easier than he expected. Swallowing the last of this waste of a perfectly good brand of tea, he stood and put on his most pleasant smile, walking toward the counter, lining up patiently now that his end goal was in sight.

Curious, he glanced down at Yiling’s name tag. Wei Ying. Not a name Meng Yao recognized. Which wasn’t to say Wei Ying was a nobody, but the likelihood of him being someone of any renown was slim.

Perhaps he just enjoyed his privacy.

Then again, that didn’t seem right either.

He pulled up Baidu on his phone anyway, glad that he had a few moments to investigate while he created some kind of monstrous foamy concoction for the person in front of him.

There was little of note to be found, a mention that he’d studied at the same university both Lan Huan and Lan Zhan attended, which wasn’t entirely surprising under the circumstances. Suzhou was well-established as the place for the artistically inclined to take classes. He must have been a part of the culinary program. There was one article that made an offhand mention of him as a rising star at some restaurant in Yiling.

So he now knew the reason for the name, but was really no closer to an explanation for why Wei Ying was here instead of running a restaurant as anyone out of Suzhou might have been expected to do or working on his vlog full time like his popularity would warrant.

His musings were cut short by Wei Ying himself. “What can I get for you?” He shook his head to the side in an effort to push his bangs aside and offered the widest grin he could manage. This close though, it managed to seem a little sad in its brilliance, a little sharp around the edges.

“White tea,” he replied.

“Mianmian warned me about you,” he said, still smiling as he turned to the smaller counter that lined the wall behind him which was loaded down with so many glass jars of tea leaves that it was a wonder this was considered a coffee shop at all. “I’m surprised you drank the tea she made. I promise I’ll get the temperature right. Who is it you’re waiting for anyway?”

Meng Yao made sure there was no one else around when he answered. “Yiling, actually.”

There was only the briefest of pauses as Wei Ying tipped a scoopful of tea into a mesh basket that would in short order fit inside the porcelain pot next to him. He set a timer and turned, arms crossing as he leaned back. A flicker of something crossed his face before settling on bland innocence. “Oh? Yiling is very nice this time of year or so I hear.”

The fingers of each hand tapped against the opposite forearm. If he hadn’t already given himself away, that would have done it. There was a scar on the inside of his left thumb that Meng Yao had seen in at least six different recipe videos by now.

Instead of ratting Nie Huaisang out immediately for tipping him off, he said, “Pardon me if this sounds a little forward, but I recognize your hands. If I’m being honest, I’ve watched rather more of your videos of late than I really care to have done. You know perfectly well what I mean.”

“A lot of people have hands, sir. I’m sure you’re mistaking mine for this Yiling guy’s. Whoever they are.” He lifted them in consideration. “He must be very handsome to have hands as nice as mine.”

Meng Yao almost argued the point. With so many faded scars and recent scorch marks and burns, nice wasn’t the word Meng Yao would have used.

Someone like Lan Huan, though. He certainly had nice hands.

The timer dinged and Wei Ying poured the tea into a cup and brought it and the pot over to the front counter, placing both in front of Meng Yao. Though he was still smiling, his eyes were cold. “Please enjoy your drink.”

Wei Ying turned away, grabbing a towel in order to start cleaning up, and Meng Yao was left with the impression that if he didn’t land this now, he’d never get another chance, not even to present his offer. It needed to be laid out perfectly.

He hadn’t expected Wei Ying to be quite so closed off about it, not in the least bit curious about Meng Yao.

His original intention was shot to hell, but he could improvise.

Wei Ying—Yiling—liked romance.

Meng Yao could give him that.

“Wait! I’m not a stalker or anything. I don’t even care about your vlog.” Wei Ying’s shoulders hunched, as though he was especially interested in some nonexistent stain on the marble. Meng Yao breathed deeply and gave up the one piece of information he held most dear, something only Nie Huaisang really knew, and that was after years and years of him chipping away at Meng Yao’s reticence and some strategic guesswork. “But someone I care about does.”

That was still within the realm of the truth.

Wei Ying did not turn, but he did freeze up and his voice was like ice when he spoke again. “So why don’t you message Yiling? Why are you bothering me?”

That, uh, that wasn’t quite what Meng Yao meant, but now that he thought about it, of course Wei Ying would assume this. It was obvious. Play along for a little while, just long enough to get them in a room together and then see if he couldn’t get a business deal hammered out between them. What was the worst that could happen?

But apparently he needed to ease Wei Ying’s mind first. Sorry, Huaisang. “I’m an acquaintance of Nie Huaisang’s. He’s… his brother and I are close and that makes him kind of like a younger sibling. He didn’t tell me about you, but he might have intimated certain things. I figured it out from there. Honestly, I don’t care about you or who you are.”

Ask, Meng Yao thought. Ask the question.

“But your loved one does?” He snorted. “You say you don’t care, but you’re the only person I’ve ever heard of who’s come here looking for Yiling.” Finally, he faced Meng Yao and there was a delicate fragility in his bearing that Meng Yao feared you push. “What does that say about you?”

Loved one?

Over the years, Meng Yao had faced down some of the scariest people in the entertainment business and won without breaking a sweat. He’d never met anyone as immediately aggravating as Wei Ying was. This wasn’t the first time someone had suggested his priorities were skewed, but it was the first time that suggestion actually managed to sting and not for any reason Meng Yao could fathom. There was nothing wrong with doing everything he could for Lan Huan.

It wasn’t quite the question Meng Yao wanted him to ask, but, well. If Wei Ying really wanted him to play the overly besotted paramour, fine.

“It says I’m more resourceful than they are.”

Wei Ying’s eyes were glued on his watch. “You have more money and connections than other people is what you mean. Nobody has free time and good luck like the rich and you certainly look the part. ‘Resourceful’ is how you make yourselves feel better about yourselves, but I’m not interested and I’m willing to bet Yiling’s not either. You’d have better luck going the route everyone else goes.”

Meng Yao was not going to rise to the bait. He wasn’t. But that didn’t stop him from gritting his teeth. His smile was forced. He knew it was forced. And Wei Ying saw right through it and dove in for the kill.

He’d have made a hell of a lawyer. And Meng Yao took too long to formulate a response, get back the upper hand.

“Tell me,” Wei Ying said, smirking conspiratorially, leaning toward him from across the counter, “is this the part where you threaten me with all those resources of yours or do I get to keep my dignity here?”

Meng Yao wasn’t going to be intimidated by Wei Ying, but it was with more than a little trepidation that he pulled his notebook from his pocket, scribbling a number on it that was something of a downgrade from what he was originally going to offer, a last ditch effort. The money he was originally willing to throw at this mess, he suddenly felt, would come across like an insult. The revised number might look like fair wages for fair work. “I just want to offer a proposal.”

With a laugh of amazement, Wei Ying plucked the notebook from Meng Yao’s lax grip. “You're really doing this? Like that? What is this, a movie?” Shaking his head, he ripped the page from the book and examined it closely, gesture exaggerated to get his point across that he thought Meng Yao was a joke.

If he knew he was going to run into someone who could easily have come from his family, he would’ve prepared better.

“You certainly can’t be accused of generosity. I was expecting a few more zeroes, something to really wow me.”

“I'd like you to attend an event with me and meet him and then do…” Fuck, this was so awkward. Even imagining Wei Ying using his gimmick on Lan Huan felt wrong and weird. “…what you do. As Yiling. That’s all.” As though it would help, he clarified, “That’s my hourly rate multiplied by an estimate of the number of hours I’d need from you. Give or take. The number is flexible.”

“My time is just as valuable as yours, huh? Not bad, not bad.” Wei Ying looked as though he was considering it and for one brief, uncomplicated, perfect moment, Meng Yao thought he had succeeded. And then Wei Ying laughed and balled up the paper before throwing it into the trash can by his feet. “Tell you what, suit. Send a message the same as everyone else and maybe I’ll make a video for your boyfriend. I’m sure he’ll love it. No need to put such a tiny dent in your bank account just for little, old me. Better yet, just ask your man out, huh? Most of the people who come to me just lack confidence in themselves.” Wei Ying gave him a disdainful once over. “You clearly have nothing to worry about in that department. Who could say no to someone with a pretty face like yours?”

Pursing his lips, Meng Yao tugged at his lapels and gathered what dignity he could. Obviously Wei Ying had no trouble saying no, but at least he wasn’t pretending any longer. That meant Meng Yao could issue a threat of his own. “Aren’t you worried I’m going to say something?”

“Ha. If Huaisang is willing to tolerate you, you can’t be all bad.” Still, there was an interesting quaver in Wei Ying’s voice as he said that. “Anyway, he’s my friend, too. If you upset me, I’ll upset him, and he’ll go to his brother and then you’ll be upset. If you’re friends with Nie Mingjue, then you’re perfectly aware of how that will go. I don’t anticipate any further problems from you. I think I’m flattered by your interest, though. Please have a nice day. After all, you did give me a good laugh.”

This Wei Ying was definitely a friend of Nie Huaisang’s.

And… that was a very credible threat. Well, he supposed that just had to be that. At least for now. Maybe he could convince Huaisang to get them a sit down. He’d owe Huaisang, which he hated, but with this crash and burn, he didn’t have much of a choice unless he wanted to let it go.

Just in case Wei Ying changed his mind, he pulled out his business card and braced himself for whatever mockery would be forthcoming. He was suddenly very self-conscious about the embossing and he didn’t even know why.

“Did you ever see that movie American Psycho?”

Meng Yao’s brows furrowed. “No? Why?”

At that, Wei Ying chuckled and grinned beatifically, shoving the card into his apron. “No reason.”

Unsettled, Meng Yao took his white tea—perfectly brewed, god damn—and gathered his things. No point hanging around any longer for Jiang Cheng, not when Wei Ying was there to bad mouth him.

So much for the politely distant offer and the gentle personal touch.

Time for the brute force approach.

Dialing Su She, he said, almost before Su She could properly greet him, “I need a phone number.”

If Jiang Cheng didn’t want to answer him, then his phone could choke on missed calls.

“Go, go, go,” Wei Ying told Ouyang Zizhen at ten minutes to closing, when nobody had come in for a last minute fix. “I’ll take care of closing.”

“Boss!” he answered, eyes wide.

“Did you learn that from Wen Yuan? I swear to all that is good, you should not listen to that boy. You can call me Wei Ying. Your boss wears a lot more frowns and dresses in way, way too much purple. But honestly, get going. I know you have homework.”

“But—”

“But nothing. The sooner you stop arguing with me the better.” Why was it he had to argue with these kids to make them leave? When he was their age, he would’ve jumped at the chance to get the hell out of work sooner.

And yet the boy looked dubious, but Wei Ying could tell he was longing to go, too, because they always did. Perhaps that was the hazard of still being new, very new, newer than even Wen Yuan.

“It’s only a few minutes, Zizhen.” His voice was cajoling as he elbowed the kid toward the back. “And we already did most of the clean-up.”

He finally capitulated with a bob of his head and a brightly spoken, “Thank you, boss.”

Though Wei Ying sighed, he accepted that they would have to work on this some more. Maybe next time. These kids Jiang Cheng kept hiring were too good.

It made Wei Ying wonder why he was stuck here at all, slinging coffee like there was nothing else in his life when they were all so much more responsible than Wei Ying himself.

“Bye!” Zizhen called, the door tinkling as he slipped onto the street. “Oh, sorry, Jiang-jingli. Excuse me!”

Wei Ying’s head snapped up at that, eyes narrowed as he waited for Jiang Cheng to say something about Wei Ying letting another employee go early again, as though it made such a big difference at this point. It wouldn’t be the first time they got into an argument about it. Jiang Cheng liked to claim it was because Wei Ying was desperate to be the cool boss. Mostly he just wanted to let the kids be kids, but Jiang Cheng never believed him. Of course, Jiang Cheng came out of the womb acting like the spoiled brat’s version of an adult, so it made sense that he didn’t understand.

But if Wei Ying expected an argument, he was destined to be disappointed. The entirety of Jiang Cheng’s attention was on his phone as he stepped into the shop, head bowed down as he poked at a tablet. “You could throw twice as much at us and it wouldn’t matter. My father’s not willing to sell at this time.”

Wei Ying stilled, attention straining as Jiang Cheng walked toward him. When Wei Ying opened his mouth, Jiang Cheng lifted his head and slashed his hand through the air, a look of surprise crossing his face. His heart was climbing his throat as he waited for Jiang Cheng to say something else. Willing to sell? What would he be selling? Lotus Pier?

Of course, Lotus Pier. What else was there to sell?

And what was this ‘at this time’ business? Wei Ying thought…

Despite knowing better, he slapped Jiang Cheng on the shoulder as he passed.

Jiang Cheng’s eyes locked with Wei Ying’s for a moment, anxious and guilty before he looked away again and tried to push past Wei Ying in the tight space behind the counter so he could reach his office, but Wei Ying planted himself in the doorway separating the front from the back, arms splayed across.

Though Jiang Cheng hissed in annoyance, he stopped trying to shove through.

He turned away from Wei Ying anyway, one petty point in an otherwise silent fight. It did him no good because Wei Ying just spun him around again.

Their eyes met, but Jiang Cheng’s words were for his caller alone.

“Yeah, I get it. Your client really, really wants the space. It's the perfect building in the perfect part of town and the perfect ambiance or whatever it is that's got him so enamored. Unfortunately for him, my father owns the building, has done for years, and is really fucking fond of it. He's seen your proposal—the one you sent by e-mail because I don’t give out my phone number, what are you, a stalker—and he rejected it. I'm sure you’ll be the first one I call if anything changes.” Jiang Cheng grimaced at whatever the caller was saying in response. His lips thinned and his cheeks flushed with anger. “Look, do you think this is the first offer he's ever gotten? We've given this all the consideration due to such a generous plan.” His fingers twitched and his jaw clenched. “Fine. I promise I’ll call you first, but if you like living, you’ll stop blowing up my phone.”

He stabbed at the phone screen and pocketed it with vicious pleasure.

“Prick. Two fucking days of this.” Offering Wei Ying what might have been an apologetic glance—it was always hard to tell with Jiang Cheng—he added, “I forgot you were covering today.”

What he meant and didn’t say, Wei Ying understood, was that Wei Ying wasn’t meant to hear any of that. In fact, Wei Ying wished he hadn’t heard any of it, if only to save the threadbare towel in his hand from further destruction. He only now realized he was all but throttling the thing. “What’s going on?”

“Some asshole wants to buy the building and he’s got a lot of money to do it with.” Jiang Cheng’s eyes settled on Wei Ying’s hands. “But you can stop strangling the cleaning supplies now. Dad said no. Lotus Pier is yours, remember?”

God, that old bitterness. Like Wei Ying wouldn’t give everything up to make Jiang Cheng happy, including Lotus Pier. From the sound of it, maybe that was what Jiang Cheng wanted.

“It’s supposed to be ours.” Despite the way his voice snapped out the words, his hands did relax. “He did say no, though?”

Jiang Cheng’s mouth twisted unpleasantly.

“Jiang Cheng!”

“He said no!” Jiang Cheng’s hand wrapped around Wei Ying’s shoulder and pushed, forcing Wei Ying aside. Not that that stopped Wei Ying from trailing after him.

“But?”

“But nothing!”

Somehow Wei Ying got the impression it wasn’t nothing, but Jiang Cheng had that look on his face he always got when there’d be no arguing or bargaining with him. If Wei Ying wanted answers, he’d have to wait. He’d have to be nice.

It was difficult, when his heart was in his throat and all he could think about was Meng Yao and his stupid offer from the other day. What were the odds?

Maybe he’d been hasty to turn him down so quickly if he suddenly had a competitor. An actual competitor.

“How much money does this guy have?” Wei Ying asked, though he feared the answer. Not because he believed that Uncle Jiang would be swayed by a host of zeroes, but because people with money liked to make everyone else’s lives difficult when they wanted something.

As Jiang Cheng sat at his desk, he scrubbed his hand across his face. “A lot. Stupid amounts of it. Enough to keep his own name out of it. And his attack dog is determined as hell. I couldn’t make a call today without seeing three more missed calls by the time I was done and that’s not counting the charm offensive he tried yesterday. Fuck that guy.” He shoved at Wei Ying’s side when Wei Ying tried, in turn, to perch on the corner of the desk. “I laughed when he told me how much. Fucking ridiculous.”

“But it’s real?”

“He’s drawn up a contract and everything. Lawyer says it’s solid.”

Wei Ying let out a long, harsh breath. “Prick.”

“Dad loves you a whole fucking lot, let’s just say that. If it was me, I’d probably have taken it immediately.” Though Jiang Cheng made a righteous attempt to keep the bitterness out of his voice this time, Wei Ying heard it anyway and tried to keep guilt from choking him. Jiang Cheng had always thought it was his right to make every decision regarding Lotus Pier. Barring a few superficial requests and this one thing, he generally let Jiang Cheng do what he wanted and it usually worked out.

But he’d made a promise to Uncle Jiang and to himself to always keep Lotus Pier safe. After Yiling, he could do no less.

Lotus Pier made Uncle Jiang happy and it, in turn, had been the source of Wei Ying’s every childhood happiness. He’d learned to love food and hospitality from Uncle Jiang’s work here, from when he used to follow Jiang Yanli around when she was first learning to love food and hospitality, too, cutting her teeth on these very counters and making illicit lattes for Wei Ying when nobody was looking.

When he was old enough, he did the same before going off to school with a dream in his heart and hopes for the future, no different than Wen Yuan or Zizhen or his jiejie.

He wished he could love these things so easily again, but after so many years, he just didn’t. Not like he should have. It was work, hard work, with fewer charms by the day.

“Let me get you a cup of coffee, huh?” Wei Ying said because it was the one thing he could think to do and he didn’t like the bend of his thoughts. They were unproductive.

It was going to be a late night for Jiang Cheng if he was coming back here. The least Wei Ying could do was his part before heading home. If he didn’t have his own work to do, he might have stayed even longer.

Despite the blackout curtains Wei Ying had long ago insisted on installing in his apartment, a sliver of sodium yellow light filtered through the window and lashed across the floor to pool along the opposite wall. It encountered a number of obstructions across its path, including the couch, Wei Ying himself, and a jumbled pile of clothes spilling from his laundry basket that still needed to be folded despite sitting there, forlorn, for a week.

They were clean, Wei Ying might have insisted, and that was more than could be said on less fortunate occasions. The fact that he’d bothered to do them at all was a minor miracle. The laundry pile, he felt, did not deserve his attention at this moment for that reason alone.

The myriad emails, DMs, and notifications that plinked away at his phone and laptop? Those did. Absolutely. So many of them that he’d finally put his phone on silent so he could concentrate.

Possibly also deserving of attention was the drama he was watching, but nobody needed to know about that or how he felt about pretty grown men crying about the women they loved who didn’t yet love them back.

Yet, like it was inevitable.

“I understand,” he said, aggrieved for the boy, certain that he would have his happy ending many weeks from now when all the misunderstandings were cleared up and the woman had learned the truth about what a good man he was.

It was only people in real life who didn’t get that kind of closure.

Despite the tragedy unfolding on screen, a faint smile graced his lips. A half-eaten bowl of snacks at his side, an unholy mix of spicy sticks, peanuts, and popcorn, kept him assuaged as he worked until the TV distracted him again. Though he was diligent—or trying to be—he couldn’t work up quite as much enthusiasm as usual. Having worked so hard to polish his first entry for the competition—and now reaping the benefits, admittedly, the popularity bump was staggering—he was exhausted even though this was his favorite part of the work.

So much potential at his fingertips as he searched for the next perfect recipient of his particular brand of personal therapy.

A bad time to be out of sorts, with a mysteriously rich nemesis haunting his thoughts, but eventually he found his rhythm. Jiang Cheng’s phone call faded to the periphery, easily ignored.

“Ah, to be this in love with someone,” he said as he read the latest plea for assistance to grace his inbox. It almost brought tears to his eyes.

His phone, abandoned at his side, lit up again, but he only gave it a cursory glance before returning his attention to the laptop. Nobody he cared to speak with ever called him anyway.

And then a notification blinked on his laptop screen indicating a new comment on his latest post.

From jc (2020.06.04 23:13:35PM):

I swear to fucking god I’ll break your legs if you’re here and not on your phone.

Shit. He made a grab for his phone and heard another ding on the laptop.

From jc (2020.06.04 23:13:59PM):

Answer your fucking phone.

There was, he was reluctant to admit, a missed call from Jiang Cheng when he actually read the notifications. He’d already hit redial and was waiting for an answer when one final comment came through.

From jc (2020.06.04 23:14:15PM):

This is pathetic. You have a real life, too, you know.

What a grace note. He quickly deleted each comment before it caused too much of a stir among his followers, phone propped between his ear and shoulder. The call went to voice mail and he dialed again.

Finally, Jiang Cheng picked up. “Wei Ying, you bastard! How fucking dare you—!”

Jiang Cheng could be mean and just this side of nasty—Wei Ying could absolutely attest to that—but he wasn’t ever actually abusive and he never, ever sounded as frantic as he did right now. “What happened?” he asked, barely able to control the shaking in his hand and voice. The worst thoughts he could conjure smashed themselves against the forefront of his mind: something had happened to jiejie or A-Ling. His laptop went crashing to the floor as he shoved it away in his effort to stand and the bowl of snacks tipped over, but he didn’t bother picking either back up. “Jiang Cheng?”

It took two tries to grab the sweater from the top of his laundry bag and a deeper dive to find a pair of jeans that weren’t dotted with holes and rips.

“What happened is you care more about your stupid fucking vlog than you do about us. Dad's been taken to the hospital and you're over th—”

Wei Ying’s grip slackened on the phone, his relief palpable. It fell to the floor with a loud thud and he was left scrambling to pick it up again as guilt and fear replaced his first reaction. Jiang Cheng was still yelling when he held it to his ear, as though he hadn’t heard the noise. Maybe he hadn’t.

“—so important that you can't answer. What if he needed you and you were just—too busy letting people fawn over you for posting dumb videos?”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” The churning in his stomach kept the anger at bay. Jiang Cheng had never been particularly fond of his work as Yiling, didn’t understand why it was so important to Wei Ying, couldn’t accept that it was important at all, but now was not the time to get into it for the five hundredth time. In one respect, Jiang Cheng was right. Family was more important.

Family was everything.

The people in Wei Ying’s life? None of the rest of this mattered without them.

Struggling into his sneakers, Wei Ying nearly tipped sideways in an attempt to keep his phone to his ear. It felt wrong to try stopping Jiang Cheng from yelling long enough to finish getting ready, like he owed it to Jiang Cheng to take these verbal punches.

He ran his tongue over his teeth and wished, ridiculously, that he hadn’t eaten so many spicy sticks.

“Okay, okay, okay. You're right, Jiang Cheng. I’m sorry. Will you tell me what happened now, please?”

“Your sorries will do dad a lot of good when he's dying alone in the hospital.”

Fuck’s sake.

“Uncle isn’t going to die,” he insisted, though of course, he really couldn’t know that, could he, since Jiang Cheng wasn’t telling him anything. From the sound of wind in the background, Jiang Cheng was already on his way. “Nobody is dying alone.” And no doubt Madam Yu was with him. “Jiang Cheng, what happened?”

But he wasn’t destined to receive an answer.

“He—” Instead of the rest of the answer from Jiang Cheng, he heard a honk, and then Jiang Cheng shouting. “—fuck you!” To Wei Ying: “Not you. Actually, fuck you, too.” More honking and then unintelligible shouting from someone else. “If you’re not at the hospital in twenty minutes, I’ll be the one putting you in the hospital.”

“Jiang Ch—”

The call ended with a snarled curse on Jiang Cheng’s end, leaving Wei Ying with more questions and fears and zero answers. Nausea curled around his stomach and squeezed tightly until he was almost breathless with it. Just when he realized he didn’t know where he was going, a text came in.

Deep breath. In and out.

Okay. So at least he knew where he was going.

It took ten minutes to arrange a taxi, which felt like an eternity as he stood outside waiting for it to arrive. Internally, he heard Jiang Cheng’s voice berating him for never bothering to buy a car even though he had his license for emergencies. This was, Wei Ying admitted, an emergency, but he got along just fine otherwise, so it was never a priority.

Now he was rethinking that as he ripped open the back door and threw himself into the cab. It wasn’t cold yet, despite being dark, but the wind whipped up as he closed the door, pimpling his skin. Maybe he should have grabbed a coat to go along with the sweater.

“Whe—”

“Yunmeng People’s Hospital.”

The taxi driver, a guy in his mid-thirties who seemed like he knew what he was doing, nodded briskly and wove into traffic with staggering ease. As soon as they were on their way, he began calling and texting Jiang Cheng again, but each call went to voicemail and each text went unanswered.

He probably just hadn’t reached the hospital yet. There was no way the Jiangs were so unlucky as to end up with a son getting into a car accident on top of whatever was wrong with Uncle Jiang.

His fingers, of their own accord tapped out Jiang Yanli’s number. For a long moment, he couldn’t bring himself to tap the call button. She lived so far away and it was already getting late. A-Ling would be asleep and Wei Ying just wasn’t very good at delivering bad news anyway, assuming she didn’t already know.

You’re a fucking coward, Wei Ying, he snarled to himself. She needed to know if she didn’t and it sucked that it would fall to Wei Ying in that case, but it was what it was.

That was the only thing that allowed him to hit that ominous green icon on the screen.

“A-Ying,” she said as soon as he made the call, like she was waiting for it, phone in hand, fully expecting him to reach out to her.

It warmed a part of him that only one other person ever managed to touch From the sound of her voice, fragile and thin with worry, she already knew. “Jiejie,” he said. “Jiang Cheng called…”

“I know,” she said. “He called me, too. Is he coming to get you?”

Leave it to Jiang Yanli to make sure he wasn’t excluded. God. Heat rushed to his face and his eyes prickled. He didn’t dare say anything until he collected himself. “I called a cab. It’s fine, jiejie. I’m on my way now. Did he tell you what happened? He wouldn’t—and now I can’t reach him.”

“He’ll be okay, A-Ying.” Though she spoke with certainty in her tone, Wei Ying could tell her confidence was exaggerated. Too much concern threaded through her words, binding them up tight. “He had a fainting spell and hit his head, but he’s awake and alert.”

Wei Ying sighed in relief, though his mind spun out a hundred scenarios even more awful than the last. Just because he was awake and alert didn’t mean he was safe. He was starting to feel like Jiang Cheng. That was at least one Jiang Cheng too many.

So he smiled instead. “I’m sure he will be. And he’ll be happy to see us.”

“A-Xuan is preparing the car so we can catch the next flight out. We'll be there in a few hours. Will you be okay?” she asked, as though she could see through him even from hundreds of miles away, over a tinny wireless connection.

Wei Ying choked back tears at the concern in Jiang Yanli’s voice that was for him and him alone. Was there anyone else who would ask him that question at this time? Every fear he was trying to keep locked away inside of him crashed against the seawall of his heart and threatened to spill over. Though he knew she would accept each one of them and soothe them away, he could not bring himself to speak any of them into existence. He wasn’t just Jiang Yanli’s scared younger foster brother anymore. He was a grown man, too. Had to carry his own burdens. “I’m okay, jiejie. I'll be on my best behavior.”

“That's not what I meant, A-Ying.”

“I know,” he said. She was the only one for whom that might be true. “But still. See you soon.”

“See you soon.”

As soon as the call ended, Wei Ying leaned back.

If he found himself brushing tears from his eyes, nobody, not even the cab driver, took note of it.

Not without trepidation, Wei Ying approached the room Jiang Cheng has indicated when he finally answered his phone, barking, “He’s in room 204,” at him before hanging up again. Dragging in a deep breath, he pasted a smile on his mouth and poked his head through the door.

“Uncle, hi!” he chirped, because he knew there was no chance in hell he’d make either Jiang Cheng or Madam Yu happy with his entrance, no matter how somber he was. Better to be the cheerful one for Uncle Jiang’s sake. “Look at all this trouble you’ve caused today. I can see you’re only trying to take the heat off of me for once.”

It was not a surprise when Jiang Cheng and Madam Yu threw twin, scathing glares his way, he from the cramped corner and she from where she was fussing over Uncle Jiang’s blanket. But the wan, wry smile his uncle offered was worth it, like they were co-conspirators in a mission to get the other two to lighten up.

“Jiang Fengmian, if you don’t—”

Uncle took her hand in his and squeezed, a distant fondness in his gaze, probably not what Madam Yu truly wanted from him, but the best of what he could give to her.

“I'll be fine, dear heart. You don't have to worry on my account.”

“We should have had this checked out months ago! And now look where you are! You think we all don't have better things to do than sit here with you?”

Jiang Cheng straightened up fast as lightning cracking across the sky. His face, already grim and gloomy, looked even more stormy than usual at that bit of information. “This has been going on for months? Mom!”

She turned, thunderous to match her son. “Don't you start! This is between your father and me. If he had his way, nobody would know about it.”

From the muscles jumping in Jiang Cheng’s cheeks, it seemed entirely likely that Jiang Cheng wanted to argue, but unlike how Jiang Cheng was willing to yell his way into an early grave with Wei Ying, he refrained under the weight of Madam Yu’s stare. That didn’t stop him from yelling at anyone else. In some ways, he just couldn’t help himself. That left Uncle Jiang in this case. Presumably because it couldn’t be blamed on Wei Ying. “So we don't have the right to know?! Dad!”

From his position in the doorway, Wei Ying was able to see the nurse who was approaching, a harried expression on her face. She regarded Wei Ying with some suspicion, as though expecting an interrogation from him, too, and Wei Ying nodded back at her as cordially as he could. If Wei Ying managed to distract Madam Yu and Jiang Cheng, perhaps they wouldn’t harass the poor woman too badly as she tried to go about her business.

The odds of success were slim, but Wei Ying was willing to take a chance. Into the scant silence that followed, he spoke. If he didn’t Jiang Cheng would’ve started right back up again. “Uncle, how are you feeling? The color of those scrubs is most becoming on you!”

There was a blessed moment of silence as Wei Ying approached the bed, the nurse on his tail, half hidden by Wei Ying’s body. Then all hell broke loose as he’d hoped and now kind of feared.

“Outrageous,” Madam Yu said.

Jiang Cheng, “Wei Ying!”

Meanwhile, the nurse ducked toward the computer and efficiently began typing before pulling the rolling desk over to Uncle Jiang’s side.

“And you are as handsome as ever, of course!” he said, loud and pointed, for good measure because it was always better to commit to one’s mistakes.

The nurse, without speaking, took Uncle Jiang’s vitals efficiently and adjusted the IV bag hung above his head, unimpeded.

“Wei Ying, be serious!” Jiang Cheng said.

“I am!” He winked at Uncle Jiang. “Are you saying Uncle Jiang is not handsome? What a scandal.” He kept his eye on what the nurse was doing and relaxed when she nodded once at him. He reached out and took Uncle Jiang’s hand. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.”

“It’s okay, A-Ying. I’m just glad you are.”

“Wei Yi—” Madam Yu started.

Though he was still smiling, Uncle Jiang’s features hardened ever so slightly, like he knew what was coming: another scolding. It made Wei Ying nervous that it was happening on his behalf, that slip toward coldness, even though Wei Ying had purposefully put himself in the crossfire. “Perhaps we can avoid giving the entire hospital a scene while I'm here, darling?”

“It would be nice if you’d thought of that before fainting away, but we can’t have everything we want.” Even through the brusqueness of her words, Wei Ying could hear the waver in her voice, so slight that he wasn’t sure Uncle Jiang noticed. Jiang Cheng certainly hadn’t. Even Madam Yu seemed surprised, suddenly aghast as she clamped her lips shut.

They might not be close, but Wei Ying was still happy to do for her what he’d been doing for others his whole life. Deflecting attention to himself wasn’t so very hard after all. He asked of his uncle, sly, “What happened anyway? Was Madam Yu so beautiful that you were overcome?”

She flashed a dangerously vicious glance his way, to which he smiled, and after a moment, her gaze softened ever so slightly. An ice cube might have melted more, but Wei Ying understood what he’d won with even this. It didn’t mean anything except a cessation of hostilities, duration unknown, but it was enough. “They’ve done a CT scan and want to do an MRI. Blood tests.” On steadier ground again, her tone became snappish yet again. “They’ve already said he’ll probably want to follow up at a community health center, as though I would allow that.”

After that, conversation dwindled as there was no news, nurses and techs coming in and out, performing test after test.

The hours ticked by as they waited for the results, then more tests, results and tests and results. Uncle Jiang dozed and Wei Ying stared at the floor, tapping his fingers against his kneecaps. Both Madam Yu and Jiang Cheng looked as though they were going to jump out of their skin every time anyone got within breathing distance of the room. Wei Ying wasn’t certain how Uncle Jiang managed such calm composure when Wei Ying was starting to feel caged, too.

He preferred optimism to anything else, but even he was beginning to frown compulsively, running out of things to say whenever anyone actually tried to hold a conversation, his good mood spread thin to cover all of them and beginning to fail under the strain. Not that any of them except Uncle Jiang ever appreciated the effort since jiejie wasn’t here yet to be his number one fan.

He checked his phone again and again, selfishly trying to calculate exactly how long it would be until she arrived to smooth things over and say all the right things.

He definitely wasn’t also plotting how to wrestle A-Ling from his father’s arms and use him as an excuse to get out of this cramped, stifling room for a few minutes. From that thought, it was only a short jump to considering A-Ling’s chubby elbows and knees and wildly waving fists, his grumpy little face, all the ways he must have grown since the last time Wei Ying saw him in person. This kept him going until the doctor finally entered, not grim exactly, but too serious for Wei Ying’s comfort. Even thoughts of A-Ling couldn’t revive what cheer he’d gathered around himself now that the moment had arrived.

“Good evening, Jiang-xiansheng. We've begun reviewing your tests and we'd like to admit you to run a few more before we release you.” He offered what could generously be called a smile to Uncle Jiang. “Is that okay with you, sir?”

He nodded, betraying nothing, not even to Wei Ying, as though it wasn’t so bad to be admitted to the hospital.

Madam Yu broke the tension. “Jiang Cheng. Wei Ying. Can you give us a moment? There’s something I’d like to discuss with the doctor. Privately.”

For once, neither Jiang Cheng nor Wei Ying argued their fates. Wei Ying wouldn’t have anyway—what rights did he have here—but he was surprised that Jiang Cheng didn’t either as they stood awkwardly together in the hall, Jiang Cheng, belligerently silent, Wei Ying… something else entirely. Unmoored, maybe, just—floating in the center of whatever was to come.

It was a long time before the doctor stepped into the hallway and even longer before Madam Yu allowed them back in, Jiang Cheng fuming and pacing in front of the floor during the length of their exile, his patience worn thin now that there was news, real news, beyond that closed door.

Neither Madam Yu nor Uncle Jiang spoke as they came back in, Madam Yu already beginning the arrangement of making payment, but neither of them needed to say anything at all for Wei Ying to know the truth.

Whatever was wrong, it wasn’t going to have an easy fix.

Wei Ying wasn’t really the sort of guy who did a lot of work with paper, but right now, he was surrounded by an entire floor’s worth it seemed like, stacks of them arrayed around him as he hunched over his laptop, heedless of the world around him. There was a crack in the plastic of the pen he was chewing on, crunching between his teeth, but he barely noticed it as he flipped through the pages. His phone, also lit up, was open to a calculator app.

He yanked absently at the strands of his hair that fell into his eyes, huffing when they wouldn’t stay put. He ought to just shave it all off or grow it out. This middle ground was annoying.

His current favorite shitty drama was playing on TV again, but he wasn’t paying attention to it beyond occasionally lifting his head to check the time on his dusty old DVD player.

Jiang Cheng’s admission from the other day continued to work its way through his mind, changed in light of Uncle Jiang’s sudden trip to the hospital. What had been a leisurely, multi-year business plan for buying out Lotus Pier years in the future suddenly truncated to a tiny point in his mind. If he didn’t move now, he feared he would lose his chance to repay Uncle Jiang for all of his kindnesses over the years and that he just couldn’t do.

Neither Madam Yu nor Uncle Jiang were talking about his diagnosis—if there even was a diagnosis yet—but Wei Ying suspected neither of them would want to worry about Lotus Pier regardless. If Wei Ying was the one overreacting, well, it had been a while since he’d done a survey of his finances.

All of the money he’d saved and scrounged since his life fell apart after school felt like nothing in the face of whatever sum made Jiang Cheng laugh in a guy’s face. It would be more difficult without Jiang Cheng able to help—again, multi-year plan that involved Jiang Cheng’s participation—but he had his own life to worry about, too.

As he made his final calculations, combining every asset and income stream he had, putting every bit of his life on the line, he realized he had it. Right this minute. In fact, if he really stretched could manage it and offer even better than what it was valued at. It wouldn’t be anywhere near as good as whatever this mysterious rich client had offered, but it couldn’t be offensive to Uncle Jiang and didn’t rely even a little bit on their familial relationship.

Under normal circumstances, it would have been a very fair offer.

Wei Ying smiled, relieved, and breathed deeply.

He could do this; he could be proud of this.

He could go to Uncle Jiang without embarrassment or shame with an offer like this.

Wei Ying tried not to feel guilty as he exited the elevator on the floor of the hospital Uncle Jiang had been moved to. It wasn’t his fault that he hadn’t been able to visit—one day had turned into two had stretched into a third and, unfortunately, Jingyi had been sick the last few days as well. Someone—Wei Ying—needed to keep an eye on Lotus Pier so Jiang Cheng could be here, but he was determined to make it up to him tonight. He’d worked hard to prep this week’s posts for Yiling and the competition and was looking at the first entirely free evening he’d had in… months.

Was it months? Surely…

No, it really had been months. Huh. Well. He couldn’t imagine a better place to spend his time than here with his family. As much as they all hated hospitals, it was good that Uncle Jiang was able to get the care he needed and someone needed to keep that in mind.

He hefted the bag he was carrying, some bland snacks that Uncle Jiang liked that Madam Yu and Jiang Cheng hadn’t thought to bring, and pasted on a smile as he approached the room.

From this angle, he could only see the edge of Uncle Jiang’s bed, but he could perfectly hear Jiang Cheng’s not-so-dulcet tones as he spoke, voice raised.

Wei Ying pressed himself against the wall, certain Jiang Cheng would stop talking if he stepped in the room or was seen. Something told him it was important that he hear this.

“When exactly were you planning on telling us? Or were you even planning on doing that?”

Tell us what, Wei Ying wondered, though it didn’t take much to guess that it had something to do with Uncle Jiang’s health. Wei Ying had been under no illusions that Uncle Jiang was sick, but now it seemed so much worse.

Jiang Cheng liked to exaggerate; he felt things so deeply, it was hard for him not to blow everything into the same proportions. Maybe he was overreacting.

“Mom,” and that was jiejie’s voice, wavering and plaintive. If she was concerned, then there was a problem. A big one. Wei Ying’s heart sunk and his legs, normally so steady, nearly gave out on him. If not for the wall, he might have lost his balance. Uncle Jiang couldn’t be that sick. It was impossible, right? He’d always been full of joy and composure and life. He couldn’t be doing so poorly that jiejie had to sound like that, surely? Her voice continued to be soft and warm as she spoke, cutting through the worst of Wei Ying’s thoughts. “A-Cheng.”

He could imagine her attempting to soothe him, arms full of a fussing A-Ling and still, still doing her best for everyone. He should have taken this as his cue, sweeping in to lighten the mood, maybe snatch A-Ling from her grip to make it easier on her.

But he couldn’t move. Almost couldn’t breathe.

“A-jie! He’s—” And Wei Ying couldn’t curse enough gods in the universe when Jiang Cheng, for the first time in his life, shut his mouth instead of plowing ahead, heedless of the consequences. “They didn’t want us to know.”

“They didn’t want us to worry,” she answered. “Or fuss.”

“Who’s fussing?!”

Then there was the sound of footsteps, a bratty stomping rhythm that, without a doubt, belonged to Jiang Cheng. Wei Ying prepared himself for Jiang Cheng to see him, but he turned so sharply out into the hallway—in the opposite direction—that he missed Wei Ying’s obvious presence beside the door entirely.

Wei Ying couldn’t bring himself to follow.

Jiejie, more quietly, followed. Unlike their brother, she saw him immediately and jerked her head for him to go in. A-Ling was threatening to climb her shoulder and she looked harried, her hair in a slight disarray.

“Let me take him,” he said, because he couldn’t bring himself to ask her for answers he desperately needed, but didn’t want.

She nodded. “I’m going to get A-Cheng. Can you…? Will you be okay in there by yourself, A-Ying?”

He wasn’t sure, but he certainly wasn’t going to disappoint jiejie by showing anything except complete confidence in himself, not when a thin sheen of tears glittered in her eyes. She and Jiang Cheng had, in some ways, been quite lucky in their lives. The relationship they shared with their parents could, at times, be fraught, especially when they did something that displeased Madam Yu—like when jiejie chose to go abroad for a few years to train at a restaurant in France after getting married instead of settling down as Madam Yu believed she ought or the time Jiang Cheng chose to follow Wei Ying to Suzhou for school—but they’d faced remarkably little loss as yet.

Wei Ying hoped, desperately, for their sake, that this was just a momentary blip in that long strand of luck that linked them all together.

“I’ll be okay, jiejie.” He took A-Ling’s fist in his own and waved it around. “Isn’t that right, A-Ling?”

“Jiuuuuu,” A-Ling answered, garbled, in a very good approximation of the word for uncle. “Jujuju.”

Okay, maybe not so great, but he was getting there. “See, we’re good! I’ll… try to… you know.” If Wei Ying swallowed back some trepidation, that was his business and his business alone. “Will you… can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Am I allowed to know?

Her gaze flicked briefly to the room as though to weigh his question and then she leaned close. “Aplastic anemia. It… it wouldn’t be a problem if he’d—but it’s been untreated for so long…” She squared her shoulders and adopted a no-nonsense demeanor. “He’ll be okay. It might be a while, but he’ll bounce back.”

That… that didn’t sound so bad? And he trusted jiejie’s word. So he allowed himself to relax. “Okay. Go get Jiang Cheng, eh?”

Jiejie took that as all the permission she needed. Someone had to calm Jiang Cheng down and that someone would never be Wei Ying when Jiang Yanli was around instead.

She nodded finally and, with one final touch of her finger to A-Ling’s nose, she was heading down the same path Jiang Cheng had followed.

“We got this, right, A-Ling? Nothing can go wrong when I’ve got someone as cute as you in my arms.”

He took a quiet step toward the room and overheard Uncle Jiang’s voice. It was tired, wrung out, not at all spirited in the way Wei Ying remembered it being even three evenings ago.

“That went well.”

With a scoff, Madam Yu answered, “He is my son after all. How else did you expect him to react?”

“Perhaps you should follow him as well, since you are so alike,” Uncle Jiang suggested. From the tone, Wei Ying couldn’t tell if he was just trying to get her to leave, too, or if he really did think it was the right thing. For Wei Ying’s money, he thought not, though Uncle Jiang may well have believed so.

Frankly, they’d probably just get into a real fight and disrupt the other patients.

Wei Ying remained still and strained to hear more, using one hand to absently amuse A-Ling. Whatever was going on, he likely wasn’t going to get it straight from Uncle Jiang or Madam Yu’s mouths and he didn’t want to pester his siblings for it if he could help it. Given the reason Jiang Cheng had stormed out, they might not even know.

“Ah, he’ll calm down. He’ll hold this against us forever, but he will calm down.” There was a rapping sound, as though Madam Yu was knocking her hand against the rolling table that stood sentinel at Uncle Jiang’s side or against the wall or the end of the bed maybe. “As long as you get well again, he might even forgive us.”

She said this last with so much ferocity that Wei Ying feared what would happen if Uncle Jiang didn’t comply.

“I’m sure of it, dear.”

A-Ling blew a raspberry into the silence that followed, suggesting to Wei Ying that it was time for them to make their entrance. It didn’t seem likely that either Uncle Jiang or Madam Yu was going to say anything else anyway. Wei Ying would just have to deal with being in the dark a little longer.

Then:

“You’re going to have to make a decision about Lotus Pier,” Madam Yu said. “An actual decision, not this sentimental stubbornness you’ve been fighting with Jiang Cheng about.”

“That’s a discussion we can have later when Wei Ying is present.”

Wei Ying wanted to be happy that Uncle Jiang was willing to think of him at such a moment, but he knew his uncle and how he worked to assuage the worst of Madam Yu’s moods. It was less about him than it was about consoling her that it would be discussed at some point.

Frankly, it felt like a stalling tactic with Wei Ying as the target.

But that was fine. Wei Ying was more interested in whatever this fight was anyway. Jiang Cheng and Uncle Jiang almost never fought.

“You’re going to be transferred to Shanghai for further treatment! You keep harping on about how you’ve promised Lotus Pier to Wei Ying, but how is that going to help when we run out of money? All of our assets are tied up in that stupid coffee shop.” Another noise as Madam Yu shifted. “And here a solution was dropped into your lap and neither of us would have to worry about anything except getting you better.”

“We don’t have to worry now if we don’t wish to,” Uncle Jiang pointed out, a weak proposition even to Wei Ying’s ears. Wei Ying winced as he imagined Madam Yu’s reaction to it.

If Uncle Jiang needed to go to a specialized hospital in Shanghai for treatment, that must mean it… wasn’t good. Of course, Yunmeng would never be home to the country’s finest hospitals—not everywhere could be Shanghai or Beijing or Guangzhou, with the large pools of talent and money coming out of it—but even so…

He shouldn’t have had to go that far if it wasn’t very bad, right? And that would cost a lot of money regardless of insurance. Just thinking about Madam Yu having to find lodging in Shanghai made Wei Ying’s head spin. Even if Wei Ying bought Lotus Pier, who knew how much more Uncle Jiang would need in the future?

Well. So much for feeling proud of his proposition.

The smile he plastered on his face spasmed as he took a step into the room, unable to hear more without feeling his heart split into pieces in his chest. As expected, Madam Yu glared at him as he wandered toward Uncle Jiang’s bed.

In a weird way, knowing this made making a decision easy. Seeing the strain on each of their faces, he knew what to do. He was relieved for that at least.

“Don’t bring A-Ling so close,” she snapped, taking A-Ling from his grasp and bouncing him on her hip, her frown deepening as she brought his nephew into the corner Jiang Cheng had occupied earlier.

“Uncle Jiang, I’m so sorry I’m late!” His smile, even frozen as it was, faltered as he looked down at Uncle Jiang. Even though it had only been a couple of days, he looked wan and sallow, diminished from what he was before coming here.

He knew it was too easy to blame it on the fact that he was in the hospital, but he wanted that comfort. Nobody looked good while they were stuck in the hospital after all, but Wei Ying knew it wasn’t that simple.

Madam Yu’s gaze softened ever so slightly when Uncle Jiang offered Wei Ying a smile, his eyes brightening slightly as Wei Ying patted his forearm, careful of the needle inserted in the back of his hand.

He had no idea how long it would be until his siblings returned. Better to have this out now when it was only them here, he and Madam Yu and Uncle Jiang. “I, uh…” he swallowed around the sudden dryness in his throat. “I overheard what you were discussing before I came in.” His eyes flicked between the people he saw as his closest family. There was no point in lying. “Jiang Cheng’s finances are all tied up in the house he just bought and jiejie has her own family to worry about…”

Not that any of them would ask for or accept money from Jin Guangshan, should Jin Guangshan have even offered or agreed.

“But…”

Madam Yu stepped forward and grabbed Wei Ying by the arm and dragged him back out into the hall before he or Uncle Jiang could protest.

“What are you doing?” she asked, half her attention on him and half on A-Ling fussing against her shoulder.

“Offering to buy Lotus Pier,” he answered, ready for the flare of annoyance in her eyes. When it came, he was not disappointed. “But…”

“But what?”

“I have a bank card with the full amount of what I have on-hand applied. I’d like to give it to you. It’s…” In truth, it was a significant amount of money, but probably not significant enough for what Uncle Jiang needed to be at ease. Still, it was the only thing Wei Ying could do under the circumstances. “If Lotus Pier needs to be sold to someone else, so be it, this is still yours. It’ll make it easier if you don’t tell him, I suppose, if he’s gotten stubborn. I don’t want him fighting with Jiang Cheng about it.”

Her voice cracked like a whip, but Wei Ying couldn’t figure out why. “Wei Ying!”

“I won’t—I’m not going to make him hold to an agreement we made years ago.” It hurt to say, but not nearly as badly as it should have. “I’ll tell him I don’t want it, that I’d rather focus on my vlog.”

Madam Yu looked dubious at this prospect and suspicious of Wei Ying as a result. “That isn’t a viable path for you.”

Wei Ying dragged in a breath through his nose. This was an argument he’d long ago lost, no point in trying to relitigate it now, but it was his life to do with what he wished, viable or not. If he really wanted to, he could show her the bank statements showing just how viable the vlog was. How did she think he could afford to buy Lotus Pier now? Anyway, he’d thought working in restaurants was a viable path once, too. Viable was a shitty marker for anything in Wei Ying’s life. “It’s not like I couldn’t get another job if I needed to.” When she said nothing to that, his nerves got the better of him. The less he thought about the kind of job he’d be able to get, the better. Honestly, he preferred the thought of making the vlog his only business. He felt a bit guilty about that, especially for Wen Yuan and “Take the money or don’t, aunt, but don’t let him hold himself to this, okay? I won’t be mad.”

Neither said anything and neither moved for a very long moment. How many times could Wei Ying claim to have called Madam Yu aunt in his whole life? Maybe three times?

Then Madam Yu’s eyes narrowed as though to hide the sudden, surprising swell of warmth in them, not quite gentle, not even welcoming, but a further thawing all the same. “Keep your money for the sale, Wei Ying. It won’t do a bit of good like this and I know my husband. He won’t be convinced otherwise, not even if you tell him you don’t want it. He just won’t believe you. I’m not even sure he’s ready to give it up, honestly. So hold on to it until he is.”

“But—”

“We’ll manage until I talk him around.”

“Mada—”

“We’ll manage.” She paused and gave him a considering look, handing A-Ling back. There was a grudging look of… something on her face. “Thank you for offering.”

It wasn’t the most elegant show of gratitude Wei Ying had ever seen, but it struck him as deeply as a truck might have done, almost leaving him gasping with an emotion he didn’t want to name for fear of frightening it off.

If Jiang Fengmian wouldn’t sell to anyone else and Madam Yu wouldn’t let him give this to them now and he had a little more time to breathe, then…

Then that meant he had time to refine his plan.

There was one source of income that kept dogging his steps, thoughts of it haunting him ever since Jiang Cheng started it with that phone call he wasn’t meant to overhear.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, giving Meng Yao what he wanted so much. Every little bit would eventually help, no matter the brave face Madam Yu was putting up, right? A few hours of his time didn’t seem like such a bad deal now and maybe, maybe he could have a bit of fun with it.

It would only be a slight exaggeration to say Meng Yao was moments from being buried beneath a layer of paperwork from which he’d never recover. Centuries from now, when the planet had reclaimed its rightful dominion over the massive, arrogant skyscrapers humanity had dotted the land with—obviously a result of human stupidity causing the entire species’ extinction—he hoped maybe his body would be exhumed by some irradiated mega fauna monster so he would no longer have to face the spiritual indignity of being so obviously killed by chewed up wood pulp that had been flattened into too many stupid, shiny, expensive squares, all of which were stacked precariously on his desk.

Better to be eaten by mutated bog creatures or something.

His thoughts had gone a little deranged in the hours he’s been at this. He was still self-aware enough to realize that much.

But really. That bog creature could put him out of his misery at any time. Meng Yao would be grateful. Mutated or not. At this point, who could be picky?

Better yet, he was going to murder Seven, that was all he could say. He was going to murder him and take vicious satisfaction in shoving every last poorly printed name plate into his mouth until he choked. Then he could be the one found and eaten by irradiated mega fauna instead.

This was unacceptable and although Lan Huan had insisted it was fine—fine it was not, not when Meng Yao saw the way the skin around Lan Huan’s eyes had tightened in disappointment when he’d mentioned it over their semi-regular lunch video… chat… conference… whatevers—Meng Yao had counter-insisted (not a word, but Meng Yao was past using real words) that he could handle fixing five hundred people receiving inferior name plates in time for one of Lan Huan’s precious charity events. Between his actual duties and his unofficial extracurricular which had hit a dead end so profound that Meng Yao was still considering his next step.

This was how he now found himself cursing his mother for insisting he learn anything as asinine as calligraphy so that he could now be the person sitting here like an idiot in his off-hours handwriting each and every one of the name plates as beautifully and meticulously as he knew how because what was important to Lan Huan was important to Meng Yao and there just wasn’t time to fix this any other way, not when he himself couldn’t breathe down the printer’s neck and put the fear of him into them.

His hand was cramping and he was ready to stab himself in the eye with the brush and he still had three hundred and forty-two left to complete and Seven was still a dead man and, and, and…

And his phone was ringing from somewhere beneath the chaotic jumble his life had turned into while he wasn’t looking.

“Fuck off,” he said, not entirely certain he’d actually managed to accept the call, but who cared? Who truly cared?

An obnoxious cackle greeted him from the other end. His stomach dropped for a moment—what if it was a client? But no, it couldn’t be a client. His clients were assigned a specific ringtone and wouldn’t take kindly to being told to fuck off. And it wasn’t Lan Huan because he had a special ringtone, too, and if it wasn’t anybody in either of those two groups, it didn’t matter if he told them to fuck off.

He slumped back in his seat and looked at the caller ID—his caller was still too busy laughing—and then immediately straightened back up again. There weren’t a lot of people who’d be able to reach him who weren’t already in his contacts and there was only one person who’d be calling from Lotus Pier’s landline.

Yes, he’d already memorized it.

“Wei Ying,” he said, because there was no point in having an evil superpower if he didn’t use it.

“You recognized me from my laugh? That’s amazing!”

Meng Yao frowned. So maybe he wasn’t on his game tonight. “I recognized the number you’re calling from.”

“At least now I don’t have to ask if you’ve already forgotten about me, huh? That’s not creepy at all,” Wei Ying said, breezy. “Anyway, how dead-set are you on being really fucking weird about your big gay crush?”

“I would love to forget about you,” Meng Yao answered. In his heart, he wanted to rail against this crime. It was only because Wei Ying was so obstinate that he’d had to improvise in such an awkward way to start with. In an ideal world, he would have just told this dumb shit of a man that Lan fucking Huan himself wanted to improve his life about a thousandfold. In an ideal world, he’d have been glad to be recognized and plucked from, well, obscurity wasn’t the right word for it. Still, most people longed for bigger platforms and opportunities. But no, he had to lie and pretend he wanted to do something about his ‘big gay crush’ other than die an old man with the whole of it buried deep in his heart where it could only hurt himself. “But I wouldn’t have approached you if I wasn’t committed.”

“Good. Let’s do it.”

Holy shit. Meng Yao nearly pulled a muscle in his back as he leaned forward in his chair. “I can have the money wired—”

“I don’t want the money.”

Meng Yao stifled a curse as he accidentally pushed a huge stack of blank cards off his desk. In all his years, he’d never in his life heard any such thing. “What could you possibly want instead!?”

“I want to use this—” And Meng Yao didn’t know how he knew, but he could practically hear Wei Ying gesturing expansively from hundreds of kilometers away. “—whole touching experience for my vlog.”

Meng Yao was not in the business of experiencing fear or disappointment these days, but right now, he felt both, his heart pounding furiously in his chest as he tried to digest Wei Ying’s words. Here was somebody—in truth, a nobody insofar as Meng Yao was concerned—who’d managed to do the damned near impossible.

Wei Ying, a guy who didn’t even have a real degree in anything that mattered in the world, had made an impossible request of the one man in Suzhou for whom nothing was supposed to be impossible.

His father would probably like to shake Wei Ying’s hand. So would at least one of his bastard, kowtowing brothers, and a spare cousin or two, too.

Mo Xuanyu was okay, but fuck the rest of them, seriously. And there were a lot.

Zixuan might look at him with pity, but what good would that do him? It wasn’t like they talked anyway. Jin Zixuan cut ties with all of them when he decided to marry Jiang Yanli against their father’s greediest wishes and for whatever reason, that included Meng Yao, too. Still, maybe he was alright in theory.

“I can’t promise you that,” he answered, hating the words as they came out of his mouth. They tasted like sand on his tongue, the grit of them unpleasant between his teeth. Can’t hadn’t been in his vocabulary for as long as he could remember either, but there was not a single way in hell that Lan Huan would ever agree to something like this and Meng Yao wouldn’t want him to. In fact, he’d been planning on making Wei Ying sign an NDA as soon as he said yes. Which, at the time, Meng Yao hadn’t imagined he’d do anything except say yes.

At the time, too, he hadn’t known that Wei Ying was actually sharp underneath all the insouciance. Thinking about it, the NDA would’ve probably set off sirens in the back of his mind.

Wei Ying was clever and not risk-averse. He may not have known what he was walking into, but he could sense an opportunity and chose to pursue it instead of the more than generous assurances Meng Yao had offered originally.

“If I secure your boyfriend’s permission?”

Meng Yao could not quite manage to stifle his laugh of disbelief. Amateur. It was amateur. He knew better than to give himself away like that. Now Wei Ying would suspect something.

How much could he figure out from what he knew? Probably more than Meng Yao cared to think about.

“If you’d rather add a few more zeroes to your offer…?” Wei Ying asked.

Meng Yao did not choke. He didn’t choke, but it was a very near thing and Wei Ying probably managed to catch it anyway because Meng Yao just couldn’t do anything right with Wei Ying. Who was this guy? And could Meng Yao somehow clone him or otherwise convince him to join his team instead of letting him waste away doing a vlog? He needed people this thick-faced and bold on his side. “So much for integrity, huh?”

If that struck even the slightest blow, Wei Ying didn’t advertise that fact. “I used up enough of it when we first talked.” He spoke without the slightest hint of shame. Whatever pressure he was suddenly feeling that brought him back to Meng Yao, he was willing to gamble with it against the pressure Meng Yao was feeling. “I’m happy to save the rest for a rainy day.”

“I can’t give you a few more zeroes,” Meng Yao said. He had his limits, too.

“And you can’t give me your boyfriend. That’s unfortunate.” Wei Ying paused briefly. “I suppose that’s that, then.”

“Wait!” Meng Yao hated, hated, absolutely hated being the one stuck in a desperate position, but he wanted what Wei Ying could give him more than having the satisfaction of having beaten him. “How much does my… does the other party have to be involved in your vlog?”

Wei Ying hummed thoughtfully. “What do you have in mind?”

“One-hundred thousand yuan and a promise that you keep his identity out of it.” 100,000RMB. More than triple Meng Yao’s original offer, but not quite the number of zeroes Wei Ying would have been looking for even so. Probably Wei Ying wasn’t really looking for a payout; he clearly preferred the content to cash or else he wouldn’t have shot so high. But maybe some content was better than no content? “For your vlog. You can have whatever you want from me.”

If that meant Meng Yao had to look like a fool, well. He’d done worse for poorer reasons; he’d figure out a way to fix it before Wei Ying got carried away and plastered his feelings all over the internet. All he needed to do was buy some time. That sometimes cost a lot more than this, too.

Meng Yao did a few mental calculations and concluded that he could go up to 300,000RMB right this minute. If Lan Huan was right, he might well ultimately be worth more than that. He just needed to get the two of them in a room together.

Not that Lan Huan wasn’t worth the entirety Meng Yao’s net worth, but there was only so many liquid assets he had on hand.

“Hmm.”

Meng Yao could tell now that Wei Ying was curious, uncertain as to whether he should accept the terms Meng Yao had set out or not. He’d find out Meng Yao’s reasons soon enough, but by then, it wouldn’t matter. Meng Yao will have ensured there was no way Wei Ying could use Lan Huan for his own gains.

“Well?”

“Fine, fine,” Wei Ying said finally, as though he was making the decision on a whim.

“There is one thing I’ll ask of you,” Meng Yao added, eyes falling to the name plates before him.

“Ask it, then.”

All this work, just for this singular request. Was it worth it? He had to believe it was. “I’d like you to come to an event this weekend as my plus one.”

“Your boyfriend is going to be there, I presume?”

It’s his event, he did not say. “Yes.”

“Can I film?” Before Meng Yao could deny his request, he added, “Outside of the event and well away from your precious man, of course. I’m not stupid. I can see you’re protective. I suppose that’s a good thing.”

Meng Yao’s dentist was going to kill him at this rate. “Fine.”

“Good! I accept. Have the contract drawn up and I’ll be by your office tomorrow afternoon to sign it.”

“What?”

“I won’t do this without a contract, Meng-xiansheng. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but…”

Who the hell was this guy? Of course there was going to be a contract. It would’ve been nice if he didn’t have to do it right now though. “Fine.” That was beginning to be the only word in his vocabulary. Perhaps he should worry about that fact, but right now all he could think about was how he had yet another task to do on a night when he was already monumentally, staggeringly busy. “Does 3PM work?”

“I can get to Suzhou by then, sure.”

“I’ll have a driver meet you at Suzhou railway station. Since tomorrow’s Friday and the event is Saturday, I’ll make arrangements for the hotel as well.”

“Wow. It must be really nice to be you! A driver, huh, and you’re booking a room for me? Where will this excellent treatment end?”

Forget Seven, Meng Yao was going to murder him instead. Not everyone who had money came from it, though he supposed it really wasn’t Wei Ying’s fault for making assumptions. This was perhaps the first time in his life he was glad to be known as Meng Yao rather than by the name he would have had if his father wasn’t the biggest prick on the planet.

There was no way in hell Wei Ying wouldn’t have given him massive amounts of shit if his last name was Jin and Meng Yao wasn’t even certain he would have blamed him under those circumstances. Even so, it grated.

Once the call ended and Meng Yao was left with the silence of his office, he took a deep breath and attempted to pick up his brush again.

It took a few false starts to get going again, palms slick and fingers shaking, but he was finally able to calm his mind and manage to write without screwing up the characters with an unsteady hand.

He was really, truly, actually doing this.

And he wasn’t in any way prepared for it.

Su She knocked politely on the door and waited a handful of seconds before pushing it open. It was a dance they’d perfected over the years, requiring a knowledge of one another that was rare in this or any other business. Minus the romantic feelings, Su She was to Meng Yao what Meng Yao was to Lan Huan.

He supposed that made them friends.

And on his friend’s face was a look of distaste and dubious uncertainty. When he looked over Su She’s shoulder, he saw Wei Ying and, a little further behind him, Nie Huaisang, who waved at him.

“Nie Huaisang and, uh, Wei Ying to see you?”

Meng Yao leveled a look at him. They both knew Wei Ying was on his schedule; he didn’t need to act like a snob about it in front of the one person who seemed likely to actually call them on it.

If the glance Wei Ying tossed Su She’s way was any indication, he was entirely aware of the slight, maybe even welcomed it as one more sign that he was right and rich businessmen were all assholes. Not that he wasn’t inviting the judgment on purose: the casually ripped jeans and red high top sneakers he was wearing, the scuffed leather jacket, the white t-shirt, all were just a little too calculated to arouse suspicion in an office populated by suits. Meng Yao was left wondering if Wei Ying ever did anything without abrasive intent. How could a guy who seemed so sweet on camera be such a dick the rest of the time?

Oh, and the sneakers even lit up when he walked. Good.

Nie Huaisang was a little more appropriately attired, though he was certain to blind at least a few of Meng Yao’s more conservative colleagues with a jacket of that particular shade of yellow. But that was just Huaisang, he wasn’t specifically snubbing his nose at anyone. He just had… eclectic taste was probably the kindest word for it.

“Do I want to know why you’re here, Huaisang?” he asked.

“I haven’t taken a weekend trip to Suzhou in so long, san-ge. Besides, I hear Wei-xiong has a date with you this weekend and I want to make sure he’s not an embarrassment.”

Wei Ying scoffed, but there was a canted smile on his mouth and a challenge in his eyes.

“You just want to shop.”

Nie Huaisang wagged his finger. “Maybe so, maybe so,” he sing-songed. “This is the perfect excuse, is it not? I never imagined my dear third gege would be dating someone like Wei-xiong, but here we are.” He sighed dreamily. “It’s so exciting.”

“Huaisang,” Wei Ying said, a note of genuine annoyance in his voice. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Ah, but I can dream. You both really need to get laid.”

Meng Yao glanced Wei Ying’s way as Wei Ying shrugged, a little tense and trying not to be. “I told him we were going out together. Platonically. That was my mistake on my part. Trust me, I am well aware.”

“Wei-xiong refused to tell me anything else,” Nie Huaisang said with a hint of petulance. “It’s really like he doesn’t trust me.”

“He’s a smart man,” Meng Yao answered. “If you’ll step outside, Huaisang, this won’t take long. Su She, will you get Huaisang a cup of coffee while he waits?”

Nie Huaisang offered up one of his signature enigmatic grins and held his arm out for Su She to take, which he did not. In retaliation, he said, “I hear you pull excellent shots with the office espresso machine, Su-xiong. Could you make it a triple?”

The expression of bemusement on Wei Ying’s face looked so rusty from disuse that Meng Yao was sure that Wei Ying almost never experienced such feelings of puzzlement. “You actually are acquainted. San-ge, really?”

“Sometimes I wish we weren’t.” He gestured for Wei Ying to sit and retrieved the contract from the locked drawer of his desk.

Wei Ying watched the motion and retrieved a chop from the pocket of his jacket, a blindingly vicious grin on his face as he gazed keenly at Meng Yao, no doubt waiting for a reaction. It looked nearly brand new in his hand, the stamp portion as crisp as the day it was made. It had to have been used at least once, though. It had the dried residue of red ink across its surface.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Meng Yao said, startling himself with the proclamation. Wei Ying’s grin only widened.

“This is a legitimate business venture, is it not, Meng-xiansheng? And I’m a legitimate businessman. Did you believe otherwise?”

In fact, Meng Yao was not entirely aware of the steps required to become a vlogger, but he hadn’t expected it allowed for or required registration or a fucking chop of all things.

Wei Ying could actually stand a chance in court with one of those in his hands. Not that it was going to go that far, but it was yet another reminder that Wei Ying was sharper than Meng Yao was tempted to credit him with being.

No doubt that was Wei Ying’s goal.

What troubled him was the fact that he kept falling for it.

“Here,” he said, too short to be anything other than obviously annoyed. Might as well not even bother trying to cover it. “Read it, sign, and put your stamp on it. Get the fuck out of my office.”

Meng Yao’s portion was already signed and stamped. There was no point wasting time.

“Are you excited for your happily ever after?” Wei Ying’s tone was conversational as he read over the contract, nodding and furrowing his brow in turn as he perused each stipulation. Meng Yao didn’t answer until Wei Ying lifted his gaze to Meng Yao’s face, eyebrow canted curiously.

Heat crept up his neck and jaw as he considered it. The possibility of any sort of happiness seemed so foreign to him. The possibility of happiness with Lan Huan specifically was astronomically impossible to contemplate. “You’re presupposing success.”

Wei Ying waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “You’ll succeed.”

Something that might have been the start of a headache throbbed behind his eyes.

Laughing, Wei Ying added, “And then I won’t ever have to see you again!” Sly, he looked again at Meng Yao, this time through lowered lashes. “Unless you want to invite me to the wedding, of course. I’m sure that would be great for the views.”

“Are you always this mercenary?”

The sparkling mischief he was displaying rearranged itself into something darker, grimmer. “Oh, absolutely. But shouldn’t you be used to that sort of thing?”

Then he scratched his name onto the contract and stamped it, the thud of the chop loud in the silence that followed Wei Ying’s proclamation. Pushing himself to his feet, he shunted the pages at Meng Yao’s desk, where they skimmed the surface before settling against Meng Yao’s chest.

Wei Ying made it as far as the door before Meng Yao spoke again. “Oh, and Wei-xiansheng? The event is black tie. Su She’s arranged a stipend for that, too.”

“So I can’t let Huaisang go too wild. Too bad.” He made it to the door before adding, “And let’s be clear. I’m not pretending to be your date. Got it? Plus one, fine, but you’re not leveraging me to make him jealous. That’s not a game I’m interested in playing. Just so you know.”

And here it was again, the only word that Meng Yao seemed to know: “Fine.”

“How do you put up with all of this?” Wei Ying tightened his hand around the opposite wrist to keep himself from yanking on the starched collar of his shirt. Nobody else seemed to have a problem with the clothing like Wei Ying did, at ease with themselves in a way that Wei Ying was not. “I like to look as good as the next person, but this…”

Meng Yao glared at him, one eyebrow shooting up in dubious reprimand. “You wore a beat-up jacket into my office just yesterday.” His gaze raked down Wei Ying’s impressive—if he said so himself—frame. He looked rather tall and dashingly rangy and Meng Yao did not seem to hate tall and rangy if the lingering glance at his legs were any indication. It made Wei Ying wonder what Meng Yao’s mysterious boyfriend looked like. Tall, he was willing to wager. “And the hem of your jeans were ragged.”

Or maybe he was just having a flashback to his supposed crime against fashion. The light-up sneakers were a brilliant touch, he had to admit, pleased when he found them buried in the back of his closet gathering dust.

“I was trying to be an asshole yesterday. Trust me, I know what I’m doing when I want to.” His attention shifted to the glittering skirt of the woman in line in front of him. There were possibly three hundred million beads sewn into the fabric, all sparkling shades of pearl and gray and utterly unnecessary. Who wanted to make such a thing? And how many wasted hours went into it? It was beautiful, but he felt bad for whatever garment designer’s assistance suffered through performing all that manual labor. Which he was sure it was. That was what these people did, right? Paid a premium to ensure another human being broke their back for them? “How do you even remember things like that?”

“It was hard to forget. I thought Su She was going to have an aneurysm.”

Wei Ying laughed, forgetting momentarily that he was strangling himself on the subtly patterned white shirt he didn’t want to be wearing at an event he didn’t particularly want to attend. It reminded him too much of the uniforms he used to wear before going back to Lotus Pier. The fabric was maybe a little bit nicer, but other than that it felt no different at all. “That was pretty cool.”

His fingers itched again. He’d hated those uniforms. Still did, now that he was reminded of them. Sure, he stuck with a white shirt at Lotus Pier, but it wasn’t because anyone was forcing him to, and if there was a wrinkle in the sleeves, Jiang Cheng only grumbled a little bit about it. “Anyway,” he continued, when Meng Yao didn’t seem like he was going to contribute any further. How slow did this line have to be anyway? Could something happen, please? “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Put up with what, then?” Meng Yao asked. “I didn’t realize you were that interested.”

“It’s clearly been too long since you’ve slummed it, Meng-xiansheng.” He gestured around them. “Putting up with this. It’s obnoxious.”

“What do you mean?”

“I feel like I’m going to go blind from all the glitter!”

A muscle in Meng Yao’s perfectly dimpled cheek twitched. “No, what did you mean about slumming it?”

“Oh.” Shrugging, he tugged at the hem of his sleeve. That helped a little to keep him from feeling like he was choking. He probably shouldn’t have let Nie Huaisang insist on a shirt quite this degree of fitted because what about the lines of the jacket, Wei-xiong, it’ll look so much better, I wish we had time to get this properly tailored, why didn’t you tell me sooner. Meng Yao was staring at him a little too intently now though, so he got to be uncomfortable in an entirely new way. Good thing he was used to embarrassment. “You obviously don’t come from money, right? Not the way these people do. I thought you were going to grind your teeth to dust when I kept making you sound like the rich asshole you are.”

Meng Yao blinked, clearly taken off guard by the observation. Ha.

“I don’t mean… I don’t give a shit about any of that really.” Then he laughed and shook his head. That was a lie, wasn’t it? “Well, I do. Honestly I think the lot of you would’ve been better off donating the cost of your expensive fucking bespoke suits and couture gowns to whatever charity this event is supposed to support instead of showing off to one another, but—”

“Is there a point buried somewhere in your ramblings or are you expecting me to puzzle it out for myself?”

“I might be bored,” Wei Ying admitted, “and…” He glanced around the room again. God, he hated people like this, most of them. Didn’t miss working for them at all. Didn’t miss all the many and varied ways they lorded themselves over everyone else. “Let’s just go with that.”

Meng Yao offered him a smile so tight it dimpled his cheeks on both sides of his mouth this time. Wow. “Just don’t embarrass me.”

He never did answer Wei Ying’s question. Possibly it was too personal. That didn’t stop Wei Ying from continuing to be bored.

The line slipped forward with inexorable slowness, the people around them continuing to mingle with one another as they waited, laughing politely, touching one another politely, doing everything with the utmost polish and elegance and, of course, politesse. Every time it happened, he fought the urge to roll his eyes. Too bad it was all just a beautiful fiction.

Any one of these people would never find themselves in a position where they had to sacrifice even a sliver of their own happiness in order to survive and they’d never give up that happiness in order for anyone else to survive.

“Are you all right?” Meng Yao asked, hand hovering somewhere around Wei Ying’s forearm, like he intended to reach out, but wasn’t sure if it would be welcome.

He was more observant than others Wei Ying had met, that was for sure. Another sign he wasn’t a natural in this world. They wouldn’t have noticed anything amiss.

“Fine.”

“Don’t forget that contract you made us sign,” Meng Yao said, quiet, sickly sweet, smile still plastered to his mouth, fake as plastic.

“Yeah, yeah. Shouldn’t you have some kind of pull here? Aren’t you like…” Wei Ying waved his hand in nebulous fashion. He still didn’t quite understand what Meng Yao was. A lawyer, that much was obvious, but he sure had a lot of spare time for a lawyer and he hadn’t exactly flinched at the revised compensation he offered, so he had to be good at it. Or devious enough to make up for being awful at it. Or perhaps he was the worst combination of good and devious both. But that still didn’t account for everything. “…a big deal?”

“I’m not going to take advantage of the system for a charity event—”

“That’s surprisingly upstanding of you.”

Meng Yao stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “It’s gauche.”

Oh, of course. Appearances. The only thing that really mattered. He didn’t even really care and still wouldn’t use his influence to ensure Wei Ying could get this farce over with as quickly as possible. Truly, Meng Yao was a great friend.

“You’re the worst.” Wei Ying’s voice took on a whining tinge, but it couldn’t have been any worse than the man he’d overheard complaining about the car club that wouldn’t cancel another person’s reservation for some word salad of a vehicle that nobody would ever really drive in real life. Leaning close, he whispered, because he had some small degree of regard for Meng Yao’s nerves, “All of this because you think your boyfriend is so unique that I couldn’t crack him from a description. How arrogant you are!”

“Most people would enjoy the opportunity you’re being afforded here, Wei-xiansheng.” His eyes narrowed as he considered Wei Ying more closely. “Why don’t you?”

“Not all of us care about money and power. Also, don’t call me that. I don’t think even my father would have wanted to be called that.”

“No, not everyone does, I suppose, but the contract begs to differ. You just set your sights a little lower than the people here. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

But the way he said it, Wei Ying got the very real feeling that Meng Yao did in fact think there was something wrong with it or wrong with him for not aiming higher.

Wei Ying didn’t like being patronized and he intended to say as much except…

Except they’d inched close enough to the front of the line, security checking invitations and guest lists and doing cursory searches and screenings because who here would actually be enough of a safety threat for them to be thorough, that Wei Ying could finally see a sign explaining the purpose of the event, which charity it was benefiting and the talent responsible for the entertainment.

Shit. Shit. This was… not good.

Wei Ying did not swoon, absolutely not, but lightheadedness had him bowing his head forward, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he swallowed back bile.

His heart was going rabbit kick its way out of his chest and leave him bleeding out on the floor.

This was not possible. Life couldn’t be this cruel to him.

“Move,” Meng Yao said, vehement despite the hushed tone of his voice.

He hadn’t noticed the line had moved again and that the security guard was waiting for him and Meng Yao, an impatient expression on her face. Someone behind them muttered about how slow the line had suddenly gotten, like it hadn’t been slow this whole damned time, but Wei Ying didn’t have—he couldn’t care about that right now.

He couldn’t even hear over the sound of blood rushing in his ears, not without forcing himself to focus and it was impossible to focus.

“What’s the matter with you?” Meng Yao asked.

Oh. A lot of things now. A lot of things now were wrong. Everything was wrong. Very, very wrong.

Meng Yao grabbed his arm, maintaining as much composure as possible. Between the two of them, there wasn’t much left, but the effort was valiant.

Up close, so damned close, that sign was even more awful to look at. From here, each and every character of the name he didn’t want to see or think about seemed intent to mock him. The small, almost microscopic picture next to those characters took on gargantuan proportions in Wei Ying’s mind.

Lan Zhan.

Wei Ying knew perfectly well that Lan Zhan had become the professional performer he’d fought so hard to become back at university. Despite not exactly following in his brother’s larger, more popular footsteps, he’d made an indelible mark on the music industry and had truly lived up to that silly nickname he’d been given back then even before he’d proved himself to the world, a nickname he’d disliked at the time.

Even knowing he would not approve, Wei Ying still listened to his music. Well, no. That wasn’t quite true. He’d stumbled across Lan Zhan’s first album by accident as he wandered around Yiling in a daze one night after a bad shift. It was a short little thing, barely more than an EP, snuck into a bin in a record store that stayed open late because it was cool and wanted its clientele to think it was cool, too, and he’d allowed himself to keep it because there would be no parting from Lan Zhan in his heart, no matter how little he allowed himself to think of him otherwise, and he might as well get something out of it. Yiling was shit anyway and had been almost from the start, so of course he’d be reminded of everything else he wanted to forget while there. Why not hang this music like an albatross around his neck? It didn’t make it hurt any worse being there, making the decisions he was making.

His favorite piece became his ringtone. And the rest accompanied his work at Lotus Pier when he was feeling especially maudlin, always a favorite with the people who walked in, because who wouldn’t fall in love with Lan Zhan’s music when they heard it? It was the only weakness he allowed himself, the only thing he’d purposefully inured himself to so that he could keep it. After that, he did everything he could to avoid any new works and succeeded. Mostly.

What spiritual power in the universe did Wei Ying so deeply offend that it should be Lan Entertainment charity event he found himself attending?

Up close, Wei Ying couldn’t avoid the image used, a studio shot, of course. His gently waved hair was pulled back into a ponytail, somehow easy and meticulous at the same time. It wasn’t so different from the way he used to wear his hair, though it was a little bit longer than the last time they’d seen one another. Lan Zhan wasn’t looking at the camera, his gaze distant as he stared at some point over the photographer’s shoulder. The glance was pensive, melancholic, thoughtful, all the things that Wei Ying knew Lan Zhan to be in real life.

He was beautiful and Wei Ying wanted to run as far away from him as these stupid, unsteady legs would carry him.

Nobody could be as calm and composed as Lan Zhan and Wei Ying could almost hear the clear notes of his guqin in this image, Lan Zhan’s image and his music becoming one and the same in Wei Ying’s mind.

He tried to pull his arm free of Meng Yao’s grip, but Meng Yao was stronger than he looked and determined as he kept him in line.

“Let go of me.”

“Let the nice security officer check your invitation. What’s the matter with you?” Meng Yao held out the pair of tickets he’d been carrying, but the officer was too busy watching Wei Ying to take them.

“None of your business. It has nothing to do with this. Let me go.” Lotus Pier, he reminded himself. This is for Lotus Pier and Uncle Jiang and Jiang Cheng. You don’t have to see Lan Zhan. You can sneak away while he’s performing. It’ll be fine. He won’t see you. You can’t hurt him if he can’t see you. It’ll be fine.

It didn’t feel like it would be fine, not with the tight band of fear squeezing his chest and stealing his breath.

“Wei Ying!” Meng Yao’s voice was sharp and short, sharp the way Lan Zhan’s voice was when he disapproved of some scheme or other that Wei Ying used to try to pull him into. It was the same, but different, and somehow all the worse for it.

“I’m fine. It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine, not by a long shot. “I’m not going to abandon you.” Except he absolutely was going to do just that as soon as Meng Yao let go of him. “Just let me go.”

The moment stretched to its breaking point, but Meng Yao released his hold on him before Wei Ying had to make a bigger scene, instead pressing his hand against Wei Ying’s shoulder blade to guide him forward that way, fingers going tight in the muscles there. He handed over their tickets and gave each of their names. Wei Ying still had enough of him wits about him to be vaguely annoyed that the security officer gave him a long, lingering once-over of complete disbelief as she glanced between him, Meng Yao, and the tickets.

“What? Do you think Meng Yao counterfeited the tickets? What’s taking so long?”

“Wei Ying!”

I’m not going to vomit in public. I’m really, really not. “What?” And he realized his voice was on the verge of sounding unhinged, but he couldn’t quite dial it back. To the security officer, he spoke a little obsequiously and cringed internally for it. “Listen, I’m sure you’re perfectly competent, but I really need—”

The woman handed the tickets back and gave Meng Yao a look that clearly indicated that she wished him luck with his terrible taste in plus ones.

“I apologize,” Meng Yao said, smooth, face as thick as Wei Ying had ever seen it. If Wei Ying wasn’t currently in the process of losing his shit, he might have laughed at his brittle composure and the sincere awkwardness of his words to the security officer. Under different circumstances, Wei Ying might have liked the guy more for his willingness to do that. He clearly hadn’t entirely forgotten where he came from no matter how Wei Ying goaded him.

And here he’d been so surprised by Wei Ying’s observation about his origins when he kept giving himself away.

As soon as they were through the second check, appropriately scanned for metal and other dangerous objects, Wei Ying veered off toward the first corridor he saw, needing privacy while he pulled himself back together.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

“What are you doing?”

And Wei Ying was right back to hating Meng Yao’s guts. “Finding a bathroom. Do you want to hold my hand while I take a piss? I just need a few minutes.” He scanned the wide hallway and then pointed at a small nearby alcove where a person could stare out onto the street if they had the desire to do so, large window showing the evening traffic outside while not allowing anyone to see inside. “I’ll meet you over there.”

“There are bathrooms—”

Wei Ying grabbed Meng Yao’s shoulders. He said again, “I need a few minutes,” but what he meant was, do not fuck with me right now.

“I don’t think that’s a—”

Whatever Meng Yao thought, Wei Ying just didn’t care and instead strode toward that corridor that was so blessedly free of people, slipping beneath the hastily posted cordon. Even just taking a few steps down it was enough to soothe Wei Ying’s frayed nerves. A handful of doors led elsewhere in the building, but none of them were labeled or gave any indication of what they were for, so he didn’t bother investigating further.

His stomach was settling anyway. Leaning back against the wall, he slid to the ground and braced his arms on his knees. With his forehead pressed against his crossed wrists, he was able to breathe a little easier. Somewhere, Nie Huaisang was probably screeching over the mess he was making of this suit.

It was okay. This was okay. So what if Lan Zhan was here? He’d never have to know. It would be fine.

It would have continued to be fine if he didn’t hear the sudden scuffling whisper of a soft-soled shoe against the ground, if he didn’t hear a voice, a still precious voice, an always beloved voice. Even if he was protected from sight, eyes closed and face hidden, he could not stop himself from hearing.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Then, gentler, “Are you all right?”

Wei Ying could have laughed. He could have cried. He might well be sick because his stomach was suddenly turning somersaults in his abdomen again and his skin felt a bit clammy.

What he couldn’t do was move or speak.

Lan Zhan. It was Lan Zhan telling him he couldn’t be here, asking him if he was well. Of course it was. Who else could it be? And how much more vehemently would he have expressed himself if he knew who he was talking to?

Perhaps he’d go away if Wei Ying pretended like he couldn’t hear him. Or maybe if he turned quickly enough and sprinted, he could evade Lan Zhan that way. With his luck, he’d trip himself and go sprawling, but as long as Lan Zhan didn’t see his face, what did it matter?

The breath he released couldn’t even hold itself up on its own legs, coltish and shaky and not at all relieving or calming.

No, he could not get out of this unscathed and there was no point in trying to escape.

So much for Lan Zhan not knowing he was here.

For just one more moment, he let himself live in a world where Lan Zhan would be pleased to see him instead of the one that actually existed in reality.

Lan Zhan was going to be so mad.

Discreetly brushing his eyes across the cool, silken sleeve of his jacket, he lifted his head, perching his chin on the back of his still folded hands. Though his voice wavered, he was proud that he managed to sound even a little cordial and unflappable. “Hi, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan, as expected, reared back or did his version of it, which was half lifting his hand before letting it snap back to his side. His skin, already porcelain, went a shade paler and his eyes widened. “Wei Ying?”

And there was the sharp tone of voice that Wei Ying had missed all these years. No one said his name the way Lan Zhan did. It was like the crystal clear water of a glacial river, purifying, invigorating.

If he’d thought—or hoped—the image on that sign would have prepared him for the truth of Lan Zhan before him, it did not. Not in the slightest.

In the handful of seconds he was given before an answer would be expected, he drank as much of Lan Zhan in as he could, cataloged everything from his posture to the even trim of his nails. He wore a pale grey jacket with a high collar that swept back toward his ears, no lapel, practically daring at an event like this, with buttons down the front that closed at a slight angle, lovingly wrapping his body from just right of the center of his chest to a little left of the center of his abdomen.

It should have looked skewed, unbalanced, imperfect.

It very definitely did not.

A navy scarf was curled around his neck instead of a tie, tucked safely into the jacket.

His shoes were a polished gray that matched his jacket and the trousers, slim cut, hugged his legs in a way that Wei Ying hadn’t seen before. He’d always favored sleek lines, but this was on an entirely different level.

He looked every inch the sophisticated artist except that he didn’t seem to know what to do with himself right. His hands clenched at his side and he took an aborted step forward.

Wei Ying failed to keep from flinching with the motion.

In retrospect, Wei Ying should probably have paid more attention to the cordon. His resolve to remain cool and distant crumbled as he watched Lan Zhan stretch the joints of one hand, fingers splaying wide before he folded it behind his back. “Sorry, I—” God, how embarrassing. How impossible. In what world would something like this happen? “Sorry.”

Pushing himself to his feet, he managed one graceless step before Lan Zhan’s hand snapped out and snagged his wrist, his long fingers wrapping the entire way around it. Wei Ying’s racing pulse thundered against his thumb.

Fuck. Fuck.

“Did you know?”

Did I know what, Wei Ying thought, despairing, though the question was obvious enough, wasn’t it? Did I know you were here?

Sick at heart and wanting to be anywhere else instead of trapped in the past, he found himself angry all over again about all the things that were better left there, and with that anger, he clasped desperate hands around his clarity and strangled the hell out of it. The words that wouldn’t come before were easier now. “It doesn’t matter how good you might look, Lan Zhan, not everything is about you. If I’d known you were here, I can assure you I would have stayed far, far away.”

Lan Zhan would never be anything but dear to Wei Ying, but that didn’t mean he actually wanted to see Lan Zhan or know how lovely his appearance remained, how sweet his voice could be and how soft his hands despite his vocation. His hair was pulled back in a similar way to how it was in the picture on the sign and Wei Ying wanted nothing more than to pull it from the clip that held it in place. It would be like running your fingers through the placid surface of a lake to touch it or so Wei Ying imagined.

Well, that thought certainly wouldn’t take him anywhere good.

Better to pretend he disliked Lan Zhan as much as Lan Zhan disliked him. That couldn’t get him into trouble. It wasn’t like he had to dig very deep to find that feeling anyway, as anemic though it was. All he had to think of was that last day they spent together. He disliked that day very, very much.

His words must have struck true, because now it was Lan Zhan flinching, almost imperceptible, but Wei Ying knew where to look for it, could find each and every one of Lan Zhan’s most minute reactions still. It might only have been in the slightest shiver of his eyelashes, but it was there.

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying took another step back and wagged his finger at Lan Zhan, yanking himself free of Lan Zhan’s touch. “Don’t call me that.”

Another strike, center mass. The muscles in his hand twitched at his side. “What should I call you instead?”

“Nothing.” That’s what I am to you, am I not? “Don’t call me anything. I apologize for disrupting your preparations. Perform well tonight.”

It was, as far as such things went, a good exit, an exit to be proud of. Or it would have been if he didn’t immediately collide with another body before he was even able to turn entirely around. A hand grabbed his bicep to steady him. When he lifted his eyes, they took in the sight of the second to last person Wei Ying would have wanted to see tonight.

But compared to Lan Zhan, Lan Huan was easy. Even though his gaze was cool, he was unfailingly polite, didn’t let whatever judgment he felt cloud his gaze. “Wei Ying. It’s been a long time. May I ask what you’re doing here tonight?”

That cool gaze of his scanned over Wei Ying’s body, clinical, as though in search of a defect that needed to be repaired, neither good nor bad in and of itself, just what was.

There was a long moment during which nobody said anything, as Wei Ying tried to determine the best way to get across that he wasn’t just here to cause trouble for the Lans specifically, though it was very possible neither of them would believe him. Then another hand was touching him, tugging at his forearm, and it was Meng Yao who answered.

“I invited Wei Ying as my date.”

Wei Ying saw nothing but red, heard nothing but white noise, but he had to give it to Meng Yao: he knew how to roll with an unexpected punch.

Meng Yao laced their fingers together and smiled with earnest sincerity at Lan Huan, as though he wasn’t lying directly to Lan Huan’s face and doing a damned fine job of it. A microscopic part of Wei Ying was impressed with the gall and it was only that part that stopped him from throwing a punch.

Wei Ying didn’t dare struggle too hard to remove his hand from Meng Yao’s grasp, but it was the only thing in the world he wanted to do. Lan Huan’s eyes snapped to Meng Yao’s face, expression shuttering before Wei Ying could fully parse what had happened. Anyway, too much of his attention was on Lan Zhan to appreciate anything else that was going on, and the only thing he saw there was blank disdain, because what else would Lan Zhan feel at such a display?

Wei Ying couldn’t allow it to continue and he wouldn’t let Lan Zhan spend this evening assuming Wei Ying was here as Meng Yao’s date or as anyone’s date. His plus one? Sure. But date? No, no. Lan Zhan thinking about Wei Ying dating anyone else was not going to be on this or any menu ever.

None of this was a part of the contract. He’d said. He’d specifically told Meng Yao not do this this.

Meng Yao knew.

When Wei Ying attempted to free himself politely, discreetly, Meng Yao only held more tightly to him.

Lan Huan’s smile faltered and that was when it clicked.

Lan Huan cared about Meng Yao.

And what were the chances that the man Meng Yao was trying to attract in return was Lan Huan?

Oh, oh, this was just fucking great. At least now Meng Yao’s reticence about letting Wei Ying film made sense now. There wasn’t a chance in hell that Lan Huan would agree—and that was even true without the added layer of complication that his status gave him. All Lans were private by nature.

“How did you meet?” Lan Huan asked, careful.

“In Yunmeng,” Meng Yao answered. “When I was there on—” His attention flicked to Lan Zhan for a moment. “—business.”

Though Lan Zhan stood silently in the background, his frown of disapproval spoke for him with more eloquence than words ever could.

If anything remained of Lan Zhan’s regard for him from the past, it had to be in tatters now. And why shouldn’t it be? Here he was, stealing Lan Huan’s loved one from him, or so he would have every reason to believe. It would track with what Lan Zhan thought he knew about Wei Ying already, wouldn’t it?

If he didn’t get out of here now…

“Lan-xiansheng,” he said to Lan Huan, because he didn’t dare address Lan Zhan again under these circumstances. “It was my mistake coming back here. I was feeling momentarily ill, that’s all.” Lies, lies. So many lies even when they were the truth. His stomach was certainly threatening to rebel against him now. Again. “I didn’t pay attention to where I was going.”

He pulled at Meng Yao’s arm and prayed that he wouldn’t actually vomit. “Let’s go for now, Meng Yao.” He tried to look and sound pleasant and wasn’t entirely certain he was succeeding. “I don’t want to be in the way.”

“But—”

“Please.” He didn’t plead lightly and worried he sounded more like he was issuing a command. Further scrutiny was the last thing he wanted and he needed to speak with Meng Yao privately if he was going to salvage any of this.

Wei Ying’s grip on his manners was tenuous by the time Meng Yao finally nodded.

“My apologies, er-ge. I’ll be sure to find you later.” He offered a slight inclination of his head in Lan Zhan’s direction. “Lan Zhan.”

And there was Wei Ying’s fury again. Meng Yao and Lan Huan were close enough that he’d address Lan Huan with so much familiarity?! His fingernails dug into Meng Yao’s forearm and his mouth spasmed around the smile he was fighting tooth and nail to retain. It was a battle he feared he would lose sooner rather than later.

“Of course, A-Ya…” Lan Huan inclined his head and shook his head, a rueful smile forming on his mouth. “Meng-xiansheng.”

A-Ya…? A-Yao. A. Yao. What the ever-loving fuck. Lan Huan. Lan Huan of all people was addressing another being in such an affectionate way? And Meng Yao was here pulling some stupid scheme in an attempt to woo him? What wooing was needed? The job was done.

Oh, this had all better be for Lan Huan, because if Meng Yao had feelings for anyone else, Wei Ying was going to scream.

Once back in the main hallway, Wei Ying scanned for an actual restroom and dragged him toward it when he finally found it, obviously demarcated with a perfectly convenient sign and everything. If only Wei Ying hadn’t been so impulsive and intractable earlier, he might have avoided this mess. Pushing Meng Yao into the center of the surprisingly cramped space, he took a deep breath to steady himself.

It was not the rousing success he might have hoped for.

He bent himself in half to double check that there were no legs poking out from beneath stall doors.

Then, blissfully lacking in fucks to give, he said, waspish, so vehement that it dripped with contempt, “Did you ever in your life think to tell me that it’s Lan fucking Huan you’re in love with?! Lan Huan. One of the Twin fucking Jades of Suzhou himself. That Lan Huan? And it had better be him. If it’s someone else and you’re expecting me to help you, I will categorically refuse right now.”

Meng Yao tugged on his lapels and glanced in the mirror, double checking that his hair was still okay, that his tie was straight. “Who it was didn’t seem relevant at the time.”

“It was relevant enough to drag me here, Meng Yao!” He laughed again, so harsh that it turned into a cough. “In case it isn’t entirely clear to you, I know both of them personally.”

“So that should make it easier, right?”

At least one of Wei Ying’s worries was assuaged by Meng Yao’s response. They were, at the very least, talking about Lan Huan here and not someone else entirely. One hurdle crossed. Maybe if he pulled this off, he’d get out of this with what was left of his dignity intact.

Nah. Wishful thinking. It was going to be a shit show, but he’d signed a contract. He owed it to Uncle Jiang to try and so he would attempt to honor it.

“In case you didn’t notice from the awkward atmosphere back there, neither Lan brother likes me very much. I would say that’ll make things harder, wouldn’t you?” His mind raced through every possible scenario he could think of and none of them were very good. He couldn’t help it. That was just how it was. “I’ll tell you this much: Lan Huan is not going to appreciate you lying about dating me and that’s entirely ignoring the fact that I don’t appreciate you lying about dating me. What the fuck.”

Meng Yao lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes, searching Wei Ying’s face, hopefully sensing danger in Wei Ying’s words. There was a very good reason why Wei Ying was so mad, why he didn’t embrace bullshit like this. It ends badly always. This would end badly.

“Why isn’t this a date? I asked you to come with me. We’re dressed nicely and spending the evening together. Why should anyone believe otherwise?” If his voice was pitched a little higher than normal, that was good. He should be panicking at least as much as Wei Ying was since he managed to fuck up so spectacularly.

Wei Ying was suddenly very, very aware of the perfect coif of his own hair and didn’t give a damn about wrecking it as he pulled at the strands in frustration. “Every moment you’re not telling him how you feel is you lying about your romantic intentions. You don’t think he’ll resent that? Anyone else, maybe they’d forgive you. Maybe they’d understand, but Lans are… they don’t see things the way the rest of us do. They’re all so rigid in their beliefs.”

“Lan Huan isn’t like that.”

Wei Ying’s eyebrow climbed his forehead. That was debatable and Wei Ying wasn’t up to debating it. “I am the wrong person for this and you really don’t want to involve me in a lie like this. It’s super fucking obvious he’s into you. A-Yao? He calls you A-Yao? Really? And you still think you need to convince him to go out with you? Are you out of your mind? You’re close enough to him that you call him er-ge?” Wei Ying bit out a sarcastic laugh. “You’re even more shameless than me!”

For a moment, Wei Ying thought he’d gotten through to Meng Yao. He clearly, desperately wanted to believe, his eyes all shiny with the possibility until he blinked that optimism away and was left looking cold as stone. Whatever his actual damage was, Wei Ying wasn’t qualified to analyze it and he wasn’t going to play into it.

“I’ll… tell Lan Huan you’re here to advance your career—” So close to the truth and yet: so very fucking far, but Wei Ying could see the way he was working through the angles now, trying to find a way forward. Good for him. It wasn’t gong to work if he was only looking for ways to cover his ass. “You might even be able to get some footage for your vlog.”

Wei Ying was so far beyond caring about that possibility at the moment that he found it almost funny that Meng Yao still thought that was what mattered. “Do you even really know the guy you’re apparently in love with? You can’t lie to him. You can’t omit the truth. Just tell him what you’re feeling! Tell him you panicked. Hell, tell him who I am if you think that’ll help. Just—don’t dig this hole any deeper.”

If Meng Yao was startled by the ferocity of Wei Ying’s insistence, the slight edge of frustration in his words, he didn’t betray it.

“What is your problem exactly?” Meng Yao asked, a little calmer, more curious than worried now. “Why do you care?”

Too many things to count now, Wei Ying thought. “Nothing! Nothing is wrong with me and I don’t give a single damn.” This situation is just too fucked for me to deal with. Not a big deal. “Why don’t you care? Why are you so willing to push this?”

This was, possibly, a question he should have asked himself sooner. What exactly did Meng Yao want that it was worth that signed contract? It wasn’t just getting in Lan Huan’s pants, was it? It couldn’t be that simple, could it?

Maybe it was. How was Wei Ying to know? People who could just throw money around got all sorts of strange ideas about how the world worked.

But that didn’t seem quite right either. Meng Yao didn’t seem concerned enough about losing the love of his life to a dumb misunderstanding for this to be it.

But Wei Ying was smart and he’d learned long ago how to deal with the unexpected. One-hundred thousand yuan was a decent chunk of money even if he gave up his dreams of getting slam-dunk footage for the competition. He could still win without it. Perhaps a scaled-down version of what he’d originally imagined? Meng Yao did say he’d offer himself up in exchange, right? It could work.

“New plan,” he said, feigning a confidence he didn’t feel. “I’m not going to piss off the Lans by airing their private romantic business to the masses, but I am still going to help you woo him.” Maybe Lan Zhan wouldn’t hate him anymore if he helped make his brother happy. Even if they never met again, it would be enough to know that much. “What do you say to that, huh?”

Meng Yao blanched. “I don’t think—”

Wei Ying punched Meng Yao in the shoulder. “That’s right, you don’t! Listen, I’m good at helping bring people together—” He just couldn’t save his own romantic life. “—you should definitely listen to me. That’s what you wanted, right?”

If he was maybe pushing a little hard in order to figure out what Meng Yao’s angle actually was, well, Meng Yao didn’t need to know that. He’d already gotten bitten in the ass once tonight, he didn’t want it to happen again.

“You’re looking a little unhinged. I don’t think I should listen to you,” Meng Yao admitted, grimacing. He might as well have said he thought this was a bad, bad idea that he regretted being a part of and that was fine. They could spread the regret around; there was plenty of it left. This was all his fault anyway. He deserved it.

“That’s because I am feeling unhinged!” Wei Ying agreed. “But that’s okay. You asked me what my problem is. It’s a very long, boring story and I don’t want to tell it to you.”

“I suddenly find myself not wanting to hear it,” Meng Yao said, prim.

“Good.” Wei Ying couldn’t help but laugh at the hint of despair in his voice. As long as they were both miserable, that was just fine. “Don’t make the mistakes I did and you’ll be fine. Come on. Let’s get your man!”

Meng Yao wouldn’t come, even when Wei Ying pulled on his arm. His eyes narrowed. “What mistakes?”

“Lying, Meng Yao. Telling lies.” He held his fingers close together. “Even little white ones. Even accidentally. Don’t do it.”

Meng Yao’s mouth thinned and he got intractable. “Then I’m not going to take back saying you’re my date tonight. You can be my date for the night. Then it won’t be a lie.”

Wei Ying’s stomach plummeted to some place that might have been in the vicinity of hell. At this rate, Lan Zhan was never going to not hate him. Maybe helping Lan Huan had to be enough. Maybe the one-hundred thousand yuan had to be enough.

But he had to get Meng Yao out of this bathroom and back out there where Lan Huan would be able to see him. The longer they were in here, the more suspicious it would look. “Fine,” Wei Ying agreed. There were other ways to get across the fact that Wei Ying had zero interest in him. People dated casually, right? A bit of panicked hand-holding wasn’t a death knell, yeah? Lan Huan had always been a little less unyielding than Lan Zhan. Maybe… “Now can we go?”

“What did you lie about anyway?”

Meng Yao was stalling now; that had to be the reason why he was being this recalcitrant.

“I thought you didn’t want to hear it?” But Meng Yao was not convinced, not even by his own statement getting thrown back in his face, and still wouldn’t let himself be pulled out the door. “I’ll tell you later.” A lie of his own to match Meng Yao’s, but Wei Ying had no compunctions about fibbing to him if it got him out this door. Even if he threw Wei Ying to the curb for it, how could it hurt him? “It’s not important anyway.”

Sunlight slipped between the curtains of Lan Zhan’s bedroom window, waking him with a pleasant, gentle warmth that almost, almost brought a smile to his mouth as he stretched and yawned and scrubbed at his closed eyes. It was, perhaps, the nicest way to wake up he’d experienced in a long time, far better than even the sound of rolling waves that served as his alarm, the only noise that managed to come across as peaceful that he’d found so far.

His alarm.

That almost smile dropped from his mouth.

At this time of year, the sun didn’t filter through Lan Zhan’s window until after five-thirty.

Bolting upright, he mustered as much calmness as he could as he grabbed his phone from his bedside table. Dread curled inside of him, though he was relieved to see his phone was plugged into the wall, securely charging.

Except… except when he pressed the home key, the screen remained dark. He jiggled the charger—still secure, but no change.

No. Not no change. No charge.

The clock he never used for its alarm, the sound too loud and grating for his liking, was also dark. No pale blue numbers floated against the flat, aesthetically minimalist piece of frosted glass to offer the only useful piece of information it usually provided.

Finally, he made a grab for his watch.

“Five forty-six?” he muttered, not quite disbelieving enough to shake the thing in hopes of getting a better answer, but closer to it than he would have liked. How could it be 5:46 already? How had he slept this late at all?

Perhaps he should have known better, but he attempted to turn on his bedside lamp anyway. It was also dead, not once turning on no matter how many times he flipped the switch. A useless click, click, click sound was all he got for his trouble.

The power must have gone out sometime after he went to sleep, probably not long after if his phone managed to die entirely. It was an older model and drained quickly, though not yet quickly enough for Lan Zhan to have bothered trading it in for a newer model.

Scrubbing his hand across his face again, he sighed. Though Lans didn’t swear out loud, he was willing to curse himself within the strict confines of his thoughts, where nobody could berate him for it.

There was nothing he hated more than alterations to his routine. Even the most minor deviation annoyed him and this was more than just a minor deviation. Everything was off now, forty-six minutes’ worth of it and every step he took was wrong-footed and nerve-wracking.

The cold water shower in the dark? He could live with that. Toweling his hair dry by touch alone, suppressing the undignified urge to shiver as he patted himself down because not only was the shower cold, but everywhere else, too? Not quite as easy to handle, but he managed. He didn’t entirely succeed, but by the time he was dressed, hair still damp because he couldn’t use his blow dryer to speed up the process, he was willing to accept the situation for what it was in as privately petulant a manner as he would allow himself. Which was to say he frowned a little more deeply and his steps across the floor were a little more careless than usual as he walked toward the kitchen.

Most days, he kept in mind that many people didn’t wake as early as he did.

The worst part of it all, the one thing that left him gnashing his metaphorical teeth even now that he’d resigned himself to a bad day, was that he wasn’t able to brew his morning cup of tea without electricity. There was little caffeine in it, so the headache pulsing between his eyelids was likely nothing more than his body trying to vent its frustrations at him. Still, as he organized his bag—making sure he had his books, laptop, and his portable battery and charger since it was apparently going to be that sort of day—he grabbed a small reusable bag from the drawer where he kept his carefully organized miscellanies and filled it with some of the loose white tea leaves he preferred.

Maybe the students’ activity center would have something that might allow him to brew a cup of tea. It wasn’t like he didn’t see student after student milling around campus carrying around steaming cup noodles. Those had to come from somewhere and they had to be heated by something.

By the time he was out the door, it was six-twenty and he’d foregone the thirty minutes he usually spent meditating and chose instead to walk to campus so at least he’d still manage to squeeze in his walk. It wasn’t as pretty as the path he preferred to take along the extravagant park behind his apartment—the reason why he chose it over ones that were a little more conveniently located, apparently to his detriment if it was going to be so unreliable, he’d have to look into breaking the lease if it kept being such a nuisance to him—but it worked.

He made a mental note to pick up a portable tea glass.

What a great start to the semester this was turning out to be.

Lan Zhan rarely made use of the students’ activity center for a variety of reasons, most of which boiled down to too much noise and too many people, but this early in the morning it was surprisingly serene. The few students shambling around were yawning still and barely functional but, most importantly, quiet.

He blinked a few times and scanned the wide, empty expanse to get his bearings. Tables and a multitude of chairs occupied the center of the room in a haphazard, displeasing arrangement that made Lan Zhan’s hands itch to fix them until they were neatly and cleanly arranged. Around three of the walls a variety of small shops and food vendors offered their services, as well as several offices which were of little interest to Lan Zhan. Most were closed this early in the morning.

The only ones that weren’t were a brightly lit convenience store along the far corner and what looked to be a coffee stand along the back wall where one worker was leaning disinterestedly against the counter.

Neither option appealed, though both seemed likely to offer him what he needed.

The coffee stand was closer, which at this point was a good enough tie-breaker for him.

As he approached, the barista smiled widely at him and straightened his posture to a degree shy of acceptable. Despite the dark bags under his eyes, he seemed chipper and good-natured and Lan Zhan wanted to hate him for it when he himself was in such a foul mood. “Ah, it’s so nice to see such a happy face this early in the morning,” he said, apparently very determined to solidify Lan Zhan’s poor opinion of him. “What can I get for you today?”

“Hot water and…” His gaze skirted over the various accouterments behind the counter which might serve his purpose. There was a drip machine currently bubbling away, drops of coffee falling into a glass carafe, the hot plate beneath it hissing lightly. “…a coffee filter?”

Beaming, the barista turned away and began fiddling with a kettle, pouring filtered water into it as he asked, “How hot are you looking for?”

“76 degrees.” Lan Zhan was willing to concede this much: at least the man wasn’t pestering him about why he wanted such a strange combination of things. Perhaps he was used to strange requests.

“It’ll be a few moments,” the barista said. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

A do-over button?

For a moment, there was only silence, silence and the melancholic sweep of dizi music played through a surprisingly excellent speaker tucked behind the counter with a battered phone plugged into it.

When Lan Zhan didn’t answer, the barista leaned forward again and perched his chin on his fist. “What kind of tea do you prefer that you’d rather go through the trouble of rigging a tea bag for it than ask for something we have on hand?”

Lan Zhan refused to admit he startled at the question. He hadn’t realized he was that obvious. Looking down at his hands, he wished suddenly that he’d bothered to look at the barista’s name tag before. Now that he couldn’t see it and now that the barista was questioning him, he wanted to know something about him beyond the fact that his hair fell into his eyes and caught fetchingly on his eyelashes.

“That is what you’re doing, right?” His smile turned mischievous and his eyes positively sparkled, prodding. Any lingering trace of fatigue seemed to disappear in that moment. “You’re not going to take over the building with a coffee filter or something instead? If so, I would ask that you spare this lowly barista.” He held his hands together in a thoroughly unnecessary gesture of supplication.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan finally offered, barely grating just that single syllable out. “That’s right.” Then, not sure where it came from: “It’s too early in the day for revolutions.”

He laughed lightly and swiped the back of his forearm across his forehead to push his bangs out of the way. “Mmm, I thought so. Perhaps you could tell me what kind it is. I can make sure we have it available in case there’s another emergency, huh?”

For a long moment, Lan Zhan thought the barista was mocking him, but he was merely watching Lan Zhan, features soft as he waited for an answer, surprisingly patient now that Lan Zhan was actually participating in the conversation. Despite himself and feeling as though he was giving something important away, he answered.

“You have good taste,” he said, before spinning away, too quickly for Lan Zhan to see his name tag yet again. When he turned back around, he was sliding a pastry across the counter, along with the cup of hot water. A lid sat on the paper around the pastry and the filter sat on top of the lid.

As he fumbled for his wallet, Lan Zhan finally saw the name tag. Wei Ying. The barista’s name was Wei Ying. It… fit him. He tested the sound of the name in his mind and found himself wishing he had a good reason to speak it aloud.

Wei Ying took the bank card and scrutinized it briefly before breezily handing it back. Lan Zhan wouldn’t take it, but Wei Ying continued shaking it back and forth before him. “It’s on me. I couldn’t in good conscience charge you for hot water when you look like you’re five seconds from burning me to a crisp with your laser eyes, right? I hope your day improves though!”

A thought came to him, unbidden, and not the thought that should have, which would have been I’m sorry if I’ve come across as unconscionably rude. Instead, it was, it already has. Which was preposterous. Now that his day was ruined, it was entirely ruined. That was just how it was and always had been.

“Thank you,” he finally said, as graciously as he knew how. The words felt awkward in his mouth. Few people did random kindnesses to him in this way. Though he didn’t typically eat such things in the morning—or ever—he pinched a piece of the flaky pastry between his fingers and allowed himself a tentative taste. Wei Ying was watching him, expectant, like he was invested in Lan Zhan’s uninformed opinion. “It’s very good.”

Even he could tell it would pair well with the tea.

Lan Zhan was reluctantly touched by the thoughtfulness of the gesture.

By now it was closing in on seven, his appointed time for guqin practice on the other side of campus. Transaction concluded, he had no reason to remain. And yet, he didn’t particularly want to go.

Ridiculous.

With a nod, he made his retreat, shoving his disappointment down where it belonged because it was better than staying put and making a fool of himself.

“Hey, handsome Lan!” Wei Ying called, loud as thunderclaps in the morning silence when he was about ten steps away, more than enough time for him to have said that without alerting everyone on campus. “Have a good day for me, huh?”

Lan Zhan’s ears flushed and his cheeks warmed. Handsome. Nobody had ever called him that before.

Wei Ying was impossible.

Even more impossibly, Lan Zhan was beginning to feel, even with that last minute stab of embarrassment, as though it was worth the inconvenience just to meet him.

By the time he found his way to his favorite practice room, a few minutes early even, it was like his day hadn’t faced any drastic changes at all. In fact, it was kind of nice to walk into it with a cup warming his hand, the taste of fresh, flaky, lightly glazed bread on his tongue lingering as he tossed the pastry wrapper into the garbage can.

Possibly it was nice knowing there was someone out there who wished him to have a good day who wasn’t his brother, who rarely had time to wish him well during the day at all, even if that someone was obligated to be cordial to him.

It was definitely nice to pluck his guqin’s strings only to realize that the tone reminded him of the pretty upward curve of a prettier young man’s lower lip.

It was not quite so nice to realize that Wei Ying would be trouble if he let this go on.

And even so, he followed where his guqin led him, the earliest seed of a new piece forming, smooth and silky, beneath his touch. Though they didn’t have to meet again, Lan Zhan could take inspiration from him, could he not?

Though it had never been a problem before, Lan Zhan made a special point to avoid returning to the students’ activity center going forward. It shouldn’t have been a problem for him, since he never went anyway and had no reason to go now. Even so, it seemed like half his time was now spent thinking up reasons why he needed to be there. But how many pencils did he really need to replace in the middle of the day when he had pens that worked just as well? And if his phone charger managed to break mysteriously as he sat in the library on an unseasonably hot October afternoon, more than two weeks after he met Wei Ying, there was a more cost-effective store in the city with a wider variety of options even if it would be a miserable walk to get there, sweaty and humid. What about the scuff on his shoe that showed up after he accidentally scraped it against the corner of the stone steps when he was walking just the littlest bit too quickly the following week?

Surely the convenience store carried shoe polish. And if his path crossed with that coffee stand again, how much of a problem would it really be?

What did it matter if he saw Wei Ying again? They were no doubt in two completely disparate disciplines or else they would already know one another. The only way they’d see each other otherwise was in the midst of the rare general or compulsory physical education class, but even then, there were so many options that the chances of overlapping were so low as to be impossible. Which explained why they’d never seen one another before and why it was entirely probable that he would only ever see Wei Ying in that building going forward. It was a contained environment. If it got awkward, he could stop visiting that building again, no problem.

It was during such a struggle, now daily, always once classes were done and he was walking toward the library, that he heard a familiar voice. A familiar voice that shouldn’t have been familiar, but already was, even though the first and last time he heard it was in late September.

“Handsome Lan! Handsome Lan! Wow, imagine running into you! Are you busy?”

Lan Zhan turned to look just as Wei Ying popped to his feet from beneath a nearby stand of trees. Blades of grass fluttered around him as he brushed himself off. Lan Zhan walked through this courtyard every day at this time and had never seen Wei Ying here before. Maybe it was his lucky day and the world was just delivering to him what he wanted without making him work for it. Instead of making him happy, it just made him nervous. What was he doing here? Was it just coincidence?

He was not used to having what he wanted handed to him in this way.

He nodded reflexively. There was no good excuse for it. Though people rarely asked him such a question, he was well aware that it was generally used to gauge whether a person had immediate plans that couldn’t be adjusted slightly to accommodate a request by the person asking. There was homework to be done and Lan Zhan wanted to get another round of practice in.

He was, in fact, busy.

But it was nothing unusual, nothing that couldn’t be shifted by even an hour or two. To assuage his curiosity, he could say that he was not. The homework was not due and one missed practice—no, he knew himself, one late session, at home if necessary—would not hurt him.

But the thought of answering that way overwhelmed him. What would Wei Ying want him to do if he said no? How soon would it be before he grew weary of Lan Zhan’s company? “I am busy,” he answered and it felt like a lie. “My apologies.”

Wei Ying merely laughed and sidled up beside him, knocking shoulders with him before putting a meter’s distance between them, like he knew he was already pushing boundaries that Lan Zhan wasn’t used to having pushed. Something very briefly flickered across his face, but Lan Zhan was not confident enough to put a name to it.

“I have a performance coming up,” he continued, because it felt important that Wei Ying know Lan Zhan wasn’t truly blowing him off. He was just…

“You’re far too polite, handsome Lan! No need to explain. Maybe next time!”

Lan Zhan’s step faltered, though he was once again lucky because Wei Ying’s attention was turned toward the sky as he spun around and walked backward, eyes only gradually returning to Lan Zhan’s face. Would there be a next time? Did Lan Zhan even truly want there to be?

The answer should have been no and no; Wei Ying was very obviously a complication that Lan Zhan wasn’t looking for and didn’t need. His studies, practicing the guqin, these were more important.

A boy with sparkling eyes and a clear, bright voice should not have factored in, not to Lan Zhan anyway, though others seemed to balance their personal lives and academics with ease.

The answer despite his most rational thoughts on the matter was, in fact, that he hoped so and yes, of course.

“Have a good afternoon,” Wei Ying said, no doubt blissfully unaware of Lan Zhan’s struggles because he didn’t seem like the sort who suffered from such uncertainty, such need to analyze every single thing until it died. The only thing he’d never felt that way about was music, which was why it was the only thing in his life that he could do.

Before Lan Zhan had a chance to answer, Wei Ying was already darting off. Lan Zhan should not have wondered what Wei Ying would be getting up to and why he might want Lan Zhan along, but the question occupied his mind the entire way to the library and even well after, when he should have been focused on his composition notes.

Despite the disruption to his review, he couldn’t bring himself to mind and only regretted not following Wei Ying when he’d asked, was secretly pleased that Wei Ying had asked at all.

The night was crisp and cool, the sort that Lan Zhan preferred, especially after a performance, when his ears burned with the flush of success—so far only successes, thankfully, though it was entirely possible that one of these days, failure would greet him instead—and his heart was hammering in his chest, half with exhaustion and half in exhilaration at the culmination of months of work.

The other music majors from his year were busy chatting away with one another in the staging area behind the amphitheater and none of them bothered to include him in their discussions. After three years together, they knew better, though Wen Ning nodded shyly as he passed.

None of them asked him where he was going as he slipped between the various knots of students, families, and friends all congregating together to laugh and congratulate one another. A few offered kind words in passing and he offered the same in return, though in truth, he hardly paid attention to what the others did beyond what was necessary to ensure a good outcome for the night.

He was not meant for group performances, he’d learned early, and he sometimes worried it showed, though nobody criticized him for it and he always ensured everyone shone as much as possible, that he didn’t push too far ahead of them, not when there weren’t grades on the line.

It was just a deeply annoying prospect, holding himself back when he knew he could do so much more on his own.

In a year, he reminded himself, he’d be free of these shackles. Until then, he did what he could with what he had and walked away as soon as possible so that he could be on his own.

A puff of thick, white smoke caught the light from a nearby street lamp and curled toward the still thick foliage of a tree not yet ready to shed its leaves. Only a few leaves had fallen from it, blown down the road and sidewalk, crisp underfoot thanks to the chill and dry weather, far more stubborn than they ought to be this late in the year.

The individual responsible for the smoke was leaning against the tree’s trunk, one leg pulled up so the sole of his boot was flush against it, but Lan Zhan could make out little beyond that except that perhaps it was a young man. There were just too many shadows obscuring the upper half of his body.

He went to turn away, not wishing to cross paths with anyone at the moment.

There was a brief flicker of unnaturally blue light and then a voice ringing out.

“Handsome Lan! What are you doing skulking around in the dark?”

His voice was so loud, should have been obnoxious and grating to Lan Zhan’s ears when his mind was so full of softer, more elegant sounds. Instead, it was somehow the most beautiful noise he’d heard in weeks.

Heart climbing his throat, he stopped, and more shockingly, even took a few steps toward Wei Ying while Wei Ying jogged over, like Lan Zhan’s pace just wasn’t fast enough for him and he couldn’t wait any longer to be near him, a preposterous proposition even within the safe confines of Lan Zhan’s mind.

Wei Ying twirled a vape—the source of the light and the thick plume of smoke—between his fingers before shoving it into his pocket. The faintest hint of vanilla and caramelized sugar clung to him, presumably from it. Though Lan Zhan had smelled more than his fair share of flavored smokes in his lifetime, none of them managed to smell good until now. “Bad habit, I know,” Wei Ying said, perhaps sensing Lan Zhan’s apprehension. “I try to keep it to special occasions. Used to do a hell of a number on my taste buds.” He waved his hand around, indicating himself and whatever else such a vigorous gesture entailed. “Not as bad as the cigarettes though. Don’t worry. I don’t do those at all anymore.”

Barely, Lan Zhan thought. But at least he wasn’t blowing smoke in his face or disregarding everyone around him while he used the wretched thing, so Lan Zhan refrained from berating him. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t an interested party watch his friend put on a performance that has been advertised all over campus for the last two weeks? The performance you told me about yourself, in fact, when you wouldn’t let me bribe you into grabbing a late lunch last month?”

Friends. Late lunches. Lan Zhan wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea, he supposed, though he found it strange that anyone would consider themselves such, especially this soon, when they hardly knew each other and Lan Zhan was making it difficult. “Is that what we are?”

Wei Ying reached for him, plucking something from the lapel of his wool coat. If Lan Zhan wasn’t already certain it was free of lint or fuzz, he might have assumed that was what Wei Ying was doing, but he knew it was pristine; he ensured as much every time he put it on. “Would you like me to call you something else?” he asked. They were very nearly the same height, but Wei Ying, despite being a little taller, still managed to look up at him through lowered lashes. Lan Zhan thrilled, wondering exactly what it was that Wei Ying wanted to call him instead. The reality, when it came after a pregnant, deliberately provocative pause, was disappointing. “Hanguang-jun, perhaps? I heard some of the other students shout it during your well-deserved standing ovation. It suits you.”

It did not in Lan Zhan’s opinion and was merely an unfortunate side effect of fans of his older brother showing far too much interest in him in turn. They were the ones who started it, thinking that every Lan who went into music should have one since Lan Huan did. It wasn’t the name his mother had given it to him, which was the only metric that mattered and so he ignored it as best he could. He would even have preferred to be known as handsome Lan forever the rest of his life if this was the only alternative. And yet, hearing Wei Ying use it didn’t bother him that much. Not that he was going to let him continue regardless. “It’s Lan Zhan. Not Hanguang-jun.”

“Lan Zhan!” He thrust his hand out for a proper introduction. “You will always be handsome Lan to me, but who am I to call you that if you don’t want me to. I’m Wei Ying.”

Lan Zhan did not take it and he found, now that Wei Ying had said his name, that he did want him to go back to calling him handsome Lan. He just didn’t know how to ask for it. “I know.”

A complicated expression of wicked pride crossed Wei Ying’s face. “Ah, so you did check me out back then, huh?”

Cheeks going warm for an entirely new reason, Lan Zhan shook his head. “That’s not—”

“Kidding, I’m kidding! I know you must’ve noticed my name tag. It’s flattering that you remembered though. I’m not always very good at remembering things myself, though I’m making an effort in this case.” Wei Ying rocked back on his heels and tapped his fingers against his lower lip. “Would you like to grab a drink with me?”

“I don’t consume alcohol.”

His features transformed, rapturous and blinding even in the dark. “Who said anything about taking the darling of the music department out for an alcoholic beverage? You’re going to be famous one day. Even my face is not as thick as that! Am I so shameless? I don’t think so.”

They didn’t know one another well, but Lan Zhan could smell bullshit when he came across it; he was certain Wei Ying’s face was exactly that thick, if not thicker.

At least he had some understanding that his behavior was shameful.

He continued speaking in the void Lan Zhan left behind because he couldn’t answer and Lan Zhan could admit this much: he was very good at filling silences. “There’s a fancy tea shop nearby that’s open for another hour or so. I thought I might repay you for the kindness you’ve done me this evening.”

“I don’t recall doing you any kindnesses.”

“Ah, you are too humble and too handsome. You should work on that before you become a threat. It was a beautiful performance, Lan Zhan. I’m sure the entire audience considers it a gift to be treasured as I do.”

In all his years, he’d only ever heard applause, excruciatingly over the top compliments, and the tossing about of empty buzzwords that meant nothing, but sounded maybe like they indicated something to people who didn’t know any better.

Though Wei Ying’s proclamation was a bit overwrought, Lan Zhan couldn’t deny the earnestness shining in Wei Ying’s wide eyes. The heart of what he said struck true, leaving Lan Zhan spinning rudderless on a river he’d thought, until this moment, was entirely calm.

“What do you say?” Wei Ying asked, noticing nothing amiss. “Let this humble culinary student treat you?”

Lan Zhan startled at the unexpected information, ferreting it away to better ponder it later. Did Wei Ying fit his image of a culinary artist? He wasn’t sure. It seemed certain that he would have chosen a much freer discipline, like painting. It was not so very difficult to imagine him flinging paint at canvases and expecting others to find meaning and beauty in the chaos. Or acting, acting would suit him; he was certainly dramatic enough, emotive.

Something like hope was building in that painfully earnest gaze as Lan Zhan continued to avoid answering, hope that Lan Zhan had to crush because it was nearly nine o’clock and he couldn’t…

Clinging to the excuse, he said, “I can’t,” and took a step back. “Have a good evening, Wei Ying. Thank you for coming tonight and for the invitation.”

It felt indulgent to say his name, especially when he could see the way Wei Ying’s hope quickly shuttered itself, curling away like a twist of paper consumed by fire. Despite it, he widened his smile until nothing else remained except for it, bright enough to cut. There was something like daring lighting up his eyes, too, as though he was preparing for a challenge.

He could not bring himself to look more closely before turning away, walking off at a quick clip, hoping and hating that he hoped Wei Ying would give chase, especially when Wei Ying didn’t call after him, didn’t follow him, might not have been there at all except that Lan Zhan could feel the way his gaze burned into the back of Lan Zhan’s exposed neck.

Regret dogged his steps the whole way home.

After that, it seemed like Lan Zhan began seeing Wei Ying anywhere and everywhere. Wei Ying looked—and acted—youthful enough to be a first year student, though he’d been under the impression, perhaps false, that Wei Ying was not. It was the only explanation that made sense for why Lan Zhan couldn’t turn around without a seeing a reminder of Wei Ying’s existence to drive him absolutely mad. Random bathrooms, paths around campus that nobody except Lan Zhan took, even the track once when he was completing the requisite tests for a unit on long-distance running and suddenly there was a lanky body sprawled across the bleachers, head tilted back as his chest rose and fell in great, heaving bursts, shirt dark with sweat.

That time, Lan Zhan might have ducked behind a different set of bleachers after he was done and waited for Wei Ying to disappear again before resuming his schedule. He didn’t like to think about it or the hour he’d lost waiting like a coward for Wei Ying to go.

Still, he couldn’t actually accuse Wei Ying of following him around on purpose all those times. It was only this time that he had to gather scraps of plausible deniability up from the floor, because this time, Wei Ying actually was on Lan Zhan’s home turf. Anyone looking for Lan Zhan would know to come to the music building and everyone knew he preferred this lounge to any other.

There was, Lan Zhan was willing to concede, a perfectly legitimate reason for him to spend an afternoon here surely and Lan Zhan clung to any explanation in order to dissolve the hubris building in his heart. The fact that Wen Ning was with him both damned and absolved him: damned because Wen Ning absolutely did know Lan Zhan spent at least part of his time here and absolved because Wei Ying was the sort of person who actually had friends and may well be one of Wen Ning’s, which meant he had as much of a right to be brought back here as anyone.

Why it happened now and never before, Lan Zhan couldn’t say, other than it felt like a taunt, targeted and specific.

Lan Zhan didn’t like it, of course, and he wasn’t exactly thrilled with Wen Qing or Nie Huaisang’s presence either, not when Wei Ying was wedged between the three of them on the couch across from the seat Lan Zhan liked best. Though it was free, Lan Zhan didn’t dare sit down. He only preferred it because the couch was usually empty, too. What good was any of the furniture here when there were other people on it? He might as well go anywhere if he threw away this standard.

An array of desserts, running the gamut from chocolates to glossy fruit tarts to burnished caramels, even pillowy long xu su and a deconstructed spear of what might have been tanghulu were spread across the table, plates and bowls filling nearly the entire space.

Another student eyed the food covetously as he snuck past to reach the vending machine in the far corner. Lan Zhan, still in the doorway watching, turned on his heels to go, but Wei Ying apparently had some kind of sixth sense because he turned his head, saw Lan Zhan, jostled Wen Ning as he threw his arm across the back and then twisted himself around, knees sinking into the cushions to make him seem smaller than he was.

“Lan Zhan! Join us. I need your opinion.”

His stomach tightened. For one moment, Lan Zhan imagined what it would be like for Wei Ying to always search him out like this, to ask for Lan Zhan’s thoughts even when he was not qualified to give them. “It looks to me like you have plenty of options.”

“These unrefined cretins are too nice! I need someone with real taste to yell at me.”

“It’s not our fault these are all as sweet as Wen Ning,” Nie Huaisang was saying, half turned now, laying it on far too thick as he nudged Wen Ning in the arm, who tensed up at the contact.

Lan Zhan ignored Nie Huaisang, who was always hanging around because of Wen Ning. It was always for the best to do so. Hopefully that wouldn’t now have to extend to Wei Ying as well.

“Do I come across as the sort who would yell?”

“Tsk. You’re twisting my words. I trust you to be truthful with me, Lan Zhan. That’s all I meant.” He batted his eyelashes. “I also said you are refined and have good taste.”

He scanned the plates and was, maybe for the first time in his life, actually tempted. “I don’t like sweets.”

“You liked that pastry I made! I know for a fact it was sweet!” His smile turned wicked, curling at the corners, tantalizing, as Lan Zhan’s heart thrummed in his chest. He’d made that pastry, the one that matched his tea perfectly, like he’d been waiting for Lan Zhan to come along to try it. That pastry wasn’t what he meant though. It was different, an outlier, something that skewed the curve in unexpected ways, and wasn’t even that sweet really. Chocolate and candied fruit and spun sugar was beyond his comprehension. “Unless you told a fib. I’ve heard you’re honest to a fault. I’ve heard a lot lately, haven’t I, Wen Ning?”

“You’ve asked a lot, you mean,” Nie Huaisang said.

Lan Zhan narrowed his eyes at Wen Ning, then Nie Huaisang, but his words were for Wei Ying. “You shouldn’t be so pleased at the possibility,” he said, admonishing. The thought of Lan Zhan lying did hit too close to the truth though. He constantly felt like he was skirting the edge of propriety whenever Wei Ying was around. What was that but a lie of sorts?

“Ah, what an honor it would be to be the one Lan Zhan lied to,” he said, dreamy, sighing deeply and resting his chin on his laced fingers. “Who else could say that?”

“Ridiculous.”

“The most ridiculous.” Wei Ying tipped his head one way, then the other, in agreement as though he was a snake being mesmerized by a snake charmer. “So? Will you tell me what you think?”

“No,” he said, sharp, too sharp, sharper even than he intended. “I have practice.”

Wei Ying opened his mouth and then he snapped it shut again, his eyes searching Lan Zhan’s face. Eventually, dubious, defeated, he said, “Suit yourself.”

Though it was spoken with some degree of amusement, Lan Zhan felt something shift, something he couldn’t quite name. The fragile balance between them had tipped somehow in this moment and Lan Zhan wanted to take it back, not knowing exactly how he’d changed things or when the other shoe would drop.

But he’d already given his word and Wei Ying’s attention was switching back to his real friends, people who better suited his personality. At that moment, despite their eagerness and attention, Lan Zhan couldn’t imagine they were more interested in what was happening than himself.

It’s better this way, Lan Zhan told himself, firm, though he continued to watch. Wei Ying was a thunderstorm, a tsunami, a natural force that could destroy everything Lan Zhan had spent his whole life working toward at a moment’s notice. It wasn’t his fault he was so chaotic—Lan Zhan could see it was in his character to be so, that he’d be unhappy as anything else—and it wasn’t Lan Zhan’s fault that he could not thrive with that much boundless energy around him.

As he crossed the room to retrieve a can of unsweetened coffee from the vending machine, he thought maybe he could actually believe that given enough time and effort. He might just have to repeat it to himself a few times to reinforce it. Not a problem. He knew a thing or two about rote repetition.

Then Wei Ying glanced at him as he passed, his gaze sweet and soft and a little concerned, and Lan Zhan was left wondering what kind of damage he carried inside of himself that kept him from unbending just once to say yes.

It was only after Lan Zhan stopped seeing Wei Ying so often that he realized how truly he’d managed to screw things up by so often rebuffing Wei Ying’s efforts at friendship. No matter how many times he reminded himself that it was for the best, he couldn’t convince himself that it was a good thing that Wei Ying no longer asked him to spend time with him when their paths crossed, still more frequently than before that day in late September at least, but not what Lan Zhan would have wanted if he allowed himself to want it.

The fact that Lan Zhan was certain he could undo the damage with a few words and an invitation of his own was immaterial.

Those few times they did see one another on campus, growing rarer and rarer by the day, Lan Zhan only craved more from Wei Ying, more of his attention, more of his regard, more of everything. Wei Ying was still pleasant to him, but he didn’t go out of his way any longer to find him. His demeanor dimmed itself when Lan Zhan was around, grew cautious, perhaps in remembrance of the way Lan Zhan had snapped at him for no good reason or perhaps because he was finally tired of a chase Lan Zhan pretended he didn’t want.

Only Lan Zhan could be capable of doing such a thing to another person and when he thought about it like that, it became easier. Easier to bear the lack of Wei Ying’s presence in his life.

Lan Zhan was not equipped to be so responsible for another person’s happiness; he would only disappoint Wei Ying in the end.

Better, then, to disappoint him early and get it over with.

It was for that reason and that reason alone that he’d avoided approaching Wei Ying’s coffee stand for as long as possible today. When he’d come, he’d assumed he would be safe to find a table and mind his own business. He’d only ever seen Wei Ying work, with great reluctance, the early shift after all. But here Wei Ying was, five o’clock at night, smiling at the line of people and chatting away as he quickly and efficiently offered coffee and tea and anything else the customers may have wanted.

Lan Zhan had brought his own tea this time and had managed to run out of it about ten minutes into this less than ideal study session in a less than ideal study location, downing it instead of focusing. If asked, he would not have admitted that he was stressed at the confluence of events that led him here again when he did not want to be, but that didn’t make it untrue. Luckily, nobody was around to ask and fewer would have cared about the answer.

He gritted his teeth through another two hours before he couldn’t stand it anymore.

At eight minutes to seven, Lan Zhan finally gathered up the courage to approach. Wei Ying was caught in the middle of a yawn and smiled, abashed, as he covered his mouth with his elbow. “Lan Zhan, hi,” he said, perhaps not displeased to see him, though damningly casual. “What are you doing here so late?”

It was the absolute height of rudeness to bother Wei Ying when he was trying to close up for the night, but he couldn’t not answer when Wei Ying had asked, deciding on his own to strike up a conversation rather than brush Wei Ying’s words off as the usual sort of pleasantries one would receive from a friendly worker. Gesturing back at his carefully arranged things, he said, “Studying.”

Finals were coming up after all and this was the last place he wanted to be in order to study, but every other option he’d tried ended up stymieing him.

Wei Ying’s brow furrowed and he opened his mouth as though he were intending to ask another question—and Lan Zhan wanted him to ask, desperately, anything to keep Wei Ying talking to him—but then he nodded and his confusion cleared. “I know just the thing! Go ahead and sit back down. I’ll bring it by in a couple of minutes.”

Lan Zhan wanted to argue that he was fine waiting, that he would stand here until the end of time if necessary, but Wei Ying was already turning away, like always, too quick for Lan Zhan to recover from. With such a dismissal, it would be foolish to remain.

It was only after he sat back down that he thought about paying, but as he went to stand, a sharp jab against his shoulder forced him back into place, Wei Ying’s index finger jamming itself into his muscle. “Too late,” Wei Ying chirped, nodding back at the now dark register. “What a shame.”

He placed a napkin in front of Lan Zhan upon which a warm and comically large steamed bun sat. Next to it, he sat a more conventionally sized cup, steam curling up from the small hole in the lid.

Wei Ying’s fingers curled around the back of the chair across from him and spun it so he could straddle it rather than sit properly.

Any hope Lan Zhan had of going back to studying died as he imagined the stretch of Wei Ying’s—

Well. His trousers left a great deal to the imagination, especially when hidden beneath the table, but that didn’t stop Lan Zhan from picturing what might be beneath it.

And then his face and ears burned with shame and he glared down at the table, uncertain where that thought had come from. In an attempt to banish it, he took a sip of the drink Wei Ying had brought him.

Tea. His favorite brand. Steeped perfectly. Even better than Lan Zhan himself had managed today.

A rather large lump formed in Lan Zhan’s throat as he swallowed, nearly choking on the inexorable wave of affection he felt for Wei Ying.

“Lan Zhan, I have an idea, but you may not like it.”

Right now, any words out of Wei Ying’s mouth were welcome. Nothing he could say right now would be anything other than that. He just couldn’t bring himself to say as much. Even if Wei Ying told him to fuck off, he would have liked it. “What is it?”

“I know of another place that would be quieter than here. Nobody will bother you except for me. Perhaps that doesn’t sell it very well, but I’ll stay on my best behavior.” He said this as though he didn’t believe it was possible for Lan Zhan to say yes to him, going through the motions because he couldn’t help but want to help. “I promise.”

In truth, at this very moment, Lan Zhan worried he might never again say no whether Wei Ying made any promises or not, which was why he’d said no so frequently before now, because he knew himself, knew what he felt.

Knowing himself, though, hadn’t actually gotten him anywhere, had it? It hadn’t even put an end to his infatuations, though he would have preferred it that way.

So.

“Okay,” Lan Zhan said, surprising Wei Ying, whose mouth dropped as Lan Zhan rose to his feet and began gathering his things. It did not come as any sort of surprise to Lan Zhan, who’d known the minute Wei Ying opened his mouth tonight that he would do whatever Wei Ying wanted. “Show me.”

Technically, Wei Ying wasn’t supposed to invite non-culinary majors into the student kitchens, but technically, Wei Ying wasn’t supposed to be here this late at night either, so he figured it evened out. Or at least if he got into trouble, they’d be more annoyed about the latter than the former and let Lan Zhan off the hook as an innocent bystander. After four years, he knew how to work the system to his advantage and he’d won a lot of goodwill with his classmates and instructors over the years because he never tried to book time when it was close to major tests. As long as he left the place in sparkling condition, no one would care.

Besides, he was a charmer and Lan Zhan was too responsible for his own good; them being here meant other, less scrupulous students, wouldn’t be able to turn this into a make out spot. Or more.

Too much, on more than one occasion which Wei Ying desperately wished he could scrub from his memory. Wei Ying wasn’t entirely immune himself, honestly, but even he had lines he didn’t cross, and the kitchen was sacrosanct.

The place deserved respect and in return Wei Ying sometimes took a bit of advantage. If he wanted to process his own chocolate while everyone else lived their lives, well, he’d always been a little weird and obsessive about his hobbies.

Besides, his last set of tests and projects for the semester were coming up and he was determined to wow everyone. Last year before graduating and all that, ambitious to a fault, eager to prove himself. If he logged a bit more time than usual, well, it was fine. The only shame was he’d had to put everything else on hold, including pestering Lan Zhan.

Which, well, considering Lan Zhan’s sudden flip made Wei Ying wonder if perhaps he’d come on too strong before.

That was a possibility he was going to have to ponder at another time. He had better things to do, like glory in the fact that Lan Zhan was here in Wei Ying’s favorite place to be.

“You can sit there if you’d like,” he said, gesturing at one of the unoccupied stainless steel tables as he dumped his own stuff onto his chosen table.

Wei Ying did not allow himself to watch as Lan Zhan pulled his laptop, a handful of books, and his notepad from his bag. He did not allow himself to watch Lan Zhan place each item in perfect order around him, laptop on the left, notebook on the right, books organized optimally above the notebook. His pens, one black and one red, of course, sat neatly between, perfectly parallel to both the notebook and the books, and Wei Ying definitely did not allow himself to watch that either.

Wei Ying’s heart did not swell with amused adoration when Lan Zhan opened his notebook to show off the most elegant handwriting that Wei Ying had ever seen.

He also didn’t imagine somehow bribing Lan Zhan into writing out cards for him in the future when he has his own shop. People would no doubt ooh and ahh over the skillful penmanship and then he would tell them about how his very good friend, the super famous Lan Zhan—because Wei Ying had no doubt that he would become famous one day when he was already the best guqin player out there—had written them for him.

Shaking his head, he got to work pulling his equipment from the various corners of the room where he regularly stashed them.

“What are you doing?” Lan Zhan asked after a few minutes, maybe the first time he’d shown an interest in anything Wei Ying did. If his heart skipped a beat in surprise and sheer, incandescent pleasure, who was he to deny it?

Lan Zhan didn’t see the way he fumbled as he knotted his apron behind his back, but Wei Ying probably didn’t manage to hide his smile. That was okay.

“Yesterday, I roasted some cacao nibs,” he said, failing to keep the enthusiasm from his voice as he crouched to retrieve his mortar and pestle from the lowest shelf beneath his table. He always got this way about anything to do with chocolate. It was his truest love in life. He clapped his hands together in maniacal glee; the noise echoed off the wall. “And now I’m going to grind them up!”

He was so busy not admiring Lan Zhan’s willingness to listen to him that he almost missed the sound of his own laptop beeping to indicate he had an incoming video call. It was only the upward quirk of Lan Zhan’s head and a slight nod in its direction that stopped him.

Jiang Cheng. If he didn’t answer now, he’d never hear the end of it.

“Aiyah, what a time to bother me.” He donned a different smile and rolled his eyes at Lan Zhan. So much for being less of a nuisance than usual. “Sorry, I’ll just step into the hall—”

It was going to suck lugging his laptop outside, but he did promise Lan Zhan he wouldn’t be too distracting and he’d already used up all the courteous patience he was willing to take from Lan Zhan.

“No need,” Lan Zhan said, watching Wei Ying closely and dancing a very large number on Wei Ying’s heart in the process.

Could he take Lan Zhan at his word?

Of course he could. But he was still putting Jiang Cheng in his place as quickly as possible.

In a crooning, quiet tone, he said, “Why are you calling now, didi?”

“Don’t call me that! I’m barely younger than you,” Jiang Cheng snapped. He added, more suspicious, “What are you doing?”

Wei Ying turned the laptop so that both he and Lan Zhan were in the frame before whipping it around again. “Studying. What are you doing?”

“You’re goofing off!” Jiang Cheng’s glower was legendary, but Wei Ying was immune to its effects by now. “I thought you wanted to go downtown and check out that new bar tonight. You specifically said you wanted to see all the pretty comp—”

The new bar.

Shit. The new bar.

The truth was rather more complicated than wanting to spend time watching the local color and getting drunk with Jiang Cheng, but if he’d explained the truth to Jiang Cheng, he wouldn’t have agreed. As much as he liked to watch both pretty company and spend time with Jiang Cheng, he really only wanted to check out the dessert menu.

Whoever decided to pair cocktails with dessert was a genius and Wei Ying wanted to know more.

Wei Ying shook his head as quickly and discreetly as possible. “Have you checked your phone at all today? I very specifically sent you a text telling you I made other plans! Not all of us are so lazy that we’d rather video call than look at it!”

“I’m using my laptop. My phone’s in the other room. I’m too busy to—”

“You say busy, I say—”

Lan Zhan spoke so quietly that Wei Ying almost didn’t hear him over the sound of his own voice, which was typical. “You can go if you want.”

When he looked Lan Zhan’s way, his eyes were downcast. Ah, break my heart, Lan Zhan!

“No!” Then he winked to soften just how aggressive that must have sounded, sharp and loud and desperate, totally uncool. “Besides the company here is much prettier!”

“You didn’t text me,” Jiang Cheng said, adamant, but he pushed himself to his feet and retrieved his phone from the other room, groaning as the truth vindicated Wei Ying. “Fuck, you did. What the hell, Wei Ying! This was two hours ago. Why didn’t you try me again when I didn’t answer?”

“What good would it do if you just leave it in another room? I’m studying now! We can go next weekend. Will you stop making me look bad in front of my friend now, maybe?”

“Nope!” And then, Jiang Cheng grinned as evilly as Wei Ying would have done if their situation was reversed. “Hey! Wei Ying’s friend, did you know he talks in his sleep and ninety percent of the time it’s about chocolate?”

“Haha, very funny. I’m sure that just makes me look cute! Right, Lan Zhan? Who wouldn’t dream about candy if they could?”

“You’d probably fuck a—”

Wei Ying slammed the lid of his laptop down. “Who needs to hear that much foul language, my goodness.” Opening it back up, he sighed in relief when the call was ended. “Oh, good, he’s gone.”

Lan Zhan was openly staring at him now. A butterfly might have had a better chance of escaping a child’s pin board than Wei Ying did in that moment.

Wei Ying wasn’t certain he minded, though he rather wished it wasn’t because of Jiang Cheng that Lan Zhan was so brazenly looking at him.

“What, Lan Zhan? Do I have a smear on this thick face of mine?”

“You cancelled two hours ago?”

Wei Ying nodded, unsure where this question was going to take him, but certain he wasn’t going to interrupt Lan Zhan in case it frightened him out of speaking.

“You didn’t ask me to study until—” He glanced at his watch. “—twenty minutes ago.”

“A man can have hopes and dreams, Lan Zhan.”

“I’ve said no to you every time—”

“Ah, ah, ah! Don’t remind me! The important thing is it worked this time, right? What could be better than this? Definitely worth cancelling on my dear baby brother.”

“My apartment could have electricity.”

Wei Ying sympathized truly and yet that apartment was the greatest wing man Wei Ying had ever had, so he secretly sent up a thank you in its honor and was glad that even in winter, Suzhou didn’t get all that cold so he didn’t have to feel guilty about being so happy. Even the shit studio Wei Ying kept was more reliable than Lan Zhan’s digs. Incredible. The guy dressed way too nicely to be stuck in a ramshackle garbage heap of a place, so Wei Ying didn’t understand, but whatever. “Is that what happened again? You need a better apartment, but don’t actually get one or else I might never see you and you wouldn’t have this sweet private study room with your own personal chocolatier! Come on, Lan Zhan. Your apartment building is just trying to bring us together. It has been such a good friend to me every time it disappoints you with electrical problems!”

“The library also could have remained open later tonight.”

Oh, yes. The library that was crumbling and had needed renovations for years. It definitely didn’t deserve the chance to finally regain some structural integrity. “They have to repair the scaffolding sometime, Lan Zhan!”

Dry: “This close to finals?”

Okay. Fair point. Even so, Wei Ying expressed his gratitude to the universe. He really owed it one. “What about all those fancy lounges the music department sprang for?”

“Full. I only managed to get practice in because I book my time at the start of the semester. You can’t do that with the lounges.”

“You’ve clearly been on a journey today, Lan Zhan. So unfortunate.” It was fascinating to hear in dribs and drabs about the things that had to happen in order to convince Lan Zhan to spend time with him. If Wei Ying was a less confident person, he’d be worried. “If you were really opposed, you would have said no again.” Wei Ying needed to believe that was true. Otherwise he’d feel bad instead of triumphant. When Lan Zhan opened his mouth, brows slightly furrowed in disgruntlement, Wei Ying knew he was right and that he’d finally succeeded and Lan Zhan was only an acceptable amount of opposed to him rather than whatever he’d been before. He wasn’t quite certain how he knew, but he did. Also, Wei Ying could think of at least three different places that would also have occurred to Lan Zhan as reasonable alternatives. He wasn’t hurting for options. “Ha, see! I’ve worn you down.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan answered, weary, but it was okay: Wei Ying knew the truth.

Lifting his fingers in a very trustworthy salute if he said so himself, Wei Ying pressed his other hand against his chest. “Lan Zhan, I promise I won’t take advantage of this new, softer side of you.” His eyes glinted, he was sure. Jiang Cheng always said he got a demonic look in his eyes when he got this way, but he couldn’t help it. His heart was full of happiness. “Much.”

Cackling to himself, he retreated to his table and added, lofty, “I’ll leave you to your studying now. Don’t mind me. I won’t even turn on the music I usually listen to when I’m in here.” Realizing he’d caught Lan Zhan’s attention again, he smiled. All music majors were the same deep down inside. They were always interested to know what you were into and then they’d judge you for it. If Wei Ying sighed for effect, not quite ready to behave just yet, that was fine, especially because Lan Zhan kept following his lead. “I bet you think it’s awful and distracting, playing music while studying.”

Lan Zhan shook his head. “It’s dizi music, isn’t it?”

Wei Ying nearly dropped his pestle in surprise. “My heart is going to seize up. I didn’t know you paid that much attention to me, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan was going to bore a hole in the table if he didn’t stop glaring and frowning at it.

“You can play it if you like,” he said, grudging.

He grinned so widely that it made his cheeks ache, but that hardly mattered as he pulled up his favorite playlist. Retrieving a pair of decent speakers from his locker—he maybe did this a lot and had invested in some—he plugged them into the laptop. Though he kept the volume lower than he normally preferred, it was still very nice. The bright, clear strains of dizi music blanketed the room, like the first dusting of snow in winter.

When Wei Ying briefly flicked his gaze Lan Zhan’s way, he saw that his shoulders had loosened sometime in the last few moments. His penmanship was diligent even so and he didn’t seem to Wei Ying’s eyes as though he was having a hard time working.

As quietly as he could, Wei Ying returned to grinding the nibs. They were almost the right size for the chocolate bars he was intending to make. He’d overheard one of his classmates say his boyfriend liked crunch when they were all sitting around discussing desserts. Wei Ying was intending to force his work on said boyfriend when he was done with it because he was one of the few people Wei Ying hadn’t annoyed yet. His cohort all joked about how unlucky they were having a friend like him to make them do homework when eating his work, but he wanted to challenge himself and what better way than forcing everyone he knew to answer some questions about where he’d gone wrong?

They got chocolate out of it at least. Chocolate or ice cream or a cake. Some treat or other. And Wei Ying got feedback. If Wen Ning and Nie Huaisang and even Wen Qing—or, in his heart, Lan Zhan—ever actually did what he asked, he wouldn’t have had to resort to this.

But in truth, his heart wasn’t into the thought of making the perfect boyfriend chocolate, not when Lan Zhan was here to be wheedled and prodded and generally bothered, so tantalizingly close. The temptation was just too great.

He kept at it for a few minutes anyway, considering what his next step should be, how far he could push.

Every so often, Lan Zhan’s attention turned back to him and it was something akin to the summer sun beaming down on Wei Ying’s skin every time it happened. If he did that one more time, he’d give in. He promised himself that much. It was only fair.

Wei Ying tried to pretend he was a professional culinary student, diligently working, but the truth of it was he’d managed to grind these nibs so much that they were starting to melt. Useless for their intended purpose now.

A shame, that. Just. Such a pity. Pointless to continue really.

And then Lan Zhan looked at him again and he figured this was his chance, a decent thought finally springing to mind.

“Lan Zhan, do you like hot chocolate at all?” he asked. He only hoped that he didn’t notice the way Wei Ying’s voice got a little shy.

Sure, Lan Zhan didn’t like sweets, but everyone liked hot chocolate from time to time, right? And even if they didn’t, Wei Ying could change anyone’s mind.

Lan Zhan’s eyes widened slightly and he frowned just the tiniest amount. “I…” His throat bobbed. “It’s been years since I’ve had any.”

That wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either.

“Would you drink some?”

It must have been a day for miracles, because after only the briefest degree of hesitation, Lan Zhan nodded. “If Wei Ying wishes to make it.”

Well, since Lan Zhan assented, Wei Ying was going to make the most of it. He’d make Lan Zhan the best hot chocolate he’s ever had. It didn’t matter that he clearly wasn’t an expert in such things, but he’d like it anyway.

Wei Ying was determined.

“Do you have any dietary restrictions? Lactose intolerance, things like that?”

Lan Zhan shook his head. “Just vegetarian.”

“How strict? Animal byproducts okay?”

Lan Zhan shrugged. “That’s okay.”

Wei Ying made a shooing gesture with his hands. “Alright then, get back to studying. I don’t want anyone to say I’ve been a bad influence for you!” Lan Zhan opened his mouth. As indulgent as he’d been so far tonight, he was probably going to say something ridiculous, like that Wei Ying wasn’t a bother and he wouldn’t be able to take it if he did something so nice. “Ah, no! Get back to it!”

So hot and cold, Lan Zhan was. It made things interesting. It got Wei Ying curious. And it flipped the competitive switch inside of him that made him want to ensure Lan Zhan didn’t regret letting that cold exterior of his slip this once.

He retreated to the pantry and perused the options there, reaching for the box labeled “Wei Ying’s Only, Do Not Touch, I Will Know. Just Ask, Please!” first. He still had a few of the tempered dark chocolate he’d made a few days ago and even though they were originally meant for his latest victim, this was an emergency. This was important.

If Lan Zhan was going to like chocolate at all, it would be dark, barely a hint of sweetness. This cause was good and righteous and deserved these particular chocolate bars. Sorry, classmate’s boyfriend. Better luck next time.

Swiping a jar of honey and a jar of instant espresso, he returned to the kitchen and then grabbed the whole milk and heavy cream from the refrigerator. There was a covered bowl of whipped cream that he was desperate to purloin, but refused on principle.

Maybe if Lan Zhan took a break, he could mix some up for him.

He returned to the stove and set his ingredients haphazardly across the counter space next to it. Stretching, he grabbed a bottle of vanilla from the cabinet overhead.

Lan Zhan made a sound or maybe Wei Ying did first, accidentally knocking the smoked paprika from the cabinet and onto the stove top where it spun a few times, unnaturally loud.

When Wei Ying turned to look at Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan was staring back at him, ears slightly pink.

That was so cute! So becoming! Lan Zhan really was the best. “You always order white tea,” he said, a feint as he ignored his own slight embarrassment at having fumbled the contents of the cupboard so spectacularly, but it did give Wei Ying an idea. “How do you feel about spice? Are you completely opposed?”

“Not… completely.” Well, that was a ringing endorsement if Wei Ying ever heard one.

“Do you trust me?” And oh, it wasn’t until the words were out of his mouth that he realized how loaded that question was.

Lan Zhan said nothing; it should not have hurt.

“Aha, Lan Zhan, I’m not asking for a—” For a commitment here.

“I trust you.”

Oh.

“I won’t let you regret it!” He got to work, cheered despite Lan Zhan’s initial hesitance. Warming the milk, he drizzled a bit of honey in and a small pinch of the paprika and then a bit of cayenne as well as the smallest possible amount of the instant espresso, no more the amount of caffeine that would be found in the tea Lan Zhan liked. He’d seen Lan Zhan carrying around cans of unsweetened coffee, so he couldn’t have been completely opposed.

Lastly, the best part: quickly chopped up bits of chocolate.

All the while, Lan Zhan’s gaze remained on him. It made him want to show off; it made him want to be bold—bolder than normal. He felt like he could do anything if only Lan Zhan would look at him. Too bad he didn’t have an excuse to get out the blowtorch and really go to town on something.

“You’re going to make me blush if you keep looking at me like that.”

Something clattered to the ground. Possibly Lan Zhan’s pen. Wei Ying was too busy pretending he was suave and dedicated to see what it was, but he appreciated the crack in Lan Zhan’s voice when he answered. “Like what?”

Wei Ying stirred the mixture and then swiped his finger over the spatula. Not spicy enough for his taste, nor sweet enough, but still good enough for the average person probably and maybe, hopefully delicious to Lan Zhan in particular. If nothing else, Lan Zhan might appreciate the perfect balance of smoke and spice and sweet or lack thereof. Thicker and darker than the average hot chocolate, it was exactly what he wanted, and looked even better once it was poured into a porcelain cup.

“Like you’re seeing me for the first time.” He sidled over to Lan Zhan and leaned close, holding the cup up for Lan Zhan to take without letting himself think too deeply about what he just said. “Here! I’ll try to keep the noise down over there.”

He flitted away before he could see Lan Zhan’s reaction as he took a sip; he wasn’t sure which would be more unbearable, knowing it was good or knowing it wasn’t.

A few agonizing moments passed as Wei Ying returned to standing around at his table, pretending he was able to focus when, ha, he was done for the night. Utterly useless. It was going to be hell to be quiet enough for Lan Zhan when his mind was skittering around like this, but he’d made a promise and he intended to keep it.

“Wei Ying?”

There was something in the tone of Lan Zhan’s voice that was just a little off, though perhaps not in a bad way.

He lifted his head. “Lan Zhan?”

It took Wei Ying a moment to recognize what he was seeing, but when he did, his heart broke just a little bit more. Ah, but Lan Zhan could slay the heart of any man if he quirked his lips just so.

If only Lan Zhan’s smile was for him alone. That would be quite the dream.

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan said.

But perhaps he could settle for this single smile just this once. No point in being greedy for more.

If someone were to ask Lan Zhan how he had gotten to this point, Lan Zhan would not be able to answer. He knew this because his brother did ask him and he could not actually respond in words, even though Lan Huan had given him a baleful look when the silence had gone on too long. He even knew exactly what had happened, could have given Lan Huan the time stamps because, well, they couldn’t go on break without any way to communicate, right, so it only made sense for Lan Zhan to give Wei Ying his number, yes? Because a month was just too long to go without talking, wasn’t it, Lan Zhan? You’d miss me, wouldn’t you, Lan Zhan? And though Lan Zhan had protested that a month wasn’t so very long—such a damnable lie that even he was scandalized by his own boldness—he’d given over his number anyway and Wei Ying had done with it what he’d done with it, lord help Lan Zhan, which was send a million messages over Weixin.

Lan Zhan hadn’t even known what Weixin was before the end of January, but Wei Ying had assured him it was new and cool, two things Lan Zhan didn’t care about in the slightest, but seemed to make Wei Ying happy.

So: he could explain to Lan Huan how one study session in the student kitchens turned into weekly study sessions in the student kitchens turned into sometimes Wei Ying just inviting Lan Zhan along while Lan Zhan stopped saying that he was too busy for Wei Ying and stopped pretending he had so many tests to study for or essays to write and just sat there. Watching Wei Ying work. If work was even the right word for it when he took so much delight in what he was doing.

But Lan Zhan wasn’t going to say any of this. Because it wasn’t Lan Huan’s business.

At least it hadn’t reached the point where Lan Zhan was the one asking to go. The day their relationship no longer revolved around Wei Ying taking the initiative was the day Lan Zhan worried the whole thing would crumble around him.

But, really. The only mistake Lan Zhan had made this whole time was truthfully answering Lan Huan’s questions when he asked before now.

This, Lan Huan noticed.

This sealed Lan Zhan’s wretched fate.

“How is your friend, didi?” he asked while they prepared dinner together in Lan Huan’s apartment, a new development in their relationship since Lan Huan had decided to dial back his public responsibilities, citing the responsibilities he had to his friends and family. It reminded him, standing here with his brother, a bit of the times Lan Zhan spent in the student kitchens, though it was less chaotic, of course, than Wei Ying’s process. Each week Lan Zhan watched as Wei Ying grew more effusive, more like himself, or what Lan Zhan imagined that to be, as he waltzed through that space without fear of reprisals that would not come. Lan Zhan knew how to appreciate it now and appreciated even more than Wei Ying had tempered himself early on, eased him into spending time together, so that Lan Zhan wasn’t overwhelmed.

It made him slightly uneasy that Wei Ying thought to do this for him, if it was even a conscious decision, but he was grateful for it all the same.

“He is well,” Lan Zhan answered, biting back the smile that threatened to form though he wanted to be disgruntled instead. “Tonight, he’s editing pictures of his work to post online, I believe.” There was no belief necessary, but he didn’t think it was necessary to tell his brother that he knew for sure and had photographic evidence of it, a new photo showing up once every fifteen minutes or so, accompanied by the gentle buzz of his phone against his hip.

That would require telling him also that he had a new phone, one with the space to hold all the pictures Wei Ying sent, the pictures he couldn’t bring himself to delete, even the imperfect ones.

“Oh? That sounds interesting. I’ll have to look him up!” Lan Huan, always freer with his affections, smiled at Lan Zhan. He thought, rather wildly, that Lan Huan might like Wei Ying, and as though he could sense the tenor of Lan Zhan’s thoughts in order to best exploit them, he dropped, “You should invite him over some time,” right into the middle of their conversation, a rhetorical grenade that Lan Zhan didn’t know how to disarm.

Lan Zhan scoffed at this. Lan Huan lived in a penthouse with security at the door and a handful of restraining orders against a few people who called themselves his ‘fans.’ Anytime he left the house, he risked being accosted. He’d never in his life suggested that Lan Zhan bring someone back with him and Lan Zhan had, in turn, never considered the possibility. “So he can tell everyone where you live?”

Wei Ying wouldn’t do that, but the idea was still ludicrous on the face of it and Lan Huan needed to know it. “You could put a hood over his head and drive back and forth to hide the location.” Lan Huan might have covered his mouth to hide his amusement even as he said the words. “If you really wanted to.”

“Brother.”

“You don’t have to bring him over,” Lan Huan said, “but it would be nice to meet him, I think. I also wouldn’t mind seeing someone who isn’t my manager or Meng Yao or one of my very kind and dedicated fans. Besides, aren’t older brothers supposed to viciously guard their younger brothers’ hearts? Shouldn’t I get to see who is threatening to take you away from me?”

Lan Zhan’s face flushed and his ears burned. Nobody’s heart was in danger here. No guarding was necessary. Wei Ying wasn’t a threat. “That is not—!”

“That’s what Mingjue says anyway,” Lan Huan finished sweetly. “Am I wrong to be interested?”

Lan Zhan was fairly certain that Nie Mingjue was not the best model for fraternal relationships and that Lan Huan oughtn’t take his cues from him. But Lan Huan wasn’t wrong. He had a right to show an interest in Lan Zhan’s life, no matter how inconvenient it was to Lan Zhan. “No,” Lan Zhan said, begrudging. “You’ve just never asked before.”

“Because you’ve never told me anything about your other friends before.” It was rather impressive that Lan Huan managed to say those words without a single hint of the dubiousness Lan Zhan no doubt deserved because what other friends? There were no other friends. “If you’re opposed, I won’t push. Otherwise, invite him over next week.”

Next week? Lan Zhan’s heart climbed his throat at the thought. If Wei Ying came here, he’d have to acknowledge that Wei Ying meant something to him to someone other than himself. Seven days from now was too soon for that.

That sounded cruel even within the confines of his own mind. What he meant was—spending time with Wei Ying was like living in a dream. He feared that something fundamental would change if Lan Zhan allowed that to spill over into other parts of his life.

He didn’t want to wake up.

But he couldn’t help imagining the way Wei Ying’s face would light up either, eyes crinkling at the corners, his lips stretched in an impossibly wide grin. Perhaps it was time to wake up. Only children lived forever in dreams and there were worse places to start than here with his too-kind brother.

“I’ll ask.”

It was a step toward something that Lan Zhan wasn’t certain he was ready to take, but for his brother, he would try. For Wei Ying, he would try.

“We’ll need to buy chili oil,” Lan Zhan said later as he poked at the tofu and braised vegetables that made up the bulk of their meal. Before, he wouldn’t have considered it, but after having spent so much time with Wei Ying, he was beginning to know his tastes and preferences.

Lan Huan grinned at him and it was the sort of smile his fans would have cried over should they have been lucky enough to witness it. “I’ll get some.” He took a contemplative bite of his food. “I’ll ask Meng Yao his opinion. He likes spicy things more than I do.”

Lan Zhan wasn’t certain how he felt about that either, but he nodded his consent. Lan Huan wouldn’t embarrass him. That was all that mattered.

Wei Ying’s eyes widened as he took in Lan Zhan’s words, sparkling a little under the harsh lights of the students’ activity center. A mug of tea stood between them, entirely forgotten. It was exhilarating and a little sad at the same time. He enjoyed the thought of Wei Ying being so happy about an invitation to dinner with him, but he felt guilty that something as simple as that was able to move him so deeply. “Lan Zhan, you mean it?”

“Mn.”

“Are you sure? It’s your brother…”

“He would like to meet you.”

“He knows about me?”

“I’ve talked about you.”

Wei Ying’s eyes sparkled even more and he blinked a few times in rapid succession and Lan Zhan wasn’t entirely certain how to contain the fondness he was feeling at that moment. For all that Wei Ying could be loud and bright and present in ways that Lan Zhan still wasn’t good at dealing with, too used to his own quiet life, he was remarkably sensitive, too.

“Does your brother hate sweets as much as you do?”

You’ve got it all wrong. I don’t hate them anymore. “Not quite as much.”

Wei Ying leaned forward, eager, elbows planted on the counter. It didn’t seem to matter that there were a few students lined up now behind them, Wei Ying’s attention was entirely on him. “Does he like chocolate, fruit, vanilla? What kind of flavors? Cake, pudding, ice cream…?”

“You don’t have to provide anything.”

“Lan Zhan, if you think that’s going to dissuade me, you don’t know me very well.”

He knew. Of course he knew. Still, he wasn’t going to let Wei Ying think he owed Lan Zhan or his brother anything. “Please don’t go out of your way because you think your presence alone isn’t enough for us. You may do as you wish for any other reason.”

Wei Ying blanched at that and his face went carefully blank before he grew animated again, except it was as though he’d redrawn himself at a canted angle, just a little bit off of center, the motions not quite right. “Ha, wow. You don’t pull your punches, do you? Right to the heart of a man’s insecurities. Okay, Lan Zhan. I’ll bring dessert, but only as an expression of my desire to do so and not because I feel like I have to earn your brother’s approval. Deal?”

If he could go back in time and slap the version of himself from earlier this year who’d viciously ignored Wei Ying for so long, he would do so. How deeply did his every rebuff cut into Wei Ying’s confidence? Probably more than Lan Zhan truly wanted to know, though Lan Zhan hadn’t done anything to deserve Wei Ying’s regard then. He hoped to earn it now. He glared at Wei Ying, searching his features for any sign that he still felt an obligation toward Lan Zhan or his brother.

Wei Ying only stared back earnestly. Fine. Fine. Wei Ying was going to win. He always won. Better to concede gracefully.

“Brother likes matcha lattes.”

That sparkle turned to a gleam and he nodded, decisive. “I can work with that.”

“Let me carry it,” Lan Zhan said, reaching for the large, cheerfully wrapped box that Wei Ying was currently using as a drum, fingers tapping incessantly at the sides while Lan Zhan worried that it would fall from his grip. It was going to be a long walk through the lobby and an even longer trip up the elevator if Wei Ying didn’t calm down. It was enough to make even Lan Zhan nervous.

“Eh?” Wei Ying asked. His grip was loose on the box and so Lan Zhan was able to take it easily. “Lan Zhan, you didn’t tell me this is where your brother lives.”

Yeah, about that… if he explained it before, he would have had to explain everything else, too, and he’d decided it would be better once they were there. Wei Ying didn’t even really follow music that wasn’t related to the dizi, not closely anyway, listening to whatever came his way without really internalizing any of it, enjoying all of it with the same enthusiasm as he showed everything, but never going any deeper than that.

It was, in its way, very charming that Wei Ying could say, “Oh, I like this!” without ever thinking to search it out again or follow the artist responsible.

He may have heard one or more of his brother’s songs, but Lan Zhan very much doubted that his brother’s name would mean anything to him outside of the fact that he was Lan Zhan’s brother.

It made Lan Zhan feel a little better about how out of touch he himself could be about things.

They passed the security guard, Lan Zhan nodding and trying to ignore the raised eyebrow from the guard. In the two years or so since Lan Huan had moved in here, finally unwilling to disturb the peace of their uncle’s home by remaining, Lan Zhan had never brought a guest.

“He’ll need to sign in,” the security guard said, dubious. “And provide his ID.”

“Fine.” He gestured to Wei Ying. “My apologies.”

“No worries!” Wei Ying replied, signing his name and noting the time in the book at the security guard’s desk before handing over his ID to be scanned into the computer. “There.”

“Next time, he won’t sign,” Lan Zhan told the security guard, firm, though not intentionally rude.

The security guard lifted his hands. “We’ll make sure his credentials are fully processed.”

“Good.”

Wei Ying didn’t seem to think anything was amiss, so Lan Zhan pretended like it wasn’t an issue, too. His brother had already submitted the necessary paperwork, last week, while Lan Zhan watched, but apparently it took more than a week to “process” it even for men of Lan Huan’s prominence.

Lan Zhan supposed that was good to know, not that he anticipated going through this trouble for anyone else.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, all but pressing his face against the glass of the elevator as they stepped inside. Once they were a few floors up, Suzhou’s skyline would open itself up to them. “Do you live some place like this?”

Lan Zhan clenched his jaw. “Not exactly.”

“Perhaps not with how often you lose electricity.” Wei Ying laughed. “But I bet it’s still nice, huh? All clean, modern lines and pristine white furniture.”

“And yours is a chaotic jumble of any décor that strikes you?”

“Got it in one.”

They passed a few more minutes in silence before Lan Zhan felt the inexorable urge to correct Wei Ying’s image of him and his apartment. “Not white,” he said. “Mostly blue.”

Wei Ying bounced on the balls of his feet, happy to play. “What shade? I’m thinking something pale, but not baby blue. Maybe grayish?”

“Mn.”

“Please tell me there are silver accents somewhere.”

Lan Zhan’s cheeks flushed. “Mn.”

“Oh, Lan Zhan, you are the best. I can see it perfectly!”

Nobody else of Lan Zhan’s acquaintance would ever consider such a thing to be worthy of such praise, especially not when it felt so ordinary, so expected for someone as staid as he could be. He couldn’t even say he liked the décor he’d chosen. It just—was what it was. Convenient. Clean. Purported to be aesthetically pleasing.

The words he most wanted to say climbed the back of his throat, but his better judgment—or maybe his worse judgment—held them back with vicious claws. Why don’t you come over?

It wasn’t even that it sounded like a come on, even to Lan Zhan’s occasionally oblivious ears. Just. It felt like yet another step he wasn’t prepared to take.

There was time, but it still felt like this was yet another thing that was slipping through his fingers. One day, he told himself.

At least he was doing this much now, though he couldn’t even truly take credit for it.

Before Lan Zhan was entirely ready, he was putting in the code for his brother’s door, knocking lightly against it, and quietly letting himself in the way he always did. “Brother,” he called, also as usual.

“In here, A-Zhan!” He poked his head around the corner of the kitchen and waved, dusting his hands against his apron as he approached. “And Wei Ying. It’s nice to meet you!”

“The genes in this family are incredible, Lan Zhan. You never told me your brother was so handsome, too!” He plucked the box from Lan Zhan’s hands and approached Lan Huan.

Lan Zhan fought the urge to smile as Lan Huan watched in surprise while Wei Ying walked up to him, utterly fearless and without any concerns at all beyond whatever nerves he might still have harbored about meeting Lan Zhan’s family.

Bemused, Lan Huan took the box from Wei Ying’s hands and held it close to his chest.

Wei Ying sniffed the air. “What are we making?”

“Oh, it’s—” But Wei Ying was already pushing his way into the kitchen. Lan Zhan shrugged at Lan Huan from behind Wei Ying’s back. There was little that could be done once Wei Ying got a notion lodged in his head.

“You asked for this,” Lan Zhan said in a whisper once they were close enough to speak quietly.

“Dan dan noodles!” Wei Ying called. “You’re going to ruin Lan Zhan’s taste buds with this.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes widened and when he tried to follow Wei Ying into the kitchen, Lan Huan pushed him back toward the front door to stop him. “Dan dan noodles?” Lan Zhan asked.

“I… panicked?” Lan Huan looked at him with an injured gaze, as though daring him to say something about it. “I wanted him to have a good meal.”

Lan Zhan could feel himself warming under the weight of Lan Huan’s words. There was not a kinder person in the world than him. He couldn’t even be mad that he was going to end up regretting this meal. “Brother.”

“It’s not that spicy,” Lan Huan said.

“It’s fine even if it is,” Lan Zhan answered. “Thank you for thinking of Wei Ying.”

When they joined Wei Ying in the kitchen, Wei Ying was leaning over the stove, looking very much as though he wanted to take over.

“Does it pass muster?” Lan Huan asked, warm with amusement.

Wei Ying nodded. “It smells really good!” He wiggled his fingers and carefully placed his hands behind his back. “But, uh. Lead me away before I get myself into trouble. What do you do, Lan Huan?”

He laughed lightly, like Wei Ying had told a mildly funny joke, while Wei Ying’s brows furrowed as he looked between him and Lan Zhan.

“What?” Wei Ying asked.

“Nothing,” Lan Huan said, perplexed.

Lan Zhan held out his hand toward Wei Ying. “Phone.”

“Ahhhh, like I’m going to give it to you. What if you see my phone background? It’s embarrassing.”

“Phone.”

“Alright, alright. You’ve twisted my arm quite enough. Don’t blame me when you’re traumatized.” Aggrieved, he unlocked it and handed it over.

Lan Zhan was prepared for anything except what he found. Half hidden behind the various app icons was a picture of Wei Ying and himself, one that Lan Zhan hadn’t been aware of apparently, as he was looking away at the time, only shown in profile, as Wei Ying stood at his side, facing forward. It was slightly blurry and the angle was terrible, ill-thought through, like he’d had to take it quickly.

Why didn’t Wei Ying just ask him to take a picture?

It wasn’t any good, but it was still the best photo Lan Zhan had ever seen anyway. He realized he spent far too long staring at it when Wei Ying cleared his throat. “Okay, I get it. I’m a cheesy embarrassment. Show me what you want to show me.”

“Send it to me,” Lan Zhan said, feeling daring and bold, so tired of holding back when even his brother was being indulgent toward Wei Ying as they stood in his kitchen.

Wei Ying’s mouth fell open. Then his competitive streak took over and he said, “So shameless in front of your brother. I’ll show you.”

It wasn’t going to work. Lan Zhan wasn’t going to let it work because Lan Huan will have already figured out the full truth of it. And yet…

“Ha! Look at those ears go. Lan Zhan, they’re so cute.”

Okay, fine. So Wei Ying was better at this game than Lan Zhan was. Stabbing at the screen, Lan Zhan pulled up a video and handed the phone back to Wei Ying. Hopefully this will get him back on track.

Wei Ying’s mouth fell open, but he took the discovery that Lan Huan was an incredibly popular artist about as well as anyone would. “Whoa! Lan Huan, look at you! So many screaming fans. What do you do with all of them?” He pulled the phone closer to his face. “Wow.”

Lan Huan’s lip curled upward in amusement. “Sign autographs and take pictures mostly. Sometimes I even get to decline marriage proposals.”

“But who can blame them? That voice is so pretty. Lan Zhan, why is your family so skilled and talented? How is that fair?”

If Wei Ying was intimidated by the discovery that Lan Huan could pack arena with shrieking admirers, he didn’t show it.

At least this time it was Lan Huan who managed a slight blush, though Wei Ying might not be able to tell. Clearing his throat, Lan Huan gestured them toward the dining room. “A-Zhan, why don’t you take Wei Ying to sit? The food should be almost done.”

“No, no, no. Let me help. Lan Zhan can sit! I want to ask you all about Lan Zhan’s childhood while he’s not looking.” He winked at Lan Zhan, who hadn’t yet made a move toward the dining room.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to remain loyal to my brother in this situation,” Lan Huan said, placid, droll. “I’m sure you understand.”

“Not really. My brother would sell me out for a can of coffee.” Sighing dramatically, the wistfulness of the sound too overwrought to be real, he clutched his chest. “What you and Lan Zhan share is special. You should cherish it.” He paused, biting his lip. “I’ll still help. It’s the least I can do!”

It took a moment for Lan Huan to recover and then his expression turned sly. Apparently he could read Wei Ying’s sense of humor almost as well, and as quickly, as Lan Zhan could. “We are very blessed to have one another, though I suppose it’s good also to know where you stand.”

Then Lan Huan was gesturing only Lan Zhan toward the dining room, entirely forgetting that he’d told Wei Ying to go with him. Only the murmured, muffled sound of conversation followed Lan Zhan as he went into the dining room to wait, but it was enough to keep him consoled. He wasn’t concerned exactly, but he felt a little bereft without Wei Ying by his side. How was it that he’d become such a fixture in Lan Zhan’s life so quickly? It felt like only yesterday that they were meeting for the first time.

And now Lan Zhan couldn’t imagine even a moment without Wei Ying by his side.

Before Lan Zhan could muse too deeply, they were returning, Wei Ying chattering away at Lan Huan as though they were the best of friends. Wei Ying’s arms were laden down with dishes as though he knew something about carrying them, like he’d done time in a professional kitchen and not just the student facilities. Though balanced precariously, Lan Zhan could not imagine the possibility that they’d fall and shatter. He had too much poise for that, though in most of the rest of his life he looked like a disaster.

Lan Huan was still slightly awkward, though he hid it well with the careful regard he showed Wei Ying. With each moment that passed, he relaxed further, the bemused expression transforming into an entirely amused one instead. Lan Zhan hadn’t given it much thought, but he realized it was probably good for him to know someone who didn’t just see him as a celebrity.

The only thing he carried was a tall, delicately glazed cake of pale green, surprisingly refined for Wei Ying’s tastes. No, it wasn’t a surprise—or it shouldn’t have been. Lan Zhan really needed to stop underestimating Wei Ying’s thoughtfulness.

It was, no doubt, flavored with matcha and appeared very much like something that would have caught Lan Huan’s eye at any restaurant he might have found himself in, though Wei Ying couldn’t possibly have known that ahead of time based on what little information Lan Zhan had provided.

If Lan Zhan had to pick a moment that most perfectly encapsulated his feelings for Wei Ying, this would have been it, and he was aware enough of himself for once to realize it and appreciate it.

As they were leaving, Wei Ying effusive in his praises of Lan Huan, Lan Zhan had to admit that maybe his brother was right. Though he hadn’t said anything outright, Lan Zhan knew now that he needed to make a real effort going forward. With a nod of farewell, Lan Zhan guided Wei Ying to the door, hand pressed so lightly against Wei Ying’s lower back that Wei Ying didn’t seem to notice it through the lightweight jacket he wore. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was Lan Zhan did it at all.

Spring was definitely making itself known through warm days and splashes of color in the trees and grass as flowers bloomed and every damned couple on campus holding hands everywhere they went, like having sweat-slicked palms just didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. He even started getting classmates asking him for help, begging, even when he exacted punishment in the form of actual comment cards, hoping to dissuade them. Which he couldn’t, because they all gladly accepted all of a sudden! When Wei Ying had more important things to do! Like mope. He didn’t want to design cute little meringues for Han Qigang in swim class just because they’re head over heels for someone in their French class, god. Wei Ying didn’t even know them!

Though there was still half a semester’s worth of classes left, Wei Ying was, uh, beginning to feel the strain of this thing—whatever it was—between him and Lan Zhan. Friendship probably best defined it given that it was kind of in a holding pattern where they spent a lot of time together without either of them ever actually pushing it any further. Friendship, though, hardly encapsulated the breadth of his feelings, though maybe that was what Lan Zhan considered them. How could Wei Ying tell? It was, perhaps, not helped by the fact that he already felt very strongly for each and every one of his friends. They were all like sisters and brothers to him, people for whom he would do anything. Sometimes he even wanted to kiss them! Just not in the way he wanted to kiss Lan Zhan.

And it was just that. Well. For Lan Zhan, he worried that he would do so much more. No, not worried. He wasn’t worried. He was eager. He would slice off bits and pieces of himself for Lan Zhan. If Lan Zhan asked, he’d give up everything. And happily. That was the trouble. Or. Not the trouble. Never trouble. Again, it was just that…

The fact that Lan Zhan would never ask only intensified Wei Ying’s feelings, these desires. But it sometimes made it harder than he would have liked to be around Lan Zhan since Lan Zhan never asking for anything, though he sometimes suggested that Lan Huan might enjoy seeing him again should Wei Ying be so inclined, which, yes. Wei Ying was always inclined. He just, well, wanted to do things for Lan Zhan, but there was nothing that Lan Zhan wanted him to do.

What exactly did Lan Zhan get out of this relationship, this friendship? That was what kept tripping Wei Ying up. Wei Ying kept pushing and prodding, testing the barriers and finding no resistance, except for how it changed nothing on a fundamental level when he was done. He could probably kiss Lan Zhan right here in the middle of the student kitchens and Lan Zhan wouldn’t even react.

Lan Zhan never noticed any of it, and certainly not tonight, which was a good thing, a great thing, until it wasn’t any longer, because Wei Ying was fighting with a ball of dough, his thoughts mangled and twisted around, doing him little good as he attempted to perfect this latest recipe and Lan Zhan had stopped studying at some point to stare at Wei Ying, always staring, but never saying anything.

What the hell did it mean?

Wei Ying didn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t get up the nerve before the end of a year that was staring him down from the center of a high-speed train’s tracks.

“Have you thought about taking a picture, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asked, wondering what he’d done this time to earn Lan Zhan’s scrutiny. “I hear those things last a long time these days.”

“You have—” Lan Zhan pushed himself to his feet, all dignity and grace as he bridged the distance between them and Wei Ying was left fearing that this would be the moment where he slipped up and did something stupid and irreversible. But Lan Zhan just made an impatient sound in the back of his throat and before Wei Ying could so much as complain, he’d pressed his thumb against Wei Ying’s cheek, swiping it across the arch of it, and brought it away covered in flour.

He frowned, as though displeased, and brushed the flour away and then repeated the gesture, all while Wei Ying’s heart threatened to leap from within his chest and give itself over to Lan Zhan’s care for good.

“Lan Zhan.” After a false, croaking start, he cleared his throat. “Lan Zhan, you’re a menace.”

“You had flour.”

And you could have told me to wipe my face. How am I supposed to live with this? “And now I don’t?”

This time, it was Lan Zhan’s index and middle fingers that traced his cheek, careful, gentle. His scrutiny weighed so much that Wei Ying nearly buckled under the pressure. “Now you don’t.”

Lan Zhan returned to his seat and acted as though nothing had happened and it was so unfair that Wei Ying wanted to cry out in frustration. How could Lan Zhan be allowed to be like this and remain so unruffled? Did it even matter to him really, what he did? Did he even notice? He wasn’t a cruel man and he wasn’t given to obliviousness as far as Wei Ying could tell, but he couldn’t know, right? He wouldn’t do this if he did realize and didn’t feel anything for Wei Ying.

Wei Ying sighed and looked down at the dough, frowning. He’d over worked it without even realizing it.

That just figured.

“Are you all right?” Lan Zhan asked. He had a better nose for trouble than even Wei Ying.

“Fine!” Wei Ying pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just fine, Lan Zhan. Get back to work, eh?”

As always, Lan Zhan just stared at him until he crumbled, telling him without words that he’d wait out the end of the world in expectation of an answer. “There’s only half a semester left of classes,” he said. That was one of the things he’d been thinking about, at least.

“Mn.”

“It’s like the year just started.”

“Mn.” A little more drawn out than the first, as though acknowledging that Wei Ying was stating the obvious.

“You’re right, of course.” Wei Ying was already feeling stupid; he didn’t need Lan Zhan sitting there being so composed about it, so patient. “It’s silly. I think it’s just nostalgia.” Abandoning the dough, he scrubbed his hands against his apron. “But it gives me heartburn. Let me make you something, eh?”

That will be a good distraction for my heart.

Perhaps Lan Zhan could see something of the wildness Wei Ying was feeling, because he conceded quickly instead of fighting him. Wei Ying wasn’t certain what would happen if he said there was no need. “Would you be able to make that drinking chocolate you gave me the first time we came here together?”

Maybe Lan Zhan was feeling nostalgic now, too. So much for being good for his heart. Now it was hammering even harder against his rib cage, battling again to burst free from his chest and launch itself at Lan Zhan, proclaim for Wei Ying what Wei Ying’s stupid mouth couldn’t.

“Of course, of course!” He got to work quickly and efficiently, placing a cup in front of Lan Zhan almost before either of them could react to it. “Lan Zhan, I…”

Lan Zhan looked up at him. “Hm?”

Wei Ying choked. That was the only word for it. He choked, the words just not there, abandoning him when he most needed them. What a curse this was. If only he could just make the admission. Instead…

Instead, he managed to sound like an idiot: “Aha. Lan Zhan, you look so cute drinking hot chocolate. Make sure you do so a lot in the future, hmm?”

Lan Zhan’s mouth twitched and there was a question in his eyes, concern, too, and if he called him on it, Wei Ying thought maybe he could give up the truth or as much of it as Wei Ying himself understood. He blinked and stared down at the hot chocolate, swirling it thoughtfully in response to Wei Ying’s cryptic statement. Wei Ying supposed he didn’t need to make it sound quite so much like he was leaving or dying. It wasn’t that he meant to be mysterious on purpose, but if it prodded Lan Zhan, then why not let it lie?

If he had his way, he wouldn’t be going anywhere. If he had a reason to stay, that would be the nicest thing in the world.

“I will,” Lan Zhan agreed and Wei Ying maybe, kind of hoped that Lan Zhan would say something else, perhaps acknowledge that the only one who made drinking chocolate for him was Wei Ying.

But that was that.

Of course Lan Zhan wouldn’t ask. He never asked. And Wei Ying was beginning to think he never would.

Wei Ying placed a cup of coffee and a slice of cake in front of Wen Ning and sat across from him, frowning at the dejected cast to his features. There wasn’t a person that Wei Ying knew who was cuter or sweeter than Wen Ning and yet he somehow had the worst luck with romance. The students’ activity center wasn’t the best place to do this, but Wei Ying had to go on shift shortly and he couldn’t completely ignore the message Wen Ning had sent him earlier.

This was the best compromise he could make and he tried not to feel bad about it.

“It was one bad date, A-Ning.” Stretching across the table, he poked the plate closer to Wen Ning. “The next one will go better. You’re too adorable and kind to stay down for long.” Then, when Wen Ning made no move to take the cake, he also pushed the coffee closer. “It’s a dark chocolate mocha just like you like. No chili powder or anything.”

Wen Ning said nothing. Wei Ying wasn’t surprised, but he was disappointed.

“Every date ends badly,” Wen Ning finally said, wrapping his hand around the fork Wei Ying had brought along. The smallest possible bite of cake was balanced on the tines and Wei Ying fought the urge to be concerned that Wen Ning hadn’t already inhaled half of it like he normally would. Even after other bad dates, he could always find enthusiasm for Wei Ying’s cakes before.

“You’ve got one up on the rest of us,” Wei Ying said. “At least you’re going on dates.”

Wen Ning gave him a doleful look, but it was true! Almost nobody else that either of them knew were taking the time to date and at least some of them were actively avoiding it because they were chicken shit—or named Wei Ying. Those two were kind of synonymous these days.

“Hey,” Wei Ying continued, because he was congenitally unable to keep his mouth shut when things were getting awkward despite all the extra practice he was getting from Lan Zhan. “You say this was bad, but at least it wasn’t like the arcade. It has to beat that, right?”

Wen Ning groaned. “Don’t mention the arcade.”

“How about the aquarium, then?”

“Not that one either!”

“Okay, but what I’m saying is, those were bad, but you keep picking yourself back up and trying again!” Wei Ying slid into the seat next to Wen Ning and squeezed his arm, seeing that Wen Ning wasn’t buying it this time. So maybe some tough love was required here. “Or you could stop trying to sublimate your feelings for your crush into sabotaging dates with other people.” Leaning close, he wrapped his arm around Wen Ning’s shoulders. “Why don’t you just ask Sang-xiong out? He won’t even be mean to you if he doesn’t feel that way about you.” And somehow I very much doubt that.

“I don’t know, Wei Ying…” But he seemed less hesitant than in the past whenever it came up. Really, these two were ridiculous, but maybe Wen Ning was finally tiring himself out with all this pining. Wei Ying knew how exhausting ignoring feelings could be.

Wei Ying slapped him on the back, laughing lightly and shoving his own issues deep down. This wasn’t about him. This was about Wen Ning and his constant refrain of I don’t know, I don’t know. That sounded exactly like Nie Huaisang. “See? You’ll get along perfectly. Just ask him out already.”

“I don’t even know what kind of date I’d take him on.”

And ah, Wei Ying could not let this opportunity go. Wen Ning was now thinking about this, which was more than could be said about when they’d discussed this in the past. Press the advantage while you had it, that was Wei Ying’s motto. If he had a motto. Which he didn’t. Not until now anyway. But press the advantage while you had it was definitely going to be his motto going forward.

Pondering Wen Ning’s conundrum, Wei Ying tapped his finger against his chin. “Hmm.” It shouldn’t be all that hard, to be honest. Nie Huaisang was exuberant in his tastes, though he remained reticent about everything else in his life. It made some things difficult, but this shouldn’t be too bad.

But Wen Ning needed confidence, which would be harder to come by.

“I know!” Wei Ying said. “We’ll go on a practice run. We’ll figure out a place that Sang-xiong would like and I’ll be the delicate and lovely Nie Huaisang for the night and you can work out all your nerves while I’m there. Then, you should know exactly how it will go and be ready for it! We can scope out a restaurant this week!” Wei Ying physically cajoled Wen Ning, pulling him back and forth. “Come on. What do you say? I can even practice being all touchy feely so that you’re ready for it. I’ve seen the way you lock up tight when he gets near you.”

“I still don’t know…”

“I do! It’ll be fun and I want to see you happy before I graduate, huh? That’s only a few months away.” Wei Ying had to ignore the pang as he realized that. If ever there was a time when he regretted pushing ahead, heedless, working as quickly as possible because he was just so impatient to be out in the real world, it was now. “I’d like to know that you and Sang-xiong are in good hands.” When he waggled his eyebrows, he knew he’d convinced Wen Ning, but he’d never met a moment he wouldn’t exploit a little further. “Please? For your dearest gege?”

Wen Ning didn’t say anything, but Wen Ning didn’t really have to. Even so, Wei Ying wanted him to be as excited as he was.

“I’ll even treat! And it’ll just be me there. How many of my most embarrassing moments have you seen? If anyone finds out, then Sang-xiong might think that I managed to nab you instead and be jealous. It works out either way.”

“I don’t think he’d…”

“He’d be jealous.” Oh. The more Wei Ying thought about it, the more he thought that maybe this was the better angle. Oh, it really was good.

“I don’t want him to be jealous.”

Ah, Wen Ning was so good. “Listen, Sang-xiong doesn’t make a move on anything if he’s comfortable. I love him to death, but he gets complacent easily.” Wei Ying didn’t say it, but everyone knew of Wen Ning’s romantic mishaps. Nie Huaisang probably thought it would always be so and so he didn’t feel he had to make a move. As long as Wen Ning’s dates went poorly, why did he need to worry? Everything could stay the same and be just fine. “I don’t date, so if it’s me, he’ll think something serious has happened.” He ignored the pang in his chest at the thought of dating anyone who wasn’t… but it was for a good cause and it wouldn’t even be real. “We’ll only deceive him for a short time. Just the one date, right? He could stand to be a little unnerved for once.”

“I thought it was just practice.”

“It is, but it can be this, too! We can multitask. But it’s up to you. If you don’t want to do it, then I’ll respect it. You can tell people what you want to tell them or not tell them anything. It’s up to you. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

“I don’t know.”

“I do. Come on. Wen Ning. A-Ning. Dearest Ning-didi. Please go out with me. I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t say yes to having dinner with me.” Clasping his hands together, he leaned close, so close their eyelashes nearly touched. So close that Wei Ying’s cheek brushed Wen Ning’s. “Say yes, Wen Ning. At least to one date.”

“Ahh, okay, okay. I’ll go.” Wen Ning’s face flushed a furious, riotous shade of red.

“Beautiful. Wonderful. You’re an angel. This is going to be great! Now we just have to make sure Huaisang finds out.” As long as Lan Zhan doesn’t, Wei Ying thought. Bitterly, unbidden, unfair, though he probably won’t care anyway. The risk was small anyway. But a plan was already forming in his mind. If he did this right, he wouldn’t even have to bring Wen Ning’s name into it directly. If he prostrated himself before Nie Huaisang, dropped the right hints and begged for assistance, he’d figure it out all on his own and would maybe even confirm which restaurant he himself would prefer of the list that was spooling itself out in Wei Ying’s mind even as he and Wen Ning sat here and talked. “Just leave it to me.”

Anyway Wei Ying could already see Wen Ning’s future happiness taking shape and it was a beautiful sight. That was the thing that truly mattered here.

The last person in the world who could usually be accused of gossiping was Lan Zhan, which was why everyone in the music student lounge stared at him when he asked, “What did you say,” in such a short, sharp, invested tone instead of treating it like the reasonably normal request for information that it was.

The question was directed at Nie Huaisang, who looked uneasy now that it was Lan Zhan scrutinizing him. His hands twisted around his fan, snapping it open and closed again and again. Snap, snap, snap. Before, when Lan Zhan was still just going about his own business, he’d seemed to be lapping up the attention around him.

Lan Zhan hadn’t intended to step into the lounge, his lounge, and then immediately make such an invasive inquiry, not when there were more important questions to ask like what are you even doing here without Wen Ning to accompany you or don’t you have your own lounge in which to hold court, but he also hadn’t expected to walk into it and overhear Nie Huaisang wailing about Wei Ying asking him for advice about a date he was going on. It just couldn’t be right. It was impossible. It required clarification.

He needed confirmation that he’d heard what he heard. That was all. It wasn’t rude to ask.

Because Wei Ying going on a date? Unfathomable.

In all the time they’d known one another, admittedly, not long, though it felt like forever, Wei Ying had never even mentioned liking anyone. If he flirted with anybody, it wasn’t when Lan Zhan was there to see it. Sure, he could be excessively friendly with Wen Ning, Wen Qing, and Nie Huaisang, but he was excessively friendly with Lan Zhan, too. That was just who Wei Ying was. It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t end in dates.

Lan Zhan would know if it did. Hopefully.

In any case, four sets of eyes widened at his question. Two sets belonged to drama majors that Lan Zhan only recognized by sight and couldn’t name. The third and fourth were music majors in Lan Zhan’s year whom he didn’t care for, which perhaps explained Nie Huaisang’s presence, though it still annoyed him that they couldn’t go to the drama department’s facilities instead.

“Lan-xiong. I, uh…” His throat worked as he swallowed and he wouldn’t meet Lan Zhan’s eyes. Did he know what Lan Zhan felt? But how could he? They had never spoken about such things with one another. He couldn’t know.

He blinked a few times, eyes prickling with mortification. He knew he wouldn’t start crying, at least, but he couldn’t—it struck him deeply to think that he might have missed something so big and it was staggered him enough that he felt the heat of an embarrassed flush flood his cheeks. Wei Ying was Wei Ying, but before now, he’d been Lan Zhan’s. Or could have been. The possibility had existed. Now Wei Ying was a Wei Ying who dated other people, so what did that make them? Study partners, when that hadn’t flown as an excuse in over a month? Friends, when that excuse never really flew at all?

What could they be now?

“Nie Huaisang,” Lan Zhan said. Though they weren’t friends, Lan Zhan knew the only way to get Nie Huaisang to do anything was to exert pressure. “Wei Ying’s going on a date?”

It was instantaneous, the way Nie Huaisang broke down with a sharp nod, spilling the words quickly as though he was just waiting for an excuse. “With Wen Ning. He didn’t say it, but it was obvious.” There was a mournful note in his voice as he said Wen Ning’s name, which was the least of Lan Zhan’s concerns except…

Except Lan Zhan could see how it would work to an almost painful degree. Wen Ning was gentle and weathered Wei Ying’s antics well, neither egging him on nor shaming him for his enthusiasm. And Wei Ying was skilled at drawing people out of their shells, engaging with them in ways that eventually made them comfortable. He’d even managed to get through to Lan Zhan and Lan Zhan wasn’t nearly as nice as Wen Ning.

Wen Ning would benefit greatly from such a relationship. Wei Ying could benefit, too. He deserved to be with someone who was unrepentantly kind.

“When?”

Nie Huaisang was reaching the end of his rope, Lan Zhan could tell, reaching again a point of resistance to questioning. As long as he answered, Lan Zhan would leave him alone. “Tonight!”

Nausea curled inside of him. So soon? But of course, why wouldn’t it be tonight? And what about if it went well—which Lan Zhan was certain it would. Wei Ying wasn’t perfect, could be forgetful and his teasing sometimes went too far, but he was detail oriented to a fault, clever and smart and willing to do anything for those around him.

Wei Ying, in short, would be good at romance if he let himself be. His little campus project proved that much. When he put his mind to it, he’d take any partner on an excellent date, something that would be personal and unique and fun for whomever was lucky enough to have the chance.

Who wouldn’t fall for that?

It was obvious why Nie Huaisang was upset. Lan Zhan was upset, too.

“You don’t know that it’ll go well,” the girl next to Nie Huaisang said, consoling. Lan Zhan almost snorted derisively and Nie Huaisang actually did.

“How could it not go well? Wen Ning is the sweetest person out there!”

Wen Ning? Nie Huaisang wasn’t upset that it was Wei Ying going on a date? He liked Wen Ning instead? What the hell was the matter with him?

This was why Lan Zhan didn’t gossip. It always somehow left Lan Zhan feeling incredibly stupid and out of touch. Better to not have anything to do with it at all. Lan Zhan couldn’t even find himself relieved by the fact that it wasn’t Wei Ying that Nie Huaisang had feelings for, as though having one rival wasn’t already one too many.

Still, Nie Huaisang wasn’t wrong, no matter how much his friend tried to bolster his hopes.

Whatever Wei Ying put his mind to, he succeeded at, and if that included wooing Wen Ning, then it was pretty much a given, wasn’t it? Game over?

“Excuse me,” he said, before retreating from the room. He’d come intending to purchase a bottle of water from the vending machine, but he couldn’t stay any longer, couldn’t deal with Nie Huaisang’s overwrought expressions of pain when his own threatened to squeeze the air from his lungs, silent, but no less harmful to his heart. There were other vending machines.

He supposed he only had himself to blame for this development. Would Wei Ying’s affections have tilted in another direction if Lan Zhan hadn’t always been so cold toward him?

There was no way to tell, but Lan Zhan suspected it was so regardless.

He managed… two days. Two whole days without Wei Ying before he broke down and wound his way to the students’ activity center, where he hoped to find Wei Ying and confirm the truth for himself.

It was the worst two days of his life since… since the loss of his parents, if he was being honest. It wasn’t an exaggeration at all. That was how—

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying was saying, calling to him even from halfway across the room, as though he’d been waiting for just this chance. Though Lan Zhan had thought he was prepared for this moment, he realized he wasn’t. Not in the slightest. Did Wei Ying seem happier today than he was the last time Lan Zhan saw him? Was that flush in his cheeks different from usual? Did he call out to Wen Ning the same way when he showed up? Lan Zhan didn’t know and he was never going to ask these questions though they’d lodged themselves so deeply into his psyche that Wei Ying’s smile faltered when Lan Zhan reached the counter. Something must have shown on his face.

He was already sliding a cup across it, Lan Zhan’s usual. The expression of concern only solidified.

“Wei Ying,” he said finally, taking the cup and passing his bankcard across. Wei Ying had finally allowed Lan Zhan to start paying, though he’d been reluctant and still sometimes compensated Lan Zhan with treats, stating that he’d made them for class and needed to get rid of them anyway. Of course, they were all suspiciously tailored to Lan Zhan’s limited tastes in sweets, but Wei Ying never said anything and neither did Lan Zhan.

Before, Lan Zhan thought it might have meant something.

Now he wasn’t certain what it meant. Probably not that Lan Zhan was special to him. Maybe when he wasn’t around, Wei Ying made desserts for all of his friends. How he had time to do so between classes and all the time he spent baking for others, Lan Zhan couldn’t guess, but who was Lan Zhan to say he didn’t know how to balance his time that way? What did he really know, if he didn’t know that Wei Ying liked Wen Ning?

There were no treats today, just the drink, and Lan Zhan tried not to read too much into it.

“How are you?” Lan Zhan asked, choking on how awkward it felt to say the words.

Wei Ying grinned, looking no different than before and somehow, at the same time, entirely different. “Good! Who can complain on such a lovely day?”

It wasn’t, as far as Lan Zhan was concerned, nothing special at all in fact, but he couldn’t bring himself to disagree, not when Wei Ying looked so cheerful. Lan Zhan should have been happy for Wei Ying; he deserved to be happy. Lan Zhan was just—he wanted…

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agreed. “Very good.” He sounded like a moron.

It was the biggest lie Lan Zhan had told in a long time and he felt terrible about it. It was worth it for the grin Wei Ying threw his way anyway, because now that Lan Zhan knew he didn’t deserve any of this, he needed it all the same and would take whatever scraps he could.

Lan Zhan wanted to die a little and he probably deserved to be struck down for the uncharitable quality of his thoughts. There was no way he could pry into Wei Ying’s private life, though, he realized that now. His whole intention in coming here had been to ask him how his date had gone, but the words fizzled and died on his tongue.

“What are you doing tonight, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asked, handing Lan Zhan’s bankcard back to him. Lan Zhan had already forgotten he’d handed it over and nearly fumbled it as their fingers brushed.

“I’m…” Lan Zhan’s night was clear except for his usual and Wei Ying probably knew that and was just being kind. “I have plans.”

And now he didn’t just deserve to be struck down a little bit; he definitely deserved to get fully demolished by a lightning strike, not least of all when Wei Ying’s disappointment settled on his features in the form of a frown. “Ah, Lan Zhan. How could you wound me so? Who agreed that you could get plans without me?”

Who agreed that you could get a boyfriend without me?

That was almost enough to make him crack, but he needed distance. Distance would be good. Two days clearly wasn’t enough. He’d have to be stronger. Why did he even want to see Wei Ying to begin with? And anyway, wouldn’t it be suspicious if Wei Ying spent time with Lan Zhan when he was going out with Wen Ning?

“Is it a date?” Wei Ying asked, raising his eyebrows, a heavy glint in his eyes, calculating maybe? “Did you go and find yourself a date? Oh, Lan Zhan. All grown up.”

“Not a date,” Lan Zhan said fiercely, annoyed suddenly that Wei Ying would tease him this way.

Was that relief in Wei Ying’s eyes? Lan Zhan was certainly imagining that. “Ah, so mysterious,” he said. “Fine, Lan Zhan, keep your secrets and your plans. Better luck for me next time, huh?”

Lan Zhan had no idea what to say for a moment, had no idea what Wei Ying meant by any of this. What luck was necessary? “Mn.”

“Enjoy your tea, Lan Zhan.”

And then Wei Ying’s attention was drifting to the student who’d come up behind Lan Zhan. Though he wanted to linger, he couldn’t bring himself to inconvenience the new arrival. And in a way, they were saving Lan Zhan some trouble, weren’t they? If Lan Zhan couldn’t keep pestering Wei Ying, he couldn’t say anything he’d regret, couldn’t try to get between Wei Ying and Wen Ning, couldn’t make an even bigger fool of himself than he already had.

“Oh, and Lan Zhan? Find me tomorrow, huh? I’m practicing a mille-feuille and think your brother might enjoy it.”

Lan Zhan didn’t even know what that was, but who was he to deny Wei Ying anything, even something as ridiculous as this. “I’ll text you.”

Wei Ying’s smile was small, but sincere when Lan Zhan turned back to look at him one last time. “I hope you do.”

“He’s dating Wen Ning?” Lan Huan asked, poking at the promised mille-feuille with a fork while the pair of them sat at Lan Huan’s dining room table, which was otherwise occupied only by a couple of mugs. Though he’d offered a slice to Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan was unable to stomach the thought of trying it. He’d barely been able to stomach being near Wei Ying when Wei Ying handed it to him, expectant, like perhaps he wanted Lan Zhan to invite him back.

He’d… drooped when Lan Zhan merely said thank you instead of extending the offer he wanted to give.

It was the first of Wei Ying’s creations that Lan Zhan hadn’t at least tasted; he’d even enjoyed the ones he knew he wouldn’t like, too sweet or spicy for his sensibilities. He had some regrets, if only because even Lan Huan, brow furrowing in concern for Lan Zhan, stopped for a moment and stared down at the pastry with something like awe in his eyes. It must have been as good as it looked.

Shaking his head slightly, Lan Huan asked, “Are you certain?”

Nie Huaisang was certain and Nie Huaisang knew everything that happened on campus, even involving people that he didn’t know and had no reason to connect with. If he was upset, then it had to be true. Wei Ying had done nothing in the meantime that suggested it wasn’t. “I’m certain.”

Lan Huan frowned. “I don’t understand. I was sure…”

“Wen Ning is a…” Lan Zhan had been raised never to say a poor word about those who didn’t deserve it. “…good man.”

But, of course, Lan Huan heard what Lan Zhan didn’t say. “I’m sorry to hear it,” he replied. “Perhaps…” His smile was soft and caring and Lan Zhan wasn’t interested in either of those things at the moment. Whatever comfort Lan Huan wished to give to him, Lan Zhan wasn’t interested in receiving it either. Lan Huan’s platitudes could never be considered empty, but they were the very last things Lan Zhan wanted right now. “A-Zhan, whatever you do, please don’t retreat.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes snapped to Lan Huan’s face and he swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Retreat from what?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I mean. He’s been good for you and I think you’ve been good for him. Friendship is a valuable thing, too, is it not? I don’t want you to have regrets.”

“But—” The only regret I have is not… He hadn’t fully understood; that was the problem. And now he did and it was too late. He’d taken their time together for granted, hadn’t treated it as the precious commodity that it was. Unforgiveable.

“Didi.” Lan Huan’s voice was as close to admonishing as it ever got. “Whatever his feelings or lack thereof, he does care about you. A lot. That’s rare in the world. You don’t have to be as attached to the hip as you’ve been these last few months, but don’t freeze him out entirely, okay? Especially if he keeps trying to break through that thick shell of yours, hm?”

“I don’t know if I can…”

“I know it hurts,” Lan Huan said. There was a flicker of something in his gaze, something that Lan Zhan couldn’t quite parse. “Trust me, I know. But closing yourself off entirely will hurt you more in the end.”

“You’ve always been wiser than me, brother,” Lan Zhan answered, hesitant. He didn’t want to agree with Lan Huan and potentially catch himself in another lie, since he wasn’t sure he could take his brother’s advice regardless, but perhaps he could try. Wei Ying deserved at least that much.

Lan Zhan’s resolve carried him through the next day and lasted only long enough to see Wei Ying sitting with Wen Ning on a bench in the courtyard he passed every day on his way home. That was when he knew it would be impossible. His brother was right, but Lan Zhan just wasn’t built to—he couldn’t physically—it wasn’t…

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying called, loud enough to echo, but Lan Zhan had seen Wei Ying first and thought to shove his earbuds in his ears before Wei Ying saw him to give himself plausible deniability while he tried to be the bigger person. The late afternoon sun glinted off Wei Ying’s hair, a wild riot of curls falling into his eyes. This far away, he couldn’t see the clarity in them even if he wanted to.

It made it easy to pretend not to hear as he turned up the music on his phone to ensure it was only mostly a lie. It turned out Lan Zhan could not be the bigger person.

He could not accommodate Wei Ying, not in this, not when the only thing he wanted was to be the one sitting on that bench with him, not when jealously and anger and fear threatened to choke him to death where he stood.

His brother was wise and good, but Lan Zhan was neither of those things; he couldn’t go this much against his own nature.

Wei Ying, no matter what anyone else tried to say, was not moping. Nobody who moped would be out in the bright, Suzhou sunshine, right? They wouldn’t be wandering through shops and smiling and making jokes with their brother as they walked around, would they? No. No, they wouldn’t.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Jiang Cheng asked, sharp and abrasive as always, even though they hadn’t seen each other since their last break and it was well within Wei Ying’s right to expect his baby, baby, precious, darling baby brother to be nicer. Though they’d both come to schools in Suzhou, they’d picked separate universities—what would an arts-focused university do for someone who wanted a business degree after all—and in a lot of ways, it had improved their relationship.

But sometimes, Jiang Cheng could be annoying. And right now was one of those times. “Nothing’s the matter with me. What’s the matter with you?”

“You’re—” Jiang Cheng stopped here to struggle with his words, brows furrowing. “—you look sad. And you wouldn’t have begged me to come out on a Saturday just to fuck around if you weren’t looking for a distraction.”

Wei Ying barked out a laugh so edged that even he was caught by surprise at its vehemence. “Since when?” He definitely wasn’t sad and he wasn’t using Jiang Cheng. “Where do you get these strange ideas, Jiang Cheng? I’ve never been sad in my life. And anyway, I make you fuck around all the time.” Wei Ying hissed through his teeth. “Jiang Cheng, you’re ridiculous.”

He shoved at Jiang Cheng’s shoulder and laughed again. It sounded a little more natural to his ears this time at least.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Jiang Cheng asked. “I have eyes, Wei Ying. Seriously, what happened?”

Nothing happened unless you counted the deep freeze Lan Zhan had suddenly put on their relationship, twice as cold as anything Wei Ying had been subjected to before and that counted the day they met.

But how could Wei Ying explain it to Jiang Cheng in a way that made sense? Lan Zhan was his best… whatever and he was a mystery and there was no one else he wanted to spend time with as much as him. It wasn’t that other people bored him exactly, but Lan Zhan was always interesting, no matter how much he tried to pretend there was nothing underneath that calm exterior of his. “There’s a… friend of mine…”

“It’s that Lan Zhan guy, right? Do I have to break his legs?” He grabbed Wei Ying’s arm and yanked him away from the store he was about to step into, Jiang Cheng’s fingers digging into his forearm. “Or do I have to break yours?”

“Nobody’s legs need to be broken,” Wei Ying answered. “I just… I feel like he might be avoiding me?”

Jiang Cheng snorted. “Who wouldn’t?”

If a response like that were capable of hurting Wei Ying’s feelings on the face of it, he and Jiang Cheng wouldn’t get along at all. “I’m a joy to be around, Jiang Cheng.”

“Yeah, yeah, anyway. What’d you do to make him mad then?”

“Who says I did anything!” Wei Ying clutched his own chest and then sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know.” When Jiang Cheng leveled him with a suspicious look, he waved his arms around, batting his hand in Jiang Cheng’s face to make it go away. “I mean it. I haven’t… I haven’t done anything different than I normally do. He’s never seemed to dislike it before.”

“Maybe he’s just tired of you,” Jiang Cheng said breezily.

Though Wei Ying knew Jiang Cheng didn’t mean it, the thought of it still struck him, like a whip in its sharpness, a raw wound blooming beneath it, belying the ease with which he’d handled Jiang Cheng’s first retort. The force of the blow must have given away something he didn’t want Jiang Cheng to see, because he was suddenly frowning, so many divots forming in his forehead that his eyebrows looked like they were frowning, too, and he said, shrill, “I thought you told me I didn’t need to break his legs?!”

“You don’t!” Wei Ying swallowed around the lump threatening to choke him. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. It just seems like…”

Scoffing in disbelief, Jiang Cheng crossed his arms and watched him with hawklike intensity. “Sounds like you’re better off without him.”

“I guess.” He certainly didn’t feel like he was better off, but he wasn’t sure how it had fallen apart so quickly either. Hot and cold was only fun when Lan Zhan stuck around to keep playing.

Jiang Cheng, clearly grasping at straws, softened his frown. “What if you give him what he seems to want then? If you’re right, he’ll stay away. And if you’re not, he’ll come skulking back and you’ll know he wants you around.”

That probably wasn’t… it couldn’t possibly have been good advice—Jiang Cheng didn’t do good advice so much as salt and burn everything around him, scorched earth style—but it made a degree of sense that most of Jiang Cheng’s suggestions rarely did.

If he was right, then Lan Zhan would certainly be less annoyed with him, and if he was wrong, then it would be nice to be approached instead. Every time he tried lately, he was rebuffed. He could string each of Lan Zhan’s recent texts together and maybe come up with a paragraph in total. Even the mille-feuille gambit hadn’t worked all that well and everything that had followed was a complete nonstarter. Just nothing.

And, well, it had worked in the past, hadn’t it? Accidentally, of course, but maybe doing it purposefully would be useful, too?

“Too bad jiejie isn’t here,” he said, musing. “She gives good advice.” She could at least have confirmed for them whether Jiang Cheng’s idea was reasonable.

Jiang Cheng made a face like he wanted to argue, but he just shoved Wei Ying toward the shop he’d originally intended to enter before starting this conversation. “Let’s just go buy some stupid shit and forget this ever happened.”

“Thank the heavens,” Wei Ying agreed, nodding rapidly. “That’s the smartest thing you’ve said today.”

Jiang Cheng looked like he wanted to argue this point, too, but he refrained on that score as well. Being a sad sack apparently had some advantages. Who knew Jiang Cheng knew how to cut another person some slack when they were down?

Wei Ying wasn’t above milking it just a little bit. Compensation for emotional damages from Jiang Cheng for forcing him to talk about something important for once. “Are you paying?”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes as expected. “Fuck off. You must be feeling better. You’re paying.”

His idea, though, it stuck in Wei Ying’s mind.

It was a lot harder than Wei Ying might have wanted it to be, staying away from Lan Zhan. He felt more and more that he needed to be around him and not having him there was something akin to mental torture. He spent all of his time thinking about Lan Zhan, where he might have been, what he might have been doing, if he missed Wei Ying’s presence or even noticed its absence. Everything came back to him somehow, even the things that shouldn’t have, especially the things that shouldn’t have.

Watching this whatever of theirs wither in slow motion over the course of weeks? Awful. The worst. He’d never been so productive in class, not in all his years here, nor spent so much time harassing everyone else of his acquaintance, and none of it mattered.

It was worse, shifting that attention to his other friends, who sometimes stared at him like he’d grown a second head, the question no doubt on their tongue now that they’d gotten used to Wei Ying spending the majority of his time with Lan Zhan and didn’t know what to do with him now that he’d come back: hey, uh, what’s up, where’s your new best friend, they didn’t say, but they didn’t have to.

Perhaps that was why Wen Ning was watching him with such wide eyes as they crossed paths on the way to the barely off-campus apartment complex they both lived in. He didn’t know what to do with Wei Ying either. “Wen Ning!” He sounded maybe a little too excited to see someone else, though he had no reason to already be so lonely. Dialing it back, he adjusted his gait to better match Wen Ning’s, leaning into his space, but no longer needing to take deliberate advantage for the sake of a prank.

It was edging toward full dark as Wei Ying made his way home, his least favorite time of day now that he didn’t have anything better to do with his time, so it was good to see Wen Ning, distract him from the worst of his thoughts which mostly centered on the fact that Wei Ying should have been spending this time with Lan Zhan instead of heading back to his quiet studio already.

They’d kept up on the fake dating for maybe a week before giving it up, Wen Ning letting guilt get the better of him until he confessed everything. It had been weird anyway, spending that much time with Wen Ning, though it seemed to have helped. Wen Ning had grown some confidence during the week, like practicing talking so much made it easier for him to speak up some. It was a nice change and Nie Huaisang had noticed it immediately. Boy, had he noticed it, making it difficult for them to spend any time together at all, finding all sorts of excuses to separate him from Wen Ning over that selfsame week before Wen Ning lost his nerve.

It hadn’t even damaged Wei Ying’s relationship with Nie Huaisang, who’d merely hit him on the shoulder with the fan when Wen Ning told him the truth; he’d then narrowed his eyes at Wei Ying, telling him that he knew far too much about how to get Nie Huaisang’s attention and how come he didn’t spend this much effort engineering his own relationships instead?

Yeah, well. It was a fair question and it still haunted him, but what the fuck did Wei Ying know about his own relationships? The only time he’d ever wanted one for himself was once Lan Zhan showed up and he couldn’t exactly say that, could he?

But speaking of Nie Huaisang now: “How goes your attempt to woo fairest Sang-xiong?” This was perhaps the slowest courtship Wei Ying had ever had to witness outside of a drama, but they were working their way towards something jointly and that was more than Wei Ying could say for himself. Wei Ying had thought for sure that they’d officially declare themselves immediately. Instead, they’d both gone the infinitely more nebulous let’s see where this goes route. At the time, Wei Ying had counted himself disappointed, maybe, but relieved, too.

But Wen Ning was happy and seemed to enjoy the slow pace and Nie Huaisang enjoyed the delayed gratification, which was the only thing that mattered in the end. It was cute how careful they were with one another.

“I—I’m not sure,” Wen Ning replied. “We had a good time at dinner, I think?”

Spinning around, he walked backward and gestured at Wen Ning. If Wen Ning was willing to concede that much, it must have been a great deal more than just a good time. “That’s good news, isn’t it?” He clutched his hands over his heart. “Ah, to be young and in love, A-Ning. Aren’t we so very—”

“Wei—”

Before Wen Ning could warn him against it, Wei Ying was colliding with a solid wall of human being that must have just turned onto the pathway because it hadn’t been there just a few minutes ago. Warm fingers slipped around his wrist and the scent of sandalwood accosted his senses, sending his pulse skyrocketing.

Breathlessly, he said, “Lan Zhan!” before he even had a chance to fully turn around. His cheeks ached for how broad his smile was, only dimming once he looked Lan Zhan in the eyes. They were as cool as the breeze that tickled through his bangs, but nowhere near as playful. Wei Ying might have been a stranger for how much affection he saw there. More subdued, he added, “How are you tonight?”

Lan Zhan’s gaze settled on Wen Ning briefly, going even colder somehow, before he said, “I’m well. Excuse me, please.”

Wen Ning stepped aside as Lan Zhan strode past and he looked at Wei Ying with wide eyes, uncertain what to do.

“Lan Zhan!” His voice sounded even louder than normal in the evening quiet. It was impossible that Lan Zhan didn’t hear him, but he sure wasn’t replying. His stride never faltered. More quiet, to Wen Ning, he said, “Do you see how restrained I am right now, Wen Ning? What if I just tackled him to the ground?”

“You’re very good, Wei-chushi.” He twisted his hands together. “Perhaps you should, uh, do that?”

“Ah, don’t call me that.” Wei Ying swatted his arm. And as much as he wanted to go, he couldn’t. His resolve was set now, no matter how much it hurt. “I’m too tired tonight to chase after Lan Zhan.”

But. Uh. That probably sealed it, didn’t it? Lan Zhan didn’t even hesitate in walking off. Wei Ying had stayed away and Lan Zhan didn’t want to come back, was unflinchingly polite and nothing else.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” Wen Ning asked.

His entire being felt scraped out, ready to be splattered haphazardly across the ground with one wrong move. There was nothing of him left, not even a single word. Any words he had tripped their way silently after Lan Zhan, tugging at the hem of trousers that didn’t so much as slow down as the legs they were wrapped around walked hastily away. It was useless to say them to a retreating back. “That’s the last thing I want, Wen Ning, but thank you. You’re a good friend.”

Wen Ning smiled at him, just the smallest upward curl of his lip, an encouragement. “So are you.”

Wei Ying wasn’t sure that was true, but it was nice to hear it anyway.

Later, once he realized just how viciously easy it had for Lan Zhan to cut him out of his life, like taking a scalpel to every inch of Wei Ying’s presence and excising it, he’d wonder if he should have done something differently at this very moment, if that might have made a difference.

Later, he’d laugh at how utterly forgiving of Lan Zhan’s flaws he’d been.

Later, he’d be sure he should have tackled Lan Zhan to the ground, but only to deliver a punch that will have been thoroughly deserved.

For now, he only gave Lan Zhan what he thought Lan Zhan wanted and didn’t feel any relief in having done even that much for him.

With the start of finals only six days away, everyone on campus was harried and that energy even managed to infect Lan Zhan. Under more usual circumstances, he’d be no more agitated than usual: a few more nervous twinges inside of him, maybe, as he thought about upcoming performances and tests and essays. Nothing he couldn’t handle in the normal course of things because he harbored no doubts that he would succeed in his studies.

Now though, he wasn’t even certain he’d be able to step into the students’ activity center despite his need to do so sooner rather than later.

He’d somehow managed to leave every pen he owned at home and none of the other campus stores were open yet. This was fate playing a trick on him, he was sure.

Though he didn’t know Wei Ying’s schedule—he didn’t really seem to have one, working any shift that came his way—it was entirely within the realm of possibility that he’d be there. In fact, it was probable. Though Lan Zhan knew he worked any shift, most of his shifts were the early morning ones.

It would almost be preferable to just ask any random student for one, though the thought of speaking with any of them was monumentally wearying, impossible to fathom.

But seeing Wei Ying seemed impossible, too. In fact, the mere thought of it nearly made Lan Zhan dizzy and caused his throat seized up. If he stepped through the door into the building, he was now certain he’d be there, and every last moment of hell he’d turned the last month into would be for nothing. It had been agonizing, Lan Zhan doing everything he could to be wherever Wei Ying wouldn’t be. He even stayed away from the music building for fear of running into Wen Ning in case Wei Ying happened to be with him.

He couldn’t bear a repeat of the last time he saw them.

It wasn’t so very difficult to spend his time at home. All of it. Except for the visits he made to his brother’s apartment, of course, and classes, none of which he shared with Wen Ning.

“Are you just planning on standing here all day?” a student said, scoffing as he stepped around Lan Zhan and ripped opened the door pointedly in venomous display.

Next year, he wasn’t taking any early classes. He’d change his entire lifestyle to avoid having to step onto campus before nine. Anything to avoid this possibility.

He was, he decided, an embarrassment to himself and the rest of his family. It was entirely possible that Wei Ying wasn’t there. And even if he was, he couldn’t possibly care all that much about what Lan Zhan did now.

And that hurt more than it should have. Considering Lan Zhan’s behavior of late, it was also incredibly hypocritical. He thought again—not for the first time and definitely not for the last if history held up—about what his brother had asked of him: don’t retreat.

But how could he not when just seeing Wei Ying with Wen Ning was enough to shatter his heart into pieces? They weren’t even doing anything particularly romantic with one another last time, but it was enough. Too much.

He preferred to think of himself as someone who could handle himself, but he realized over and over and over again that where Wei Ying was concerned, everything he knew about himself flew out the window.

Maybe it was unfair, but wasn’t it better to end this thing than draw it out?

It was more unfair to tether Wei Ying to himself in this way, build resentment in his heart when it was clear that Wei Ying was happy—to be young and in love, right, what could be better?

He hadn’t told his brother of his decision; he’d find out soon enough anyway, when Lan Zhan had ignored one too many invitations which were extended to Wei Ying as well, but Lan Zhan wasn’t quite ready to deal with the quiet sadness that Lan Huan would burden him with once he knew. His disappointment could be no worse than Lan Zhan’s, but it was just one more thing that would threaten to break his back.

All he had to do was make it through these last couple of days. Then, things would be better. He’d have room to breathe; he wouldn’t risk seeing Wei Ying on campus, at least for a short time. He’d come back with a clearer head and he’d be honest with himself and with Wei Ying. With a few months to come up with an explanation, he’d manage to find something worthy. He’d cut things off clean. Give Wei Ying the break he deserved.

For now, he had to be the adult he pretended that he was.

Stepping across the threshold into the students’ activities center felt like the hardest thing he’d ever done and it only got worse as each step brought him closer to the central seating area. He didn’t allow himself to skulk, but if—if Wei Ying was there…

Lan Zhan’s gaze caught the coffee stand out of the corner of his eye.

There was no mistaking the way Wei Ying moved, even from this distance.

And he was, of course he was, smile affixed to his mouth, visible even from across the room, but for once, it was busy, even this early in the morning, a long line of customers waiting for a fix.

Finals were hell on everyone. This was the closest thing to a reprieve he’d get and he had to make use of it.

They were lucky, but Lan Zhan refused to be jealous of them.

He made it to the convenience store without undue attention directed his way, sticking as close to the wall as he could. Each time Lan Zhan looked back at Wei Ying, a quick glance before he put his attention on the floor before him, Wei Ying’s attention was on a customer or the espresso machine or he was chatting or laughing or being himself even this early in the morning, even though he hated mornings and carried the bags under his eyes to prove it every time.

It took maybe two minutes to purchase the stupid pack of pens he needed and then he was back to skirting through that hellish no man’s land. Though it was filled with students too morose to continue and stressed beyond belief, Lan Zhan felt more exposed than the lot of them, more anxious, more utterly doomed to a terrible fate.

He neared the exit when a voice rang out, cracking like a gunshot across the not vast enough expanse of the room.

“Lan Zhan!”

There was still a long line when he turned around to acknowledge Wei Ying’s summons and Wei Ying did not seem to care, not even when they started grousing at him.

Too many emotions flickered in his eyes too quickly for Lan Zhan to catalog, but the overall feeling Lan Zhan got from looking at him was of fragility and brittleness. He crossed the room, not of his own volition, his feet doing what they would, heeding Wei Ying’s call. Up close, those dark circles under his eyes stood out even more starkly and his complexion was even paler than normal for him.

Was it a symptom of finals? A lot of people were walking around in a daze…

“For the road, Lan Zhan,” was all Wei Ying said when he made it to the counter. Despite the number of dagger-like stares directed his way, his attention remained solely on Wei Ying. A cup was slid across the counter, steam curling from the hole in the lid, an almost perfect repeat of a happier past.

“Wei—”

But Wei Ying had already turned his attention back to his next customer, all smiles once again.

Lan Zhan took it, because he was indescribably sad and lonely and because Wei Ying had made it for him and if this was the only piece of Wei Ying he could still have, he wasn’t going to deny himself it when Wei Ying handed it to him himself. He’d only promised himself that he’d do better next semester.

But.

Bile climbed his throat and guilt clawed at his heart. Wei Ying deserves happiness with whomever could give it to him and Lan Zhan had been utterly lacking in grace and kindness to not allow him that chance.

As he walked to class, he sipped at the tea, perfectly brewed and delicious and exactly what he needed to soothe the worst of his nerves. It helped set his resolve and by the time he reached the lecture hall with ten minutes to spare, he pulled out his phone and shot off a text to Wei Ying.

He didn’t need a few months; he could do this now.

Lan Zhan: Can we meet for lunch?

There was no response for a long while, long enough that Lan Zhan got through the entirety of his first class and part way through his second before he felt a delicate vibration against his hip that destroyed his concentration for the rest of the review they were doing.

Wei Ying: When and where?

Lan Zhan blew out an impatient breath and replied with shaking hands. He’d rearrange his entire afternoon if he had to as long as Wei Ying said yes. Now that he’d set his mind, he wanted it done.

Lan Zhan: Your choice. I’m done with classes for the day.

Wei Ying sent him a link to a restaurant Lan Zhan had never heard of despite how close to campus it was.

Wei Ying: Two okay?

Under normal circumstances, two would have been ideal and Lan Zhan was left wondering if Wei Ying was still trying to be mindful of his schedule. Today, though, two would cut into the precious time he’d booked in one of the few, coveted practice rooms that were available to students, but Lan Zhan couldn’t give a single damn about giving it up as he replied his assent.

Wei Ying kept sneaking glances his way as they sat across from one another at the cramped vegetarian restaurant he’d picked, almost on a whim, when Lan Zhan had asked him to come out for a meal.

Wei Ying still couldn’t believe he’d done that and, if he was being honest, it had taken him far longer than it should have for him to work up the nerve to reply. After all, he’d seen the way Lan Zhan had looked when he’d stepped into the building, all rabbity nerves and deer-like strides, careful and skittish. Wei Ying couldn’t be certain that he was the cause, but he couldn’t be certain he wasn’t either, so he’d focused on his customers to the exclusion of all else even though his stomach twisted up inside of him as he tried to determine whether Lan Zhan was going to approach the café or not and what he would do if he did.

Then he’d gone past and made his way to the convenience store and Wei Ying had known that Lan Zhan would disappear, knew for a fact that he shouldn’t bother Lan Zhan, but he couldn’t help it any longer. He’d already ignored all of his instincts and desires by leaving Lan Zhan alone and look where it had gotten him? Sneaking creepy stares at Lan Zhan’s back as he tried to nervously go about his business.

It had been like a disease in those handful of moments that they existed within the same space for the first time in about a month and suddenly Wei Ying realized he was stupid and that Jiang Cheng was stupid and this was all so incredibly stupid. Lan Zhan could tell him to fuck off for himself if he really didn’t want to see Wei Ying. With those words, not just cold glances and polished deference and quick getaways.

So he’d taken a chance, made the smallest gesture a person could possibly make under the circumstances, a testing of the waters. If it worked, he’d poke some more later. Once he’d dealt with this line of chagrined, stupefied students.

Needless to say, the text message had been a welcome, if worrying, surprise.

And now they were sitting here and all he could do was stare across the table at Lan Zhan, who was chewing with quiet and mechanical diligence and for a moment it was like nothing at all had changed between them except that they’d been apart for far too long.

Jiang Cheng was an idiot. This was better than nothing at all, even if Wei Ying had to leave his dignity in tatters for it.

Lan Zhan finished chewing—did he count the number, Wei Ying hoped he did—and swallowed. “You’re not eating.”

It was somewhat true that he was ignoring his own meal and he could see the concern in Lan Zhan’s features as a result. They were both perfectly well aware of Wei Ying’s preferences: he liked to joke that the two best food groups were meat and heat, after all. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate other things from time to time. And anyway; this place knew its spices just as well as anything he might have found even back in Yunmeng, one of the few places in Suzhou which could say that. “I am! I am!” He took an exaggerated bite just to prove it. It wasn’t like he could tell Lan Zhan he was a little preoccupied at the moment. “It’s good.”

“You didn’t have to choose a vegetarian restaurant,” Lan Zhan said, gently scolding in the way only Lan Zhan knew how to be.

“I like vegetables as much as the next person, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying replied.

Lan Zhan stared back at him, as though inviting Wei Ying to concede that he was a lying liar. He wasn’t going to. Not today, when nothing tasted quite as good as this even with all the nerves tap dancing across his abdomen. Being with Lan Zhan would always be better than the alternative.

Wei Ying would even eat a radish if only Lan Zhan would always sit across from him while he did so.

He didn’t have to tell Lan Zhan that, though.

Wei Ying continued to poke at his meal, nerves growing out of control as they continued to eat and none of the grenades between them blew up. One question continued to bob along the surface of his thoughts and it was the question he should have asked first instead of putting it off. “Lan Zhan,” he asked, once Lan Zhan balanced his chopsticks on the corner of his dish; he’d had his fun pretending. “Why are we here?”

To Lan Zhan’s credit, he gave the question the full weight of his regard and didn’t just answer thoughtlessly. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said, and here it was. The moment Wei Ying had been dreading. This was why he hadn’t eaten. “It felt like…”

“It’s okay, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying replied. He could tell Lan Zhan was struggling and it was a loaded question. “You don’t have to answer if—”

Under the same circumstances, Wei Ying wasn’t certain how he would answer either. Frankly, he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer, when he was sure this was Lan Zhan’s way of telling him to buzz off for good. All that bravado from earlier was failing him now. The last thing he wanted was for Lan Zhan to tell him to fuck off.

“I wanted to see you,” Lan Zhan said suddenly, fierce. “That’s… that’s the truth of it.”

Wei Ying blew out a breath. That was good, right? But before he could collect himself to say something in response, Lan Zhan was already speaking again. And perhaps that was for the best, because Wei Ying’s mind was little more than white noise flashes of confusion and hope.

“And… I want you to know your happiness is the most important thing to me. So…”

As Wei Ying furrowed his brow, he nudged at Lan Zhan’s ankle with the toe of his shoe. “So…?”

“So… I want you to be happy.”

Well. That was… unexpected. And nice? As nice as it was, Wei Ying couldn’t forget that Lan Zhan had just spent a really long fucking time ignoring him. Well, a week during which Wei Ying had tried and then three long weeks when Wei Ying had just… given up, hoping the whole time that Lan Zhan would do what he’d finally done today, and then almost as much time knowing for certain he wouldn’t. Wei Ying couldn’t go through that again. Even if he scared Lan Zhan off for good, better to do that and know than exist in another hellish limbo. So. In challenge, he asked, “And if I can only be happy if you’re around?”

A complicated rush of emotions splashed across Lan Zhan’s face, too quick to fully understand, but the one that settled in the end? Wei Ying knew it well. Resolve. Determination. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Then, resoluteness shaken, “I would count myself lucky if that were true.”

Wei Ying swallowed and promptly choked on nothing and accidentally kicked Lan Zhan in the shin, startling the both of them. Taking a sip of water, Wei Ying cleared his throat and coughed and then squared his shoulders.

Wei Ying was certain his heart would melt into a puddle at how earnestly Lan Zhan said those words. Blushing, he looked away, unable to deal with how adorable and perplexed Lan Zhan looked right now, as though even didn’t realize what he was going to say until after it was said. “Lan Zhan, you’re so cute, but sometimes you’re a prick.” And then he leaned across the table and punched him in the shoulder. “I thought I’d finally annoyed you to death.”

It was as close to talking about it as Wei Ying was willing to go and Lan Zhan, it seemed, agreed, because he only said, “I’m sorry I made you believe that.”

Maybe Jiang Cheng wasn’t a complete idiot. It did feel kind of nice to have Lan Zhan take the first step, even if Wei Ying had to drag him through the second.

On the other hand, Wei Ying may very well have actually been an idiot this whole time.

For the first time in his life, he maybe regretted working his ass off this whole time just because he wanted out into the real world all the sooner. Time was slipping through his fingers and he’d let himself waste so much of it simply because he was afraid he was bothering the person he cared about the most.

Stupid. So stupid. And now there were merely days really until he finished classes and tests, busy days, and that wasn’t even taking into consideration the arrangements he’d been trying to make this whole time, preparations for once he was graduated and could finally actually use all the damned skills he’d honed here, professional contacts he’d cultivated, everything that would put him that much closer to the things he really wanted.

Almost his entire life was set for the next however many weeks, months, years, and he wanted to throw all of it aside for Lan Zhan, right here and now, lay every card on the table, woo the man properly, because Wei Ying wanted to give him nothing less than his very best and whatever Lan Zhan’s damage was, they’d work through it together. Goodness knew Wei Ying wasn’t perfect.

He reached across the table and clasped one of Lan Zhan’s hands between both of his. “Lan Zhan, there’s something I’d like to tell you, but I’m not sure…”

Lan Zhan’s pulse jumped beneath Wei Ying’s fingers.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan answered, tense, looking away with a distantly pained expression on his face, “you can tell me anything.”

He could, he knew that, yes, of course, but it had to be right, didn’t it? He couldn’t just half-ass this any longer, not when Lan Zhan as much as admitted that he missed Wei Ying, had outright said he wanted Wei Ying to be happy. There was only one thing in this world that would suffice in that case and Lan Zhan had promised. This was his best chance.

Besides, he already knew what it felt like to be apart from Lan Zhan. What did he have to lose if Lan Zhan shunned him again?

He wanted to ask him why this had happened at all, but it felt too fraught, too fresh to ask the question. Maybe he could another time.

“Right. I know. It’s just—I want to tell you the right way. Are you free at all this week? I know there’s a lot going on with finals and…”

“Anytime,” Lan Zhan said, as though he wasn’t doing his damnedest to make Wei Ying die on the inside by speaking this way.

“Lan Zhaaan,” Wei Ying whined. “That’s not reasonable.”

“Wei Ying. Any. Time.”

“I’m not going to be responsible for the greatest guqin player in a generation failing out right at the end of the year.”

“Fine.” Lan Zhan paused for a moment. There was a frown marring his mouth, slight, but speaking volumes. He was taking Wei Ying seriously the way nobody else took Wei Ying seriously. “Tomorrow or Friday after four.”

Tomorrow or Friday, Tomorrow or Friday. His heart screamed tomorrow, but his brain insisted on Friday. He needed time to prepare. “Okay, Lan Zhan. Friday, it is. I’ll let you know the details, okay?”

It will be worth it. He’d make certain of that.

Wei Ying packed the last of the food with a sigh of contentment, pleased that it all fit exactly the way he hoped, like it, too, wanted the best for him and Lan Zhan. He’d had to make all of this in his tiny studio’s kitchen and there were a giant pile of dishes left behind in the sink to prove it, but the reckoning that was waiting with that particular chore would be worth it, he was sure.

Not for the first time since Wei Ying told Lan Zhan that he wanted to meet on Friday, he wished he were closer to Lan Zhan’s brother. Surely nobody would know better than Lan Huan the ideal means to ensure Lan Zhan’s happiness, to show him how much he meant to Wei Ying. But though they knew one another, Wei Ying wasn’t going to try taking advantage. Besides, he didn’t even have a good way to contact him even if he wanted to unless he was willing to prostrate himself before the guard at Lan Huan’s building.

Dusting his hands together, he thought maybe he could actually succeed anyway and any success he found today would be thanks to his own work, that meant something. He’d spent all of Wednesday mulling it over. Yesterday was spent brainstorming and then cooking. Should he have been focusing on his final exams and projects? Sure, but where was the fun in that?

Today had been about paying attention in class and then ensuring he didn’t lose his nerve, a fight he was about to win at least in the latter case. Class was, well, a wash. The better part of the day was spent with his mind in the clouds, imagining all the ways this afternoon could go wrong, but equally imagining all the ways he was going to make sure it went right.

Lan Zhan didn’t like to make a fuss about things and he enjoyed calm, elegant places. And there was no spot more calm and elegant than Wei Ying’s favorite stretch of beach at the nearby lake. It wasn’t quite right for skinny dipping or drowsing in the sand or chasing your brother around with wet, drooping lotus roots, but it felt as much like home as Wei Ying had been able to find here until Lan Zhan showed up and that made it worth sharing.

Possibly Lan Zhan already knew of it, which wouldn’t be a bad thing even if it removed the element of surprise. Either he was bringing him to a place he was sure Lan Zhan would enjoy or he was bringing him to a place he was familiar with.

And now that classes were through—for good, practically, only a few more tests left early next week, practicals only, his final project already submitted—he could focus on Lan Zhan entirely.

There was no sweeter thought. And now that he was making his way back onto campus to grab Lan Zhan, he was ready, eager.

Happy.

They’d agreed to meet in the courtyard outside of the music building at four-fifteen, but Lan Zhan was already there when Wei Ying showed up at eight after, his nerves forcing him to get his act together before he had the chance to run late because he couldn’t be late, not today, even if Lan Zhan knew it was a possibility because he knew Wei Ying’s relationship with time could be malleable.

“You’re early,” Lan Zhan said, surveying Wei Ying with a keen eye.

“You could sound less surprised.” Wei Ying slapped the side of the large box he was carrying. Insulated and covered in a myriad colorful stickers and drawings, it was full of guaranteed or suspected Lan Zhan pleasers. Wei Ying would know. He combed his notoriously bad memory for all the clues he needed to piece together a suitable menu. He rather hoped he’d be able to confirm the uncertain ones today, add them to his repertoire if he was correct. “You should be nicer to me given everything in this baby.”

Lan Zhan, peering down at it, uncertain, said, “I can carry that for you.”

“Nope!” Wei Ying retrieved a tall, thin thermos from where it was shoved awkwardly into a pocket that really wasn’t designed to hold it. He breathed out in relief and hoped his thigh wouldn’t bruise too badly. “Carry this instead.”

Lan Zhan’s brows furrowed.

“It’s just tea, Lan Zhan. For you.” Wei Ying pointed toward one of the many pathways that snaked through campus. “We’re going that way.”

“Wei Ying?”

“There’s somewhere I’d like to take you before going home,” Wei Ying said, answering the question that Lan Zhan didn’t ask, though not fully because he did want to keep the mystery alive a little longer. “I thought you might like it, too.”

“You’re going back to Yunmeng?”

“For a short time,” Wei Ying answered. “Jiejie is already back there and my brother is going to go back with me next week once I’m completely wrapped up here, too.”

They walked in silence for a short time in the direction Wei Ying had indicated. It was more strained than Wei Ying might have hoped, but his nervousness was starting to get the better of him. He wasn’t certain what to say.

“What will you do after that? For the summer?” Lan Zhan asked eventually.

“Hmm?” Wei Ying had already lost the thread of the conversation, mind wandering ahead of him, but only toward the immediate future. Would he be able to convince Lan Zhan to take his shoes and socks off and dig his toes into the cool, grassy sand? He really hoped so. “Oh, I’m not sure.”

It depends on you actually, he did not say, not yet. There would be time.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said disapprovingly.

“Not all of us have our entire summer blocked off by the hour, Lan Zhan.” No doubt he knew exactly where he intended to be at every moment of the day during break. Wei Ying hoped to change this, hoped to upend his life in the best way possible, muss that perfect exterior of his just a bit. “I have a few options,” Wei Ying replied, placating when Lan Zhan only stared at him. “I just haven’t settled on one yet.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes were practically boring holes into his head with how intense his gaze was. “What are they?”

“Lan Zhan, I’ve had enough worrying about my future to last me at least a month. Right now, I don’t want to think about anything beyond the rest of the afternoon. Let’s just go eat and then I’ll tell you.”

Lan Zhan’s hand wrapped around Wei Ying’s wrist, stopping his forward momentum. “Wei Ying.”

There was something in Lan Zhan’s bearing that made Wei Ying’s resolve crumble. He carried himself as though he were going to break, if he had to wait even a moment longer for—for whatever he thought Wei Ying meant to do presumably, like he was expecting an ax to fall. His hand even trembled a little. Oh, Lan Zhan. Even if his own nerves threatened to chew a hole in his chest, perhaps he could—he could just do it instead of prolonging the inevitable a little longer.

He never had been very good at showing patience, though Lan Zhan was beginning to teach him.

What did the lake matter? It would still be there in a few minutes. What could truly go wrong between now and then? What was more perfect than spending time with Lan Zhan anyway? By the lake or here, who cared?

He swallowed and drew in a deep breath and body checked Lan Zhan off the path and toward a nearby tree.

“Lan Zhan, I wanted to tell you…” He scrubbed his hand through his already tangled hair and felt his cheeks start to burn. Carefully, he placed the box on the ground and then stepped right up to Lan Zhan, chests almost touching, his eyes searching Lan Zhan’s face for signs of discomfort. There were none that Wei Ying could see, not even in the way Lan Zhan’s mouth parted slightly in surprise. His knuckles brushed over Lan Zhan’s cheek and his stomach warmed as Lan Zhan’s eyes fluttered shut, as Lan Zhan drew in a shaking breath. Wei Ying’s touch did this. His touch was still doing it.

Ah, he’d been so stupid. How could he have missed it underneath all of Lan Zhan’s surface-level pretense?

“Please stop me if I’m wrong,” he whispered, moving slowly so that Lan Zhan could push him away, explain to him that he’d read all the signs incorrectly if that was indeed what he was doing. He was already imagining remaining in Suzhou through the summer, staying into autumn and winter and spring again, watching the last year of Lan Zhan’s performances and working in that cute little patisserie he’d been scoping out for the last three months, hoping they would be interested in his skills, waiting for a potential opening. If Wei Ying was wrong, it would have to be Lan Zhan who told him.

And they were interested, that patisserie, if he was willing to commit by the end of next week. He’d only refrained from saying yes before because, well, there was no point in rehashing it, was there, when Lan Zhan was tilting his head into Wei Ying’s touch, bending ever so slightly to Wei Ying’s will.

He didn’t think that would be a problem now and it was even going to be worth getting yelled at for not staying the whole summer in Yunmeng like he’d planned and promised when they were all parting ways last summer, jiejie back to Lanling and he and Jiang Cheng to Suzhou.

It was easy with so much encouragement to pinch Lan Zhan’s beautiful chin between his fingers and pull him into a kiss.

Lan Zhan’s lips were warmer than Wei Ying expected and pliant, parting easily for Wei Ying even as he stood so still that Wei Ying worried he might shatter for how rigidly he carried himself. Wei Ying’s hands curled against his neck and his nails scraped against the crisp line of hair along Lan Zhan’s nape and the little sounds Lan Zhan made, sounds of disbelief, of pleasure, of need, all for Wei Ying, they were beautiful, they were everything Wei Ying could have hoped for and more. He should have thrown himself at Lan Zhan sooner if this was the reward.

His tongue passed between Lan Zhan’s teeth to tease at the roof of his mouth, darted over his lower lip and Wei Ying was rewarded with a moan for this modest effort, this clumsy, unpracticed effort of his, exactly like he might have hoped his first kiss—their first kiss—would go.

His thumbs swept over Lan Zhan’s jaw which earned him a shaking, twisted gasp. He did it again just because he wanted to, because holy shit Lan Zhan was allowing this, letting Wei Ying slip between his steel-trap defenses to touch him.

It was Lan Zhan who deepened the kiss, Lan Zhan who gripped hard with one hand at Wei Ying’s hip and tangled the fingers of his other hand in the crown of Wei Ying’s hair where it was longest, pulling his neck taut as he tilted Wei Ying’s head the way he wanted it to go, drawing his lips down, biting at the column of his throat.

He was the one who made Wei Ying see stars behind his closed eyelids and he was the one who showed Wei Ying everything he’d been missing all this time, that last, perfect piece slotting into place so that everything made sense. This was where Wei Ying had always belonged, never mind the trouble it had taken them to get here. This was where he wanted to be.

He was the one who finally shuddered and pushed at Wei Ying’s shoulders, pushed so hard that Wei Ying nearly stumbled, pushed Wei Ying away and not teasingly either, but with intent, pushed until Wei Ying would have had to stretch to reach Lan Zhan again.

He was the one who said, “No,” splintering each and every one of Wei Ying’s hopes and plans with a single syllable.

His eyes were wide and wild and his ears were bright red. Even a tiny flush worked across his cheeks, the first time his face had ever shifted from its usual flawless pale color and he seemed angry, angry at Wei Ying, and Wei Ying was so torn between the last few moments and this sudden change that he couldn’t even parse what Lan Zhan said at first, that he’d said anything at all. It took time for the shift to catch up to him, like the first seconds of an earthquake, which never felt real at first.

He still felt Lan Zhan’s mouth against his own, still tasted him on his tongue. How could Lan Zhan be saying no now?

“Lan Zhan…?” He needed to apologize, right? He apparently actually, really, truly had gotten it all wrong somewhere along the way. He’d misread Lan Zhan somehow. He’d kissed Wei Ying back because… maybe it was just a reflex?

Lan Zhan’s features went even colder somehow. “Not when you don’t mean it.”

The guilt, the fear, the worry he experienced thinking he’d messed things up with Lan Zhan? They all found themselves consumed in a sudden conflagration at those words. His mind was too quick for the rest of him sometimes and that wasn’t always to his advantage. It understood exactly what Lan Zhan meant even if his heart still didn’t believe it, if his mouth followed his heart’s lead at first. “Not when I…”

How could Lan Zhan think Wei Ying wasn’t sincere?

Wei Ying didn’t know it was possible to match Lan Zhan’s frigidity, but here he was. Where before a fire raged inside of him, now only ice remained, cold enough to meet Lan Zhan and hold its ground. “Explain.”

Lan Zhan was apparently much more easily able to compose himself, though, because his voice was suddenly very calm, his hands locked behind his ramrod-straight back. He was staring pretty intently at the ground, the coward. “You’re dating Wen Ning, are you not?”

The staccato sharpness of Lan Zhan’s voice sounded like it belonged to someone else entirely, a man Wei Ying didn’t recognize. Lan Zhan had always been uptight, sure, but not like this, not even at his worst.

You’re dating Wen Ning. The phrase rattled around in Wei Ying’s brain, ringing practically as the implication fully registered. The ax that Lan Zhan seemed so worried about earlier, oh, it fell. Just not on his neck.

Oh.

That… that was what Lan Zhan thought of him. Truly. He blinked and blinked again, eyes prickling, skin warming again, melting all that ice that he kept clawing at because he wanted that coldness back, didn’t want to feel anything else. His stomach squirmed with embarrassment and shame. Lan Zhan believed that he would…?

He’d been wrong to think he could hold his own against Lan Zhan. This was too cruel even for him.

“You… think I’d kiss you if I was dating someone else?” His voice wasn’t even recognizable, which he supposed was fair since Lan Zhan didn’t sound like himself either, watery and weak, unable to hold up under the weight of Lan Zhan’s accusation. Since when did it shake that badly, his voice?

He brushed his palm across his eyes. It came away with a wet streak already cooling in the breeze. Since when did he cry over boys?

The worst of Lan Zhan’s own frigid demeanor melted away instantaneously. That was gratifying, Wei Ying supposed, except for how Wei Ying still wanted to reverse time and go back before he knew Lan Zhan thought he was a top-notch asshole. “You aren’t…?” His tone took on something of the awed, relief warming his words. The awed. Which. That was great for him, wasn’t it? Awesome. Good for him, that he could be relieved to learn Wei Ying didn’t go around kissing anybody who’d show him the time of day.

He reached for Wei Ying, as though it was easy suddenly. And maybe for him, it was.

If he didn’t like him, he’d have let him go and let him down with more kindness than this. So he must like him, right? He’d kissed Wei Ying back because he wanted it and he’d pushed Wei Ying away because he didn’t think Wei Ying belonged with him. And maybe he didn’t. Not if Lan Zhan’s first thought was that Wei Ying would do something like this.

Wei Ying drew in a deep breath and couldn’t help the pent up laugh of disbelief that fell from his mouth. “When did I ever even give you the idea that I was like that? What the fuck? Lan Zhan, what made you even think…?” Even if he somehow found out about what Wen Ning and Wei Ying had done, which apparently he had somehow, he should have just as easily figured out that they’d stopped.

But that was about the time Lan Zhan had dropped off the face of the planet, wasn’t it?

Fuck. So stupid. They were so stupid. Lan Zhan was so fucking stupid.

The dawning horror was a perfect touch as he finally figured out what he’d done. Asshole. He was such an asshole. “I didn’t know you were—I thought you were going to tell me…”

“I don’t want your explanation!” Wei Ying’s voice cracked with pain, demonstrably unhinged because yes, he had asked for an explanation. It fissured on every word, his voice. There was no way he could endure Lan Zhan’s excuses. He knew that. He’d said it, but he didn’t want it now. He took a step back and when Lan Zhan tried to follow, he flinched. It didn’t matter what Lan Zhan said, whether he hadn’t known Wei Ying was flirting with him or hadn’t known Wei Ying and Wen Ning weren’t actually dating. None of it mattered.

If only Lan Zhan had been a little less honest, let himself have this instead of ruining it all by running his fucking mouth, making assumptions he had no right to make. They could have worked it out.

Lan Zhan took another step toward him and he couldn’t have that now, no matter how much he still wanted it, because he did. He wanted to ignore the parts of him that knew Lan Zhan felt this way. It was clear enough that Lan Zhan would have gone along with it. He just. Couldn’t. “Don’t—”

“Wei—”

Wei Ying managed a few more steps. It was only with that much space between them that he could give voice to what was in his heart, throw it in Lan Zhan’s face like it was a cup of hot water, because he deserved to hurt as badly as Wei Ying did. He deserved to know how badly he’d fucked up just as much as Wei Ying did. “It was only ever you, Lan Zhan.”

“Then why—?”

But that was a question he didn’t have to dignify with an answer. If Lan Zhan was the only man he ever loved, it still didn’t matter. He didn’t owe Lan Zhan an explanation for this. He could date anybody he fucking wanted to whether he cared about Lan Zhan or not.

Sure, he’d messed up, but Lan Zhan—Lan Zhan didn’t think to even ask first, didn’t think to confirm that he and Wen Ning weren’t dating, no. No, he went right for the worst alternative right off the bat because, what? Wei Ying had proved himself to be that unreliable somehow?

And then Wei Ying needed to be gone, because he couldn’t stay here and see the confusion in Lan Zhan’s gaze turn to regret and sadness as it was doing now. His own hurts were already too big for his body to bear, threatened to spill across the grass and pavement before him and expose the worst of what Wei Ying was feeling to Lan Zhan, the last thing he wanted when Lan Zhan apparently believed he was that much of a bastard. He didn’t need to know how much Wei Ying loved him now. What else would Lan Zhan twist it into?

He couldn’t—wouldn’t—shoulder Lan Zhan’s pain, too, not if that was the only thing he knew of Wei Ying’s character, like they hadn’t ever really known one another at all.

So yeah, he’d made a mistake. He’d played games with love that he shouldn’t have, harmless in the long run though it had been. Even Wen Ning had tried to warn him off initially.

He’d been relieved when it had all worked out, Nie Huaisang and Wen Ning happily on one another’s radar finally, building toward something greater than the sum of their parts.

He should have known, then, that the consequences had to fall on someone else’s shoulders and who better than Wei Ying’s? It was only Wei Ying’s insistence that let it get this far, so why not him? He deserved it probably, because in one respect Lan Zhan was right: Wei Ying was a liar if he was nothing else. Why shouldn’t Lan Zhan question his sincerity?

“Don’t follow me,” he said and was not glad when Lan Zhan respected the command.

For a long time, Lan Zhan couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. His whole body tingled as his eyes followed Wei Ying’s retreat and he was frozen with mortification, anger at himself, terror at how thoroughly he’d imploded his relationship with Wei Ying within the span of moments when he hadn’t even fully thought what he was doing while it happened.

It was just one minute Wei Ying had given him everything he’d ever wanted—so much better than he could have known—and the next his fears reminded him that this wasn’t his to have.

Except that it was, and apparently had always been, his.

Lan Zhan was not good with people. He got by with politesse and distance and hoped to cover his deficiencies by making himself respectful and fleeting to the people around him. He didn’t know how to fix issues because they never cropped up because nobody got close enough to him for things like this to happen.

Somewhere along the way, he’d misunderstood everything that mattered. Hell, before Wei Ying kissed him, he was expecting to be let down gently, certain that Wei Ying had figured him out and needed to set the record straight.

Worse, it should never have happened. If nothing else, Wei Ying had earned the benefit of the doubt from Lan Zhan. No matter how Lan Zhan felt about Wei Ying and Wen Ning’s relationship, he should never have assumed they were still together if Wei Ying was intending to pursue—

God, Wei Ying wanted him and it had taken him maybe thirty seconds and a handful of words to destroy that desire.

Lan Zhan crouched before the abandoned box, an insulated contraption, so clearly belonging to Wei Ying that Lan Zhan’s throat seized as he traced his fingertips over the silly, colorful stickers. For lack of anything better to do, he opened it.

A variety of carefully packed items were inside, each labeled with ingredients that appealed to Lan Zhan’s tastes, the exact opposite of anything Wei Ying would have made with himself in mind. There was even jian dui, which Lan Zhan hadn’t even known he could make or would have thought Lan Zhan would like despite it being true. He did like jian dui.

His body heated rapidly as his stomach turned upside down, as he realized just how thoroughly he’d fucked up.

The thermos contained his favorite white tea, obvious once he took the lid off to sniff it.

He wasn’t certain he’d be able to drink it again and set it aside in the grass.

Well, it was nice to know he’d been right all along: Wei Ying really would be a conscientious lover.

He didn’t know what else to do except carry the entirety of Wei Ying’s efforts back to the music building with him, because he needed answers and he was only going to find them with Wen Ning and the only place he knew where that man hung out was there.

Perhaps the heavens wanted to reward him in one small way, because Wen Ning was in the lounge, was in fact in the lounge with Nie Huaisang, and they were very much—

Well.

If Lan Zhan was worried about needing confirmation, this was it. They were practically in one another’s laps, heads bowed together as they murmured to one another, trading kisses, with matching smiles on their mouths.

They looked so happy.

He dropped the box onto the linoleum floor behind the couch and wasn’t the least bit satisfied when they jumped away from one another, startled by the sudden crack of sound in the air.

“How long?” he asked, sharp.

“H-how long… what?” Nie Huaisang asked, brows furrowed, turning around from the far end of the couch. Wen Ning’s hands strangled themselves in his lap from the other end.

Lan Zhan narrowed his eyes. “Wen Ning.”

“If this is about the…” Nie Huaisang said, gaze thoughtful, voice more forceful than Lan Zhan had ever heard before, and much keener. “Listen, you don’t have to berate Wei Ying. It’s fine. Just a little joke. Honestly, I was kind of impressed. I never would have gotten off my ass if I didn’t realize that—”

“Huaisang,” Wen Ning whispered.

“What?” Nie Huaisang snapped his fan. “I know Lan Zhan is way less dramatic than the rest of us. I’m sure he thinks this is all very stupid, but let’s be entirely clear here. Wei Ying didn’t do anything wrong. It was a bit underhanded, but everyone was single at the time.” His head tilted slightly as he looked at Lan Zhan. “I knew this was going to come back and bite him in the ass once he finally got up the nerve to talk to you. You scolded him, didn’t you?”

Wen Ning: “Huaisang.”

“What? When has Lan Zhan ever approved of anything Wei Ying did where anybody could see it? Wei Ying’s the only person on the planet would have stuck around for that. No, uh, offense. I’m sure you’re a lovely person where only Wei Ying could see it.”

“I—” Did he really come across to others as being so judgmental?

Nie Huaisang grimaced, perhaps in sympathy. “He took it poorly, didn’t he?”

Lan Zhan blinked back furious tears. That was certainly one way of phrasing it.

Nie Huaisang sighed and got to his feet. “Lan Zhan, you really need to learn how to be more flexible. Wei Ying’s heart is always in the right place, even when he’s doing something stupid. Especially when he’s doing something stupid. So if he fakes a date with Wen Ning, so what? You don’t have to tar and feather him for it.”

“Fake…”

Wen Ning jumped to his feet, too, and nodded. “Wei Ying wanted to help me. At first he was just going to go on a practice date with me, but then he said it would be better if Nie Huaisang was jealous—”

“—he wasn’t wrong by the way—” Nie Huaisang pointed out with a careless shrug before wafting the fan back and forth between himself and Wen Ning. “It worked.”

“How long?” Lan Zhan repeated, feeling hollowed out. He couldn’t condone what Wei Ying had done, but it wasn’t—it wasn’t that bad, really. Didn’t deserve the weight Lan Zhan had accidentally given to it. “How long did you pretend?”

“A w-week?” Wen Ning looked over at Nie Huaisang to confirm. “About a week.”

About a week. After which, they’d given up their—ruse. Ruse. Because it wasn’t real. Because they’d faked dating one another to make Nie Huaisang pay attention to Wen Ning. And Lan Zhan hadn’t been around to realize it, because he’d been too afraid—

It hadn’t even been real. Lan Zhan had reacted this way for nothing.

He owed Wei Ying so many apologies. Even if it had been true, he owed Wei Ying better than he’d gotten. Any number of ways, he could have handled it and they would have sufficed.

“Will you tell me where I can find him?” Lan Zhan asked.

They exchanged nervous glances, Wen Ning and Nie Huaisang, but they did as Lan Zhan asked, Nie Huaisang pulling a pen and an index card from within the vest he wore. He scribbled an address and handed it over, well, he handed it over after playing a game of keep away with it the first time Lan Zhan reached out for it. “If you hurt him, I’m sending his brother after you to break your legs.”

“Noted,” Lan Zhan said, studying the card when Nie Huaisang finally handed it over.

He’d give Wei Ying the day to cool down and then go there and apologize.

Not that it ended up mattering, this intent he’d had to be respectful: Wei Ying couldn’t be found there though Lan Zhan spent the majority of the next day waiting outside Wei Ying’s door, knocking periodically.

He couldn’t be found at any of the other places Lan Zhan spent Sunday scouring either.

Monday was no better, no matter how much of the day he spent attempting to search out Wei Ying, even skulking around the culinary department kitchens where finals were taking place, weathering unhappy stares all the while.

Wei Ying was nowhere to be found through the rest of the week and Lan Zhan couldn’t just camp out everywhere all at once when he had his own obligations to see to even though he was so very tempted to cast them all aside and do exactly that.

Lan Zhan returned only once to Wei Ying’s apartment after his finals were finished, the very moment they were done, in fact. This time, he ran into one of Wei Ying’s neighbors, who eyed him with suspicion and told him that Wei Ying had moved out the Friday before finals started, the exact same Friday they’d kissed, working late into the night to box up his belongings and making so much noise that the neighbor threatened to lodge a complaint, while some guy kept shouting at him about how stupid it was to be moving now. That guy had some kind of fixation about breaking people’s legs. He wouldn’t shut up about it, that was what the neighbor said, the breaking people’s legs thing, that and grumbling about having to house Wei Ying until finals were done.

His brother, no doubt. He could maybe have asked Nie Huaisang where he might be found, but that felt like a step too far.

With no further recourse, he started texting him, no longer worried that he’d spend his entire day waiting for an answer instead of focusing on his exams. Not that it mattered. He didn’t answer any of the sixty-odd messages Lan Zhan sent over the following weeks, nor the thirty-five calls, each one made while nausea knotted in Lan Zhan’s stomach because he didn’t even know how to talk to Wei Ying now or what he’d even say if Wei Ying did answer.

A ghost would have left behind more of a trace.

Lan Zhan finally stopped trying halfway through August.

And he was not as surprised as he should have been when, come September, he found out Wei Ying had graduated, that he wouldn’t be coming back, that Lan Zhan had entirely missed his chance to make it up to Wei Ying because even in this, he’d gotten it wrong. So spectacularly wrong.

“You got me into this mess, Meng Yao. In the meantime, I’m going over there so I don’t strangle you for doing exactly what I told you not to do.” He violently pointed at the open bar, where many, many, many gleaming bottles of champagne were stood enticingly above delicately lit shelves behind a sparkling bar. He made it his goal to drink all of them. “You’re such an idiot. You’re such an idiot and you don’t even realize it.”

He should’ve grabbed hold of Meng Yao to try shaking some sense into him and risk getting his own ass thrown out. It would serve Meng Yao right and save Wei Ying a whole lot of trouble if he did. The trip to the police station might be worth it.

But he did not. There would be more opportunities, he was certain.

“How was I supposed to know you had history with the Lans? That seems like something I should’ve known about!” There was a fragility in his tone that Wei Ying found strange. If his brain would let him focus on that detail rather than the technicolor memories playing themselves out in the back of his mind, he thought maybe he’d be able to give a damn about it. As it was, Meng Yao was probably lucky that he wasn’t primarily concerned about it.

Those memories came from the only year of his life he remembered with near perfect clarity and it was the only year he wished he could forget in its entirety.

But the worst decisions he’d ever made were in some ways influenced by his relationship with Lan Zhan, so even if he did somehow develop amnesia, he’d still have to deal with the long-fingered consequences of it. Like, say, today. Even when he didn’t know it, even though he’d thought he’d moved past all that, everything still managed to revolve around Lan Zhan.

“And you wouldn’t tell me who you were trying to date! If you’d given me the name, I would’ve been prepared.” I would’ve said fuck no and fuck off and it would’ve been better for all of us.

Meng Yao raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Okay. Look, let’s just calm—”

Wei Ying slapped his hand aside. “This is as calm as I’m going to get right now. You just—” Leaning close, he hissed. “Get out of my sight for five minutes.”

“I—”

A young woman cleared her throat, startling Wei Ying from the worst tenor of his thoughts. It even made Meng Yao flinch, a smile reflexively steeling over his mouth like armor.

Fuck, this was a mess, and even if Wei Ying still wanted to help Meng Yao, there was no way he could, not when he’d already committed the great, cardinal sin of lying. There was no coming back from that ever, not unless he was willing to get belittled for it first. Which. No, thank you. That hadn’t worked even when he had been wrong.

“Excuse me, Meng-xiansheng,” the woman said, her voice slight yet containing power all the same. Though she sounded apologetic, it was obvious that she was skilled with conveying bad news to the powerful people around her, like it all slid down her back and left not a single mark on her. To Wei Ying’s infinite sense of gratitude, she even very politely ignored that Wei Ying was having a meltdown right next to her. He could appreciate that, truly. “My apologies for interrupting your evening, but there’s an emergency involving one of your clients and they wish to speak with you immediately. Do you have a moment?”

Meng Yao tossed a look Wei Ying’s way as though to gauge how much trouble it would cause him to leave Wei Ying to his own devices.

“I’m not getting any more involved in this,” Wei Ying said, lifting his palms and dusting them together theatrically. Clap fucking clap. “I’m just getting a drink.”

“Who is it?” Meng Yao asked, his eyes never leaving Wei Ying’s face.

What an excellent poker face this woman had. “Manager Yao.”

Meng Yao sighed, the sound filled with disgust. “Okay. Sure, Qin-xiaojie. I’ve got a minute.” He narrowed his eyes at Wei Ying. “Make sure you behave.”

Scoffing, Wei Ying shook his head and considered making a rude gesture in retort. But possibly, he’d already helped make enough of a scene and should just be glad to have the time to compose himself. Meng Yao didn’t need to know that though. It was better for him to worry that Wei Ying would pull some sort of stunt. “No misbehaving, got it.”

Lying to Lan Huan. Lying to Lan Zhan. Of all the fucking things he could have done or made Wei Ying do.

Accepting Meng Yao’s words as a dismissal whether they were meant to be or not, Wei Ying flicked his hand and then slipped between the other attendees to reach the bar as quickly as possible. If Meng Yao called after him, he could pretend he didn’t hear it.

“Two, please,” he said to the bartender once he had a chance to take Wei Ying’s order, a slower prospect than one might have wanted. Given the number of people lining up for booze and the unhappiness carved into so many of those faces, he wondered if he wasn’t the only one having a shit go of it tonight.

If he were to make a guess about any event Lan Huan might have put on, he wouldn’t have assumed free-flowing alcohol would be a feature, but he was so fucking grateful he could have cried.

As soon as the bartender placed the delicate flutes before him, he pulled them close, feeling like nothing so much as a dragon protecting its hoard.

“Wei Ying,” a voice said from behind him, of course belonging to the second to last person he wanted to speak with tonight. At least he was lucky enough to know that the last person wouldn’t want to be within spitting distance of him, saving him at least the small bit of trouble of getting spit on. Why should he?

“Lan-xiansheng,” he said, hoping he sounded less like he was being led to execution than he felt now that he knew what he was up against. “It’s been a very long time. How are you doing tonight? I hope—” He was going to say he hoped his family was well, but even such an obtuse reference to Lan Zhan was too much for him. “I hope you’re well.”

As though the universe existed only to punish him, there was a sudden commotion in the far corner of the room, a portion Wei Ying hadn’t paid the least bit of attention to before, but was clearly a stage set specifically for Lan Zhan, all pretty, lacquered wood panels and delicate silks, with a small table and his guqin already prepared, a stage hand carefully making last minute arrangements while Lan Zhan approached from behind him, remaining back a ways, removed from the proceedings.

He was still beautiful, even half-hidden in the shadows.

Apparently Lan Zhan had some very rich young admirers, because they were all haranguing the poor guy working, asking all sorts of questions the guy probably didn’t have the time or inclination to answer. He was serving well to block Lan Zhan from their view though and managed to shoo them back to their tables without any of them noticing how close they truly were to their idol. Off to one side, someone who was clearly security watched on, eyes sharp, but willing to stay out of it as long as everyone behaved themselves.

Wei Ying swallowed quite a bit more champagne than he intended, nearly sputtering as each and every bubble seemed determined to attack his esophagus as it flowed the wrong way down his throat.

“We have been well,” Lan Huan answered, expectant, as though he’d said it several times while Wei Ying’s thoughts whizzed around the upper atmosphere.

“Hmm? Oh. Of course.” He was so distracted by the ache in his chest that he still didn’t properly hear what Lan Huan said, but figured it had to be a courteous formality of a response. The way Lan Zhan still moved with perfect grace and elegant restraint as he approached his guqin was just how he remembered Lan Zhan to be. Wei Ying swallowed around the dryness in his throat, wished he had another flute of champagne. Rasping, he added, “That’s good.” Finding a few more words, he continued speaking, encouraged by how much more relaxed Lan Huan seemed now compared to earlier. His poise was enviable and Wei Ying reached for some of it. It wasn’t Lan Huan’s fault after all. “Retirement suits you, though I’m sure there are many fans who are still sad you decided to step away from the spotlight. The arts foundation you’ve set up must be very impressive, though, if this is how you splash out for it.”

This sort of event was still an overblown waste of time, but he had at least half an inclination to believe that Lan Huan may well have felt the same. He was that kind of man. Perhaps his hands were tied by expectations. Wei Ying wouldn’t know anything about what that felt like though.

It had been easier to sometimes let his curiosity get the better of him when it came to Lan Huan and he was harder to avoid, funnily enough. At least it didn’t hurt nearly as badly to hear about all the ways that Lan Huan continued to flourish. If Lan Huan was truly well, then he could at least presume Lan Zhan was happy about that much.

Lan Zhan preferred to keep himself out of the spotlight entirely. Thank fuck for small mercies.

Lan Huan’s eyebrow climbed his forehead. He said mildly, “You know so much about my career these days.”

“We can’t remain oblivious forever,” Wei Ying said, keeping the bitterness off his tongue. “It was harder to avoid your name than you might have liked. My apologies if I’ve made you uncomfortable at all. That wasn’t my intention.”

“Not in the slightest. It’s just too bad. It was rather charming to meet someone who didn’t have a single clue who I was.” A soft smile stole over Lan Huan’s mouth, though there seemed to be a worried slant to one side of it. “I rather think A-Zhan enjoyed springing you on me.” There was a moment’s respite before Wei Ying was forced to contend with reality again, the reality as it pertained to Lan Huan specifically, the hardest part to navigate given the contract he’d signed and was still somewhat determined to salvage. “I’m sorry I have to ask you again, but what was your intention in coming here tonight with A-Yao while knowing so much about me and conveniently running into my brother in a restricted area?” A pause. “Are you truly his date?”

Lan Huan’s gaze was too incisive, too keen. A-Yao really was an idiot. Anyone with eyes could see the truth. And now Wei Ying was caught up in the middle of it and couldn’t tell Lan Huan any of the things that really mattered.

The rest… the rest was Lan Huan protecting his brother. Of course he’d question Wei Ying. Who knew what Lan Zhan had said to him about their… about them… about who Lan Zhan thought he was. It was a credit to Lan Huan’s character that he could still speak to Wei Ying with any degree of courtesy.

Frustration bubbled inside of Wei Ying at this whole situation. If only his own Lan wished to stake so thorough a claim as Lan Huan was making or loved him fiercely enough not to toss that claim aside when little more than ephemera stood in the way. Perhaps they might not have reached this point.

Wei Ying smiled, because he didn’t know what he might do instead.

Why did Meng Yao get to be so lucky?

“What Meng Yao and I share is deeply casual and limited in scope,” Wei Ying replied, not a lie, definitely not. “I didn’t even know you or Lan Zh—” The name wouldn’t come out right, though it seemed important to say it now, but he couldn’t call Lan Zhan by anything else, nor could he admit that he knew Lan Zhan’s most devoted fans still called him Hanguang-jun, a nickname given to him while he was merely the unrealized, university-aged potential of what he’d one day become. He had been right, though. It did suit him. “—he would be here. If I knew…”

He shrugged. He wouldn’t have come. Obviously.

“A-Yao never mentioned you.”

“That tells you everything you need to know about him and me, doesn’t it?” He winced at how pathetic that sounded, how thin his voice was, and searched the bottom of his glass for the dregs of his champagne to give him something else to do other than think about it.

A complicated look crossed Lan Huan’s face as he searched Wei Ying’s for more answers. It left Wei Ying feeling like he could see directly into Wei Ying’s heart.

Will he find it as lacking as Lan Zhan did?

The ringing clarity of Lan Zhan’s guqin startled Wei Ying from that particular charming line of thought. Wei Ying’s attention snapped immediately to the stage; even if he wanted to, he couldn’t look away from Lan Zhan, head bowed forward, an aura of melancholy surrounding him and the notes of the music he’d chosen.

It was an older piece of his, not that Wei Ying should know anything about that, but it didn’t sound the same as he remembered. It wasn’t bad, just…

Not quite like the Lan Zhan he used to know.

Frowning, he looked away again, focusing intently on the stragglers at the bar who were returning to their tables. With the sudden thinning of the crowd, Wei Ying took the chance to order a few more flutes of champagne.

“Why don’t you and A-Yao join me at my table toward the front? He rearranged the seating at the last minute…” Lan Huan trailed off. Clearly Wei Ying had been the reason why. So Meng Yao at least had a small amount of sense in his head for what little good it finally did him. “Neither he nor I use our plus ones usually. There’s plenty of room.”

Wei Ying was this close to tearing his hair out and screaming. Seriously, he’d thought Lan Huan was smart.

Someone, he decided rather viciously, was going to come out of this happy. Maybe it wouldn’t be Wei Ying, but at least, at least Lan Huan could be. If that meant Meng Yao got to be happy, too, then that was a price Wei Ying could allow to be paid.

So in that spirit, though he very much wanted to run from the room instead and definitely didn’t want to move any closer to Lan Zhan, he said, “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

Lan Huan nodded and gestured to the bartender.

“Zhao-xiansheng, perhaps we can take a bottle of your champagne with us when you have a minute?” Lan Huan asked, polite as he waited for the bartender to finish wiping down the bar top. What a good guy he was, humble, and Wei Ying didn’t even see it as the front it usually was.

Lan Huan pointed out their destination and Wei Ying tried not to worry about what would come next.

It was an impossible desire, but when had that ever stopped him before?

Even though Wei Ying was nervous, he allowed himself to be guided to the table in question, struck unreasonably by the sudden turn his life has taken and all because of a ridiculous vlog and a health scare.

The vlog, in truth, wasn’t ridiculous, got him through some bad times after graduation. He’d tried, way back, to give up his little hobby, back when the job he’d taken tried to take everything from him and again when the coffee shop began requiring all of his attention. It never quite stuck. Obviously.

It had started as static posts on an anonymous profile and solicitations for stories from fans, since he didn’t have friends or a huge student body to pester anymore and he’d needed something to distract him from the hell his professional life was turning into. And from there… from there it became this, the one thing he could always be proud of.

And for whatever reason, Lan Huan liked it enough that his almost, kind of—would be if Wei Ying had anything to say about it—paramour noticed.

He found himself rather reluctantly charmed by this piece of information about Lan Huan, now that he was presented with the man himself and no longer feared that Lan Huan would murder him outright for hurting his brother. For good reason, he held himself apart from others, but Wei Ying wasn’t sure that was Lan Huan’s most natural state. The few occasions Wei Ying had gotten to spend time with him, he’d worked hard to get beneath the gentle, yet secure, exterior that Lan Huan projected to the world and he’d seemed, at the time, to appreciate the effort. Though Lan Zhan no doubt knew him best, Wei Ying used to—and now did again—wonder if Lan Zhan truly understood the depth of Lan Huan’s loneliness when he himself seemed to flourish in his solitude, constantly retreating to it no matter how hard Wei Ying tried to slip between those bars.

Maybe that wasn’t fair. For Lan Zhan, it was not a prison. Only Wei Ying had ever seen it as an obstacle.

What would happen if he told Lan Huan the truth about Yiling? Would it come as a comfort to him or would it mar whatever past comfort he’d taken from Wei Ying’s saccharine-sweet videos?

Perhaps helping Meng Yao could be the culmination of the work he did as Yiling, the final proof that not everything about the last few years of his life have been for nothing. If he succeeded in buying Lotus Pier—and sooner than expected—there wouldn’t be any time at all for it, would it? If he won the competition, he’d have to complete whatever duties were expected from him and then go back to doing what he’d always done, just without any backup.

At least now he knew why Meng Yao wouldn’t let him pull his intended into it.

As soon as they reached the table, Lan Huan’s eyes scanned the crowd.

“Looking for Meng Yao? A Qin-xiaojie called him away for an emergency. She didn’t seem to think it would take long.”

Lan Huan seemed disappointed by this development, leaving Wei Ying wishing he could do something like pat Lan Huan on the head. It was cute, what Lan Huan was doing, though he rather thought Meng Yao didn’t deserve the devotion Lan Huan showed to him. Perhaps Lan Huan got to see a side of Meng Yao that nobody else had access to. Goodness knew Wei Ying would probably incite the same reaction when it came to Lan Zhan if things had worked out better.

“I hope it’s nothing serious,” Lan Huan said, voice strained with worry.

Wei Ying laughed lightly. For one brief moment, everything felt like it would be all right and Wei Ying was able to believe that it might actually happen. “You Lans are too good.”

Lan Huan’s eyes snapped to his face, considering, maybe surprised as well. “Are we really?”

Wei Ying didn’t know what to say to that. The words had fallen from his mouth without any input from the rest of him. In truth, Lan Zhan was kind of a dick.

The moment was lost as reality crashed back into place along with the new, twanging strains of another song, another familiar song. Lan Zhan so far hadn’t played anything Wei Ying hadn’t heard before. That was odd, wasn’t it? Lan Zhan always had new material to perform because like clockwork once a year he was finding new content to blacklist across social media and on his QQ Music account. Somehow, no matter how many times he banished Lan Zhan’s name, it kept coming back.

Meng Yao returned before Wei Ying had much of a chance to ponder this. He appeared mostly unruffled and handsome in a sweet, unassuming way, but there was no hiding the slightest hint of nerves as he glanced between Wei Ying and Lan Huan.

“Er-ge, how kind of you to invite us up here…” His gaze settled on Wei Ying’s face. “I hope everything is well?”

“Everything is fine, A-Yao.”

Yeah, A-Yao, Wei Ying thought. Everything is just fine. He patted the seat next to him, the one that was closer to Lan Huan, and smiled, maybe a little threatening, as Meng Yao narrowed his eyes at him, equally threatening.

In contrast to this was the slight smile of pleasure Lan Huan gave to Meng Yao as he took the seat. Unbelievable.

Idiots. The both of them. They really deserved one another.

Meng Yao was definitely going to be made to pay for this. The wheels were already clicking away in the back of his head. No Lan Huan on screen. He could work with that. He had ways.

They spoke quietly with one another, heads bent close in a way that Wei Ying found deeply enviable and made resentment creep up his spine and wrap itself around his chest. In better circumstances, that would have been Wei Ying and Lan Zhan, though Wei Ying would have been much more shameless about the close proximity than Meng Yao was.

Wei Ying seriously considered jostling Meng Yao so that he ended up in Lan Huan’s lap.

Without either of them to distract him, though, all he could do now was focus on the floor and pretend like he couldn’t hear Lan Zhan’s performance. Every note sliced at his heart, reminding him of all the reasons he’d fallen in love to begin with, all the reasons that no one else in the world could compare. Through Lan Zhan’s music, he could momentarily forget the worst moment of their acquaintance and remember only the good parts.

Lan Zhan’s head, in turn, remained bowed every time Wei Ying dared to lift his eyes for even a second, singular moments of weakness that Wei Ying couldn’t control, until Wei Ying felt safe to finally look his fill after succeeding so many times to avoid being caught. And before he knew it, he was wrapped up fully in the performance, swept away by Lan Zhan’s exquisite skill and dedication to his craft. Time ceased to have meaning, though time was always the most important part of musical performances, wasn’t it, and Wei Ying should have paid better attention to that.

Then it was over almost before it started, because what meaning could time have when it was so fleeting, and Lan Zhan was raising his head to scan the audience and before Wei Ying could look away, even knew to look away, because he was still caught in the spell of it, eyes prickling with emotions he hadn’t come here to feel and didn’t ever want to experience again, Lan Zhan’s gaze found his, flaying through the defensive layers he’d put into place after…

If he’d thought their run-in earlier was bad, this was impossible. Blood pounded in his ears and his temples, the sound not at all dimmed by the many people politely clapping in tandem, and he couldn’t breathe anymore and he needed to go, right now, before he did something incredibly stupid like throw himself onto the stage and ask Lan Zhan to forgive him even though he hadn’t done anything so wrong to be worth how he felt now, neither of them did, did they, but he’d handled it so poorly, they both had, and now it was too late to change anything. Lan Zhan will have always done what he did and Wei Ying will always have reacted as he did, spurning every attempt Lan Zhan made until he was certain he’d frozen out every feeling Lan Zhan could have had for him, the only way to safeguard himself that he knew. Who wouldn’t hate such a coward in the end? Wei Ying would. He… did.

Perhaps he should not have run so very fast in those last days in Suzhou. What good was safeguarding his heart when it could still punish him in this way?

Lan Zhan’s gaze didn’t leave his face even once; he felt the heat of it against the back of his neck even as he pushed himself up, nearly catching the toe of his shoe on nothing as he slapped Meng Yao on the arm, the only warning he was capable of giving at the moment that he was going to get the fuck out of here right now.

Ripping himself from this seat was the second hardest thing he’d ever done.

“Wei Ying?” That was Lan Huan.

“I guess Wei Ying and I will be going now,” Meng Yao said and no, no, no, that wasn’t right. Fuck, Meng Yao, stupid, stupid. He ought to stay here where he belonged.

“No need!” Wei Ying managed through clenched teeth. Was Lan Zhan still on stage? He had to have gone by now, right? Wei Ying had to be safe from those eyes once again.

“Perhaps A-Yao should accompany you,” Lan Huan said. “You don’t look well.”

“Just one too many drinks maybe. I’m okay. Just gonna get some air.” And catch a cab back to my hotel and maybe drown myself in the shower for a while. “It was good seeing you, Lan Huan.”

Lan Huan and Meng Yao exchanged looks. Nodding briefly, Meng Yao stood up and grabbed Wei Ying by the elbow. His touch was firm, but still gentle, and Wei Ying had no fight left for this. Let it look like Wei Ying was toying with another Lan. Fine. What the fuck ever.

Once they were well out of earshot, Wei Ying said, because it was easier than focusing on himself, “For the love of all that is good in the world, just tell him you like him. It’s so fucking obvious. Just tell him you like him and tell him I was only here as your friend and then ask him out.” Actually, no. Meng Yao would want to do better than that and that was good, he should want to do better, and Wei Ying would help him and Meng Yao still owed him something for this. That click, click, clicking away his brain did earlier finally snapped into recognizable noise, a fully formed thought, perfect and whole and uncomplicated. “No. I’m going to teach you how to bake and then—” He stabbed his finger viciously in the center of Meng Yao’s chest. “—then, you’re going to ask him out.”

Meng Yao’s eyes widened. “I—what? I don’t have time to—”

“You do have time! You’re going to woo Lan Huan properly because you wouldn’t just be an adult about it before getting me involved and then you lied and then I had to watch it happen—you’re learning how to fucking bake.”

It felt important that he do this and not just because his viewers would eat someone like Meng Yao up. The internet loved romantic disasters. Wei Ying wouldn’t have gotten as far as he did if that wasn’t the case.

“I know exactly what you’re going to learn first, too!”

Meng Yao looked appropriately terrified with the possibility, which he totally, absolutely should be, all wide eyes and thin lips. He deserved to be scared. This was just too ridiculous. Wei Ying never should have had to be involved, but here he was and Meng Yao was going to suffer for it.

He never should have had to see Lan Zhan again. He was just fine never, ever, ever seeing Lan Zhan again.

But Lan Huan? He would help Lan Huan.

“Next weekend,” Wei Ying warned, stabbing him in the chest with his index finger again. “No complaints.”

Meng Yao apparently had better sense than to argue further, but just in case he tried, Wei Ying stomped off into the cold to find stronger alcohol, eating the distance with legs that were quite a bit longer than Meng Yao’s.

If Lan Zhan had taught him one thing in this life all those years ago, it was that you couldn’t argue with someone who wasn’t there.

Even after only a few days off—the most consecutive days off he’d had in… a very long time—Wei Ying felt strange going back to work at Lotus Pier, like he didn’t belong here anymore. It didn’t help that Wen Yuan had to call out at the last minute and there was no one else who’d yet returned Wei Ying’s calls about coverage. Who wanted to be somewhere this busy? This wasn’t ever what he’d imagined for himself.

Jiang Cheng was still twenty minutes away and Wei Ying had about ten-thousand angry, tired eyes staring back at him, like maybe they were the idiots who went to Suzhou over the weekend, got plastered two days in a row, and then took a long-ass train ride back to Yunmeng while they sobered up only to fall asleep in their own bed two hours before their alarm went off to remind them that sometimes hell really was other people.

Or perhaps that was just Wei Ying. These things happened.

He maybe, possibly, should not have spent those last few hours in Suzhou between nine and eleven in the morning yesterday drinking yet another bottle of champagne with breakfast and definitely not a few of the mini bottles of vodka he’d found once the champagne ran out, but those two things were the only reason he managed to swallow any orange juice either, so he’d considered it a win at the time.

And then he’d checked out of the hotel and dragged himself to the train station because he didn’t have anything better to do for the hour and change until his train arrived and being drunk there would be just like being drunk anywhere else except maybe a little prettier because Suzhou was stupid that way, the perfect place for people like Lan Zhan to grow up and call home and the last place on Earth someone like Wei Ying should have been allowed to remain for any length of time.

Wei Ying had wondered offhand if that patisserie was still open, but even drunk and moping he hadn’t had the courage to find out.

All in all, he was regretting his choices now.

He smiled at each customer anyway and died a little more inside as he thought about how much more fun it would be to work on kicking Wen Chao’s unimaginative ass in the contest instead.

And he was sure to do so. Getting Lan Huan on camera would have been a knockout, but this was good, too, a natural extension of what he’d done before. Even though he was still days away from making it a true reality, he could see the shape of it, what it could be. The script worked itself out in his mind even when he wasn’t thinking about it, as easy as breathing.

It was lovely, fun, just the sort of thing that Wei Ying wanted to do.

Not like being stuck here and now, people belligerently stealing bits and pieces of his best behavior until he was left with nothing but fake good cheer and a taste for homicide.

His cheeks ached with how hard he was smiling at the customers, but not a single one seemed interested in smiling back.

“Hi,” he said to the next person in line, the kind of person who looked like trouble, eyes shadowed with death for anybody who inconvenienced him. “What can I get for you?”

“Large spiced rose latte. Four shots of espresso. Light roast.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Coming right up!” Wei Ying replied, aggressively cheerful as he rummaged through the row of syrups, the very time intensive row of syrups that he made himself each week on a seasonal rotation because it was the only thing he really had time to do for the shop that had anything to do with his skill set. No spiced rose. And no check mark on the laminated list next to the syrups to indicate that they were soon to be out and needed more. Rather more viciously than necessary, he added the mark.

He couldn’t just leave the counter to check the back in the hopes he’d find a stray bottle somewhere. Which no doubt they would not because Wei Ying usually didn’t feature that one at this time of year and so only made sure there was one available at any given time.

“It looks like we’re currently out of that particular syrup—”

“That’s the only reason I come here,” the customer said, voice nasal enough to grate on Wei Ying’s nerves.

So come another day then.

“Can you check in the back? There has to be more. You’ve never run out before.”

Deep breath. Count of three. “There’s none there.” When the man opened his mouth to speak, Wei Ying made a move for the stack of business cards behind the counter and started scribbling on one: IOU 2 LATTES, SIZE OF CUSTOMER’S CHOICE – WY. Anybody who got stuck redeeming it would recognize his scrawl and know to mark off one of the hastily drawn circles underneath. This was the sort of guy who’d definitely try to pretend he hadn’t redeemed it otherwise. “I apologize for the unfortunate disruption to your morning. Please come back soon. I’ll make sure there is more in time for your next visit.” In fact, he’d probably do it once Jiang Cheng got here. This guy also seemed like the type who’d try to catch him in a lie as soon as humanly possible. “Perhaps you’d like another flavor this once? On the house? I have a simple honey and a mixed floral syrup which are quite good that ought to approximate the flavor.” If he added a bit of nutmeg, the guy might not even notice the difference, though he would certainly pretend to.

The customer ripped the card from his fingers and scrutinized it closely. Pain lanced up his hand as a drop of blood pearled across the tip of his thumb. The bastard had given him a paper cut.

Every single person in line behind the man grumbled belligerently, leaving Wei Ying to guess at just how many intended to pull the same sort of maneuver themselves.

“Fine,” the man said, honest to goodness sniffing as he answered. “I’ll just have that, then.”

It took everything Wei Ying had not to tell him to shove it entirely. “Excellent choice. One moment please.”

It felt like an eternity to wash his hands, bandage the cut, cover it with a finger cot and then, finally, pull four shots, but he wasn’t sad to see the guy go once he was done. “Next!” he called and avoided looking at the clock.

By the time Jiang Cheng arrived, looking very much the way Wei Ying felt, which wasn’t fair, was it, since he hadn’t been stuck here the whole time like Wei Ying had been, Wei Ying was ready to take up smoking again as a second job and down ten shots of whatever he could find and maybe also commit that murder or two he’d been dreaming about. The day was still young.

“Took you long enough,” Wei Ying said, harried even as he breathed a sigh of relief. At least he could turn over cash register duties to Jiang Cheng now. “Get over here.”

Said next customer looked very much as though they intended to complain, but Jiang Cheng’s glare subdued them. “One espresso, please,” was all they said, meek in the face of Jiang Cheng’s expression. It was rather impressive and Wei Ying wasn’t above being relieved.

Wei Ying probably should have asked him not to scare the customers, but he was a little bit beyond caring at this point.

“So how many people do I have to fire since you had to wake me up early on a Monday to come here and do their job for them?” Jiang Cheng asked once the slavering hoard thinned out.

“None of them,” Wei Ying answered, having anticipated Jiang Cheng’s ire. Luckily, Jiang Cheng was ninety-five percent bark and typically only reserved his bite for Wei Ying specifically. “They’re kids. They have school and…”

And knowing a few of them, there were probably parties involved. Who hadn’t that happened to a time or two in their lives?

“You’re too fucking soft. They’re on call for a reason.”

“It’s only six-thirty now. One of them will fall on their sword eventually. It’s like you don’t even remember how much you complained about going to work when you were at university.”

Jiang Cheng scoffed and tossed a damp towel at Wei Ying, pointing at the counter where earlier sacrifices to the coffee gods were drying on the marble. Though Wei Ying rolled his eyes, he didn’t have the energy to fight with Jiang Cheng over who was going to clean up the spills. “How did this happen anyway? It’s not like we’re not working our asses off keeping the place going. It makes money. Why does it always feel like we’re scrambling around?”

It made some money maybe, but Wei Ying didn’t have to say that. Not enough for what Jiang Cheng was imagining, what Wei Ying had also kind of wished for, that they could focus on the parts they actually liked while delegating the rest.

“I don’t fucking know, Jiang Cheng. Sometimes shit happens. Just suck it up and help.” The words were out of his mouth before he even realized it and even Jiang Cheng, whose first instinct was always to shout first and ask questions later, faltered under the echoing sound of Wei Ying’s sharp, shocking anger. Having spoken so savagely, startling even himself, he faltered, the ferocity draining from him, leaving him feeling tired instead. So. Very. Tired. “I’m… going to take a break. I’ll be back in a few.” He glanced dubiously at the door, though no customers were currently contemplating stepping inside. He felt hollow and very much as though he was wasting his time here, wasting his time everywhere, doing everything he did. All of it was just a waste. “Call me if you need anything.”

Really. A break was all he needed.

A least, he hoped that was all he needed. If it was something else, he was in a lot more trouble than he was interested in facing at the moment.

Stepping inside the building Meng Yao had told him was his apartment complex, Wei Ying laughed bitterly and wondered why he might have expected something more normal for him. Even the gate that surrounded the courtyard was serious and the view inside was stunning, even by Suzhou’s standards.

The entire lobby was too luxurious to be real. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, sparkling with warm light, and the majority of the floor was covered in soft, clean rugs. Despite all the foot traffic they no doubt suffered through, they were pristine and appeared to be brand new, a delicate eggshell color that somehow managed to not look boring against the gold-shot marble of the floor. Gold. Fucking ridiculous. And that wasn’t even taking into account the various gold trims that seemed to line every lineable surface.

Of course, there was a security guard at the end of the massive lobby who stood behind a counter that matched the floor. Unlike most security guards Wei Ying encountered, his eyes were keen, like he was ready to destroy anyone who wasn’t meant to be here.

Someone like, say, Wei Ying, who was wearing a dark hoodie and dark wash jeans and carrying a backpack so old the straps sometimes threatened to break when he carried too many things in it. Like, oh, now.

“So is that actual gold or…?” he asked the guard, gesturing everywhere, specifically to be a little obnoxious. Just because. Just to see what would happen. Test the guard a little.

The guard merely coughed, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “People like to pretend it is,” he said, deadpan. “Who am I to disabuse them of that notion?”

Wei Ying laughed brightly, surprised, pleasantly so even.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad here. Considering the fact that Wei Ying was technically benefiting from Meng Yao’s excesses, he supposed he could be a little more gracious.

“I’m Wei Ying.” He hitched his backpack up, the equipment inside clattering slightly. “Here to see Meng Yao?”

He had a very slight flashback to the first time he visited Lan Huan’s home, though tight security was more understandable under those circumstances. Most people probably didn’t specifically want to accost Meng Yao for autographs like Lan Huan’s fans did. Meng Yao had a better chance of finding himself surrounded by people who wanted to wring his neck, though even that was unlikely. Possibly. Well. Maybe.

Who knew really? Wei Ying has only known Meng Yao for a few weeks and he’d wanted to strangle the guy multiple times already. Being a lawyer could be dangerous, he supposed.

There was a slightly startled pause as the guard checked his list and found Wei Ying’s name there.

“Go on ahead,” the guard said, offering him a slightly strange, curious look, assessing him. It almost made Wei Ying wonder just what it was he was thinking now and how far from the truth it actually was.

The elevator was as ostentatiously appointed as the rest of the lobby, gleaming gold and offering his chaotic reflection back to him, entirely out of place with his surroundings, a dark, stretched fun house mirror version of himself, a stain on the wall.

Wei Ying pulled his phone from his pocket and stared down at it to give him something less loaded to look at.

The ride up was slow and equally obnoxious, another sign of wealth that Wei Ying had never given a single damn about despite how impressed people were with high rises and extensive views of a jagged, ripped skyline, barely worth the name with so many buildings to mar it.

It was no different here or anywhere else he’d ever visited in the world. It shouldn’t have bothered him now.

And the worst part was that it would no doubt still manage to be beautiful, so far from the real lives people lived at ground level. Not that Wei Ying intended to look.

The elevator finally stopped. On the top floor.

He spilled into the hallway where Meng Yao’s penthouse fucking apartment could be found because of course. Of course he had to be that guy, too. He had half a mind to wipe his shoes on the rug, but since it would only moderately annoy the asshole he’d want to annoy while forcing someone who didn’t deserve it to clean it up, he refrained.

Meng Yao answered the door promptly at least.

“I should make you buy me new equipment,” was the first thing he said to Meng Yao.

“I still can’t believe you’re making me do this,” was all he got in return, the same thing Meng Yao had said earlier this week when he finally coughed up his address.

“Believe it,” Wei Ying answered, pushing Meng Yao inside instead of waiting for Meng Yao to step back to let him in. “You’re stuck now.” Clapping his hand on Meng Yao’s shoulder, he refused to be impressed by his surroundings. For how ostentatious the building’s trappings were, Meng Yao’s décor actually wasn’t so bad. It was still a lot of whites and creams, but somehow it only looked elegant and sedate. The warm, blond wood floors and only a handful of gold accents made it seem like some place that actually was remotely livable. “Anyway, Lan Huan will enjoy it and isn’t that the important thing here?”

Meng Yao said nothing, trailing after him as he went straight for the kitchen without so much as a by your leave.

“You were so worried that he’d be mysterious and unknowable and yet: here we are and I’ve got the silver bullet.” Wei Ying pulled his gear and supplies from his bag. Out of the two Lans he knew, only Lan Zhan was inscrutable to him. Lan Huan was too sincere to be truly unknowable.

He really didn’t understand why Meng Yao didn’t allow himself to know that, too.

“What exactly are we doing tonight? Er-ge doesn’t eat sweets.”

Wei Ying rolled his eyes and lined up his stuff up on the extensive counter space that he already coveted as his own. “Not every baked thing has to be extra sweet. Trust me, he’ll like this.”

Meng Yao’s eyes glinted suspiciously as he stepped closer, pulling his phone from his pocket and leaving it on the corner of all that lovely open space. Wei Ying couldn’t even complain, because there was still more than enough left for him to spread his wings. “How do you know?”

“Because I’ve made it for him before and he said so.” It was just the once, but Wei Ying was certain it was the truth, though perhaps Meng Yao wouldn’t appreciate the thought of him having spent enough time with Lan Huan in the past to know anything about his taste in desserts and how he’d seemed to appreciate this particular one more than the rest he’d sprung on him.

Lastly, he pulled a tripod from his bag and set it up, hardly paying attention to it as he did so, muscle memory doing all the work for him. There was nothing quite like getting ready to shoot for his vlog. Whatever else was happening, it always improved his mood. It even made Meng Yao’s nervy stares more palatable.

“What are you doing?” Meng Yao asked. His eyes were rounded by surprise and his hands were lifted as though he wanted to take the tripod down before Wei Ying could do any damage with it.

Wei Ying was busy fiddling with his phone and added his preferred camera attachment. “Filming. We made an agreement, remember? Besides, you’ll want this when you’re happily wed or whatever, right?”

Meng Yao opened his mouth as though he intended to argue about it, but Wei Ying just wagged his finger in Meng Yao’s face.

“Think about your soon-to-be boyfriend,” Wei Ying said. “Is it not worth this?”

Meng Yao swallowed and Wei Ying laughed as he watched Meng Yao’s jaw jump. Lifting the phone, already recording, he said, “Say hi, Meng Yao.”

Meng Yao did not, but Wei Ying wasn’t fussed by it either, especially since he did wave half-heartedly. Turning the camera, he said, “Don’t worry about it. He’s just shy. I know this is a little different from my usual. I hope you’ll like it. Today, my friend and I are going to bake a cake for the boy he loves.” Wei Ying grinned. “No, not a boy. An exceptionally handsome man of stellar reputation. Cute, huh? And definitely calls for a different approach from the usual. If you, too, find yourself admiring a sophisticated individual of gentle bearing with little to no sweet tooth, perhaps this recipe will be of some assistance to you!”

“Why are you doing this?” Meng Yao asked. The way he said this, like despair was eating into his heart, was perfect and Wei Ying’s audience was going to love it. Everybody loved a straight man.

In humor anyway.

Mugging a bit for the camera, Wei Ying leaned in and held up his hand as though to impart a secret. “Because it’s fun and you are so very easy to tease.” A wink and then he was attaching it to the tripod. “So why don’t we get started, huh? Recipe will be in the description and another video later this week. I hope you all enjoy it as much as this guy’s future boyfriend does!”

He hummed slightly as he began working, letting Meng Yao watch what he was doing for a few minutes before dragging him into frame and handing him a bag of finely processed flour. Meng Yao’s nose twitched with repressed disdain.

“Just remember: you have an oven I would kill for and we’re doing this for that reason alone now. You can’t take it back. I’m not even going to make you sift the flour, so count yourself lucky.”

As Wei Ying gave out instructions and suggestions, he realized that Meng Yao was pretty smart and, weirdly enough, seemed to like being told what to do. Not in a weird way—okay, maybe in a very small, only slightly weird way—but once Wei Ying took his choice away and started telling him that he actually wasn’t so bad, he stopped complaining. Even stranger, he smiled a few times, as though he was maybe enjoying himself.

It was working out well until a phone rang and Wei Ying reached for it with no thought other than to get rid of it as soon as possible. And because he was closest to it, that meant—

“Hello?”

There was silence on the other end as Meng Yao’s eyes widened. Though he lunged for the phone, Wei Ying danced back out of the way so that Meng Yao only actually succeeded at dropping half a cup of flour on himself.

More material for the vlog. That verisimilitude again, so much fun.

And then jackpot: “Wei Ying?”

Lan Huan, as Wei Ying lived and breathed. Panicking was out of the question even though Wei Ying answering Meng Yao’s phone was probably pretty suspect from Lan Huan’s perspective, so Wei Ying thought quick and turned it all around in an instant. “Let me call you back via video chat! Just a sec!”

“We—”

Wei Ying did exactly as he promised and pulled Meng Yao into frame as he waited for Lan Huan to answer. He squeezed Meng Yao’s shoulder. “This’ll be fun, I promise! Just don’t say his name, it’ll be fine.”

Wei Ying could already imagine adding all the bouncy text proclaiming the caller to be Meng Yao’s mystery boyfriend-to-be. Lan Huan had a pretty good sense of humor. If he ended up seeing this once all was said and done, he would certainly find it adorable.

“You keep saying that.”

“I know it’s scary, but don’t be scared. You don’t have anything to worry about from your precious er-ge.” Wei Ying still couldn’t believe that was what Meng Yao called him and they hadn’t already figured this out, but whatever. That wasn’t his business. His business, right now, was getting Lan Huan good and wooed.

And getting some good video. That was important, too.

Just before Lan Huan had a chance to answer, Wei Ying swiped his finger through the flour on Meng Yao’s apron and dusted Meng Yao’s nose with it. Though Meng Yao tried to swat his hand away, he wasn’t quick enough, and the first thing Lan Huan got to hear out of either of them was Wei Ying calling Meng Yao cute.

Probably not a great third impression, but Wei Ying could still fix it. And anyway, it was cute and Lan Huan would also probably think so once he got over his perfectly coiffed bewilderment. Seriously, how did the Lans always manage to look so beautiful and handsome all at the same time? It wasn’t fair.

“Gege! You were wanting to speak with Meng Yao? He’s a little busy at the moment, but I can hold the phone for you. I figured you might like to see what he’s busy with. Gastronomic genius in action, I tell you!”

Meng Yao blushed so pink that a satellite in space would’ve been able to pick it up. Ah, perfect. Who’d be able to resist such red, round cheeks? Even Lan Huan could not be unmoved. Were Wei Ying not already completely smitten with a Lan of his own, forever ruined for anyone else, he might also see the appeal until Meng Yao opened his mouth again.

“Gege?!”

See? Moment ruined.

“Uh… huh,” Lan Huan said weakly. Was that a blush on his face, too? Wei Ying wasn’t sure, but he was hopeful. Lan Huan’s thumb brushed across his own nose. “You look like you may have lost a fight with a bag of flour, A-Yao.”

Meng Yao smiled, too, a little shakily, but still quite cute, his dimples very fetching—and Wei Ying hoped Lan Huan felt the same—as they gazed at one another through a tiny phone screen.

Hopefully they wouldn’t be gazing at one another through a tiny phone screen for long.

“Is there something I can help you with, er-ge? Is everything okay at the office? I can—”

Wei Ying leaned in close to take a look. Meng Yao wasn’t wrong. It did look very much like Lan Huan was at an office, walls lined with placards and a shelf of serious looking books, somehow in line with what Wei Ying knew of Lan Huan’s sensibilities and yet not at all like how Lan Huan decorated his own space.

“Tsk! Gege, you can’t overwork yourself like this.” He made a humming, thoughtful sound and tapped his lips with his index finger while Meng Yao wailed that he should stop calling Lan Huan gege. “You should come over instead. You can have your discussion here and benefit from the masterpiece Meng Yao lost a fight for.”

“Masterpiece?” Lan Huan asked, amused.

“The answer is a surprise, which can only be discovered if you come here for yourself. Otherwise, you will have to wait and wouldn’t that be a shame?”

Wei Ying leaned away from Meng Yao and looked directly at his own phone’s camera and then winked conspiratorially for his own audience.

Lan Huan’s brows knit together thoughtfully and then his attention shifted entirely to Meng Yao. No matter how intimate Lan Huan might have thought they were, there was no way he could get the idea that they were truly something this way, right? And best of all, he’d be here to somewhat smooth the transition, and then would be able to slip away once he was satisfied.

They would, he hoped, figure out the rest for themselves.

“I can make myself scarce if your business is confidential if that helps! Even good geges deserve a break, don’t they?” Every time Wei Ying called Lan Huan that, Meng Yao got that much redder. It was amazing.

“A-Yao?”

Meng Yao was wavering and Wei Ying couldn’t help but nod encouragingly and nudge him.

“You’re always welcome in my home, er-ge. You don’t even need to ask.”

Ah, bless him, but he could be smart and disgustingly sweet when he wanted to be. Lan Huan’s gaze flicked to his wrist and a contemplative look crossed his face. Well done, Meng Yao.

“I’ll see you in thirty minutes or so?”

If Wei Ying still knew Lan Huan at all, that meant they had maybe twenty minutes and change: enough time to get the cake into the oven, but perhaps not much else. Now that all of Wei Ying’s hopes and dreams were about to come to fruition, he’d need to put together the finishing touches.

“Please tell me you keep the kind of tea he favors?” Wei Ying wasn’t entirely sure what that might actually be, so he hadn’t tried to guess, but surely Meng Yao knew.

“Why would I—?”

Imitating Meng Yao’s voice in an obnoxious falsetto, he said, hands clasped together against his cheek, “You’re always welcome in my home, er-ge.”

This time, Meng Yao’s flush was one of annoyance. “Shut up. And yeah, fine. Maybe I do, but—”

“Good! Make sure it’s ready for him in about twenty, yeah?”

“How do you—?” Meng Yao’s hands planted themselves very firmly on his hips and he was glaring unhappily at Wei Ying. “Why do you know so much about him anyway?”

For one wild, ridiculous moment, the thought of telling Meng Yao about his past really wasn’t such a bad one. In fact, having someone else know, being able to treat it as an experience he had and not just something he kept locked away, it almost appealed to him. He could explain to Meng Yao how he sometimes, on rare, precious occasions, spent time at Lan Zhan’s apartment, only to find his darling idol brother hiding out there, noodling on one instrument or other while they studied, as kind back then as he remained now. He could tell Meng Yao about how Lan Zhan had dragged him to what had turned out to be one of Lan Huan’s last performances outside of the rare charity event and it was actually really cool when he got over the screaming crowds and support boards. He could share the fact that he’d been to Lan Huan’s apartment multiple times and knew that most of the pictures he had were of Lan Zhan and himself, their own little unit in the world, isolated, yet somehow fulfilled within that tiny sphere.

Then, he remembered it was Meng Yao he would be sharing that with and he didn’t want it getting back to Lan Huan and, from there, to Lan Zhan that Wei Ying was still such a pathetic fucking loser.

Instead, he said, “I’m not some creepy idol stalker if that’s what you’re thinking,” because deflection was always the better part of valor.

He’d cut this part, even though he was desperate to keep the vague allusion. Everyone would love it, but Wei Ying wasn’t willing to trade on even that much of Lan Huan’s celebrity.

“At least you recognize how it looks,” Meng Yao muttered. Sighing, he finally scrubbed the flour from his face. “But I know er-ge wouldn’t have reacted to your presence that way if you were. Besides, I’m not stupid. It was Lan Zhan you couldn’t stop looking at.”

That was definitely getting cut. What the hell?

Wei Ying was not about to admit that he went a little lightheaded at the accusation, his body breaking out in a cold sweat at the exposure. He hadn’t thought Meng Yao to be that observant, but now that Meng Yao’s attention was fully on him after having said Lan Zhan’s name, it was clear that he was a great deal smarter than he let on.

“Get back to work, will you?” Wei Ying asked, snappish, feeling like he’d been giving himself away now all along. If Meng Yao saw it, how could he hope to have hidden it from Lan Huan or even Lan Zhan himself? “We’re not talking about this and Lan Huan will be here soon.”

Wei Ying was lucky that Meng Yao didn’t argue further, but he knew that Meng Yao now knew something about him that he didn’t want anyone to know about. The chances of him relaying his suspicions to Lan Huan, even without further evidence, were no longer zero. It would be impossible to ignore for long, but if he succeeds here, perhaps Meng Yao will feel honor-bound to keep his mouth shut.

Though Meng Yao quieted down and followed the last of Wei Ying’s instructions to the letter, Wei Ying could see that he was growing nervous, more nervous than he’d been at any point before in their acquaintance. It took him a little more time to complete basic actions, head lost in the clouds, and he didn’t seem to be paying as much attention as he should have been. After a few moments, the cake was safely in the oven at least, but Wei Ying feared the tea would be a lost cause if Wei Ying didn’t keep an eye on both Meng Yao and the tea set that must have been purchased with Lan Huan in mind, too simple to be for anyone else.

There just wasn’t enough gold for it to be to Meng Yao’s tastes.

Then the doorbell was ringing and all of Meng Yao’s fears, real and imagined, would have to be put aside for just a little while longer.

Wei Ying shut off the camera finally, reluctant to waste the chance, but knowing he couldn’t do that to Lan Huan. He’d come back and clear his stuff up once the cake was done and by then, he was sure he’d be done with this for good.

Meng Yao was half-convinced Wei Ying was crazy even before tonight, but at this point, he was entirely certain that the man had at least a few screws loose and might have been born without any notion of the concept of shame. That was the only explanation for how any of this had occurred at all.

Inviting Lan Huan back to his apartment like this. What in the world? Who just made that sort of decision for another person?

And the worst part of it was that he only really had himself to blame. He’d started this by insisting on finding Yiling and then forcing Wei Ying to help him, mostly with the hopes of eventually introducing Lan Huan to one another as potential employer and employee, a match made in web entertainment heaven or something.

He hadn’t anticipated his plan imploding on him so spectacularly in so many different ways. It was entertainment hell, more like.

Lan Huan should not have been ringing his doorbell at three in the afternoon on a Saturday while there was a cake in the oven that Meng Yao had made with a great deal of bossing around—and interspersed with the occasional complaint about how much editing he was going to have to do—all of which was courtesy of Wei Ying. His nerves shouldn’t have jangled at the sound it made, the doorbell; and Wei Ying wasn’t wrong: he shouldn’t have feared seeing Lan Huan, no matter the reason.

It was just. Well. Tell that to his legs, which didn’t really want to work at the moment.

When Meng Yao made no move to open the door, Wei Ying went to step in, practically floating toward it as though his whole plan was coming together perfectly, like it wasn’t just coincidence that got them from making cake to making cake specifically for Lan Huan right this minute when Meng Yao hadn’t even practiced at it or had time to make a plan or…

Not that he would practice at it! He was nipping this in the bud today. It was clear this wasn’t going to work. Whatever had gone down in the past between them, there was no way that Wei Ying would work with Lan Huan. So. Plan over. No point in letting this farce go any further. The only reason he hadn’t done so at the charity event was because he was too surprised by the incredible number of ways that night had gone wrong, too, and because Wei Ying was quick-footed when he wanted to be.

Sorry, er-ge, you won’t be getting Yiling for Lan Entertainment anytime soon.

Meng Yao needed to wrest some control back from this situation. Who knew how much more roughshod Wei Ying would run over his life if he didn’t?

Apparently, his legs agreed with at least that much, because suddenly he had control over them again.

“Move,” Meng Yao said, shoving Wei Ying aside at the doorway, his own hand wrapping around the handle, barely beating Wei Ying to the punch.

In truth, he did know there was nothing he really needed to fear. Really.

Because as he opened the door, Lan Huan appeared as gentle and polite as always, maybe a little more curious than usual, and given every recent interaction of theirs, why shouldn’t he be? Meng Yao didn’t invite other men back to his apartment and he didn’t bake, especially not on a Saturday, when he could just as easily have been working without the usual distractions that the workweek proper tended to generate.

Wei Ying grinned at Lan Huan from Meng Yao’s side. “Good afternoon, Lan Huan! Why don’t I go make sure the tea’s ready?” he said, a bit smarmy by Meng Yao’s reckoning and not a little like he was a spouse trying to impress a client. Not quite the image he wanted to pursue, but whatever, Lan Huan didn’t seem to notice anything amiss with it. Perhaps this was just how Wei Ying was with people, always trying to appease them with food and drink.

Perhaps, Meng Yao thought bitterly, Lan Huan had seen this kind of behavior before and knew he didn’t have to worry about it in particular. Maybe he used to do this all the time, only it was Lan Zhan he’d bulldozed and Lan Huan was just conveniently there, like that wouldn’t have been the main appeal.

“Tea?” Lan Huan asked unnecessarily, which was his version of dying of curiosity.

Brushing his hands down his shirt, he quickly removed the apron he’d forgotten to take off, and gestured Lan Huan inside, pointing toward the couch. “Ah, yes.”

“We thought it would go well with the surprise!” Wei Ying called, not exactly helpful, but no doubt thinking he was being so.

Lan Huan was every bit as lovely as always when he ducked his head to hide his smile, a smile he rarely offered anywhere except outside of work no matter how often Meng Yao tried to instigate it anywhere and everywhere. Meng Yao might have done anything for that smile, good or ill, though he knew Lan Huan would never lead him astray or ask for anything untoward with it, not like others in their industry might have done should they find out the sway it held. There was nobody like Lan Huan and Meng Yao didn’t deserve his regard, no matter what form it took, though Meng Yao no doubt had preferences about what that regard entailed.

“A-Yao,” Lan Huan said, warm, for no good reason that Meng Yao could think of other than he wanted to say it. He sat in his usual spot—though he didn’t come over often, Meng Yao liked that he did have a usual spot—and gestured for Meng Yao to join him. “You didn’t have to invite me over.”

He wondered if he might have been able to say something if Wei Ying wasn’t here, when Lan Huan was looking at him with such warm fondness, as though Meng Yao didn’t already spend his evenings—when he was actually home—wishing he could do just that, invite Lan Huan over always. But then again, he probably wouldn’t have considered doing just that at all if Wei Ying wasn’t here. Something about Wei Ying’s enthusiasm, his sweet vivacity, his determination, made Meng Yao want to be something of the same.

He found, strangely enough, that he actually did want to woo Lan Huan with these small, surprising gestures Wei Ying was concocting. For a man like him, who spent so much of his time surrounded by people who clawed at and climbed over one another to be better, faster, smarter, richer, that… was an uncomfortable discovery.

It was easier to imagine making a big declaration, if he was to make any declaration at all, and that was where he stumbled, the fulcrum at which the contradiction tripped him up, tilting him until he spilled across the ground. He could only ever imagine grand gestures sufficing, but he was not bold enough in this area to offer one.

Anyone might throw themselves at Lan Huan, and many had, but Lan Huan remained single all the while, reserved his most friendly affections for Meng Yao, had never had anyone else who would do something as simple as have him over for tea and cake except perhaps his brother. And it seemed, miraculously, to be working, Lan Huan more at ease than Meng Yao had seen him.

Perhaps Wei Ying knew a little about what he was doing. It wasn’t splashy and didn’t require any degree of string-pulling or finesse, but. Maybe.

Meng Yao will absolutely never tell Wei Ying as much, but… but possibly he was glad it had worked out this way. Even as uncomfortable as he was, as out of his depth, it felt right and good to do this. It might not result in anything right this moment, but an avenue into the future was now open to him that he’d never considered before.

Was it so very different from what he used to do as Lan Huan’s assistant? Not really, though back then he’d had plausible deniability on his side.

Not having it was a little bit like going into free fall, but perhaps that was the cost. He was willing to pay.

“You just… caught me in the middle of a lesson, er-ge. I’m happy to have you over.” He smiled, knowing it was the one he kept in reserve for Lan Huan alone. “As long as you’re kind about my efforts, of course.”

“I will praise those efforts endlessly, I’m sure,” Lan Huan said agreeably, teasingly, the way he only allowed himself to be around Meng Yao when they were alone. At least that was what Meng Yao hoped. “You’ve never disappointed me before.”

You’d be the only one, Meng Yao thought, and maybe that was part of why he loved Lan Huan as much as he did. For Lan Huan, it was easy to be as good as he wanted to be, effortless.

Lan Huan’s expression went a little bit distantly wistful, though Meng Yao couldn’t imagine why. “I didn’t know you were interested in learning how to bake.”

The sound of shuffling and the clanking of dishes issued from the counter that separated the kitchen from the living area, viscerally reminding Meng Yao that they weren’t actually alone yet. “There’s a lot you don’t know about Meng Yao, Lan Huan!” Wei Ying shouted good-naturedly. “Like how—”

Then Wei Ying snickered and turned away as he no doubt caught sight of Meng Yao’s rapidly warming cheeks when Meng Yao turned to glare at him, pink from the knowledge that two out of the three of them knew the truth here and one of those three had a mouth bigger than every person in Suzhou’s combined.

“Anyway!” he said brightly, feeling stupid and off-footed. Knowing Wei Ying was only trying to rile him up did not stop him from being riled up. “Don’t listen to Wei Ying.”

“I try not to,” Lan Huan said dryly as Wei Ying approached with a tray that carried two cups as well as several snacks that Meng Yao knew Lan Huan favored. It annoyed him to find out that Wei Ying had rifled through the cupboards and knew it, too, unerringly.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here,” Wei Ying said loftily as he deposited the tray on the coffee table. “And I promise I’ll be out of your hair shortly. It’s only that Meng Yao here carries something very special in his heart that can only be let out through the medium of cake.” He stopped, sighing dramatically as he handed Lan Huan one of the cups. “It turns out I’m the only person he knows who knows a single, solitary thing about reading or chemistry. Isn’t that a shame?”

Lan Huan coughed delicately, but very gamely did not laugh outright. It was still enough to make Meng Yao feel a sudden and abiding despair in his heart. Wei Ying was going to embarrass him into an early grave.

“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, Wei Ying,” Lan Huan said. “Perhaps baking is just reading and chemistry to you, but it may be unfathomable to the rest of us.”

“Mn, I wouldn’t go that far. Meng Yao is a quick study. I think you’ll really like what he’s made tonight.”

“What a fortunate coincidence for me in that case.”

“The world is so mysterious,” Wei Ying agreed.

A wider smile than normal pulled at the corner of Lan Huan’s mouth. This might have been the weirdest encounter they’d ever shared, but Meng Yao was unwilling, possibly unable, to break the spell—if that was even what he wanted to call it—that Wei Ying was casting.

At least one thing was certain: there was no possible way Lan Huan could believe they were dating after this. Without even saying the words, Wei Ying was undoing the impression Meng Yao had accidentally given to Lan Huan the other night. As Wei Ying continued to chatter away, he could see Lan Huan relaxing further, maybe buying into it without even knowing what was happening? He hoped so. The last thing he wanted to do was truly explain what had happened back at the charity dinner.

Meng Yao didn’t often panic, but—

“Perhaps it is not merely coincidence,” Wei Ying said suddenly, sly, mischievous, to which Meng Yao almost hissed at him to stop, that he was pushing it too far. He couldn’t just be that shameless.

—these were Meng Yao’s feelings on the line.

“In that case,” Lan Huan said, prim, sipping from his cup and slitting his eyes in pleasure, as he always seemed to do when Meng Yao made tea for him, though perhaps he’d never noticed it before, “A-Yao is really too good to me.”

Meng Yao’s heart might have skipped a beat or three or stopped altogether as he heard those words. They were playful, deadly. How in the fuck did Wei Ying do that? If he wasn’t entirely certain that Wei Ying didn’t want Lan Huan’s affections for himself, he might have been jealous, even though the compliment was directed Meng Yao’s way.

The oven dinged and Meng Yao, overwhelmed and needing a minute to breathe, moved to stand.

But Wei Ying, the bastard, already standing and quicker than he had any right to be, pressed him back into the couch, hand squeezing his shoulder like a vice. “I’ll get it.”

“Shouldn’t I see it through to the end?” he asked, strangling himself on the words.

“What’s so hard about pulling something out,” Wei Ying said, pausing significantly, “of the oven?” Bending down, his hand still gripping him tightly, he added for Meng Yao’s hearing only, hiding his face in the back of Meng Yao’s neck, “Put the man out of his misery, please. I’m begging you.” Clearing his throat, Wei Ying straightened up and clapped the shoulder he’d just abused. “It won’t be more than a moment.”

Once Wei Ying disappeared into the kitchen, Lan Huan poured more tea into Meng Yao’s cup.

Glancing at Wei Ying, who was taking his sweet time now that he’d escaped, even humming to himself, Meng Yao said, “I’m sure I’m wasting your time. What was it you needed to discuss with me?”

“I…” It was rare to hear Lan Huan hesitate, which made Meng Yao worry, which horribly stretched the seconds before Lan Huan spoke again. “I was wondering if there was any progress made regarding Lotus Pier? Have they reconsidered A-Zhan’s proposal at all?”

There was another clattering sound from the kitchen, this one loud and abrupt, unplanned, startling Meng Yao with its suddenness, its violence. Even Lan Huan flinched slightly. Both of them looked at Wei Ying, who stood, pale-faced and dazed, with a plate overturned on the floor at his feet.

“Wei Ying, are you…?” Meng Yao moved to stand, but Wei Ying waved him off, holding himself upright on the counter. It didn’t make sense to Meng Yao that Wei Ying would suddenly feel so ill, but maybe—

“Wei Ying?” Lan Huan asked, not heeding Wei Ying’s wishes at all. He didn’t hesitate about standing up and made his way toward the kitchen with no compunctions at all.

“Tell me,” Wei Ying said finally, waving Lan Huan off with a sharp slash of his hand through the air, voice cracking and shaky, a branch snapping in a storm. “Did I truly do something so awful to Lan Zhan that made him that—what the fuck does Lan Zhan even want with a coffee shop anyway?” Every bit of fury locked in his gaze directed itself at Meng Yao suddenly. “And you. Why did you even approach me? Was this a part of some weird plan of yours? Spend time with Jiang Fengmian’s adopted kid and profit?” He drew in a sharp breath and pinched the bridge of his nose before dragging his hand across his mouth. “You know what, I actually don’t care, but here’s your answer: Jiang Fengmian doesn’t intend to sell Lotus Pier to Lan Zhan, not ever, and not as long as I can help it.” Wei Ying turned betrayed eyes Meng Yao’s way. “There’s your answer.”

Lan Huan’s eyebrows knit together, mouth pursed, as understanding dawned on his features. By the looks of it, that understanding was not pleasant in the slightest. “I think…”

Wei Ying laughed bitterly. “Yeah, I really don’t fucking care.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Huan said, imploring, taking a step toward Wei Ying because he apparently had a death wish. “We didn’t—”

“Fuck all of you,” Wei Ying said, pointing at Lan Huan and then at Meng Yao, who hadn’t yet recovered from the sudden turn of Wei Ying’s mood. It wasn’t like Meng Yao had obscured his reasons for coming to Yunmeng. Why was Wei Ying so upset about it? Surely Jiang Cheng—his brother, apparently?—would have told him if it was important that Wei Ying know about the offer or that it was Meng Yao who had made it. Lan Zhan’s name hadn’t come up purposefully, but not for any reason beyond Lan Zhan’s desire for privacy. How was Meng Yao supposed to know that Wei Ying was anything more than an employee at Lotus Pier? In fact, why didn’t he know? This seemed like the sort of thing Nie Huaisang should have told him, was no doubt perfectly aware of already. “Throw your money around, I don’t give a shit, but fuck every single one of you.” Instead of stepping over it, Wei Ying nudged the overturned plate across the floor with his foot, leaving smears of pale glaze and a trail of green crumbs behind it in a wide arc. “By the way, in case it wasn’t pathetically obvious to you already, Lan Huan, this snake is in love with you. Seems like it might be a good match. I hope you’re very happy together.”

Before Meng Yao could come up with a response, Wei Ying was pushing past Lan Huan.

It was only once the door slammed shut that Meng Yao could even begin to contemplate what it was that Wei Ying had actually done here, that he’d allowed to happen.

In what universe had reaching out to this guy ever been a good idea? He’d caused Meng Yao nothing but trouble from the start. And for what? To—to have his own feelings reduced to a handful of words and a too-accurate insult?

“A-Ya—”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“This isn’t that out of the ordinary for him,” Lan Huan said, not unkindly, though a little tense, perhaps with annoyance or knowing, perhaps at being indirectly called a snake. That had to have been a first. Shit, what had Wei Ying done? “I wouldn’t read anything into it. I won’t assu—” Here, he faltered. Faltered. Because Wei Ying had gone and fucked everything up. And now Lan Huan knew everything that mattered in the worst possible way. “Why don’t I clean this up, hmm?”

Lan Huan said nothing else when Meng Yao didn’t acknowledge his words, but he nodded slightly, stepping into the kitchen to do as he said he would while Meng Yao stood there, useless, still unable to speak.

Cleaning up messes was usually his specialty, not Lan Huan’s, and so logically Lan Huan shouldn’t have been the one crouched on the kitchen floor. That was all he could think about, the incongruous image of Lan Huan down there doing that, like this was his own home, like he was something more than a guest, like he belonged there, cleaning up messes right alongside Meng Yao.

But no matter how incongruous and no matter how little he wanted Lan Huan to bear the responsibility for this and no matter how much he wanted Lan Huan to be here anyway, Meng Yao couldn’t move nor breathe nor pick himself up from the detritus of the decisions which had led to this moment.

After the inexorably long elevator ride back down and an awkward encounter with the guard during which Wei Ying absolutely did not flee, nope, not at all, Wei Ying stepped onto the street and realized only at that moment that he’d left his bag and equipment upstairs. He was absolutely not going to return to Meng Yao’s apartment right now, not like this, but as he rifled through his wallet, he was deeply, infuriatingly annoyed with himself and Meng Yao and every Lan who saw fit to turn his life upside down at every turn.

Annoyance, though, was better than the hurt that threatened to consume him if he let himself stop being annoyed for even a microsecond. Somehow, somehow he felt like he should have known it was Lan Zhan all along. All he’d had of late were sick coincidences, bringing back a past he wanted to forget. Why shouldn’t it be Lan Zhan then? He could apparently live with seeing Lan Zhan again; he could deal with trying to make Lan Huan happy in Lan Zhan’s stead. Those things? Fine. Even if they ended with Wei Ying crashing and burning on all counts? Fine.

What he could not do, it turned out, was accept the fact that Lan Zhan wished to take this from him, too. It wasn’t enough that he’d gotten Wei Ying’s heart, he had to get this, too, the one promise in his life that he’d so far been able to keep.

Now, he only felt like a brat who wanted to cling to something he had no right to ask for. It wasn’t just some nameless asshole who’d tried to throw massive amounts of money at Jiang Fengmian at the time when he was most vulnerable, it was Lan Zhan and somehow that made a difference, made it personal, made Wei Ying feel like he was holding onto something that wasn’t actually his any longer.

What could Lan Zhan do with the space that Wei Ying couldn’t? A whole lot of things. Everything. He had resources and patience and an elegance of mind that Wei Ying had always lacked. There was no way he wanted to keep it in its current state, but whatever he wanted to do, it was bound to be incredible. Under different circumstances, Wei Ying might have wanted to see it.

And that still left him with the knowledge that Lan Zhan would be there, on his turf, the only place he’d always been safe afterward because who would come to Yunmeng who didn’t have to?

His wallet dropped from his shaking hands imagining it, just another small sacrifice of his body on the broken altar of his feelings for Lan Zhan. Yunmeng was so small compared to some places.

“Damn it!” he said, fighting the urge to stomp his feet in the street. A few scraps of paper fluttered to the ground, but they were just old receipts, nothing important enough to gather back up. If he wasn’t careful, the childish unfairness of it would overwhelm him.

As though the world truly intended to mock him, small, sharply cold splatters of rain, cold even though it was nearing July because fuck his entire life, hit the back of his neck as he crouched to pick his wallet up. The wind picked up as he hurried to the bus stop just down the road and he couldn’t help but turn for a moment to glare up at the building he’d just exited. If he hadn’t forgotten his phone, he could have just called a cab, but no, he’d tucked it into his bag when he went into Meng Yao’s kitchen to get the cake out of the oven, along with his tripod and other equipment because, well, he’d envisioned a quick exit, but not quite the quick exit he got.

His jacket, of course, was tied up to his backpack strap to keep everything together.

When the bus finally came what felt like an hour later, he was chilly enough that even the comparative warmth of the bus was a godsend. Chafing his hands over the plucked-chicken skin of his arms, he took a seat and blew out a deep, unsteady breath.

Without the cold misery of the street to focus on and no phone with which to distract himself, the entirety of his thoughts turned to Lan Huan’s words, the careless way he’d upturned Wei Ying’s life.

Lan Zhan wanted his coffee shop; he wanted Lotus Pier. And a very small, very disgusted part of him wanted to give it to him, just to see what would happen, just to see whether that might be the thing that allowed Lan Zhan to forgive him for the way he’d handled everything back then or, more miraculously, allowed him to forgive himself.

It was a stupid thought. Lan Zhan couldn’t be bought that way even if the one thing had anything to do with the other, which it didn’t. Unless somehow letting him have it would convince him that Wei Ying wouldn’t be an inconstant, unfaithful lover, which it wouldn’t and Wei Ying didn’t want that anyway.

Even after so many years, it twinged like the ache of an old fracture coming back to haunt him at inconvenient moments.

The bus arrived at the train station with enough time to spare that he wouldn’t have to risk his neck trying to make it on time, the one bright spot in this whole evening as he bounded down the bus’s steps. “Thank you!” he called to the driver. At least he’d be home soon. That was something.

Though he didn’t often ride the trains anymore, Suzhou to Xiaogan used to be a regular enough occurrence for him that he felt like he knew this place intimately, that it was almost a second home. He worked his way toward the departures area, and pulled his wallet again from his pocket as he approached the gate.

Rifling through his various cards and the handful of paper bills he kept just in case, he didn’t see any sign of his ticket, the ticket for a train that would be leaving in a perfectly reasonable two hours, the ticket he’d had printed specifically because he knew what it was like to hit the station when your phone battery was dying and trying to find a damned outlet was impossible and he never, ever remembered to bring a spare battery no matter how often he did risk running out. It was, the ticket, perfectly timed to when he’d originally planned to duck out from Meng Yao’s another hour or so from now. The handful of trains departing later would depart too late to be of much use to him.

“Oh, you’ve got to be…” He patted himself down and worked his way more meticulously through his wallet as he read the board. This was—it wasn’t happening, but as he kept not finding that ticket, he realized that was exactly what was happening. “Fuck.”

The line at each and every ticket kiosk was approximately a mile long.

As he stepped into the line that looked the least soul destroying anyway, he mentally cursed this entire situation and Meng Yao specifically because it was especially easy to blame him.

When he finally reached the front of the line, he was juggling his ID and a couple of bank cards, trying to remember which he’d used to buy the ticket to begin with. The first bank card didn’t want to work, because of course it didn’t, it was always testy, and the second and third weren’t recognized as having been used to make any purchases, so he finally gave in and bought another, merely glad that it hadn’t sold out. For his trouble, he got glared at by at least twelve different pairs of eyes who were also having bad days apparently.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, bitter, raising his hands in surrender once he had his ticket firmly secured in his wallet. Getting into a fight would only make it more unbearable, better to concede now, even if it was with ill-grace.

Wei Ying found a bench pushed up against the wall of a small shop and settled in, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. It was chilly here, too, but not unreasonably so. He’d survive until the train arrived and he had enough money on him that he could get something warm to drink and eat when needed.

If only his stomach wasn’t rebelling at the thought of either of those things, it might have been a pleasant enough way to pass the time.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, because he was pulled from a disorienting half-sleep by the tinny sound of an announcement over the speakers, heralded by a loud, alarm-like chime and an accompanying written announcement on the nearby departures board. “The next train to Xiaogan is delayed. Estimated ETA unknown. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

Wei Ying glanced at the clock above said board. He’d managed to drowse through an hour of his wait. And now who knew how long it would be.

Others around him muttered and grumbled about it, but Wei Ying couldn’t get up the energy to be that mad about it. How could a cherry ruin what was already a crap sundae of an afternoon?

Bored and antsy, he pushed himself to his feet and wandered around, kicking and scuffing at the concrete to keep from falling asleep again because now he was catastrophizing, imagining himself missing the new departure time if he let his eyes close again, and bounced around to keep warm while he tried to work up an appetite, something, anything to distract him.

At this point, it really couldn’t be any worse. There was no reason for him to continue twisting himself into knots over it and now that he knew what he was up against, he could prepare, be serious about it, do right by Uncle Jiang since he knew that, whatever else Lan Zhan was capable of, he would be fair toward anyone with whom he conducted business. And from what Jiang Cheng had told him, he’d been more than generous about it, which only made it worse. Lan Zhan didn’t flaunt his wealth, barely ever splurged on anything, acted as though he was so far beneath noticing it that he rounded all the way back to being immensely, immeasurably above it. If he was throwing that much money around, in truth if he thought to even throw that much money around, he saw something in it he was desperate for and chose for once to recognize the currency of the realm he refused to step foot in most of the time.

“I need a driver who’s willing to go to Yunmeng tonight and is available as soon as possible.”

Wei Ying’s stomach threatened to claw its way out of his abdomen, all his hard damned work settling himself down gone to waste as a voice carried to him from nearby. Too close.

Speak of the fucking devil. It actually managed to get worse. Wei Ying could only hope that this meant he was using up all his bad luck now and that going forward he’d get to experience only sunshine days and happy times.

Yeah, he was laughing at that possibility, too.

Ducking behind a large advertising board, he dragged in a deep breath and told himself to calm the fuck down already. His heart pounded furiously in his ears and the anger he’d mostly stoked reared its fiery head once again. There would be no calming down, no matter how academically he approached Lan Zhan’s apparent desire to own his life’s work.

Lan Zhan.

Why? Why did Lan Zhan have to be here? Why did he have to be here now, when all Wei Ying wanted to do was forget he ever existed, that he ever cared about him at all?

“I do understand it’s an imposition.” There was a pause, entirely silent, because Lan Zhan was too good to huff disdainfully or express impatience with anyone except Wei Ying. At one time, Wei Ying had considered that a mark of pride. After… well, after Wei Ying wasn’t so certain what it was, only that Lan Zhan treated him differently than other people, for good or ill. Maybe it truly was for ill. Maybe Wei Ying had gotten it wrong the whole time. What other person in the world would think it a good thing that they were the only one who visibly annoyed someone? Who took pride in that? “Yes, I can pay.”

If Lan Zhan could pay, why was he bothering with the train at all? It wasn’t like he enjoyed being around people anyway. Imagining him stuffing himself into a tiny seat, staring out a window with his legs nestled against his chin, it wasn’t a probable scenario, but this was why it was so impossible to believe that Lan Zhan was just bullying his family to bully them either.

He couldn’t think about that right now.

Instead, he rolled his eyes. How nice it would be to just snap your fingers and hire a driver for an eight, nine hour drive. Wei Ying’s only consolation was knowing how uncomfortable it would make Lan Zhan to have to share such a small space with a single stranger rather than surrounded by a lot of people who were strangers and strangers to one another, too.

He felt a little bad for the driver though. It took a lot of stamina to spend time with someone as stony faced as Lan Zhan. Only someone as crazy as Wei Ying would truly enjoy it.

Lan Zhan was at least smart enough to wear the uniform of everyone searching for a bit of anonymity: a cap and nondescript jacket. The guqin case slung across his back was a dead giveaway, but Wei Ying knew Lan Zhan wasn’t quite so famous outside of certain circles that he ran a high risk of facing a hoard of slavering fans near the tracks.

He kept his hand wrapped tightly around his stupid rolling bag while he spoke on the phone.

What the fuck was he going back to Yunmeng for anyway? Since it was clear he’d been there once already without Wei Ying knowing, why did he have to go back?

It wasn’t like a deal had been made already. Unless that was yet another thing he’d managed to miss. What if sometime in the single goddamned hour he’d been out of Meng Yao’s sight, he’d managed to lose Lotus Pier for real?

No, no. Someone would have called.

And his phone was back in Meng Yao’s fucking apartment. How would he know if anyone had called?

No way. It hadn’t happened. In however many fucking hours, when he can confirm he was only imagining shadows, he’s going to feel really dumb about this.

He poked his head around the ad and stole one more look, unable to resist, another thing he was going to feel really dumb about.

And just like that, all the fight left him, washed like so much rainwater down a storm drain.

Lan Zhan’s back was turned, taunting Wei Ying with the wavy little ponytail pulled through the back of the hat. Envy stabbed through Wei Ying’s heart as he imagined pulling on it, wishing Lan Zhan had dressed so casually back when they knew one another so that he’d have the right to do so. He could picture it so viscerally, imagined just how soft Lan Zhan’s hair would be, how pretty his neck would look with his head pulled back, how lovely his voice would be as he berated Wei Ying for his insouciance.

But, no. The best he could do was skulk awa—

“Wei Ying?”

Mother. Fucker.

Wei Ying refused to cry. He absolutely refused. It didn’t matter that his cheeks grew warm and his chest felt like a massive scoop had been taken out of his lungs with a melon baller and his eyes were stinging fiercely. He would not cry. It was just the frustration getting to him. Anyone would be a little sensitive.

So yeah. He was a grown man and even if his shit wasn’t one-hundred percent together at the moment, he wasn’t going to do that.

There was a time when the only thing he felt toward Lan Zhan was happiness; he dredged the depth of his spirit and memory for that sensation in order to paste his best effort of a smile onto his mouth.

When he turned and found Lan Zhan’s expression going from surprise to guarded suspicion, he realized he’d probably failed at looking even remotely friendly. Well, that fucking sucked for him, didn’t it? Wei Ying had tried. “Lan Zhan, imagine seeing you here.”

Lan Zhan flinched to an almost microscopic degree. Ha.

“You’re shivering,” he said anyway, gamely, voice tight with repressed emotion. “Are you all right?” The way he asked it, the look on his face, even shadowed by the cap… there was a softness in it that Wei Ying remembered from long ago, that contradicted the sound of his voice. Emotional muscle memory told him he should feel fondness for Lan Zhan now. It made it a struggle to find his anger and fear and sheer embarrassment over everything that had occurred today.

He was so fucking stupid.

Lan Zhan carefully removed his guqin case and began slipping his jacket from his shoulders, only stopping when Wei Ying took a startled step back and said, “Don’t.”

Lan Zhan didn’t have the right to be solicitous any longer and Wei Ying wasn’t quite so pathetic as to accept the kindness, especially when it was probably less kindness these days than a distant, cold feeling of noblesse oblige. But even if it was a kindness, Wei Ying would have preferred to have it when it mattered.

God, but Wei Ying would have relished the use of Lan Zhan’s jacket back in the day. It probably still smelled like sandalwood now because Lan Zhan was a creature of habit. He’d loved that scent once and wished he didn’t remember it so precisely. His memory was shit for everything except that last year of university, those handfuls of lovely months when he knew how important Lan Zhan was to him and wanted to cherish it. Foolish as he’d been at the time, he still hadn’t appreciate those moments as much as he ought to have while they were happening. Now all he had was the sharp-edged stamp of them, the mere recall slicing into the heart of him.

So he snapped, “No offense, but it’s not your business anyway. Keep your fucking jacket on,” instead of giving in.

Lan Zhan’s eyes widened and his expression went confused, maybe a little hurt. “Wei Ying?”

And there was Wei Ying’s friend, anger. That was much better than what he had been experiencing. Bonus: he no longer felt cold. Perhaps he should thank Lan Zhan after all.

Crossing his arms, he turned and began to stride back the way he came.

The more sedate clip of Lan Zhan’s shoes followed, as did the scrape of Lan Zhan’s luggage. Presumably his guqin was again slung across his back and he hadn’t just abandoned it to follow Wei Ying. When Wei Ying stopped, so did Lan Zhan, like he was a cursed puppet, forced to follow Wei Ying’s lead.

“What do you want, Lan Zhan?” He sounded tired even to his own ears and could only be relieved that Lan Zhan couldn’t hear the sick twist of disgust curling around inside of him. This whole situation was beyond what he wanted to deal with; being harangued unexpectedly by Lan Zhan just put it over the top. “I’m just trying to get home. What do you think I’m doing?”

Lan Zhan shook his head and thinned his lips before answering. “What are you doing here?”

“Am I not allowed to have business in Suzhou now? How is it yours to ask what I’m doing here?” Leave it to Lan Zhan. He didn’t do things by half-measures. He couldn’t settle for making Wei Ying a little pissed off. He had to go for broke. “According to the great Hanguang-jun, what exactly am I allowed to do?”

Tipping his chin up, he narrowed his eyes and dared Lan Zhan to say anything about it. But before Lan Zhan could get another pot shot in, Wei Ying spoke again. “You know what? I don’t think I want the answer. I’m sure I already know. ‘Mn. Wei Ying has come to Suzhou. This train station is quite close to Meng Yao’s home. That’s probably where he’s been. What was he doing there when it’s patently obvious that my brother is in love with him? Does he truly have no shame or honor?’ Please tell me if I’ve left anything out.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes glinted as they widened. Then his head bowed forward slightly and he could not meet Wei Ying’s eyes.

That was all he needed to know, wasn’t it?

And yet, it still hurt. Even though he knew already that Lan Zhan thought so little of him, it still hurt to be judged so harshly. He’d been at fault in the past. He would admit that. And perhaps he should have explained himself better or taken at least one of Lan Zhan’s calls to put them both out of their misery back then, but even so—even so, Lan Zhan had known him better than anyone else. It shouldn’t have been so easy for him to believe the worst about Wei Ying’s motives.

Laughing bitterly, Wei Ying scraped his foot across the ground and wagged his finger at Lan Zhan. “Oh, my god. You really do think that poorly of me, don’t you? Lan Zhan, what did I do to you to warrant it?”

Lan Zhan opened his mouth, like he truly intended to answer again. Why did everyone want to answer him all of a sudden? He was tired of answers popping up where he least wanted them.

Wei Ying could only wave his hands in front of him as though to shield himself from Lan Zhan. “I don’t actually want to know,” he said, nasally, a whining, desperate edge in his tone. “I’m just talking to talk now. I don’t want to hear anything else you have to say!” He took a deep breath to keep from saying something else regrettable. It was all the past. Lan Zhan could think he worst of him if he wanted to, could hate him as much as he wanted, could accuse him of anything. It would be better that way, wouldn’t it? If he was awful enough now, he could earn that poor opinion. “Look, it’s really commendable that you’re worried about your brother. Perhaps you should talk to him about it and leave me the fuck alone in the meantime! That’s literally the only thing left that I want from you. Do you think you can do that for me or is that too difficult for you?”

No doubt Lan Huan would have a lot to say about Wei Ying when they did talk. That could be the coffin’s nail in this whole ridiculous situation. Surely Lan Zhan wouldn’t risk seeing him once he heard about what Wei Ying had so carelessly done tonight.

When Wei Ying stomped away—like a child, he realized, but he couldn’t help it when there was so much extra energy lancing through him right now, indignant fury chief among them, Lan Zhan finally managed to refrain from following and for that Wei Ying was infinitely grateful.

Thanks to the delay, Wei Ying would have a lot of time to cool down before he was expected to sit in a cramped space with a ton of other people. At least none of them would be Lan ‘Oh, I’ll just hire a driver when I’m inconvenienced’ Zhan.

With his luck, they would’ve been stuck seated across from one another the whole way. How much more awful would that have been?

Though Wei Ying tried to tell himself it would be so much more awful than this, he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it.

Lan Zhan watched Wei Ying stride away, his back straight despite the unseasonable early evening chill and the wind that worked its way in from across the tracks. He wanted to take everything back, return to the first time it all went wrong all those years ago, find a way to make this right knowing how impossible his wish was. It was a foolish desire and one he wouldn’t have allowed himself to think of at any other moment, but seeing Wei Ying again—and why did it keep happening now when it had been years of zero contact, years during which Lan Zhan was still able to imagine how it might go and could pretend to hope for better—made him want all sorts of things he shouldn’t have wanted.

What right did he have to that when he couldn’t even explain himself to Wei Ying or apologize, the words sticking in his throat when he tried, not that he could force a word in edgewise around the breadth and depth of Wei Ying’s entirely justified anger?

He knew what Wei Ying believed he thought, Wei Ying was right about that. How could he not when he relived that mistake so often even now, the memory of it worn down like a stone turned over and over in one’s hand until it was smooth? And though the edges were blunted, it still served perfectly well as a bludgeon. What Wei Ying didn’t understand, what he couldn’t, because how could he, when Lan Zhan couldn’t speak, didn’t know any words in any language that could match Wei Ying’s furor, was that Lan Zhan understood too, too well. Yes, he realized there was something between Meng Yao and Wei Ying, that much was obvious enough from the frankly shocking admission Meng Yao had made only a week ago when he’d brought Wei Ying to his brother’s charity performance. And yes, if he hadn’t already known for years and years, too many years about Lan Huan’s yearning for Meng Yao, the feelings he carried because he refused to burden Meng Yao with them when to give voice to them risked putting Meng Yao in an awkward position, it would have been obvious from how listlessly he’d wandered around his own life over the course of the last week, distracted and distractable, while Lan Zhan watched, helpless to rescue him because he couldn’t even rescue himself from languishing in thoughts of missed opportunities.

But it was not Wei Ying’s problem to worry about what Lan Huan wouldn’t expose.

Wei Ying was free with his affections maybe, but that was not wrong, was it, not when it was Wei Ying’s affection that Lan Zhan had learned to love first? And so what if that lavishness appeared deceptively careless? How could it be when its destruction caused so big an explosion, wreaking havoc even in the present? Shards of shrapnel still struck true after all this time. It could not be so if it didn’t matter. Wei Ying was generous with his affection, but he was serious about them, too.

Wei Ying thought the truly damning thing about Lan Zhan’s reaction was that he believed Wei Ying might be unfaithful, but the truth was much, much worse. He’d somehow convinced—so arrogantly convinced—himself that Wei Ying couldn’t possibly love as deeply as he himself did. How laughable. How… how shameful that he should have believed it even for a moment.

The day he realized that was the last day he tried to reach Wei Ying all those years ago. It had taken him time to realize it and once he did… well. He couldn’t face Wei Ying after that. He wished even still that he didn’t know himself so well. That September, he was a little bit relieved that Wei Ying had taken the chance to make amends from him. Again, later, because Lan Zhan only ever realized once it was too late: he should not have been relieved at all.

But tonight, it was a totally misunderstanding of the truth and Lan Zhan should have tried harder to convey that. That was his failure, again, always. Always he was failing Wei Ying in this way. It wasn’t Wei Ying’s intentions he distrusted. Wei Ying had the right to spend time with or pursue whomever he wished, even if that put him in direct competition with Lan Zhan’s brother. It was simply that, despite Lan Huan’s insistence otherwise, Lan Zhan believed Meng Yao to be an opportunist. It made him good at what he did and because he’d never before harmed Lan Huan with his tactics, Lan Zhan had no right to complain.

It was just. Well.

Lan Zhan didn’t want his brother hurt, but he didn’t want Wei Ying to be hurt either and he worried that Meng Yao would manage it with one or both of them.

If the slightest tinge of jealousy managed to worm through Lan Zhan’s heart at the thought that Meng Yao was getting to spend so much time with Wei Ying when Lan Zhan couldn’t manage five minutes of cordial conversation, that had nothing to do with Wei Ying.

Still, he needed to know what Wei Ying wouldn’t tell him. He wasn’t going to let Wei Ying be hurt a second time if he could stop it. Surely Meng Yao could provide some illumination.

So when his car arrived at the station, he didn’t hesitate to offer Meng Yao’s address first. Even though he would have liked to get back to his hotel in Yunmeng before the early hours of the morning, this was more important.

“Will you find out if Meng Yao is willing to see me?” It wasn’t until he was standing at the front counter in the lobby, security guard staring openly at Lan Zhan as though he’d grown a second head, that Lan Zhan considered the possibility that it might have been better if he’d called first instead of requesting that the security guard call for him, but he was here now and might as well follow through. “Please.”

“You’re looking for Meng-xiansheng, too? Is he having some kind of party tonight?” the guard asked, dubious, wrapping his hand around the clunky desk phone. Hand poised over the keypad, he glanced up at Lan Zhan again, unimpressed. “Can I tell him who you are at least?”

After a pause, he said, “Lan Zhan.”

The guard squinted at him as though trying to place him. Maybe he recognized the name or maybe he recognized his brother’s features in Lan Zhan’s face or maybe he’d seen Lan Zhan perform on one of the rare television shows Mo Xuanyu managed to talk him into. It was impossible for him to know for certain, though it required all of his composure to keep from fidgeting under the scrutiny.

No matter how often he faced it, he’d never gotten used to the attention, whatever form it took.

Then the man’s features cleared and he placed the call, having a short exchange with Meng Yao before he waved Lan Zhan past.

As the elevator crept up, Lan Zhan pulled out his phone, scrolling through the few contacts listed to find Wei Ying’s number. It was old and probably didn’t even belong to Wei Ying any longer, but Lan Zhan had never had the heart to delete it, not even after he was certain that Wei Ying had gone through the trouble to ensure his number was blocked.

Before he could actually do anything with the phenomenally thoughtless idea that accompanied the action, the elevator dinged and its doors separated smoothly for him.

Despite a warning from the guard that he’d shortly have company, it still took Meng Yao longer than Lan Zhan believed necessary to answer the door.

Lan Zhan blinked at him, immediately noting the pink flush of his cheeks and the few stray hairs out of place. He’d never seen Meng Yao with anything but a perfectly immaculate hairstyle. It was odd and more than a little disconcerting.

His features were tense and his smile seemed a little more brittle than usual. Lan Zhan wasn’t quite so impolite as to call it fake, but…

Another set of footsteps approached, quiet, the cadence familiar. Somehow, Lan Zhan wasn’t surprised at all to see his brother there. However, he was surprised that Lan Huan wouldn’t quite meet his eyes and the color of his cheeks bore a striking similarity to Meng Yao’s. His hair, at least, remained tidy.

It was just a little too tidy compared to his usual style and his hand twitched toward Meng Yao’s when they were close enough to touch.

Oh. Well.

Apparently Lan Zhan didn’t need to fear for his brother’s feelings, only, it turned out, Wei Ying’s. That… made things a little easier, he supposed. In one way at least.

Stiff, his every concern now bent only toward thoughts of Wei Ying, Lan Zhan said, “I apologize for the intrusion on your time.”

“You’re welcome any time, of course,” Meng Yao said. Though his voice was all polite cordiality, it was also strained. “Come in. How can I help you?”

“I didn’t realize my brother was here. Perhaps he might be the more suitable person to speak with in this case.” He exchanged a look with his brother. Are you okay with that? Lan Huan nodded back his assent. Even if it was uncomfortable, he would prefer to discuss this with his brother to any other, Meng Yao especially.

Meng Yao just looked weary and exhausted, composure lost for the first time in Lan Zhan’s awareness. “Right. I’ll, uh…” He glanced around the very open floor plan of his condo and then gestured vaguely. “I’ll just leave you to it. I’m sure there’s something I need to do… elsewhere. Just let me know when you’re done.” This last was directed at Lan Huan.

And then he was alone with his brother, who was still managing to look abashed as he offered Lan Zhan a tired, guilt-tinged smile. “Didi, is everything alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Then, he was walking toward the kitchen while Lan Zhan tried to wrap his mind around what he’d interrupted. “Would you like some tea? I thought you were heading back to Yunmeng tonight.”

The last thing Lan Zhan wanted was tea from Meng Yao’s home, but he wasn’t certain how to say that without offending his brother. Though perhaps his brother wasn’t wrong on the other count. He certainly felt haunted.

There was, he supposed, no reason to equivocate. “I saw Wei Ying at the train station.” He paused to gauge Lan Huan’s reaction: which was almost no reaction at all, a bare flicker of something as his focus remained on the bag of loose leaf tea in his hand. “He seemed distraught. He mentioned Meng Yao.”

Lan Zhan did not need to tell his brother that he believed this was the source.

He didn’t understand the relationship between Meng Yao, his brother, and Wei Ying, and he wasn’t certain he truly wanted to know, but he was left wondering if perhaps Wei Ying had actually developed feelings for Meng Yao.

He forced himself again to remember that it wasn’t actually any of his concern what Wei Ying did or did not do. It was more difficult than he would have liked.

“Would you like some tea?” Lan Huan asked again, diligent, as though what he really meant was that Lan Zhan really ought to have it.

“I’d like an explanation.”

Lan Huan sighed and gestured at the couch. Without answering, he made his way to the kettle, placed the kettle in the sink, filled it with water, replaced it on the counter. “You may not want any,” he said, determined, “but I’d like some.”

Lan Zhan watched him from the kitchen’s entry, ignoring his brother’s invitation to take the couch and instead pulled a stool from beneath the counter space, noted an old, well-worn backpack sitting in the corner with a tripod mostly zipped inside, a phone stowed in a mesh pocket along the side. The backpack was familiar to him, though the jacket wound in the straps was new.

Wei Ying’s.

Lan Huan went indifferently through the motions of making the tea. “A-Yao invited me over while Wei Ying was here.” Though Lan Zhan had a lot of questions about that fact alone, Lan Huan waved them off. “I was only wanting to ask him if he was getting anywhere with Lotus Pier.”

A reasonable thing to want, Lan Zhan could admit, and he almost asked about it himself until Lan Huan raised his hand, thinking maybe that he was wanting to ask about something else instead. It was a reasonable assumption.

“Wei Ying was showing him how to make that matcha chiffon cake.” Here, Lan Huan couldn’t help but smile fondly while another futile needle of jealousy spiked inside of Lan Zhan. Lan Huan looked as though he intended to ask if Lan Zhan wanted any, gesturing toward the mostly intact cake on the counter, only a few slices cut from it. As much as he did, he was concerned that he would choke on the bitterness that it wasn’t for him that Wei Ying did such a thing, that it couldn’t be ever again because of Lan Zhan’s mistakes.

Wei Ying wouldn’t have wanted him to have it, he was sure.

“Your favorite,” Lan Zhan said hollowly.

“I was always rather fond of that cake, yes. Wei Ying is very skilled at what he does.”

Such an action only raised more questions than it answered, but Lan Zhan remained focused on the most important one. “Brother. What happened?”

“What happened, A-Zhan, is I asked about Lotus Pier.”

“That doesn’t—” That didn’t make sense. What did Lotus Pier have to do with Wei Ying?

Before Lan Zhan could ask, Lan Huan was answering that, too, though he’d momentarily wish Lan Huan wasn’t so forthright: “Lotus Pier is owned by Jiang Fengmian. The manager, Jiang Cheng is, I gather, his biological son. I know Wei Ying sometimes mentioned his family back home in Yunmeng, but…” But Wei Ying never really went into firm detail, too busy talking about the things that were right in front of his face than anything from back home, except when he wanted to highlight Yunmeng’s superiority to Suzhou—his way of teasing. Now that Lan Zhan thought about it, he didn’t think he’d ever heard Wei Ying mention any of them by name, though Jiang Cheng had technically spoken to him once. “Wei Ying did… not take it well when he found out it was you who wanted it. He seemed to think you were trying to buy it out from under him. Lotus Pier is meant for him apparently. I didn’t have the chance to tell him that you didn’t know.”

Lan Huan didn’t coddle him by suggesting Wei Ying was off-base, though he was. They were both perfectly well aware why Wei Ying would expect the worst out of Lan Zhan. After all, he’d had to explain to Lan Huan in exquisite detail just how royally he’d fucked up with Wei Ying when Lan Huan found him drunk that night in August, legs dangling off the edge while he mashed his face into the metal railings, during that hellish summer after Wei Ying had gone for good and wouldn’t return any of his calls and Lan Zhan was so sad and sick of himself that he didn’t know how to contain all of it except by sitting outside with the bottle of Emperor’s Smile he’d intended to give to Wei Ying for no heavens-damned reason at all except because he’d wanted to and Wei Ying mentioned he liked it once and he just hadn’t had the chance to and…

And he’d hated Emperor’s Smile ever since, because he was drinking it when he’d realized.

“I—” Lan Zhan wasn’t often given to swearing, but he did release a vehement sigh. As upset he was on Wei Ying’s behalf—how much did it pain him to know it wasn’t some anonymous person who wanted it, but the man who’d hurt him so badly that he still harbored such anger over it—he regretted the loss all the same. He’d truly expected he’d succeed in this venture, was willing to be as generous as necessary to make it worth the owner’s while to give up such a precious location, the only useful method at his disposal, the only way he could convey how much he valued it. But there was no way… he wouldn’t do this to Wei Ying, too, no matter how certain he was that Lotus Pier was where he needed to be. “That’s it then. I’ll… I’ll find another space that will work just as well. It will be fine.”

All thoughts of discussing the situation as it related to Meng Yao fled from his mind. This explained Wei Ying’s ire much better anyway. But he still needed to confirm that at least in this he wasn’t misunderstanding anything.

“You and Meng Yao?” he asked, fearing the answer.

The corner of his brother’s mouth twitched. “Wei Ying might have… he’s been trying to help Meng Yao confess is what Meng Yao told me. He may have confessed for Meng Yao.” Hesitantly, “Neither of us needed to worry about Meng Yao or Wei Ying having feelings for one another.”

Lan Zhan leaned back, realizing only now just how badly he’d needed to hear that, even though in his heart he already knew just from what his brother had already said.

Which only left the rest.

It shouldn’t have shattered him so deeply to lose a space that was never his to begin with, but now he couldn’t help but wonder why it was this space that spoke to him so eloquently. Was it simply because it was that good? Or was it because he could somehow feel Wei Ying’s influence in it and that was what he’d needed all along to feel whole again, to feel as though he could create as freely as he used to?

Everything from the scribbled labels on the various pastries to the quaint blackboard hung overhead spoke to Wei Ying’s touched now that he knew what he’d looked at.

Thinking of it that way, it wasn’t really the space he was chasing, was it?

Regardless, it no longer mattered. Lan Zhan would take nothing from Wei Ying except that which Wei Ying offered, even if that was only his painfully earned disdain.

Like all the worst fools, he had been unable to save himself from his own folly and, again, the people he cared about were hurt.

“You’ve been searching for so long,” Lan Huan said, thoughtful and melancholic on his behalf. Lan Zhan could hear the pain in Lan Huan’s voice, the pain he carried on Lan Zhan’s behalf. Over the years, he’d become an indirect victim of Lan Zhan’s foolishness. “Are you certain? We could…”

And Lan Zhan could see what he was considering without him saying it. If only it was that easy. “More money won’t solve this problem. It’s my own fault anyway. It was ridiculous to think a new studio would fix this.”

“Perhaps…”

Lan Zhan’s gaze snapped to Lan Huan’s face. The troubled quality of his expression worried Lan Zhan. He didn’t need to speak to know what Lan Huan was thinking now. It wouldn’t be the first time he thought it, but Lan Zhan refuses to be drawn into an argument. “No. I will not burden Wei Ying that way.”

Lan Huan sighed. “Take some time to consider at least. I’ve never seen you… it isn’t a bad deal you’re offering them. They’d be able to start a new shop somewhere else. According to Meng Yao, it’s not even an ideal location for such a shop. You wouldn’t be doing them a disservice.”

“No.”

“A-Zhan, you’re allowed to want things for yourself. You’ve worked so hard in your career…”

Maybe that was true, but he knew what happened when he wanted things too deeply. His desires destroyed that which he held most dear and he refused to go down that again. His career was nothing compared to ensuring Wei Ying kept that which he’d built and strove for. However, he could placate his brother in one regard. “I will consider it.”

If that consideration only took a moment of his time and his answer was the same, it was still not a lie.

“Boss, why don’t you take a break?” Wen Yuan said, not unkindly, his eyes and smile warm. Wei Ying was certain that boy didn’t have a single mean bone in his body. “You haven’t even taken a breath for the last twenty minutes.”

Wei Ying startled and glanced at the clock. It was past nine already. How did that happen? He bit back a yawn and scolded himself mentally. He should be used to early shifts by now; he took so many of them.

Sometimes, rarely, he missed working in a restaurant proper. At least the hours were more reasonable for a natural night owl such as himself. Of course, working in restaurants put him into direct contact with assholes like Wen Chao and working in restaurants got him into trouble with assholes like Wen Chao, but this early in the day, that might have been a worthwhile trade.

He scrutinized Wen Yuan closely, taking in his exuberant features and clear, bright gaze. It was too bad he was forced to waste his early morning energy on work when he should be studying instead or playing in a park or just enjoying his life. Whatever it was precious babies like Wen Yuan did with their days. What did Wei Ying know about that? He spent his late teens and early twenties winding purloining liquor on school nights and staying up too late. Which, if he was being honest, wasn’t so different from now.

“It’s not so busy right now,” Wen Yuan pointed out, goading. It was the first time in hours that there wasn’t a customer at the counter and Wei Ying hadn’t even really realized it, existing on autopilot, little more than an organic coffee dispensing… pod… person than someone with his own personality and preferences.

“The way you talk, maybe you should be the boss around here, eh?” And didn’t that sound nice? Wen Yuan would make a good manager in time, though he didn’t want to saddle Wen Yuan with even more responsibilities. Besides, Jiang Cheng would just accuse him of shirking if he tried. “Fine, fine, but when I come back, it’s your turn. No complaints.”

Wen Yuan lifted his fingers in a salute. “No complaints.”

Smiling, Wei Ying gave into the urge to ruffle Wen Yuan’s hair. “So grown up and conscientious. I could have learned a thing or two from you when I was your age.”

Of course, when he was only a little older than Wen Yuan, he had his own good influence and look how well that went. Wei Ying just couldn’t learn a lesson; it seemed he would always be just a little too chaotic for some people.

You’re turning maudlin in your old age, Wei Ying.

As he stepped out the back door and leaned against the wall, the alley cramped around him unless he looked up at the sky, which he did for a few moments as he caught those breaths Wen Yuan had accused him of holding. Then he yanked his crappy backup phone from his pocket and checked his impressions and stats, slow to load on the crappy wi-fi signal out here. His recent videos have been doing okay, but not good enough to win a competition and certainly not the one he’d cobbled together after he’d left his phone behind at Meng Yao’s because he hadn’t considered the possibility of needing a backup plan for this week’s posts. There wasn’t that much more time to fuck around about it either. The results would be decided after next week.

Wen Chao was now neck and neck with him, posting multiple times per day, and since he was the only other food vlogger in the competition, it only annoyed him that much more.

He’d had a lot of time to kill on the train ride back from Suzhou and most of it had been spent fuming about Lan Zhan. He probably should have spent that time pondering what to do about Meng Yao instead. It would have been the responsible thing to do. Or coming up with a backup plan.

Of course, the desire to reach out to Meng Yao was, hmm, he was pretty sure he’d rather walk across a floor full of Lego bricks than actually drag his carcass back to the scene of the crime. Metaphorically speaking. He wasn’t actually planning on visiting Suzhou or even the entirety of Suzhou for the rest of forever seemed like a perfectly serviceable length of time. Who cared about Suzhou anyway? The food wasn’t even that good there, too sweet and delicate for Wei Ying’s sensibilities. He had no reason to want to go there.

Wei Ying just needed some time to figure it all out. Burning that bridge had… not been thought through. It wasn’t Meng Yao’s fault that he was doing what Lan Zhan wanted and it wasn’t Lan Huan’s fault that Lan Zhan wanted what he wanted. Meng Yao was maybe a bit aggressive, but honestly it wouldn’t have been the first time someone in the world had tried to make an aggressive purchase on behalf of a client. Being a little persistent wasn’t a crime.

He couldn’t even blame them for not telling him because what business was that of his? He wasn’t even interested in the business side of things. If he wanted to scapegoat someone for that, he might as well go after Jiang Cheng. Shouldn’t he have known or tried to find out?

Either way, Jiang Cheng could have told him that something was up.

But no, even that felt like a thin excuse. This was on him. There was no pinning the blame elsewhere.

Whatever the case, he needed to fix this situation with his vlog. Even though it was the most serious thing in his life, the thing he dedicated the most time to, he was still managing to fumble it now. Not only was all of his footage still at Meng Yao’s condo, he was fairly certain that Meng Yao would tell him to fuck off with abandon if he tried to use it. And Wei Ying couldn’t blame him for that either.

He’d been a massive asshole about the whole thing.

Nobody in the world would want an admission of feelings that came out sounding like that, not even Lan Huan, who was the most understanding human on the planet.

At least he was certain their feelings were mutual, especially when Lan Zhan didn’t deny it. But still. If it was Wei Ying in Meng Yao’s position, someone would be paying and it would probably involve holding Meng Yao’s cell phone hostage forever or handing it back over, but only once all that footage had been deleted.

He had to write that footage off as entirely lost. Doing anything else would be irresponsible. The phone, well, who cared about the phone? He could walk down the street and get another one.

Chewing on his lip, he contemplated what he could do in this situation. Nothing came to mind, but as he scrolled through his competition’s various feeds, he realized that they, unlike him, weren’t in the process of having their life fall apart around them while participating in the competition.

Or if they were, they covered it better.

Wei Ying blew out a frustrated, pent-up breath, undoing all of the good work Wen Yuan would have wanted him to do. He shouldn’t have relied so heavily on Meng Yao for the content he wanted, but wouldn’t it have been great if he could’ve focused entirely on finding something else instead of pulling enough shots of espresso that he’d probably dream about it when he went to bed.

He still had his fans, at least, who were doing their best, but even some of them were questioning Wei Ying’s work ethic as he scrolled through the feed. Mostly kindly, of course, their comments supportive and with concern for his well-being, which was sweet enough to momentarily lodge a lump in his throat. The boost he felt from that support faded quickly though. It always did. He was guided by something deeper than words read from a screen.

But still. It was really sweet. He appreciated them. Even if it was a little patronizing, too.

There was one thing he could do, the one thing he’d always avoided doing in the past simply because he wanted to enjoy what he was doing and not deal with any of the lingering issues that would come along with putting his own name out there.

It wasn’t just his desire for artificial mystery, a gimmick to set him apart, fun as it was, that kept him from showing his face. It wasn’t even that he wished to rebuild something for himself free of ancient baggage.

It was just easier to be Yiling for others, take that place and turn it into something good, than it was to be Wei Ying for them.

He already didn’t particularly like being Wei Ying a lot of the time. Posing as Yiling was a welcome respite, allowing him to make people happy without anything else to blight it. It felt pure in a way that so little else in his life felt pure.

But he knew a lot of people who enjoyed the mystery would also be tempted by a reveal, as disappointing as it might end up being for them once it was done. Who was Wei Ying to most people really? Nobody who still knew his name from before would be paying attention to a silly vlog like his. Wen Chao was something of an issue, he supposed, but anything that pissed him off was a net good in Wei Ying’s opinion; he’d long ago pulled the trigger on him anyway, nothing else he did or threatened could actually hurt him.

It wasn’t so difficult to make the decision. Rather it was, but… but there would be compensations at the end of it and it would be better if he didn’t have to worry about this, too, once it was entirely his own ass on the line with Lotus Pier.

He just had to do it. Like pulling a bandage from a wound that no longer needed to be hidden from the world. The protection would be useless soon anyway.

Though his post lacked preparation, he figured he made up for it by being particularly snappy. Even the graphic he pulled together with a minute of his time managed to look mysterious and cool, black text on a deep red background.

Who is Yiling?

Watching it load on his feed felt a little like taking a step off the edge of a cliff. Free fall might actually have been less exhilarating and terrifying. The sudden flood of comments was enough to make him believe that, well, if nothing else went right, at least he should get the boost in traffic that he needed to actually give him a shot going forward.

Or he might be criticized like last time, like every time, because it seemed that no matter what he did as himself, it was never quite right.

The fact that he was basically scorching the earth with such a reveal only truly hit him once he stepped back into Lotus Pier and looked around the stock room, mostly clean, mostly full. Every object was familiar to him, every nick and ding on every shelf known, every scratch on the linoleum. It had been his home and comfort for so long, but he could feel its strictures now, too, the places where the binding bit into him uncomfortably.

There was no romance to be found here, no whimsy.

Working in a coffee shop was only ever meant to be his job at university.

What he’d intended, originally, way, way back, was only to provide the pastries if and when Uncle Jiang wanted them and to help out when necessary. He loved this place; it would always be a part of him and he’d wanted to continue that legacy for Uncle Jiang in this way, the way he’d be putting his interests to best use. Back then, jiejie was still around and Jiang Cheng was always underfoot, working with Madam Yu in the back, always bickering with one another, whenever she’d allow him to.

Obviously, life plans got altered along the way, and he didn’t feel like being anywhere near home or anything that made him happy. Even the fights with Jiang Cheng weren’t enough to bring him back for a long time. The handful of times jiejie tried to gently convince him to come home were even more excruciating.

So he’d gotten a sweet, glittering gig helping run a kitchen in Yiling, not so far that anyone could complain much, but far enough that he didn’t feel constricted, Wen Chao’s restaurant, in fact, known only as Yiling itself, as though it didn’t need anything else, as though it was the city itself, and it had been great for about five minutes until it wasn’t and then too many years later it all fell apart anyway, his reputation in tatters after so much time spent sucking it up and dragging his ass in and covering for shoddy behavior and shoddier business practices, undoing what damage he could when he could for as long as he could, after which he couldn’t find a fast food joint that wanted to take him, let alone a proper restaurant, because there was no loyalty to be had in Yiling, no matter that he’d held the place together with his own hands some nights, no matter that he dragged back awards for his work and might have one day gotten it a Michelin star or two.

One bad word from a member of the Wen family used to be enough to destroy a person. One bad word got you scrubbed from the record, every good deed wiped away until the only thing that was left was the knowledge that someone like Wen Chao could say that someone like Wei Ying lied about menus and ingredients and everything under the sun. The only reason he wasn’t dragged more publicly was because it would drag Yiling’s name through the mud, too, but what did that matter when the entire industry ran on gossip anyway? The people who needed to know knew and that was the important thing and Wei Ying would never, ever get a job in the industry again.

He shouldn’t have risked getting burned so thoroughly, sure, and he should have protected himself better, but when had he ever made the right decision in the heat of the moment? Especially that moment, when none of his decisions were very good?

And then he’d come home. And Uncle Jiang had welcomed him fully into the fold and for a long time, that was great, too. He did the work he loved and Jiang Cheng was learning to manage the place at his side with Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu there always and it seemed easy to promise Jiang Fengmian that he would stay, of course he would stay, and one day it would be his and he would love it. Of course, of course he would love it. What other possibility was there, when things could be this good?

But Uncle Jiang wasn’t there anymore to smooth over the rougher edges and realities of the place.

He no longer made the pastries himself and he rarely had the time to create new menus, his favorite part of the whole venture, the thing he looked most forward to every three months when the seasons changed and he was inspired by the weather, the energy, the feel of time as it flowed naturally from one day to the next. Even that was mostly recycled from year to year.

Even so, he owed Uncle Jiang and he did love this place and he wouldn’t leave Jiang Cheng alone, but it just wasn’t the same as it used to be when he’d so desperately needed it to save him.

Unlike everything else in his life, it was still here. And despite how often Jiang Cheng could be bitter and angry and guilt-tripping about anything and everything for no reason at all, he stayed, too.

So, maybe he could sacrifice this one thing that his family didn’t really understand anyway. If he won, he’d still have that 100,000RMB that was promised; it would be no different than if he hadn’t screwed Meng Yao so royally.

If that meant the vlog would be entirely useless after this, so be it. He wouldn’t have time to take care of it soon anyway.

Still, a pang of regret stopped him as he stepped back into the front of the shop. It threatened to suffocate him and Wen Yuan threw him a look of concern as he took his place beside Wen Yuan once again.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Never better,” he said, a lie.

But it was a lie he’d have to live with.

It wouldn’t even be the first.

By the time Wen Yuan had to leave for classes, it was down to him and Jiang Cheng, who was twitching and muttering when he wasn’t splitting his time between the front and the back of the store, restless from the moment he’d walked through the door. Wei Ying could blame him; he hadn’t felt at his best in a long time either, but Wei Ying couldn’t figure out what was setting him off now.

Jiang Cheng had been frowning now for a good ten minutes, a sure sign that he was stewing about something, and Wei Ying just couldn’t bring himself to be fucked to lance the wound like he usually did. If Jiang Cheng wanted to be a baby, that was his business.

Besides, once he’d worked himself up enough, he’d make good on the threat all on his own. Wei Ying didn’t need to borrow trouble.

As though he’d somehow summoned the outburst merely by thinking about it, Jiang Cheng snapped suddenly, “Wei Ying, this is ridi—”

Before Wei Ying could make his own opinions known fully or even find out what in particular was so ridiculous, Jiang Cheng’s phone rang. It was good that only a few customers had chosen to remain in the store this late in the morning, within kissing distance of the afternoon. Neither of them were making a very good show of it and the fewer people who saw, the better. Jiang Cheng’s features immediately blanched, losing the pink, frustrated tint from before as he looked at the caller ID.

Wei Ying wasn’t surprised when Jiang Cheng said, “It’s mom…”

But he was surprised when Jiang Cheng hesitated to answer, staring down at it while the noise of it seemed to blare, filling the entire space, drawing the eyes of everyone in the place.

Wei Ying, pushing him gently toward the back, forgetting about the argument they’d been building toward, said, “Come on. It won’t be any easier not knowing.” He hid his own concerns behind a breezy tone of voice, drawing Jiang Cheng’s ire and making him focus, just as intended. Keeping his own resentment locked away, he continued, “I’ll be right out here,” when the last thing he wanted to do was man the store.

If he had his way, he’d be crowding in with Jiang Cheng, listening in as best he could, being there for Jiang Cheng because the news couldn’t be good if Madam Yu was calling already. Instead, all he could do was laze about the counter and pretend he wasn’t as anxious as he felt. Uncle Jiang had to recover. It was impossible to believe otherwise.

Of course, Uncle Jiang always used to implore them to attempt the impossible, so maybe Wei Ying was justified in taking a pessimistic outlook on it. Snorting. Wei Ying shook his head and tried to cheer himself with the morbid thought that at least he was taking Uncle Jiang’s teachings to heart.

When Jiang Cheng finally came back out, he looked like he’d aged ten years and Wei Ying nearly dropped his latest customer’s latte in shock. Red rimmed his eyes, though he must have blinked away the worst of the tears that were threatening to fall. Wei Ying’s throat seized up, awful thoughts crowding his mind until he was convinced that Uncle Jiang was already gone, when Wei Ying hadn’t even had time to go visit him to say goodbye…

“Sorry, sorry,” he murmured as he handed the drink over, hoping the shaking in his hands wasn’t too obvious.

“Dad’s not doing very well. Mom says—”

Wei Ying blew out a reflexive breath of relief at that, which Jiang Cheng boggled at, because it wasn’t good news, was it? But he wasn’t dead and that was the important thing. Everything else could be handled. Wei Ying could be—

Nausea churned inside of him. Wei Ying, who’d already formed half a plan to go and see him, realized that no, he couldn’t just up and leave, could he? He couldn’t go where he wanted, when he wanted, could he?

Grabbing Jiang Cheng by the shoulders, shaking him slightly to make him think beyond what his mother had told him—things Wei Ying had questions about, too, like how bad was bad and would Uncle Jiang recover and there were treatments for Uncle Jiang’s condition, why wasn’t he getting better, they’d only just transferred him to Shanghai, but shouldn’t that be a good thing—Wei Ying said, bile burning sour in the back of his throat, “Go. I’ll take care of things here.”

“We can shut it down early and go together,” Jiang Cheng insisted fiercely.

“And what then, Jiang Cheng? Try to leave Wen Yuan in charge instead tomorrow, the next day? It’s a ten hour drive and almost that long by train and who knows how long you’ll be there.” Even trying to catch a flight wouldn’t be much quicker at this point.

“You’ve been taking weekend trips to Suzhou,” Jiang Cheng pointed out. At least his cheeks were regaining that vigorously, angry red of theirs.

“Yeah,” Wei Ying answered, gritting his teeth, “and you’ve been here every time in case something happened because Uncle Jiang was down the street practically.” What a wild world this was that Wei Ying was being the responsible one. “I’ll come as soon as I figure out how to handle this.”

“Just—who cares if it’s closed for a few days? It’s dad.” Jiang Cheng insisted, but the way he said it suggested that even he knew this was childish. A lot of people would care: the kids who worked here, the electric company who’d want their bill to be paid, the customers who would complain on social media after being inconvenienced just once in their lives. They all cared a lot about whether the place was open or not.

Frankly, Wei Ying was a little surprised that Jiang Cheng was arguing with him about this. Maybe he just didn’t want to do this alone, but sometimes… sometimes everyone had to do things they didn’t want to do.

Wei Ying didn’t point out that sometimes he didn’t even like thinking of Wei Ying as family, which would have certainly gotten him out the door without Wei Ying in tow, that he preferred it when Wei Ying kept his distance from Uncle Jiang and would rather him be more Jiang Cheng’s brother than anything to do with Uncle Jiang at all, territorial about him in ways that Wei Ying could never understand and didn’t dare poke at. A family’s love wasn’t a finite resource and though sometimes Wei Ying felt awkward about it, he knew that Jiang Fengmian loved his son very much and nothing Wei Ying did or did not do could alter that fundamental fact.

Wei Ying loved Uncle Jiang; he loved jiejie; he loved A-Ling; and he even sometimes didn’t hate jiejie’s husband. His relationship with Madam Yu might have been strained, but he’d do anything for her, too. None of that changed what he felt for Jiang Cheng. He knew it was the same for Uncle Jiang even if he wasn’t good at showing it.

Perhaps Jiang Cheng would never understand this and would never understand that you could love people and still not be able to do as you wished just for them, but Wei Ying had never been able to explain it in the past either. He doubted that would suddenly change and decided to focus on the salient point: “He’s going to be okay, Jiang Cheng. I’ll take care of things here.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, a little relieved maybe, giving up the fight more quickly than usual. It must be nice to have the hard decision away from him, just hand it over to Wei Ying like that.

“I should…” Jiang Cheng said, a little shaky, as though uncertain what to do. Jiang Cheng of all people: uncertain.

“You should go,” Wei Ying replied, squeezing Jiang Cheng’s shoulders. “Drive safely if that’s what you’re going to do.” Probably Jiang Cheng shouldn’t drive, but he couldn’t think of another convenient option that wouldn’t require a pain in the ass combination of trains, buses, and taxis either.

That was more Wei Ying’s department anyway. “Will you let Madam Yu know I’ll call tonight if you talk to her before closing? And pass along my well wishes?”

Jiang Cheng’s jaw clenched, but he nodded. He found a little of his fight again when he added, “Consider closing early anyway? You kind of look like hell, you know?”

He didn’t know the half of it. “You’re just jealous that I’m cuter than you even when I look like shit.”

Jiang Cheng barked out a harsh laugh, but he left with his mood slightly improved, which was about the only win that Wei Ying could hope to expect.

Without Jiang Cheng to assuage, he had a harder time convincing himself that everything would actually be okay, but for Uncle Jiang, he would try.

Meanwhile, it was going to be another very long afternoon, but that was nothing new.

Wei Ying dragged himself through the lunch rush, the afternoon rush, and most of the evening rush without committing murder, which was just about the only thing he could hope to accomplish with his day. He hadn’t eaten or stepped away from the counter for more than a few minutes at a time and even then it was only to clean the equipment while keeping a wary eye on the door. If he looked away even once, he was sure he’d have another mob on his hands.

Still, the minutes managed to drag until they felt like hours and each hour felt like a day all on its own and by the time it neared closing, Wei Ying was certain there was no worse hell on Earth than this.

He told himself repeatedly that Madam Yu would call him if anything truly bad had happened, but he couldn’t stop himself from seeing Jiang Cheng’s frantic expression in his mind’s eye every time he finally convinced himself he was overreacting.

His worry carried him through the triple shot his latest customer requested, a harried looking straggler who was looking for the opportunity to find fault with him. She seemed like the type.

He must have been taking a little too long, because there they were: the words he loved so very much spoken in that very particular tone he loved best suddenly falling from her mouth.

“Where’s the manager?” she asked, disdainful, as he placed her drink on the counter. It was exactly as hot as it should have been, but she sniffed when she placed her knuckles across the back of cup to test the temperature. “The service here has been atrocious lately. Shouldn’t you have more people working?”

Wei Ying pulled a grin that made the woman take a step back and narrow her eyes slightly. She recovered quickly, but Wei Ying was very happy when he got to tell her, “Lady, the manager today is me. If you’ve got a problem, I’ll be sure to take it under advisement.”

At any other time, he might have tried to be more kind, but he couldn’t bring himself to care and he suspected that Jiang Cheng wouldn’t care either even if she came back and screamed his ear off when he came back.

“Please let me know if there’s a problem with the quality of your drink. Have a good evening.”

Though she huffed a little more, she went peaceably enough now that she knew she wouldn’t be able to scare him into submission, and her eyes widened in surprised pleasure when she took a sip as she turned away, so at least she couldn’t complain on that front.

It certainly wasn’t the worst encounter he’d had in his life.

That was about to be reserved for the next customer who stepped into his line.

“Just a moment,” he said, without lifting his head as he briefly swiped a towel over the counter and then briefly fiddled with the espresso machine. Though his voice managed to sound reasonable, he could admit to himself that he needed a moment to compose himself for fear of screaming or kicking childishly at the cupboards. At least this one was quiet, didn’t even move really, as they waited. When he was finally fortified and couldn’t put it off any longer, he lifted his head and said, “Thank you for your…”

Lan Zhan.

“Wei Ying.”

For once, Wei Ying actually wasn’t trying to be inflammatory. It just—kind of happened? But he was at the end of his rope and words just spilled from his lips and unlike his default state of being, he didn’t actually want them to. “Oh, fuck off. Not you. I cannot deal with you right now.”

His mouth fell open as he realized what he said, surprising even himself. He would have shoved the words back behind his teeth if he could have; tonight, he was sick of himself and sick of everyone else, too. He didn’t want to say any of the shit that came into his head, not even to Lan Zhan. He just wanted quiet and five minutes of peace.

Lan Zhan looked started in turn, fully embracing a fruitful future playing a deer in headlights.

“I… sorry.” And then his mouth was running away from him all on its own again. “So are you just… I don’t know… here to rub it in my face or did you think to yourself, ‘Oh, I could just murder a coffee. Why don’t I punish Wei Ying for that impulse by coming to his shop?’”

Lan Zhan just blinked. A wall would have given up more to him.

“What are you even here for? A surprise inspection? Didn’t your brother tell you already? It’s not enough that you come to Yunmeng even though you have no business being here now, but you have to come here specifically because you hate me, too? How did I get so lucky?”

Lan Zhan blinked again.

Well, shit. That was a little much, hewed a little too close to the bone. A hit to center mass might have less effectively ended him.

But though every urge told him to cringe, he chose to stand tall and straightened his spine. He’d stand by his words. He couldn’t even ask Lan Zhan to stop wasting his time because, for once in this wretched day, there wasn’t actually anyone behind him.

How much worse could he make it anyway, really, if he tried to backtrack now? Let Lan Zhan deal with it.

“No,” Lan Zhan finally said, which figured. Why should Lan Zhan deal with anything when he could brute force his way through it all with sheer, pig-headed stubbornness? “Are you all right?”

Wei Ying choked on a laugh. So he truly was this pathetic now, huh? How embarrassing this all was. Lan Zhan didn’t even have the good grace to look embarrassed, too. Instead he looked earnest and… and concerned. Fuck him. He wasn’t allowed to be earnest or concerned. How bad did it have to be that he’d even feel the need to bother?

It used to be that Wei Ying could quirk an eyebrow and manage to get a little pink around the ears for his trouble, now Lan Zhan could just blank-face him into submission? That wasn’t fair.

Well. Well. Maybe he couldn’t embarrass Lan Zhan these days, couldn’t just shoo him out of the door and out of his life for good since shit like this kept happening. As such, he should have laughed Lan Zhan’s painfully earnest and equally painfully confusing concern away, show himself to be somewhat accommodating while hoping to get Lan Zhan out of here as quickly as possible. It would’ve been the more responsible thing to do.

Wei Ying was tired of being responsible.

All he wanted to do was lick his wounds in peace.

“Do you really think you have the right to ask me that?” he asked. “What good does asking me that do? Will you feel better if I tell you the truth? If the next words out of your mouth aren’t a drink order, I’m going to ask you to leave. I hope it doesn’t require a diagram to explain exactly why you’re the last person on this planet I want to see right now, but I’ll draw you one if I have to.”

As far as Wei Ying could recall, this was the rudest he’d ever been to anyone in his entire life who wasn’t named Jiang Cheng who hadn’t actually done anything this time to deserve it. And this was the love of his life he was doing it to, not some random customer who might have deserved it. As much as Wei Ying might be hurting, he really wasn’t a vindictive person. Except apparently he was. And even though he felt he didn’t really know Lan Zhan anymore, hadn’t known him since that last foolish day with him back at university and probably long before that if truth be told, he saw the sharp spike of pain in Lan Zhan’s eyes, quickly smothered as he nodded.

His words had struck true for Lan Zhan, too, and somehow it only made him feel worse, made him want to take them back because he wasn’t sure he truly believed he could do it. Lan Zhan was not built to look so sad and Wei Ying had made it his goal for so long just to make Lan Zhan happy that it still felt like a betrayal now to do anything else.

But Lan Zhan continued to stand his ground and slipped his hand into his pocket, ensuring that his eyes never rose above the counter as he did so, as though he feared what he would see on Wei Ying’s face, which was good for Wei Ying ultimately. He feared what was showing on his own face right now, too.

His phone was placed on the counter and slid toward him with one slim, beautiful finger.

“You left it at Meng Yao’s home,” Lan Zhan explained, as though Wei Ying wasn’t already aware. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to bring it sooner. I’ve had rehearsals and…”

Snatching it up, Wei Ying breathed out in relief when none of the few notifications on it was urgent. He was so relieved that he didn’t even really hear what Lan Zhan was saying in explanation.

With that handled, he could wonder why Lan Zhan had it at all.

Then Lan Zhan pulled a bag from his shoulder and held that out to him, too. His gear and jacket.

Wei Ying frowned, heart throbbing as the only reasonable answer finally came to mind. “Please tell me you didn’t go to Meng Yao’s place to ensure I wasn’t playing homewrecker. Lan Zhan, I swear—”

He had no idea what he would do if that was the case, but he was certain that his heart would be unable to take it. It was already broken beyond repair and he already knew what Lan Zhan thought of him, but…

But he couldn’t hear it again. Not here and now when he didn’t know how Uncle Jiang was and he was so tired that he could barely think straight and—

And Lan Zhan wasn’t answering him, which was as good as confessing…

Then.

“I did not,” Lan Zhan said suddenly, firm and cool, adamant, like Wei Ying had picked the wrong line to cross finally. “Think what you want of me, but not that.”

Oh, God.

Wei Ying slumped forward and brushed his hand over his forehead, shuddering in relief and unable to care that he surely looked completely insane. But Lan Zhan didn’t lie. He’d never lied, though sometimes Wei Ying might have wished he’d pull his punches some. If he said he didn’t, then he didn’t and Wei Ying didn’t have to confront his fears that Lan Zhan still thought he was capable of playing with people that way. He braced his hand against the counter and lifted his head again.

“I didn’t mean to offend you by bringing this here,” Lan Zhan continued.

Wei Ying didn’t have the words to explain that his problem wasn’t offense. He was too sick at heart to be offended.

He also didn’t want to think about this any longer. There wasn’t enough room for him to consider this and Uncle Jiang and everything else going on. Something had to take a back seat and it had to be Lan Zhan.

But there was one thing he might be able to answer for Wei Ying that wouldn’t be too terrible even if Lan Zhan did decide to ream him out for it. At least in this, he would deserve it, but something had to give. “How is your brother?”

A strange expression crossed Lan Zhan’s face, complicated and uncertain. He didn’t speak again for a moment, and Wei Ying couldn’t decide how much of a bad thing that was. “Despite some distress over…” Another complicated expression. Wei Ying waved him off from explaining it in words. He already knew. “Despite that, he seems happier than I’ve seen him in a long time.”

“They worked it out?”

Nothing for a stretch of time so long Wei Ying almost jumped the counter and shook Lan Zhan by his lapels. Fucking finally, Lan Zhan said, “I believe so.”

“I’m glad.” Wei Ying slumped again. “At least one thing went right,” he muttered, except loudly enough for Lan Zhan to hear, which only complicated that expression on Lan Zhan’s face further. Wei Ying was certain he’d break something soon if he wasn’t careful. Wei Ying hadn’t seen quite that intense a look from Lan Zhan in years.

“Wei Ying, what have you been doing?”

The way he asked it, Wei Ying was certain he didn’t mean this incident in particular, though that was the only version of the question he could answer concretely. For anything else, Wei Ying didn’t know how to explain in any way that would be remotely satisfactory.

“I’ve always just been right here, Lan Zhan, doing this.” He shrugged. Fucking things up as usual. “What else is there?”

Lan Zhan said nothing, seeming to ponder this for a moment, then offered the last words he expected to ever hear from Lan Zhan: “Wei Ying, I’m sorry to have disturbed you again.”

And then he was slipping quietly out the door.

There was no victory in this apology.

For this, it wasn’t even Lan Zhan who needed to apologize.

Wei Ying was just finished cleaning up and closing down for the night when he was finally able to make the call he’d been dreading ever since Jiang Cheng left, and not only because it would require him to speak with Madam Yu. His desire to know was greater than his desire to avoid it any longer though, so as soon as he was done, most of the lights shut off, he sat down at one of the tables and made it, heart tripping in his chest as the phone rang and rang.

“Wei Ying,” Madam Yu said sharply once she picked up. “It’s about time you called.”

“I know,” he answered, unable to work up righteous anger at the unfairness of her tone. This wasn’t the time to fight and he could definitely hear an unfamiliar wavering note in her voice that usually wasn’t there. “How is he?”

“He’s settling in at the hospital,” she said, still no-nonsense. It was almost comforting, the way she spoke so nonchalantly now, far better than a moment ago, as though all she needed was a direction to go off into. “It’s a little more comfortable here for him, but he already misses Yunmeng.”

She said this as though it boggled her mind, but then again, Yunmeng had never quite been the home to her that it was to the rest of them. It was the one way she was more like jiejie than she was like Jiang Cheng. As much as jiejie loved home, too, she’d settled perfectly well in Lanling with her husband and didn’t seem to need Yunmeng like the rest of them did.

“Is he awake?” Wei Ying asked.

“No, but—” There was a strange sound over the phone as Madam Yu adjusted her grip on it. “I’ll call you when he is, all right?”

Wei Ying blinked back tears. He’d never felt as isolated from the rest of them as he was right now. He didn’t even know that Uncle Jiang wasn’t awake unless someone there condescended to tell him. Shouldn’t he be there, too? Maybe Jiang Cheng had been right. “Jiang Cheng said it was bad.”

“Jiang Cheng is worried. It’s not good, and the transfer took a lot out of him, but he’s not dead yet. The doctors seem competent. They’d better be for how expensive it is.”

Wei Ying let out a shaky breath and leaned back, hooking his arm around the chair and resting his temple on his fist as he tried to gather his thoughts. “Madam Yu—”

“We’ll manage,” she snapped, as though she knew exactly what he was about to say.

“Please don’t coddle me.”

She barked a laugh. “When have I ever done that in my life? It will be tough. That shop is a burden to us that I don’t want and I’m pretty sure I’ve talked him around. If you want it, it’ll be yours.”

“But the cost…”

“Wei Ying, I’m not going to tell you what to do here and I’m not going to go against my husband’s wishes no matter how much I might want to. If you want it, it’s yours and we’ll figure it out. If you think for even a second that you might want anything else in life instead—” She paused, expectant. “—then I suggest you think long and hard about taking this on. Your uncle wouldn’t want me to say this to you, but he’s in no position to complain about it. Do you understand?”

Madam Yu’s words were harsh, yet fair, and Wei Ying couldn’t blame her for giving voice to them.

“What about Jiang Cheng?” Wei Ying asked. He was as much involved in the business as Wei Ying was even if he refused to participate in most of its daily workings.

“Jiang Cheng? He’s wanted to move onto something else for years.”

Wei Ying’s stomach plummeted at her words. “Since wh—” But she already answered that question, didn’t she? He’d wanted to move on for years?! “Why didn’t he say anything?” Why didn’t Wei Ying know? Shouldn’t he have been able to guess something as big as that? Jiang Cheng didn’t know how to keep a secret anyway. This shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Had he missed something? Was he missing something this whole time?

He was not often given to feelings of resentment, but right now…

“Perhaps that’s a question you should ask him.”

“I will,” Wei Ying promised, telling himself in the back of his mind that he wasn’t going to fixate on this, not when he couldn’t do anything about it because this wasn’t a conversation a person could have over the phone.

But. Just as soon as he got back? Yeah.

Wei Ying was ready when Jiang Cheng made his way back to Lotus Pier. It was just before closing three days later and Wei Ying was just shutting everything down for the night. Again. Always. Forever.

This wasn’t unusual the last few days. Though he mostly took the early shift for the kids, he’d decided to pull doubles to cover, knowing eventually it had to end and he could go back to… planning for the vlog.

Jiang Cheng looked like hell as he unlocked and pushed open the front door, so Wei Ying didn’t immediately lay into him. It was the least he could do, even though all he wanted to do was shout at Jiang Cheng for his foolishness.

He had no reason to feel guilty and yet he couldn’t help but wonder how right Madam Yu was, whether Wei Ying had only managed to hold Jiang Cheng back this whole time or if maybe she was the one exaggerating this time.

Though he’d already cleaned the machine, he started pulling a shot of espresso even before Jiang Cheng could reach the counter.

He was sick of coffee, sick of the smell of it, sick of the heat and steam and sound of it, sick of tamping finely ground coffee into little pucks until it became something people actually wanted to drink.

“Wei Ying,” he said, voice rough with exhaustion, a little reprimanding as Wei Ying slammed the cup of espresso on the counter. It splashed over onto the sparkling surface and Wei Ying would have to clean it up, but so what. So. What.

If Wei Ying could have waited until another time, he would have, but it had already been days and every day that he didn’t get this resolved was another day that he was waiting for the bomb that his life turned into to blow up. He was tired of every small explosion and thinking that would be the last of it surely, except it never was. Better to just pull this final pin with his own hands. At least then it would be on his terms.

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying answered, sweet and agreeable, drawing Jiang Cheng’s gaze, suspicious. “I have a question for you.”

Jiang Cheng swiped up the cup and breathed in the steam, focused entirely on it rather than Wei Ying. “Oh, heavens. Not right now please. I’ve had enough from—”

“Yes, now.” Wei Ying pushed himself up onto the counter and swung his legs around, forcing Jiang Cheng away, the tiny cup held protectively in the curve of his palm. “Your mother told me you were tired of Lotus Pier.”

The sudden hunted look in Jiang Cheng’s eye was enough to confirm the worst of it. Swinging forward, he punched Jiang Cheng in the shoulder, heedless of the espresso in his hand, viciously happy when some of it spilled across the hem of his sleeve.

“Why didn’t you fucking say anything. How stupid are you?”

Jiang Cheng’s voice pitched sky high when he felt guilty about something. Now it jettisoned itself into outer space when he replied. “I was going to!”

Wei Ying pushed himself down off the counter and right into Jiang Cheng’s face. “When, Jiang Cheng?! How many years from now until you pushed me away out of resentment for holding on too hard to something you didn’t want?”

Jiang Cheng’s lips thinned and his cheeks went pink. His voice was more along its normal tenor, the shouting quality very familiar, when he answered. “However many it took for you to stop doting on the place!”

Wei Ying blinked. Jiang Cheng blinked. Jiang Cheng’s voice didn’t actually reverberate off the walls, but it still managed to shake Wei Ying’s foundations. Nobody even breathed. Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes and took a delicate, pointed sip of the espresso. Wei Ying probably should have commemorated this moment as the first and only time Jiang Cheng took the high road on anything, but he just felt lost, unsure. Not a single lodestone in his life had ever been true, had it? They were all just misunderstandings Wei Ying kept having with the world.

“What?” Wei Ying asked. Confused didn’t begin to cover what he was feeling. Doting? He’d liked it here sure and he’d loved helping his family and it was nice not having to think about trying to find another job when Wen Chao was a fucking bastard, but…

“I know I can be an…” Jiang Cheng tipped his head a few times in illustration of a point that didn’t need to be articulated. He could be an asshole. They both knew it. Maybe this explained why he’d grown sharper as the years passed. Anybody would hate feeling so obligated. “But we promised we’d take care of this place, didn’t we?”

Never in all of his years would Wei Ying have imagined the possibility that it was only a promise that held Jiang Cheng here.

Jiang Cheng lifted his chin. “I wasn’t going to be the first to throw in the towel.”

And there Jiang Cheng was, competitive until the end, racing ahead of even Wei Ying to secure his own unhappiness.

His burden was not gone, but it was lifted just a little bit. He chose to believe it was lifted because he wouldn’t let himself be held down by someone else not telling him everything. He wouldn’t let himself think that this meant Jiang Cheng hadn’t wanted to stay either. Light, deceptively, he said, “You’re a good actor, Jiang Cheng. I thought for sure you would be furious if we ever let it go.”

Jiang Cheng turned his head away, eyes downcast. “I didn’t want to influence you or dad when I brought that first offer to him, but I—I was hoping one of you would go for it. We can still make it work if that’s what you want. I know it’s important to you. It’s important to me, too, but…”

But the truth was it sucked. It sucked running such a small place that could not go anywhere in the long run. Jiang Cheng was meant to run a restaurant, not this small place, and Wei Ying wanted… he wanted to be the guy who made desserts for a coffee shop, for Uncle Jiang’s coffee shop, for Jiang Cheng’s coffee shop if that was what he wanted. He didn’t want to own a coffee shop himself. He sure as hell didn’t want to make the coffee and he didn’t want to be in any sort of managerial position over one even if he wasn’t the guy stuck pulling shots for others.

Back when Uncle Jiang was in charge, this place had seemed like magic, but even his priorities had changed and Wei Ying hadn’t seen any of it.

The thought of going back to another kitchen that wasn’t his own hurt, but holding the rest of his family back hurt even more. “What would you do if you could do anything you’d like?”

“I… don’t know.” He scrubbed the back of his head. “But I didn’t go to school for this. I used to think we’d expand, but…”

But that never happened either.

“Jiang Cheng,” he said, sick to his stomach at the thought of giving it up, but exhilarated by the thought anyway. “Jia—”

Jiang Cheng’s phone rang, loud and shrill. They both startled, both thought the same exact thing, but then Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes again, breaking the tension. They’d laid cards on the table and Jiang Cheng hadn’t disappeared yet. Maybe he didn’t have to disappear even if things changed. Wei Ying could hope. “What do I say? The guy’s been hounding me for days now, but I wasn’t going to deal with him while I was in Shanghai.”

So, it was probably Meng Yao.

If they did this, Wei Ying wouldn’t have to throw his vlog away. If he had to get another job, so what? He might have time to…

He’d figure out a way to work around the post he’d already made.

As bittersweet as it was, he was relieved to let it go. He wasn’t happy exactly, not with himself or with anyone else, but it was one less thing to worry about, one less fight he’d have to have in a life that had been nothing but fights.

It shouldn’t be that hard to avoid this part of town. It hadn’t ever been his favorite anyway and Lan Zhan never went anywhere. Maybe it wouldn’t be that hard to avoid him.

Wei Ying cleared his throat and brushed his hands over his eyes. “Let Lan Zhan have it. He’ll take care of the place, I think.”

It was the only thing he could do that might make Lan Zhan happy and it was certain that Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu wouldn’t have to worry and both of those things were worthwhile.

Decision made, Wei Ying felt lighter than he had in a long time.

“Lan Zhan? Wait. That guy—the guy you…?” Jiang Cheng’s hand tightened into a fist around the phone. “He’s the one who’s been trying to buy it?”

Wei Ying nodded. Another question definitively answered. Not that he hadn’t already known, but it was nice to have confirmation.

“I should have—fuck. Are you sure? Wei Ying, he broke your—”

“Shut up. I don’t want to hear it.” The phone stopped ringing and then started up one more time. “Take the fucking call. Let him… let him have it.”

Jiang Cheng nodded and picked up the call, pacing around and winding his way to back of the store as Meng Yao talked Jiang Cheng’s ear off. Wei Ying strained to hear even a portion of the one-sided conversation, Jiang Cheng holding him at arm’s length the whole time. For a long, stretched, serious moment, Jiang Cheng didn’t say anything, sitting finally at his desk, hooking his fingers beneath his laptop’s closed lid.

It was maybe twenty seconds in total. It felt like hours as Wei Ying waited in the doorway.

Then Jiang Cheng was leaning forward: “You’re fucking kidding me. Don’t play coy. I know it’s Lan Zhan were talking about. When did he get cold feet?” Meng Yao must have said something because Jiang Cheng shut up for a second or two. “Oh, it’s not? What the fuck else would you call it?”

Climbing to his feet again, Jiang Cheng glared at Wei Ying and waved his hand to stop him from following him around as he stomped out again. “You all but sucked my dick on his behalf to get this place. What the hell happened?” Another pause, and he had to shove Wei Ying out of his way in the stock room now that Wei Ying was practically plastered to his back, fingers wrinkling his dress shirt as he tried even harder to hear what was going on. “This is Wei Ying’s fault now?!”

“What? Jiang Cheng, I didn’t do—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jiang Cheng whispered, hand covering the screen for the duration of a moment. “No, you don’t understand. He can’t just suddenly give a shit about the consequences after all the trouble you’ve caused us on his behalf. If he wants it, it’s his.” Jiang Cheng elbowed Wei Ying, trying to push him away, but Wei Ying wasn’t going anywhere. Why? When? What? “Yeah, I know you’ve been trying to tell me since last week. I got the missed calls. I was kind of busy this weekend. You can tell Lan Zhan he’s a—that fucker hung up on me.”

He turned, wide eyed, and stared at Wei Ying, helpless, hopeless until anger flared to life in his eyes again. “Meng Yao said Lan Zhan doesn’t want to go through with the sale any longer.”

“What?! Why?”

“He said that Lan Zhan didn’t want to hurt you,” he replied, pissed, dubious. “Whatever that means. Seems a little fucking late for that.”

Wei Ying’s heart clenched. Of all the times for Lan Zhan to… to what? Give a shit? Was that what he was doing? It didn’t feel like it. “But he really wanted it,” Wei Ying said, feeling small and foolish. It wouldn’t have changed anything before, but right now… right now it was a blow. To think that Lan Zhan gave any weight to whether his actions affected Wei Ying was…

It was something. It was too much. It wasn’t possible.

He supposed this was what he deserved after everything he’d thrown at Lan Zhan in their last few encounters. He’d clearly found out more from Meng Yao than that his brother didn’t have competition on the romance front. It was probably just a kindness that he’d given Meng Yao that explanation to give to Jiang Cheng. Surely he just didn’t want to have anything to do with a place that could only ever remind him of Wei Ying. How could he still want such a thing with so much baggage attached? Wei Ying couldn’t blame him in the slightest. And Wei Ying had told him to fuck off on the thought of ever getting this place. How was it Lan Zhan’s fault that he took those words to heart?

Wei Ying found an empty stretch of wall and slid to the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees. “Jiang Cheng, I think this is my fault.”

But there was no cleaning it up this time, no fixing it. He really would have to follow through on his plan and he’d have to do it alone because he wasn’t going to hold Jiang Cheng to anything. The only safe way forward would be to hold nobody to anything. It would feel a whole hell of a lot safer than this at any rate.

The truth, the real sick, unhappy fact of it was this: once Wei Ying realized what he could have had and what he no longer wanted, it was nearly impossible for him to believe that he’d never figured out the truth.

He never wanted the coffee shop at all, not if it was his. He loved what he did with his vlog and he loved baking. He did not want to run shit; he didn’t want to be in charge of anything. Since he didn’t have time to bake for Lotus Pier, it wasn’t at all what he wanted to do. How could he not know that?

The only thing he ever wanted outside of that was for the people around him to be happy and now he couldn’t even manage that, not with Lotus Pier and not without it.

In that light, giving up what did make him happy felt like fair recompense. Moreover, he could save whatever small piece of security he could eke out for Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu and neither Jiang Cheng nor jiejie would have to be dragged into it. When he reveals who he is, he’ll get a whole shitload of attention, but it’ll flame out again, and he’ll only be left with Wen Chao to harass him, hardly a prize worth considering, but just about what he’d deserve.

But he’d own Lotus Pier and wouldn’t be able to be blacklisted from it. He’d have to contend again with foodies and critics, the sort of assholes who’d burned him before, bought and paid for by Wen Chao to slander him, when all he wanted to do was make delicious, unexpected things, and maybe help others find the fulfillment he lacked in his own life, but fine. If this had to be the price, so be it.

He will miss the vlog.

But he can at least create one last splash with it.

He sent out a notification that there’d be a live stream the following day. This time, the graphic was a great deal more thought out, though still in the same vein as the first one, a full commitment, rather than a backing away from one.

It took a bit of time to get everything set up to his satisfaction. In the past, he rarely used his own home as a space in which to film, though he’d ensured his kitchen was up to snuff at the very least. He wanted something a little bit better for this, but this was what he could manage. Making sure everything in his space looked as good as it could, his kitchen sparkling and immaculate, perfectly lit, he thought it might pass muster.

“Who is Yiling?” he asked himself, a little mocking, as he checked the settings on all of his equipment one last time. His life might have been a mess behind the scenes and this might have been the work of a desperate man, but he didn’t have to act like it for a crowd.

He began close to the way he did for most of his shoots in the kitchen. Usually, there were a lot more close ups of his hands, of the counters, of everything other than his face. That wouldn’t work for this one though and he wanted his viewers to know it, though he did still set up a couple of secondary cameras that would capture those shots. He wouldn’t need him, but he wanted to be thorough anyway.

His nerves worked themselves into a frenzy. The last time he did a live stream in his home like this was in the early days, when he first started back with Lotus Pier, all exuberance and unrefined enthusiasm, happy to chatter away at a screen and hope that everyone watching enjoyed themselves even if they pestered him constantly back then to show his face.

How things had changed.

He placed the requisite, signature scarf over his mouth and counted down the moments until he’d have to say goodbye to his anonymity, the vlog, everything he cared about. There was already a respectable number of people in the chat room waiting, speculating, getting it all wrong.

His eyes scanned his set up one last time to ensure he had everything ready and—

“Good evening, everyone!” he said, cheerful, and not a single person watching would be able to tell that he was nervous. In moments like these, it was like a switch flipped inside of him. No matter how he felt on the inside, he could project to the world a confident, charming exterior. With one final reminder to himself that this was for the best, that Uncle Jiang’s health and recovery was worth it, he smiled beneath the scarf and began prepping the matcha chiffon batter that would be seeing him through the rest of this broadcast.

“I bet I know why you’re all here,” he said, teasing, relieved, too, that nobody would be able to tell what turmoil he was going through. “But first, we’re going to talk a bit about matcha chiffon cake.”

A flurry of undignified comments burst across the chat window, cutesy-angry emojis and exclamations blurring together. All in good fun, of course, but Wei Ying still laughed lightly in self-deprecating amusement. “This is a baking vlog!” he insisted, teasing. “Why wouldn’t we talk about cake? Okay, okay, I’ll make it quick. We’ll work and talk at the same time, eh? I’m sure you all know how to follow recipes by now.” Really, he knew why they were here; they didn’t care about this. It was just something for him to do with his hands in the meantime.

This time, the response was much more positive. “I see where your loyalties lie!” He laughed again, though he was certain he was going to be sick instead. “You just want gossip!”

The number of watchers crept up and up as he killed a few moments bullshitting about the cake. Good. Once he was satisfied, he let himself dive in.

“So, I don’t think we’ve really discussed over the years how and why I started this vlog, though it might be obvious enough in retrospect. It was originally—and remains—a love letter to food and to people when I was feeling very little love for either.” He swallowed around a lump in his throat. “If you knew me in real life—and maybe some of you do, I don’t know, but you will soon, very, very soon, are you excited?—you would understand how strange these words are for me to say, because I’ve always loved food and I’ve always loved people.”

His eyes cut away for the briefest flicker of a second as he gathered up his thoughts. He’d rehearsed this speech for hours and there was even a little note card taped to the corner of his tripod just in case he forgot what he was saying as he filmed on his real camera, the best thing he owned, the one he so rarely used because it was too good, too clunky, required too much work and an extra pair of hands when he was out and about. He should have used it anyway.

“Those things, they haven’t always loved me back. And that’s okay, right? These things happen to everyone. We all have bad times of it sometimes.”

He had to stop again and drew in a deep breath. Though others sometimes believed he wore his entire heart on his sleeve, it wasn’t always true, and he felt more exposed despite the scarf than ever before. “The point is, I was at a low point in my life. Had been at a low point, when the thought of anyone knowing who I was… was daunting, an impossible obstacle. I didn’t want to be known, but I still wanted to work and wanted to put smiles on people's faces and that was how I came up with this.” He gestured at himself and tugged lightly at the scarf, too lightly to do more than tease everybody. They played their part well as another excited flurry of messages crossed the screen.

Now that he was talking, it was difficult to stop or slow down. “As long as I kept myself out of the equation, I thought, I could be happy. And the funny thing is: I was. Am. I am happy. There’s something very pure about doing something knowing no one will know it’s you who’s done it, of doing something for the simple sake of it.

“I suppose it’s selfish, too, and I should have acknowledged that. If I cannot be praised for my actions, then I also cannot be blamed. That was a nice perk, too, now that I think about it, not being blamed.

“Some of you, especially if you are very into food and happened to have spent time in Yiling and are old enough, may know who I am. But if you don’t and you’re curious, there’s a very big internet out there and you’ll probably be able to figure out exactly why I might have wanted to conduct myself this way if you search hard enough. Some of you may still fault me for that. I can’t apologize to you for it, because of all the many things in my life I may have been sorry for, this isn’t one of them, but I do believe it’s time that I give you all this one thing.”

He thought of his original intentions for this week’s set of videos and stifled the urge to frown. That wouldn’t make a very good first impression, would it, once he pulled the scarf off? “There was one last thing I was hoping to do before making this announcement, and for that I will apologize, but it just didn’t work out the way I wanted it to. Over the last week or so, you haven’t gotten my best and I will always regret that.”

When he grabbed the scarf this time, it was not meant in jest, and he could no longer feign light spirits. He’d practiced this, too, and pulled it smoothly from his face while taking a bow that would, for one last moment, delay the inevitable. His mop of curls could only obscure his features one final time.

“I’m sorry,” he said from that position, bolstering himself with a deep breath and a short countdown from three. Blinking, he forced the brightest smile onto his mouth that he could and rose. “My name is Wei Ying and it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. It’s my fault that I put off greeting you all in the way you deserve until the end and I suppose I’m sorry for that, too.”

Wei Ying allowed himself one moment to check the chat. There was little anger, some surprise, a lot of support, a few people who didn’t know why it was a big deal and a few who did and were busy explaining it to everyone else while others began hunting down his biography, no doubt finding details about the handful of years he’d worked in Wen Ruohan’s most prestigious restaurant before it all went up in flames around him. They were quicker than he expected. Most of it had been swept under a rug after all.

He grimaced as his phone went off, distracting him, but he couldn’t stop what he was doing, not now.

His loyal viewers would also find even older articles, the ones that called him a rising star in the industry, a bright, clear spot in the midst of older, stodgier competitors. Though he’d never intended to work in a restaurant proper, he’d been good at it and he had enjoyed it at first. Had enjoyed the accolades. Had enjoyed being better than the people around him.

If only one of those people hadn’t been Wen Chao, possibly the most insecure man on the planet, he might have gotten to keep that childish superiority for a little while longer.

His phone rang yet again, annoyingly persistent, but he was too caught up in what he was doing to pay it any mind.

They would just have to wait.

Now that the truth was out there, he didn’t feel relief, but he didn’t feel yet like he’d made the worst mistake of his life either. A lot of people were spending coins on messaging him directly in the chat, peppering him with questions that he found himself wanting to answer despite himself.

This was the first time he’d gotten to be so truthful with his audience. Before now, he’d always felt at his most genuine when he was out there delivering treats to random spots in nearby cities for lovers who wanted to be sweet to one another, but this? This wasn’t so bad either.

Most of the questions revolved around that time period which wasn’t covered in the articles, the time period his more experienced viewers were currently discussing where any and all could see, spouting rumors about the shadiness of the Wen restaurant group.

Wei Ying didn’t answer any of the questions pertaining specifically to the Wens. For his own piece of mind, he didn’t want to be the one to draw more attention to Wen Chao. If he was going to win this competition, it would be for what he was sacrificing and not because he’d slandered Wen Chao in the process. If he was going to face reprisals, it wasn’t going to be death by defamation lawsuit.

Someone going by the name of sw33tTooTh asked him if he’d ever been in love, if that was why his blog was the way it was, and bless that person because it immediately changed the tone of the chat. That question brought a fresh round of chatter, almost too quick to read in detail, and Wei Ying couldn’t help but smile a little as he thought the question over, earnest as it was.

It wasn’t all bad to be in love.

In the grand scheme of his relationship with Lan Zhan, it wasn’t even mostly bad. The number of good days with him far outnumbered the handful of truly awful ones.

“Are these the actions of someone who isn’t?” he asked rhetorically. “The truth is I never stopped.”

Saying these words versus those earlier ones, he did feel relief. It was good to acknowledge the truth to those who could listen without anything else to complicate it because there was history in that knowledge.

Though more questions flowed in, all of them focused on this revelation, because his were a romantic bunch of fans, of course, and they wanted to know more. Did his lover know how lucky they were, they asked. Did he make cakes and chocolates and sweet buns for them?

No and no, of course: never the former because how could anyone feel lucky to hold Wei Ying’s heart given what he’d done with it and no longer the latter, though he said nothing in response to those questions specifically, the ones that talked about his feelings as though they were reciprocated, acted upon in the presence. Lan Zhan wouldn’t want his privacy invaded that way, even if no one ever knew it was him. The questions about himself he answered, talking only about an imagined version of himself who could act on his feelings. Did he like to cook breakfast? Yes, of course. What did he look for in a partner? Ha, how would he know? It’d been so long since he had to look! But he supposed, maybe, he could admit that he prized simple elegance, the kind of elegance that came from within, grace which couldn’t be bought or sold.

His phone sang out constantly in the background, phone calls, messages, not letting up once during the entire rest of the broadcast. Luckily, no one mentioned it, which probably meant they couldn’t hear it, but he was still annoyed that this was the one time he hadn’t thought to put his phone on silent.

By the time he was ready to sign off some forty minutes and one matcha chiffon cake in the oven later, he’d more than beat his own record number of views and beat the records of the other vloggers in the competition. It might even have beat the number of views for the day across the whole platform for the day, but he wouldn’t be sure of that until later. Sheer numbers wouldn’t guarantee him a victory, but the votes of these people and anyone who watched the video later would.

For once, he felt like he’d done enough and there was relief to be had in that, too.

One last time, he lifted his fingers to form that so very customary heart shape. “From Yi—” He stopped. And he smiled. And he winked for good measure. “From Wei Ying, with love.”

His phone rang one last time and he didn’t even bother looking at the caller ID before flicking it into silent mode, shutting out the sound of anyone’s phone numbers except family. Just in case. He didn’t want to talk to anybody, he’d done enough talking, but he didn’t want to risk missing a call about Uncle Jiang.

He brushed his teeth and washed his face by rote, face planting in his bed at the end of it.

It was over.

He was done.

Upon waking, his every instinct was to avoid his phone at all cost for fear of what he would find there, but he’d slept the night through, not waking up once, the best sleep he’d had in a while, and so he didn’t follow through with the impulse and instead picked it up, shocked by the sheer number of notifications he found there. A cursory scan told him that they were positive, shows of support from his friends, even friends he hadn’t seen in a long time, and he was overcome suddenly with a wave of relief that nearly staggered him that he hadn’t angered anyone. Before he could go through all of them, lounging in bed to enjoy a leisurely morning, he was caught by surprised by the handful of messages from Wen Yuan from earlier this morning. They were pleas for help except for the oldest, which congratulated him on his live stream, but, uh, maybe he’d be able to come in possibly, because, uh…? Well. Well.

Wei Ying knew the signs of a hellish shift even when he could only see the words in black and white. Of course he’d come in to assist, getting ready in record time before shooting off a quick message to Wen Yuan to let him know he wouldn’t have to be alone much longer.

He was halfway out the door and fighting with a cardigan when Jiang Cheng rounded the end of the hallway, already shouting. “What in the ever-loving fuck did you do? And why weren’t you answering your phone? Wen Yuan thought you died.”

Wei Ying very much doubted that; he stowed his phone and immediately forgot about it because how could there be room for anything else when Jiang Cheng was glaring at him like that and Wen Yuan was apparently concerned enough about handling his shift to message him? The rest of his notifications would have to wait.

“Ha. You wish. No, I just had my phone on do not disturb. Why didn’t you call? It would’ve let you through. Could’ve cleared this up without you dragging yourself halfway across town just for me.”

Jiang Cheng’s glare turned suspicious. “How would you know if your phone was on do not disturb?”

Wei Ying rolled his eyes, feeling a wave of affection for his surly, stubborn brother.

“Not everyone just silences their phone and calls it good, Jiang Cheng. You can do this thing with these fancy new doohickeys that sets your phone to do not disturb, but still lets you have calls and messages from important contacts. I’m just sorry I didn’t think to have it set so Wen Yuan could get through.”

“Whatever. It’s fine. It’s being handled.” Jiang Cheng gestured sharply toward the entrance to the building and cleared his throat. “I saw what you did,” His voice was hard and brittle, angry, but perhaps not at Wei Ying for once. There was a grudging respect buried in that anger that Wei Ying wasn’t sure what to do with.

Better to ignore that which he didn’t understand and just answer the question Jiang Cheng couldn’t bring himself to ask. He shrugged and followed Jiang Cheng down the stairs. At least he wouldn’t have to feel guilty about making Wen Yuan wait for him to catch the bus or walk to the shop. “It was the only thing I had left in my back pocket that might tip the balance of the competition in my favor.”

Jiang Cheng assessed him as they stepped outside. “Did it?”

“It can’t have hurt,” Wei Ying admitted, “but I don’t know for sure yet.”

In the bright light of morning, clear and far too early for his comfort even with all that sleep, it seemed maybe like it was a reactionary response to the whole thing, especially when he couldn’t give Jiang Cheng a better answer than this. Jiang Cheng seemed to know it, too, slapping Wei Ying across the back of the head before pushing Wei Ying toward his SUV. Still, he was glad to have finally done something concrete. He’ll find out soon enough if it was the wrong thing, but there was relief to be had in crossing one option off the list. It simplified things the way a forest fire simplified things.

“Idiot. And what are you going to do if Wen Chao starts harassing you again?”

Slipping into the SUV, Wei Ying pulled the seat belt across his chest and grinned crookedly at Jiang Cheng as he settled in the driver’s seat. “I never knew you were such an optimist.”

“I’m gonna kick his ass if he shows up.” He frowned as he pulled into traffic. “Anyway, you’ve got bigger concerns today than torching your vlog because you’ve always got to martyr yourself.”

“Uncle Jiang needs more money than either of us have and as you’re so very weirdly not blaming me for messing up the sale, someone has to pick up the slack. If I can get that prize money, then it’ll help, right? That’s more important than the vlog.”

Jiang Cheng snorted and shook his head. “I guess. I’m telling you though: if I’d known from the start it was Lan Zhan who wanted the place, I never would have given Meng Yao the time of day, good deal or not. I should’ve known something was up when that guy was so cagey about his identity.” His gaze slanted Wei Ying’s way. “Wouldn’t have helped stop you from making these sort of dumb ass maneuvers, I guess.” Then he punched Wei Ying in the arm. “I would’ve tried to help, you asshole. I know I haven’t always understood what you’re doing, but I know you love it.”

Yeah, Wei Ying absolutely wasn’t going to make Jiang Cheng help and they absolutely weren’t going to talk about this now, but it was sweet of him to say both of those things. “Can you blame him for being cagey?”

“Yes! Absolutely. He managed to break your heart, didn’t he? I didn’t even know that was possible. I’ll blame him for whatever I want to blame him for.” His hands tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles paling until Wei Ying worried he’d crack the skin across the back of his hand open. “Who the hell does he think he is? And then taking it back when it got inconvenient for him? He’s a fucking asshole is what he is.”

“Hey!” Wei Ying slapped Jiang Cheng’s arm. “Only I can call him that.”

“Oh, please. I’ll call him worse if I want to. You can’t stop me.”

“I’ll stop you!” Wei Ying wailed theatrically, even though he was reluctantly touched, too. They’d never really talked about this and Wei Ying still didn’t really know how much Jiang Cheng knew about the particulars. He’d only told the whole of it to jiejie and even then they only talked about it once, which was one more time than he could really stomach. But Jiang Cheng was smart and mistrustful and had a whole lot to go on from the times Wei Ying did whine to him about how Lan Zhan wasn’t paying enough attention to him or whatever, before there ever actually was an issue; there was a lot he might have picked up on his own over the years. After a long stretch of silence, Wei Ying cleared his throat. “But thank you. That… means a lot to me.”

“I’m gonna break every bone in both his legs,” Jiang Cheng said, determined and very far away, apparently fantasizing about causing Lan Zhan bodily harm.

“If you really want to inconvenience him, you’ll break his hands,” Wei Ying said, dry, knowing perfectly well that Jiang Cheng was ninety-five percent bark and wouldn’t ever actually follow through on his threats.

Jiang Cheng swore under his breath. “What a bastard.” Jiang Cheng’s gaze cut sideways. “And you! Wen Yuan’s gonna break your legs when we get to the shop. You could’ve warned him.”

“Warned him about what?”

“The fans coming out of the woodwork for you. It’s been Yiling this, Yiling that all morning. I’ve been busting my ass trying to keep everything in order and even Wen Yuan can’t keep up with it. They’re all waiting for you, god help them.”

“I…” Maybe he should have known something like this would happen, but in truth, he hadn’t even thought about it. Why hadn’t he thought about it? Then again, when did he ever think about anything? “I didn’t think anyone cared that much.”

“Well, Wen Yuan’s neck deep in disappointed stalkers. You’d better put on a good show, huh?” He swallowed and narrowed his eyes, focusing again on the road. They were maybe five minutes away and Wei Ying got the feeling that Jiang Cheng didn’t really want to go back there. “That friend of yours, Nie Huaisang? He might’ve convinced his brother to come help out, too.”

Wei Ying choked on air. “Nie Mingjue?! Help out with what?!”

“Scaring the shit out of everybody?! I don’t know! I didn’t even know Nie Huaisang had a brother until this morning.”

Wei Ying almost laughed at the despairing expression on Jiang Cheng’s face. He wasn’t used to meeting people more intimidating than him and it was clearly awkward for him. Well, Wei Ying wasn’t going to give up Nie Mingjue’s secret: which was he doted on his little brother even though he pretended the opposite, probably ninety-seven percent bark in truth. The rest of that three percent though? Wow. “What’s Huaisang doing here anyway?”

“He saw your little stunt and told us you’d need an intervention to keep from being eaten alive. Frankly, that guy’s smarter than he lets on.”

“Mn,” Wei Ying agreed. “He’ll sneak up on you like that. But was calling in Nie Mingjue really necessary? It can’t be that bad.”

“It is that bad and we’re probably going to run out of basically everything because of you. I’ve spent the morning trying to—you always pick the worst times to make a move on anything, do you know that?”

Oh, yes. Intimately. “Look, you’ve got me now. I’ll fix it.” He still wasn’t sure what he was in for, but he had an idea or two about how to handle it anyway. It couldn’t be all that much different than an unexpectedly busy night at a restaurant, right? Wei Ying had dealt with that a million times in the past. “Do you think it’ll…?”

Jiang Cheng shook his head before Wei Ying could finish the question. “It won’t hurt, but it’s not exactly sustainable, is it?”

Funny how it won’t hurt seemed to be the only answer either of them could give the other at this point.

So he’d be back at square one again, holding the bag on a shop that managed to get by, but only just. It was no different than how things were before, really, but somehow Wei Ying found it intolerable now. The shop really was a cage he couldn’t escape. If it was just him, he’d have managed, sucked it up, but now he knew Jiang Cheng didn’t want it either and was too competitive to not go down with the ship, too.

Jiang Cheng deserved a chance to do what he wanted. “Jiang Cheng,” he said, earnest, as they pulled onto the street where the shop was located. The sidewalk was choked with people. Jiang Cheng had possibly, for the first time in his life, undersold how bad it was. He sure sounded good when he swallowed and lied through his damned teeth, though. “Jiang Cheng, I can handle this.”

“What?”

“I’ll handle it,” Wei Ying said. “This is going to be mine, isn’t it? I should be the one to deal with—”

“Oh, no you don’t. You’re not fucking martyring yourself again.” He showed a wellspring of foresight this morning apparently, because he’d apparently blocked off a section of the curb to allow him to pull in and drop Wei Ying off. Shoving him out the door, he added, “Look, we’ll figure this out, okay? Just make sure Wen Yuan doesn’t have a heart attack in there.”

“I’ll…” Wei Ying nodded, girding himself. He already knew Lan Zhan wouldn’t budge, but he could at least try. “I’ll see if I can talk to Lan Zhan later. I won’t let you get stuck with this.”

“Yeah, whatever. Fucking Lan Zhan, sure. Fine. I’ll see you later and then we’re going to talk about you letting shit go.” Jiang Cheng glanced at the crowd from the slightly lowered window of his SUV, his expression leery and skeptical from over the top of the dark glass leery. Then he pointed at Wei Ying, a furious expression on his face. “Don’t get mauled to death while I’m not here to avenge you.”

If asked point blank, Wei Ying would absolutely lie and say he wasn’t intimidated by the number of people who’d showed up, but he could smile and pretend with the best of them as long as no one called him on it. As Jiang Cheng sped off, Nie Huaisang slipped through a crowd of people and grinned at him, his phone lifted to film the crowd.

Nie Mingjue really was here, towering over everyone from his post by the door. His eyes were narrowed and there was his ever-present scowl on his mouth as his gaze followed Nie Huaisang’s progress through the crowd.

That same crowd noticed what Nie Huaisang was doing and moved to follow him, surging forward while Nie Huaisang ate it up.

“Hey,” Nie Mingjue called and, to Wei Ying’s morbid surprise, each and every person turned as one and stared at him, stilling as he just shook his head at them. He did not look at all smug about it, though Wei Ying was fairly certain that he should have been. It was impressive how that man was even more terrifying than Jiang Cheng when he got on a tear about something.

“Ah, Wei-xiong, look at what you’ve done.” He slapped his hand across Wei Ying’s shoulder, eyes shining. “If you would have told me, we could have made a real spectacle of it. What a masterstroke it could have been. It’s pretty nice as is, though, I must admit. Very much like you.”

It was strange to see Nie Huaisang react as though this was a boon, a good idea, the best idea even. When there weren’t at least a hundred people huddled together here wanting to see him, he’d have to ask Nie Huaisang what he was thinking.

Wow, way too many people.

If only they knew what a disappointment he was in real life. They’d maybe rethink this impulse of theirs. The hushed intensity of their regard crawled up the back of his neck, making him really fucking nervous.

It wasn’t until he got closer to the shop that he realized the inside was filled to capacity, too. There were so many people that he couldn’t see Wen Yuan at all through the scattered rows of them.

“So, what do I do here?” Wei Ying asked, a plan already forming in his mind, but it never hurt to consult with someone and out of the two of them, Nie Huaisang had more experience with this sort of drama.

“Charm the hell out of them,” Nie Huaisang said. “They’re pretty well-behaved and my brother’s having the time of his life scaring them. Thanks for that, by the way. He was mad at me before I called him out here and now he’s forgotten what he’s even mad about. Force them to organize a bit more and you’ll be okay.”

Wei Ying nodded. Charm them. Make them organize. Not so different from his idea. He could do that. “Those were my thoughts.”

He clapped his hands and whistled sharply. What bits and pieces of chatter he could hear ceased immediately. Hushed, exuberant whispers replaced the noise, but Wei Ying could work with that as long as he completely ignored it. “Hey, everyone!” he called, waving to as many of them as he could manage. “Wow, look at all of you! Welcome, welcome. If we could maybe form an orderly line, that would be good, yeah? Let people without the good taste to stop here pass?” They laughed and nodded to one another as they began shuffling into a line. “Don’t worry too much about who got here first. I’m happy to make time for all of you!”

Wei Ying couldn’t help but scan the crowd, relieved that he couldn’t see a single Wen among them that wasn’t Wen Yuan. In fact, he was relieved that all he could see in each and every face was joy and pleasure even though not a single one of them was familiar to him.

It was odd, but… nice?

“I’m just going to step inside, but I’ll be check back with you, okay?”

There was a bit of disappointed muttering, but Nie Huaisang stepped in, asking for everyone to shout for the phone in his hand. Between Nie Huaisang keeping them entertained and Nie Mingjue keeping them in line, perhaps the cops wouldn’t be called on them today.

As consummately as Wen Yuan was comporting himself, only Wei Ying could see the strain on his face and the staggering relief when Wei Ying finally managed to get his attention from the entrance. Wei Ying couldn’t blame him. The crowd was large and Wen Yuan couldn’t just soothe them with coffee.

But Wei Ying could.

Whispers worked through the crowd as they realized who had finally arrived. “Hey, everyone!” he said as he worked his way forward to grab an apron as he stepped behind the counter. “Thank you for coming.”

He repeated his spiel for this crowd and managed rather quickly to get them in line, too. Even once the room was organized, he couldn’t help but feel for the numerous individuals despairing of going about their normal daily routine who had no idea what they’d walked into today.

“Who’s only here for coffee and have no idea what’s going on? Uncle Liu, I know you are. Please go stand by A-Yuan, please.” A few others exchanged glances and then followed Uncle Liu’s lead. “Anyone else? All right, good, good. The rest of you? Please line up behind the register I’m currently standing at and make sure everyone behind you is aware. Please let regular patrons through and allow them to take the register to my right. No need to hurry. I’ll meet each and every one of you, okay?”

They obeyed with ease, hardly complaining at all as they did the same shuffle the people outside had already done.

A lot of the individuals lined up in front of him were holding old magazines and printouts, things he hadn’t seen in years. Where the hell had they gotten them on such short notice?

He really did have fans. Actual, real life fans. It was beyond wild to him and he couldn’t think past that reality for a few moments as they all watched and recorded him. They knew who he was now and they apparently just did not care.

By now, the rumors would have led them to the truth as Wen Chao saw it: Wei Ying was an irresponsible chef and a bad worker, he stole recipes, he skimped on ingredients. That was why the Wen’s flagship restaurant in Yiling stagnated near the end of his tenure there. That was why there was a sudden spate of illnesses for customers and accidents in the kitchens that only seemed to clear up once Wei Ying was gone. It was all Wei Ying’s fault.

Gathering his thoughts, he stepped into the back and took a quick stock of their inventory. He could immediately see why Jiang Cheng was worried.

But they did have coffee. That was, he supposed, the most important thing. There was a small whiteboard hung on the wall that he scrubbed clean with the sleeve of his white shirt, heedless of the marks it left behind on it. Grabbing a marker, he quickly wrote down a revised, limited menu. Lattes, mochas, espresso, Americanos, flat whites, and macchiatos. He could do all of those things quickly and simply. Scanning the syrups, he added vanilla and honey to the list of optional syrups.

It would be a long day, but he thought maybe it would be alright in the end. One step at a time. He texted Nie Huaisang the plan and asked him to pass it along to the people outside.

“Okay, everyone!” he said, returning to the counter. “To allow everybody a chance, please only order from this menu.” He held it up in demonstration. “If you only want a picture or an autograph, that’s okay, too.” God, that sounded so arrogant, but what else where they here for? He could already see some of them were clutching their phones tightly to their chests. It had to be a safe assumption, right? Then again, he’d thought a lot of things were safe assumptions in his time and look how well those had gone. “If you’d like a pastry, please join Wen Yuan’s line after you’ve spoken with me. Deal?”

“Did you make the pastries?” a girl toward the back called.

“Not personally.” A range of disappointed sounds filtered through to him. “But they are my recipes.” Now, a few squeals of delight. Old recipes, he didn’t point out, disappointed in himself for that. To Wen Yuan, he muttered, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, boss,” Wen Yuan replied, smiling. “I’m just glad you’re here now.”

In a way, Wei Ying thought, he was, too. “Don’t call me boss just yet, huh?”

Wen Yuan’s smile softened slightly. “Okay.”

The best part of the day, Wei Ying would think in retrospect, was that Wen Chao didn’t show his smug, trouble-making face the entire time despite the fact that he must have found out what was happening here by now.

As far as such things went, he could easily count it as one of the better days he’d had here and at the end of it, he couldn’t help feeling a little misty-eyed at the thought that so many people had been touched by what he’d done, that it resonated with them. A lot of them wished him luck when they spoke to him, hoping he was happy with his loved one, whoever they were, and even that didn’t sting nearly as much as it could have when they meant so well. Everyone he spoke with was kind and a lot of them brought little trinkets and presents. A few were even past participants in the vlog, who came to thank him in person for what he’d done for them.

If he really was going to track down Lan Zhan, he’d need the luck they wished them, the strength they’d granted him with their kindness, their willingness to forgive his past transgressions simply because they saw what he actually did and not what others said he’d done. He knew exactly where Lan Zhan was of course. That wasn’t the issue. When he’d said he was here for rehearsals, it didn’t take much beyond a quick internet search to find out where and when and why. Actually managing to see him though? That would be tricky.

But he could hope, right? There was nothing wrong with hope. Before today, he wouldn’t have known to hope that anyone would care enough to support him like these people had done all through this morning and well into the afternoon, almost all the way to closing, in fact, and well past the time he might have wanted to slip away to throw himself at Lan Zhan’s mercy, but that was okay, too, because he’d been granted a reprieve here and he knew it and he was happy to redress this balance with people who only wanted to wish him well. Before today, he wouldn’t have known he needed those well-wishes at all.

Today, though, today, he knew a lot of things and none of them landed like brass-knuckled body blows; these things he knew today didn’t leave him feeling bruised by the experience.

Today, the world didn’t force him to flinch.

Once the last of his fans… fans? Guests? The people who wanted to see him anyway, the people he couldn’t quite actually acknowledge as fans yet, still in shock that they even existed at all, once those people sent on their way, Wei Ying finally glanced at the clock and blew out a satisfied, if exhausted and confused huff of air. In about an hour, Lan Zhan would be performing not more than a few kilometers away—so close, how could he be so close, all this time, the last few weeks even and Wei Ying wouldn’t have known at all if Lan Zhan hadn’t said that one little thing about rehearsals the last time they saw one another—at the fancy hotel that occasionally hosted concert events, but hadn’t ever hosted Lan Zhan before.

Admittedly, it was probably a good thing he hadn’t known earlier. If he’d learned about it any sooner, he might have had a stroke or done something even stupider. He’d already performed twice in Yunmeng, twice, and Wei Ying hadn’t even realized it.

Tonight was the third of four engagements. So few left.

Jiang Cheng came out front and coughed, catching Wei Ying as he stared at the clock. “Get the hell out of here. I’ll take care of closing up.”

“Do you even know how?” Wei Ying asked, mock suspicious.

Jiang Cheng socked him in the arm and cuffed him around the neck before shoving him out from behind the counter. “I know you’re gonna get your ass handed to you by security. I just want it done sooner rather than later. Try not to actually get arrested.”

“No promises.”

Wei Ying got as far as the door before Jiang Cheng was calling after him. “You know you can just want to see him, right? Not that I’ll ever understand why you want to see the prick ever again, but you don’t have to make up bullshit excuses for it.”

“Hey! My bullshit excuses are the only things I have left. And anyway, I don’t exactly have the right to want that, do I?”

“Fucking god, this is the most pathetic thing you’ve ever said in your life. Just get out of here. You’re embarrassing.”

Jiang Cheng probably wasn’t wrong on that point, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him.

He gave himself a sniff test and winced, knowing full well he wouldn’t be able to make it home or change and make it back in time to see him before he went on stage. If he tried to wait until afterward, he had no idea whether he’d even have a chance, whether he would be staying or going immediately back to Suzhou until the last one.

At least mostly he only smelled like coffee, which wasn’t so bad as far as scents went, though he worried that Lan Zhan would only notice the underlying sting of scorched milk, a far less enchanting aroma.

There were also multiple stains on his shirt, which also wasn’t terribly appropriate for a concert, but he was known for being shameless. It shouldn’t be too hard to withstand.

And then he was getting hit in the face with a clean shirt, one of Jiang Cheng’s, launched at him by Jiang Cheng and that powerful arm of his. He hadn’t even seen Jiang Cheng duck into the back to grab it. He didn’t even know Jiang Cheng had it.

“Thanks, Jiang Cheng.”

“Fuck off. And good luck, I guess.”

Once he was standing outside the glittering, sparkling venue, somehow nicer than he remembered it being, though he really didn’t come by it so often, he supposed, and was surrounded by the elegantly dressed older demographic and the sleekly dressed younger set as they filtered through the doors, united by a common appreciation for Lan Zhan’s skills, he realized that while he probably could have withstood standing around in a stained, wrinkled dress shirt, he was very, very glad he didn’t have to.

It shouldn’t have surprised him at all to see this many people here—it was the first time the great Hanguang-jun was performing in Yunmeng district specifically that Wei Ying knew of—but he was still a little surprised by the sheer number of people clogging the doorways.

How would he even make it through? And that said nothing of the security inside.

He supposed there was nothing for it: he would just have to line up. At the very least, it would give him some time to consider his approach.

There was a sign, of course, announcing that the concert was sold out. It would have been too easy otherwise to get past security.

As he slipped into the line, the people around him wrinkled their noses and looked him up and down. It was a rather chilling repeat of his experience at that stupid charity event.

What was it about Lans that attracted such snobs?

He kept his mouth shut, though. He’d need every bit of good will he would generate by not making a nuisance of himself for when he actually needed to make a nuisance of himself.

“Hey, I’m just as cultured as you all,” he muttered, unable to help himself entirely, but bless these rich, disinterested people; they just ignored him now that they could in good conscience know that he knew they were snubbing him.

Slowly, slowly the line crept forward. Security checked tickets and bags and generally behaved as one would expect them to, maybe a little more glacially cool than he was used to, but it wasn’t insurmountable.

At least not until he got close and the one whose line he’d chosen decided to glare at him like he knew Wei Ying was trouble.

“Ticket?” the guy asked with grim, evident joy at the thought that Wei Ying might not have one. Which he didn’t. But he didn’t have the right to assume.

“Ha. Funny story, but do you think you’d call Lan Zhan for me and let him know Wei Ying is here to see him? I promise you that this will be enough to get me through the door.” Whether it landed him directly into security’s office was another question entirely, but baby steps. He needed past these metal detectors and the other guards first.

This all by itself was finally enough to annoy one of the other attendees apparently, who raised his voice beyond what was strictly necessary. “Oh, come on! Who is so shameless as to speak of Hanguang-jun so familiarly? You’re wasting everyone’s time!”

But he knew that voice and as he spun around, the worst of his fears were confirmed. Wen fucking Chao. Wen Chao who was waving a very official looking badge around, all pale blues and sparkling, swirly lines, and smirking like he knew exactly what he was doing by doing that. It moved too quickly in Wei Ying’s field of vision for him to read what it said, but Wei Ying’s stomach twisted in concern.

How did he have a badge?

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here, Wei,” he said, snorting. That smirk curled itself into a belligerent smile, flashing his teeth. “Then again, you imploded rather prettily online, didn’t you? I was planning on paying your precious little Lotus Pier a visit while I’m here. Too bad I’ve been busy today.”

Wei Ying’s heart climbed his throat, but he didn’t dare suggest to Wen Chao that the thought of a visit from Wen Chao bothered him. “I certainly did not miss you, A-Chao,” he answered breezily, reaching out to pinch Wen Chao’s cheek, even though it was a struggle to keep his hand from trembling visibly.

Wen Chao ducked out of the way, but not before Wei Ying swiped hold of his badge instead. The lanyard snapped free and dangled from Wei Ying’s fingers as he finally got a chance to read it.

“Caterer?” He sniffed out a disdainful laugh. No fucking way. “You’re looking a little peaky tonight. Do you think you can meet Hanguang-jun’s exacting standards?” Wei Ying would never in a hundred years understand how the Wens managed to maintain such a reputation in the industry as would allow someone like Lan Zhan to hire them to do the catering for him. Well, not him personally. It probably was someone else doing the hiring, but they would be very cognizant of Lan Zhan’s reputation.

Of course, Wei Ying wasn’t even sure why a caterer would be needed for a concert, but it wasn’t like he was an expert in event planning. At least this probably explained why Wen Chao had been too busy to harass him earlier.

Perhaps he should thank Lan Zhan for the reprieve.

With the way Wen Chao choked and spluttered, he wasn’t far off the mark in suggesting Wen Chao was in over his head. Biting back his own smirk, he crossed his arms, conveniently tucking the badge away.

Now that there was something worthwhile to look at, the people around Wei Ying were far more interested in the drama than they had any business being. More than the average number of people probably recognized Wen Chao as a member of the ever so famous family of restaurateurs. This was that sort of crowd and that meant they could be curious.

Of course, Wen Chao was the laziest and stupidest of the bunch and the one with the least acumen, business or otherwise. Wei Ying wasn’t certain if Lan Zhan knew or cared about what a slight this truly was to him, but Wei Ying was affronted on his behalf anyway. As much as he hated all the Wens from the main branch of the family, he hated Wen Chao the most. He shouldn’t have been sent to handle this, whatever this entailed.

Wen Ning was great and so was Wen Qing and their cousin, Wen Yuan, but the rest of them? Damn them all.

He could only be here because his underlings fucked up somewhere along the way.

Oh, how sweet it was suddenly to see him floundering like this. Too bad it was at Lan Zhan’s expense.

And if the sweat gathering at his hairline was any indication, he’d been sent here by his father specifically. He only ever got that nervous when Wen Ruohan was involved. “Did you make daddy mad so—”

He had to admit: the attempt at a punch was a surprise, especially here and now, but Wei Ying’s reflexes weren’t so terrible. He was able to catch hold of his fist and twist him slightly before he could strike Wei Ying in the gut. In fact, he managed it so quickly that most of the room didn’t even notice it happening. The people who were close enough to see apparently didn’t want their entertainment ruined too quickly because none of them did more than suck in scandalized breath.

Maybe he shouldn’t have called Wen Ruohan daddy in that particular tone. Lesson learned.

Unfortunately, there was that damned security guard still and he was finally willing to step in now that he saw Wen Chao couldn’t even land a punch against a guy who looked scrawnier than he did.

“That’s enough of that,” that guard said, peeling Wei Ying away from Wen Chao, who was still going after him. “Hey, Lin Wu, get this guy to security!” he shouted to one of the other guards who wasn’t busy taking tickets and checking attendants. They were maybe a little occupied with keeping everyone from rushing forward to find out what happened now. “Sorry about that, Wen-xiansheng.”

“He threw the punch!” Wei Ying whispered harshly, for fear of shouting instead, even though he knew it was fruitless. He’d be damned if he took this degree of unfair treatment silently though. God, he was planning on annoying the guards, sure, but that didn’t include starting an altercation. “You all saw it.” The other guard, Lin Wu, hailed him out of the line and to the side. Swallowing his pride, he asked, “Honestly, is Lan Huan… or hell, Meng Yao? Is Meng Yao around somewhere?” If he was, Wei Ying would rather deal with him and unlike Lan Zhan the guard might actually be willing to bother him on Wei Ying’s behalf. If another punch got thrown, this time by Meng Yao, he’d take it as the price for having screwed Meng Yao so thoroughly. It wasn’t so bad to take punches he truly deserved. “Can you get one of them to clear things up? I know you’re just doing your job here, but please. It’s important.”

Wen Chao merely dusted himself off and smiled, waving at Wei Ying as he breezed through the checkpoint, the bastard. Lin Wu took the badge from Wei Ying’s hand and gave it back to Wen Chao as he passed, grabbing him by the arm to tug him away. God. Wen Chao was going to fuck it up and none of them cared.

“They are here, right?” Wei Ying asked, ignoring Wen Chao as best he could. Bigger fish at the moment. Someone had to arrange tonight. “Or his manager?” Wei Ying didn’t even know who that was, but he’d be able to help smooth things over. Wei Ying was willing to give it a shot with him, too. “Ow, buddy. You really need to ease up on that hold you’ve got on me. Look, I know—”

Wei Ying cut himself off.

Luck, or some mutated version of it, was with him, because here was Meng Yao now, perfectly pressed and approaching from a far corner of the wide lobby beyond the checkpoint at the entrance. He looked sterner even than Wei Ying remembered and it was only now that he considered the possibility that Meng Yao wouldn’t want to help him.

“What’s going on here?” he asked anyway, pleasant enough.

Wei Ying kept his mouth shut and crossed his fingers behind his back that the security guard would hang himself.

“This man caused a disruption when Wen-xiansheng was trying to come in,” he said.

Please, please, please, Wei Ying thought. You know how these people can be.

Meng Yao’s gaze, keen, shifted to Wen Chao, who was still watching, gleeful, all the way up until Meng Yao gestured him over with a tiny flick of his hand.

“Meng-xiansheng, I was just returning to the kitchens when this man accosted me,” was the first thing he said once he was close enough.

“Is that so?” Meng Yao asked of the guard.

“I… believe so,” Lin Wu answered, hesitant, gripping Wei Ying’s arm harder.

Wei Ying gave him a hesitant smile and lifted his hands as though to ward off the worst of what Meng Yao probably wanted to dish out at the moment. “I know I’m probably the last person you want to see at the moment, but I’m sure if you review the footage, you’ll—”

Meng Yao ignored him, focusing all of his attention on Wen Chao and Lin Wu again. “That’s so interesting because I happened to be watching the whole time and it looked very much as though Wei-xiansheng was blocking a punch from the much esteemed culinary wonder who assured us that he could perform actual miracles tonight. But that’s impossible. Neither Lan Huan nor Lan Zhan would hire a person who was capable of such violence. We might very well have to lodge a complaint with the appropriate governmental body if it was so.”

“Meng Yao,” Wen Chao hissed. “I don’t know who you think this guy is, but he’s nobody worth bothering with. He had a contract with my father’s restaurant in Yiling—my restaurant—and he skipped out like it was nothing.” Eyes flashing with anger, he added, “Wei Ying is nothing. He’s worse than useless.”

Meng Yao smiled and folded his hands in front of him. “Perhaps.”

“Hey!” Wei Ying said.

Meng Yao’s smile widened, but his attention remained entirely on Wen Chao. “But you’re the one who turned the kitchen into a madhouse and then attempted to assault a guest of Lan Zhan’s so… I’m afraid my hands are tied.”

Wei Ying opened his mouth. A guest? Since when? Meng Yao’s eyes flashed in warning, but Wen Chao’s idiocy only extended so far apparently. “He doesn’t even have a pass.”

“That isn’t your business, is it?” Meng Yao pointed toward the side of the room he’d originally come from. “Lin-xiansheng is going to accompany you to the office I’ve been using over there and when I come back, we’ll settle this without Lan Huan’s interference.”

“I—” Wen Chao said.

“I’m sure you don’t want that, right?” Before Wen Chao could answer, he was already turning toward Wei Ying, gesturing for him to come with him. The man could be scary when he wanted to be, Wei Ying would concede that much. His smile seemed to hide everything.

He might actually be a good match for Lan Huan and not just in the sarcastic manner Wei Ying had said they would be. That man was too generous with others, too trusting. He needed people around him who were more sensible of the real world, the kind of person who would look Wen Chao in the face and keep that smile fixed in place and then send him to time out.

“What are you doing here?” Meng Yao asked once they were out of earshot.

“Lan Zhan doesn’t want Lotus Pier anymore.”

Meng Yao’s step faltered and his brow furrowed. “I am aware. Is that not what you wanted? A-Huan and I were under the impression…”

“It’s complicated and boring to go into.” Wei Ying waved his hands through the air as though to entirely clear it. “But I wanted Lan Zhan to know that it’s his if he wants it. I just want him to know that. That’s all. I won’t bother him otherwise, but I have to tell him personally. He has to see me when I tell him that.”

Meng Yao looked dubious on that score and Wei Ying couldn’t really blame him. Lan Zhan could be notoriously intractable about things, no matter how persuasive the argument. And now he’d assume only the worst about Wei Ying’s intentions, that he was doing this because he was backed into a corner, which he was, of course, but that was not the entire truth and that was why he had to see Lan Zhan, not just try to relay a message or go through a third party. Lan Zhan could be brutal in his own way and would deprive himself of the things he wanted on principle alone. Only Wei Ying had a chance of breaking through that impulse.

“Can we—would it be possible to discuss this later?” Meng Yao asked, voice showing just the slightest hint of strain. “Tonight is…”

It wasn’t a no and that was more than Wei Ying had any right to hope for. And anyway, Meng Yao’s helpless gesture back in the direction where Lin Wu had taken Wen Chao spoke multitudes.

“How did he end up getting hired anyway?” Wei Ying couldn’t help but ask.

“I feel as though you might already know,” Meng Yao said, a little sly, saying everything while saying nothing at all.

It was true though. It didn’t take a genius to understand the lengths Wen Ruohan would go to accomplish what he wanted. Yunmeng wasn’t quite his usual territory, but Wei Ying could see him thinking it was a good opportunity to expand his credentials a bit, yet another feather in a cap which didn’t deserve it. Elsewhere, Wen Ruohan and his family had a stranglehold on all sorts of events like this in addition to the restaurant scene. The actual specifics, in that case, didn’t really matter much.

Wei Ying bit back a smile. Just based on Meng Yao’s expression, he was guessing that the one place Wen Ruohan might not manage to reach after tonight was Suzhou.

“Lan Zhan is going to flip when he finds out,” Wei Ying pointed out.

Meng Yao threw a look his way and frowned. “Thankfully, he is indisposed at the moment.”

“And there’s really no way that I can speak to him?”

“You should know he doesn’t like to see anyone before his performances.”

There was a time when Wei Ying was different, when he wasn’t just anyone whom Lan Zhan might want to avoid. It shouldn’t have hurt to be so relegated and yet it still struck him as a hard blow to the chest. Just one more thing about his relationship with Lan Zhan that had to hurt, he supposed, and yet he found himself welcoming it this time around. If it hurt, that proved it still meant something.

At least Wei Ying was still here despite the hurt. That meant something, too.

And Meng Yao hadn’t walked him right out of the building for his part in that stupid little scene Wen Chao made. Even though he wasn’t the instigator, he did help contribute to it and everybody knew that there was nothing worse in certain circles than making a scene. Wei Ying had to believe that also meant something.

They were, maybe, nothing really to one another now, but that didn’t stop the tug of dread in Wei Ying’s heart at the thought of Lan Zhan’s event being marred by the likes of Wen Chao.

And Wei Ying had been kind of a dick to him every time they crossed paths. Besides, he had some time to kill before he’d stand a chance of seeing Lan Zhan. What else was he going to do? Sit around? Pfft. When did he ever just sit around?

It had been years since Wei Ying had been in an actual commercial kitchen and his stomach twisted at the thought of going back to one now, but perhaps he could do this one thing and it would be a nice, big fuck you to Wen Chao, too.

And, well, Wei Ying maybe owed Meng Yao something for all the trouble he’d caused.

But, in truth, he’d be doing it for Lan Zhan, because even now, he couldn’t stand the thought of someone else causing him problems when he could stop it.

“Meng Yao? If you can keep Wen Chao out of my face for the next few hours,” he said, before he could get cold feet or back out, “I can help Lan Zhan.”

Meng Yao’s eyes widened at Wei Ying’s words. “You’ll what?”

“I spent years working in Wen Chao’s kitchen—” Years I’ll never get back, he thought, not a little bitterly. “I bet I know exactly where he’s gone wrong and how to fix it. It’s the least I can do after… everything.”

Meng Yao continued to stare.

“I… suppose I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” he said finally, dry and composed. “I’ll show you to the kitchens.”

It was a longer walk than Wei Ying expected, each step giving him the chance to rethink his decision. How foolish was he to do this? And would Lan Zhan even thank him for it? Not that he wanted to be thanked, but he was done wanting to piss Lan Zhan off when it had gotten him nothing, not even the satisfaction of having done it. He was ready to move on.

Perhaps this was the thing that would finally let him, whether Lan Zhan cared or not.

Or it might be the thing that finally had Wen Chao intent on gunning him down for good. Whatever. At least something would happen.

As Meng Yao led him through an overlarge conference room, Wei Ying noted that it had been transformed into a dining hall, beautifully appointed with all the lovely, tasteful decorations that Wei Ying would have expected of any event Lan Zhan was going to participate in, not entirely dissimilar to the Charity Event On Which Wei Ying Dared Not Dwell.

Hopefully it wouldn’t end like that.

He let his fingers drift over the soft, dove gray tablecloth that covered one of the tables. Very classy, that. Good material. Wouldn’t take a stain worth a damn, but that was a problem for someone else.

Lan Huan was standing in the doorway that separated the kitchen area from the rest of the place.

Though Wei Ying attempted to reach said doorway, Meng Yao grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him back. “One moment, please.”

“What now?”

“I just wanted to let you know I’ll honor the contract we set,” Meng Yao said. “It didn’t work out quite the way it was meant to, but… but I’m satisfied with the results regardless. The money is yours and the footage.” There was a dubious glint in his eye when he mentioned the footage, like he wasn’t quite sure he wanted Wei Ying to have it.

Wei Ying cleared his throat. “That’s… thank you, but I’m not sure it’s nec—”

“It is. We had a contract and you did secure for me what you agreed. It only seems fair.”

It actually felt a little bit skeevy when the footage wasn’t any good to him, but if Meng Yao didn’t know, Wei Ying wasn’t going to say anything. “That’s… honestly, that’s the last thing I’m worried about right now.”

“Nevertheless.”

If Wei Ying was going to proclaim that he wasn’t worried about it, he wasn’t going to argue about it either, but he did still have one question and he hoped it would serve as enough of a distraction that Meng Yao wouldn’t circle back around to this. “What even was the point, really? You didn’t ever need my help, did you? Or want it anyway.”

He pulled Wei Ying close, glancing at the back of Lan Huan’s head and said, quiet, “A-Huan is a fan of yours. I just wanted to put you two in a room together. He’s been trying to diversify the entertainment options for Lan Entertainment and I was hoping to broker a deal. Since I was working on Lotus Pier anyway and you happened to be there…”

Silence descended between them for a long, unbearable moment and then Wei Ying burst out laughing. All this for… for that. Wei Ying was only ever the second bird Meng Yao hoped to hit with a stone. Well, Wei Ying had certainly been struck down.

Lan Huan turned at hearing the sound of laughter and cool, anxious features instantly warmed and went tranquil as his gaze fell on Meng Yao’s face. These had to be the two soppiest men in existence.

It touched a corner of Wei Ying’s heart that he refused to truly feel, beating back the impulse to be cheered by yet another happy couple brought together courtesy of Wei Ying’s antics. Somewhat brought together. Wei Ying was still convinced they would have sorted themselves out eventually.

“A-Yao,” he said, voice full of affection as he walked toward them. Then, with surprise, perhaps a little wariness, “Wei Ying? What are you…?”

But Wei Ying was immediately distracted by the chaos he was seeing from the now open doorway over Lan Huan’s shoulder. Somebody might even have been crying, but Wei Ying couldn’t be sure over the sound of pots and pans and despair that otherwise blanketed the kitchen as he stepped closer. If Lan Huan kept speaking and didn’t just trail off, then Wei Ying wasn’t aware of it, too busy surveying the massacre being made of good restaurant policy right where he could see it.

Wei Ying scanned the tragedy in the making, attention settling on Wen Zhuliu, who stood in the corner being as lackadaisically useless as ever. But it was a good thing he hadn’t been with Wen Chao earlier or Wei Ying might actually have been in trouble. Meanwhile, each and every other Wen employee looked like a chicken running around with their head cut off, well aware they’d be blamed for the failure before them without their hapless leader to misguide them.

“I was just trying to…” he said, in an attempt to answer Lan Huan’s question. What was the question? Then he pointed at the room and grimaced. “Actually, do you mind? This is physically painful for me to witness.”

Lan Huan nodded, bemused, and gestured his consent.

Placing his fingers between his lips, he whistled so sharply that three people dropped the equipment they were carrying and everyone else stopped, eyes wide as they swiveled their heads in his direction. “Thanks for your attention, everyone! Please stop fucking up Lan Zhan’s performance dinner for five minutes, if you don’t mind!”

He had to assume that was what it was anyway, though he couldn’t imagine Lan Zhan appreciating having to participate in such a thing.

He expected everyone to look at him with disdain or displeasure— a few did, especially the older ones, who might have remembered him though he didn’t recognize any of them—but mostly everyone seemed relieved that someone else was stepping up to the plate.

Wei Ying did not, would not, let his nerves get the better of him.

Wen Zhuliu took a step forward and Wei Ying stopped him with a glare and a finger wagged briskly in his direction. “You should go make sure your boy stays out of trouble.”

And because Wen Zhuliu still, even after all of these years, didn’t give a fuck about anything except Wen Chao for reasons Wei Ying would never understand, he went with staid dignity. Just like Wei Ying wanted.

Because Wei Ying wasn’t exactly the nicest guy on the planet, he couldn’t help but sneer as Wen Zhuliu passed, not that Wen Zhuliu cared much about that either.

Snapping his fingers at the nearest Wen employee who was not one of the older, more intractable individuals, he said, “You. What’s the menu?”

Wei Ying wasn’t sure why he was surprised when the kid rattled off Wen Chao’s signature, but he was disappointed and he couldn’t quite hide the displeasure that crept across his face in the form of a twitching frown.

Lan Zhan would absolutely hate Wen Chao’s signature and he’d especially hate it the way he directed his minions to prepare it.

As far as edible food went, it wasn’t the worst though. Wei Ying had certainly tasted more terrible in his time, and it favored the sort of flavors Wei Ying preferred, even if it was a nightmare to make it to Wen Chao’s ever-changing standards. One night the noodles were too thick and wide—though Wei Ying could be fucked to figure out how that was possible when Wen Chao’s family came from Shaanxi, but whatever, it wasn’t really his business and he wasn’t an expert. On another, the chicken skin might not have been crispy enough or the pork was too dry or the vegetables stir-fried incorrectly. No matter what Wen Chao complained about, his solutions never improved the result, and it was never anywhere near as harmonious as Wei Ying felt it could be.

There were nights back then when he’d get off shift and dreamed of fucking with it until it was right, just once putting it out there the way it could be if Wen Chao cared enough to figure out where he kept going wrong.

As much as he hated the Wens, they couldn’t fool everyone if they didn’t have anything to back it up, so this was the closest Wei Ying would ever get to giving them a compliment: the noodles were pretty okay and nobody else seemed to mind. As long as they kept paying taste-makers to herald them as the greatest thing in China, people would keep convincing themselves it was true.

But ‘pretty okay’ and ‘nobody else seemed to mind’ and ‘people could convince themselves it didn’t suck’ wasn’t going to fly tonight.

Fuck Wen Chao. He was going to see this dream to completion.

There was a notepad on the corner of one of the stainless steel counters which Wei Ying snapped up, the pages smeared on one corner with oil, which he scribbled revisions on and then tore free. “Lan Huan, how many?”

“Twenty-four.”

“Ooooh, so exclusive. Lucky, lucky people getting to share such a meal with the great Hanguang-jun! That’s what this is, right? VIP tickets and all that?”

Lan Huan nodded.

As lucky as they were, Wei Ying still felt a little bad. His edits wouldn’t be any more to Lan Zhan’s tastes than Wen Chao’s original and that just wouldn’t do either. To the boy who was still standing next to him, too scared to move, he handed the sheet of paper before scribbling further directions on another sheet of paper, hoping the instructions would be enough to keep everyone out of his hair. “Copy this a few times and pass it around.” Raising his voice, he said, “Sous chef, where are you?”

Most of the room stepped back, volunteering her before she had a choice. She seemed uncertain, a youngish woman who looked far too nice to be stuck working with the Wens.

There had to be something about her, though, if she got to be sous chef without cracking. Smiling, he handed this second sheet to her and prayed that something wouldn’t get him knifed him in the back. “I trust you can handle this. Get your prep team a bit more organized and we’ll go from there, hmm?”

When she only nodded gratefully, he decided to relax. What could a knife in the back from a Wen employee do at this late date?

He stepped around the various people starting to work with far less fear than before, getting the lay of the land while all of them grew more assured by the minute. His attention skimmed across everything, stoves and ovens and chopping boards, pans, pots, and wide-mouthed woks. It looked decent, more together than Wei Ying would have thought possible.

It was a testament to the people Wen Chao had somehow managed to hire in Wei Ying’s absence that it wasn’t all falling apart around them.

“Hey, you’re doing fine,” he told one of the young men currently chopping vegetables who looked like he was going to choke his knife to death. Another, he clapped on the shoulder while she stirred broth over a stove.

After a few more minutes, it was still chaotic, but the chaos was more along the normal lines, a working kitchen that a person, even Wei Ying, could be proud of.

“Wei Ying, get out—!” Wen Chao’s voice from over by where Lan Huan and Meng Yao were still stationed. Meng Yao, looking at Wei Ying with something akin to awe on his face, suddenly startled by the interruption and the reminder that he did have work to deal with. No doubt Wen Zhuliu has told him exactly what was happening and somehow managed to liberate him from Meng Yao’s office.

That was maybe Wei Ying’s fault; he should’ve kept his mouth shut and let Wen Zhuliu skulk around maybe.

So this was going to be fun.

Before Wei Ying could get more than a handful of steps toward him to do damage control, Lan Huan was already turning and crossing his arms. “If you don’t wish for me to personally lodge a complaint against you, you’ll leave until the event is over.”

“But—”

“Go,” was all Lan Huan was willing to say on the matter. Before Wen Chao made it out the door, he cleared his throat, apparently finding more words to offer at the very last second. “You can gather your people afterward. And if you try to complain to your father, I’ll go after you myself.” He turned and offered Meng Yao a smile. “I’m fairly certain my lawyers are better than yours. As are Lan Zhan’s. I’m sure you understand, of course? How worthwhile is fighting over the reins to one event when compared with that?”

Huh.

From Lan Huan’s tone, so frosty that it could’ve dried out ice all on its own, it definitely wouldn’t only be this one event, but Wei Ying wasn’t going to crow about it. He didn’t even smile for fear of Wen Chao figuring out how much his life was going to suck going forward if he took another step out of line.

Honestly, with that kind of scary, understated backbone, Wei Ying was probably lucky that Lan Huan didn’t see fit to destroy him back in the day.

“I’m, uh,” Wei Ying said, hooking his thumb over his shoulder, “just gonna get back to it?”

Lan Huan’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled so, so sweetly at Wei Ying. “By all means.”

Oh, yeah. He’d definitely been lucky. Maybe he’d, um, possibly underestimated Lan Huan a little bit? He was going to remember that.

Lan Huan had to admit: it was a wonder getting to watch Wei Ying work in person. He directed the room like he was a seasoned pro, like it hadn’t been years since he’d last worked anywhere other than a coffee shop, like he was born to be here and nowhere else. If he wasn’t wrong, he even thought Wei Ying was enjoying it a little, filling the space in a way he hadn’t seen from him on the handful of occasions they’d met recently.

If this was what Lan Zhan had spent all this time missing, Lan Huan couldn’t blame him for being so upset with himself.

“You said he worked for Wen Chao before?” Lan Huan asked, leaning close to Meng Yao for the hell of it while pretending it was so they could have a discreet conversation.

“That’s what he told me,” Meng Yao answered, shrugging. “The articles I found were… circumspect. I’m assuming a lot of hushing up was done at the time. The rumor is Wen Chao got Wei Ying blacklisted and it was not an amicable parting clearly. I could look into it further. I suspect now that he’s revealed himself, his fans will have discovered more than I did.”

“No need. I wouldn’t want to pry.”

“Of course.”

“Back when I knew him, I wouldn’t have expected him to end up to end up entangled with a group like the Wens,” Lan Huan said, heart twinging. “He never mentioned wanting to run a restaurant. He always seemed…”

Meng Yao devoted the entirety of his attention to Lan Huan. He always did and when Lan Huan didn’t continue, he expressed his interest in Lan Huan’s thoughts, again as he always did. “Always seemed what?”

“He seemed like he wanted to settle down somewhere and just make people happy.” People, Lan Huan thought, or perhaps mostly A-Zhan back then.

“Settle? Him?”

“I know it seems strange and perhaps I’m wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time.” His attention returned to Wei Ying, who was bouncing around on the balls of his feet. “Why did he come tonight?”

“He was hoping to discuss Lotus Pier with your brother.”

“That’s… is that wise?” He’d thought that business was concluded and hated the thought that this was going to remain wedged between Wei Ying and his brother. Why should Wei Ying want to dredge it up again? Lan Zhan had only done what he wanted.

Meng Yao shrugged. “He says he’s willing to sell and will only speak with him about it. I said we’d have to discuss it later.”

“Hmm.” Lan Huan wasn’t certain that was a good idea, but he supposed that was his brother’s decision in the end. He had rather hoped, well…

His desires were pointless at this juncture.

Regardless, Lan Huan wished his brother could be here to see this; he was certain that whatever else happened between them, Lan Zhan would want to be.

After all, Wei Ying seemed so much like the man that Lan Huan used to know that he couldn’t help the warmth unfurling in his chest. What would it do to Lan Zhan? Wei Ying was made for this sort of thing. He glanced down at the phone in his hand and smiled slightly, his thoughts wandering. Though Lan Zhan was currently meditating, perhaps he still could see it. Just delayed.

He’d seemed so out of sorts earlier, Lan Huan didn’t dare disturb him now, especially not when he’d kept looking at Lan Huan so strangely, expectant almost, though what he might have expected from Lan Huan was unfathomable.

“What are you doing?” Meng Yao asked, a warm, curious smile on his face.

“He’s a vlogger, too, isn’t he? Perhaps he’d like to have this for his vlog.”

“Haven’t you seen it already, his…?” Meng Yao managed to sound a little shy, bless him.

“Mmhmm. Even I can find a few moments of free time, A-Yao.” In truth, he was conflicted about the whole thing. Truly, it was a beautiful admission. On multiple counts even. Lan Huan just didn’t know what to do with it. He’d been surprised and pleased to discover that Wei Ying was Yiling, sure. It felt right in a way that Lan Huan couldn’t articulate and in truth, he should probably have figured it out. The rest of it… if it wasn’t an admission meant for Lan Zhan, then Lan Huan would sell his stakes in Lan Entertainment Group and go busk on a street corner. But from everything Lan Zhan had told him, heartbroken and deeply pained even now, the ripples of that original hurt never dissipating, Wei Ying didn’t want to have the last thing to do with him, so how could it be?

Wei Ying being here was enough to suggest that even that wasn’t the whole truth, but Lan Huan just didn’t know enough yet and he didn’t want to tip whatever fragile equilibrium might be found between them on their own by pushing for anything. As such, he’d considered showing Lan Zhan the video, calling him as it happened even, and then put the thought aside again as soon as he realized what exactly was happening.

“Then…” Meng Yao hesitated often in his speech with others, weighing each word, but not usually with Lan Huan. “Did it not sound like he was giving it up?”

Lan Huan heard the question he didn’t ask: if there was no vlog, what was the point? It was a fair question and Lan Huan didn’t have a very good answer, just the smile that he was sometimes told could be inscrutable. “Circumstances change. Who knows how he’ll feel tomorrow?”

Meng Yao accepted this the way he accepted all of Lan Huan’s various foibles and follies: with grace and gentle acquiescence, kind with Lan Huan when he could not afford to be kind with anyone else because he knew Lan Huan would not take advantage of it. Lan Huan would never take advantage and he would never be anything except infinitely grateful for it.

He did smile puckishly in response though, dimples out in full force, enough to send Lan Huan’s heart skittering. “Can you imagine what people would say if they saw you filming someone else like you’re the star-struck fan?”

“Am I not?”

Their bubble was broken for a moment when the whirlwind of activity surrounding Wei Ying stopped and he pressed both his hands to the counter, letting his arms take his weight before he brushed his forearm across his eyes and then his forehead. Then, like nothing had happened at all, he got back to work, taking some of the noodles another of Wen Chao’s staff was preparing and then adding some of Lan Zhan’s favorite vegetables, different from what the rest of kitchen was doing. Throughout all of this, Meng Yao didn’t answer him. Perhaps he, too, was pondering this sudden blip.

But if Meng Yao was going to answer, he was interrupted by Wei Ying noticing them from across the room, waving and blowing a kiss for Lan Huan’s still raised phone. He fluttered his eyelashes for good measure before pushing aside the full plate and ducking into the pantry. Then he commandeered one of the unused stoves for himself. Instead, Meng Yao asked, “What is he doing?”

Tilting his head, Lan Huan said, “I’m not certain.” From the ingredients—chocolate and honey and a few other things—he couldn’t even begin to guess. It could be almost anything.

After a few more moments, Wei Ying called out for a mug and was immediately presented with one by one of the kids working so diligently nearby. There was a quiet sort of certainty as he gestured at it and then the door and the kid, staring at Wei Ying as though he hung the moon, nodded and very carefully picked up the mug and placed it carefully to one side with the dish Wei Ying had made to be kept warm.

Then Wei Ying was bounding over and Lan Huan finally fumbled his phone into his pocket.

“Lan Huan, is there any way I’d be able to sneak in and watch Lan Zhan play? Just for a few moments? I won’t try to bother him, but…” His hands fidgeted so badly he looked like he was trying to strangle his own fingers. “I’d like to…”

“Are you not staying until afterward? I thought you wanted to see him?”

Lan Huan’s heart squeezed when Wei Ying merely shook his head.

“It was impulsive of me to come tonight when he’s just trying to put on a performance.”

Suspicion grew in that squeezed heart of his as Wei Ying wouldn’t meet his gaze. He wasn’t used to seeing Wei Ying show so little courage. Even when they first saw one another again in Suzhou, he’d shown more nerve; he wondered what had changed between the moment that had brought him here at all and this moment right now.

If Wei Ying didn’t take his chance tonight, would he take it at all?

Wasn’t he tired of waiting? Even if it was only to pull the trigger on the whole thing?

“Wei Ying, I think he would appreciate—” But in truth, he did not know his brother’s heart in this instance. When it came to Wei Ying, few of Lan Zhan’s behaviors made sense to Lan Huan. Everything he’d explained to Lan Huan only told him that Lan Zhan had gotten turned around some time ago and couldn’t manage to share his true feelings with Wei Ying. Perhaps he would do nothing or dig himself an even deeper grave tonight. For that reason, he considered not pushing it, the way he hadn’t pushed the video, the way he’d never truly pushed Lan Zhan for anything beyond his comfort.

But they both deserved the opportunity, so he did it anyway.

He should have showed Lan Zhan the video. There wasn’t a single doubt in his mind now that that confession was for Lan Zhan. Wei Ying had come all the way here. He wanted to hear Lan Zhan play. Even if the reason he came was Lotus Pier, none of this matched that being his only motivation.

“He would appreciate the chance to thank you for this.”

Wei Ying’s features seemed almost to collapse in on themselves. “I’d just—I’d like to hear him play. Everything is in order as long as Wen Chao isn’t allowed back in. He can even take the credit—”

“Absolutely not.”

Wei Ying smiled ruefully. “He can have the credit if it will keep him settled. I don’t care. I don’t want trouble.”

Though Lan Huan wanted to argue further, he merely nodded. “A-Yao, would you mind keeping an eye on things here?”

He led Wei Ying out through the conference room to the hall and then toward the side of the stage, gestured him through and around the stagehands currently working to keep everything from the lighting to the minimal decorations on stage intact. Mo Xuanyu was busily tapping away at his phone from the corner, no doubt firing off scathing emails if the gleeful gleam in his eyes was any indication.

According to the few fans who ever got to see performances from this angle, this was the best view in the venue. There was something about their precious Hanguang-jun’s profile while he performed that they couldn’t get enough of. Perhaps it affected Wei Ying in the same way. When Lan Huan glanced at him, he appeared to be in raptures, hands clasped beneath his chin as he watched.

He was in raptures until he wasn’t, the whole of his expression imploding as his brows furrowed in confusion. “What’s wrong with him?”

The question startled Lan Huan, because as far as he knew, no one else had ever noticed any issues with his performances before beyond noting that he hadn’t released any new music in quite some time now. “What do you mean?”

“This piece isn’t supposed to be so—” Wei Ying’s eyes narrowed and his tone took on a decidedly protective slant. “Is he hurt?”

There was possibly a more uncomfortable question that Wei Ying could have asked, but Lan Huan couldn’t think of it in that moment. Could Wei Ying not guess? He hadn’t been whole in years, his tranquility a front all this time and Wei Ying was making it catch up to him finally. “He’s healthy,” Lan Huan settled on, the truth in fact if not in spirit. “Perhaps it is merely an off night for him.”

Wei Ying shook his head vehemently. “Lan Zhan doesn’t have off nights.”

“Even A-Zhan is human, Wei Ying.” Under that: He makes mistakes, too.

“Lan Zhan is nothing but perfection in this world.” He frowned a little bit, too serious before he spoke again, his fingers fidgeting against his thighs. “Do you think there’s any chance of convincing him to buy Lotus Pier?”

Lan Huan was the first person Lan Zhan had called about Lotus Pier and he was there when he’d let the thought of it go, knowing it was Wei Ying’s, knowing how he felt about it, regretting how hard he’d pushed even though he hadn’t really and even though he had the right to want something for himself. Even Wei Ying would have agreed about that, Lan Huan was certain, even if he hated Lan Zhan, though it was clear he didn’t. It didn’t take a romantic confession to see that.

He thought for a long time about the question and wanted desperately to lie to Wei Ying, to keep him here long enough for Lan Zhan to see him. If he said there was a chance, perhaps that would be enough to keep him from bolting, but he answered it honestly. Anything else would be unfair or blow back on Lan Zhan. “No.”

“Not even if I asked him?”

“I don’t believe so.”

Wei Ying made a thoughtful sound and said, “I was pretty mean to him about it. Will you tell him—ah, never mind. Thank you for indulging me, Zewu-jun. I won’t trouble you again.” He took a single step and bowed his head slightly. “And I’m sorry about how I—nobody deserves to have their affection thrown in their faces the way I did with you and Meng Yao.”

Lan Huan huffed in amused disgust. How could his foolish younger brother and Wei Ying have come to this when they are both so… so deserving of the happiness they could give one another? “I should be the one thanking you for that push, Wei Ying. We might never have said anything to one another otherwise.”

“He let me steamroll him into learning how to bake,” Wei Ying said, dubious. “I’m not sure how much longer he would have held out.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t terribly elegant, but it was very effective. Take my forgiveness anyway, Wei Ying, even if it’s not necessary since you felt it was worth apologizing for.”

“Okay, okay,” he said. At least this one weight could be raised from his shoulders. When he straightened up, he stood just a little bit taller than before. “You are the perfect embodiment of kindness, Lan Huan. Take care of Lan Zhan, won’t you?”

“Always.” Then: “Wei Ying, is it really that frightening to stay?”

But Wei Ying was gone, disappearing down a hallway and acting as though he never intended to see any of them again. A fool’s wish, because Lan Huan was no longer willing to let this remain as it was.

Because as soon as Lan Huan figured out how best to tell Lan Zhan, he would, and he couldn’t be certain just how long after that Lan Zhan would be willing to hold out. They just had to get through tonight’s dinner and then who knew what would happen. Lan Huan did carry a few hopes for them though.

The room was as inviting to Lan Zhan’s sensibilities as it could be, but as he sat at one of the tables, a handful of his most loyal fans arrayed around him and at other tables he’d have to sit at throughout the evening, he realized he was sick of it all, sick of this in particular, and if he could get away with it, he’d sit in a well-lit, soundproof room and play the guqin where nobody would ever get to hear him do so.

Though it was spacious and elegantly decorated—and did he mention spacious, thank goodness for that at least, because it could have seated so many more—he still felt hemmed in by each and every one of the twenty-four attendees currently staring at him, expecting things from him that he did not wish to give.

He even recognized a few of them and hated the thought that it probably meant that they believed they knew him or that he might know them.

They were at least well-behaved for the most part, mostly chattering with one another while Lan Zhan offered only as much eye contact to any one of them that was necessary, encouraging discussion about music when the topic turned that way while giving one-word responses to anything else. It was nothing they weren’t used to. As long as he remained polite, it would be fine.

He managed twenty minutes that way, until the food arrived and everyone managed to focus their attention on the very pretty and very red plates before them. He worried about whatever he would be forced to choke down, but when the waiter brought his own plate, it looked a little different. Mostly, it was the same, but it was not nearly as red and contained a fair bit more green than the others’ meals and none of the chicken and pork.

He did not sigh, though he was very much relieved all the same. It must have been his brother’s work.

The waiter was already gone by the time Lan Zhan thought to ask him about it.

He was relieved to discover that the arrival of the meal mostly signaled the cessation of conversation while everyone dug into their meals with more alacrity than the situation truly called for in Lan Zhan’s opinion. One of the nearby attendees even moaned theatrically, jolting Lan Zhan back into a present he didn’t want to be a part of as she chewed a bite of her meal.

“This is definitely the Wen signature,” she said, authoritative, once she swallowed. Lan Zhan had to stop himself from telling her not to speak. “But I didn’t know it could be this good? Did Wen Chao actually make this? I’ve been to his restaurant in Yiling, but I don’t think it was this good when I was there.” She poked at it with her chopsticks, considering.

The woman next to her also hummed thoughtfully and nodded. Her gaze briefly flickered to Lan Zhan’s face, alerting him to the fact that he had been listening to their conversation and that she was aware of it, too. She took a tiny bite as her cheeks flushed. In turn, Lan Zhan’s ears warmed at having been caught listening so brazenly.

He wasn’t even certain why he was listening so intently.

“I think you’re right,” she said with an admirable degree of composure. “It’s definitely better. More delicate maybe? But somehow bolder, too. Wen Chao is a lot of things, but he is not confident in this way. It’s too bad. His older brother’s tenure there was much more successful.”

Lan Zhan was too busy trying to figure out how you could taste bold, yet delicate confidence when he finally took a bite of his own meal. The taste was almost obscenely good, flavorful without being overpowering, each vegetable crisp and fresh, the snap perfect.

It reminded him of Wei Ying’s cooking. Rather, it reminded him of the way Wei Ying’s cooking made him feel, warm and… cared for, like it was made only with him in mind. He took another bite and was nearly unable to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat. It couldn’t have been Wei Ying, but…

But he wanted it to be.

“Mn. You know…” The first woman paused and considered again. “Did you ever go to that restaurant when Wei Yi—Ying? Wei Ying was the executive chef? I think that’s his name…? The one who got blacklisted? This reminds me of his work.”

Wei Ying.

He’d been blacklisted? When? How?

Standing too quickly, he nearly knocked his chair over. Only his reflexes stopped it from falling. As it was, the scraping sound and sudden movement drew the attention of everyone around him. He hadn’t expected to hear Wei Ying’s name out of anyone else’s mouth tonight, not in this context anyway. Though he needed to get away for a moment, he was approached again by the waiter, who seemed a little frightened to have to approach Lan Zhan now. Something of his turmoil must have shown on his face. He attempted to curtail it, but the damage was already done.

This time the waiter held out a mug for Lan Zhan to take. Steam curled toward the ceiling. Thick, glossy-dark liquid was visible beneath the rim, barely disturbed by the waiter’s motions.

“Wei Ying,” he said, barely more than a breath, because no one else would have done this. How had he been here and how hadn’t he known it? It felt like the sort of thing he should have realized as a matter of course.

“What was that, sir?” the waiter asked, still holding the mug out for him, an awkward, pleading expression on his face.

He took the mug and held it with one hand curled beneath it, soaking the warmth from the porcelain, while the other wrapped around it protectively. “Thank you,” he managed, barely. “I must go.”

He was already halfway to the door when someone called for him. “Hanguang-jun! Hanguang-jun!”

When he turned back, he could see that everyone was looking at him again, meals forgotten. Hunted didn’t even begin to cover how it felt, somehow intimately worse than all the many times in which he’d been caught by a crowd who wanted pieces of him that he’d never anticipated giving to them. They were courteous. Oh, they were as respectful as could be, but that didn’t stop the unvoiced expectations from eating at him.

A cold sweat prickled under his collar, a strange counterpoint to the warmth of his palms.

One of the bolder ones, a woman he didn’t recognize, approached, eyes honed in on the mug in his hand. Every instinct told him to turn away, block it from view, but he did not do this. It would only make them more curious. “Who made this for you?” she asked, leaning closer than Lan Zhan was comfortable with which, admittedly, was still well within the realm of polite for most other people. His fans knew better. But anyone approaching him right now would have left him unhappy. Any except one.

It was only Wei Ying who so easily slipped through his guard and didn’t trip the alarms.

He sometimes wondered what drove him to becoming a professional musician with fans and engagements and enough expectations to drown a person. Unlike his brother, he didn’t know how to be gracious and kind and derived nothing at all in return for the attention. All he could do was be quiet and respectful and hope he’d be allowed to get back to work soon. Not that much of the important work was being done anymore. Soon that would catch up to him, too.

“It looks so nice,” she continued. “Do you have a special someone in the kitchen?”

His skin wasn’t given to flushing when he was embarrassed and for that he was grateful because his face was suddenly very hot and his heart fluttered in his chest. Wei Ying was more than special to him; it was the reverse that seemed impossible. It shocked him to think that anyone else might know of Wei Ying except for him, even if only in this small way, as a faceless name from the kitchen.

Though, of course, that didn’t apply to the two women he’d been sitting next to, who had apparently gotten to eat his food and knew things about Wei Ying that Lan Zhan didn’t, knew that he’d spent time in Yiling.

Yiling.

Well, that explained that, didn’t it?

He glanced down at the cup of thick chocolate, the scent of it intimately familiar to him even so long after the last time he had it.

If he had his way, he’d savor this, not knowing if or when he’d get the chance to experience again. Practicality required that he down it as quickly as possible, because finding Wei Ying was more important, always more important, and Lan Zhan didn’t want to bring it with him and risk spilling it, but he couldn’t not drink it. He had no idea what any of it meant, this drink, the meal, not a single bit of it made sense, but it felt like it might have been a step toward forgiveness, or at least an opening for him to better explain himself and he had to pursue that. Had to. There was no other option.

The possibility made warmth prickle in his eyes and he was forced to blink to keep from exposing more of his turmoil to others than he cared for them to see.

The taste of the chocolate only made him feel more vulnerable, broken open and exposed. These feelings weren’t something he wanted to experience, but more than that, he didn’t want to experience them here, where anyone could see it, where the person who mattered to him could not.

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to lie or misdirect, so he said nothing, even while the woman laughed lightly, unconcerned by his behavior.

“Will you excuse me, please?” he asked, hoping they would understand without him saying how important it was that he had to go. “I’ll return shortly.”

She did not pry further thankfully and finally returned to her seat.

This earned him more than a few strange looks, but he was beyond caring at this point. They didn’t bother him as he made his way to the door and then out into the hall and that was what mattered. He’d make it up to them somehow and winced as he slipped into the hallway, turning one last time to look at them, seeing more than a few pulling out their cellphones, eager thumbs and fingers tapping away at the screens.

He found Mo Xuanyu loitering near the bathrooms right outside. “Where’s my brother?”

“Kitchen,” he replied, barely pulling his attention away from his phone. “They already piss you off?”

“My fans never make me angry,” Lan Zhan replied, to Mo Xuanyu’s derisive amusement. “This is… another matter.”

“That guy, right?”

Though Lan Zhan’s mind was already on finding his brother to explain, he stalled at Mo Xuanyu’s words. “You saw him?”

Mo Xuanyu shook his head, supremely uninterested or pretending to be so. “I heard the staff talking about it and I might have seen him backstage.” His lips thinned at one side, dimpling his cheek as he gazed thoughtfully at Lan Zhan. “I think your brother knows more.”

He usually did.

But—Wei Ying had been backstage?

He took three steps before realizing he didn’t really know where he was going.

“And… where are the kitchens?” he asked, face warming in embarrassment yet again.

“If you don’t want to go back the way you just came,” Mo Xuanyu said, knowing perfectly well that Lan Zhan would absolutely rather walk across a layer of broken glass than backtrack, “you probably want to go around the other side. There’s a back entrance you can go through.” He then very graciously pointed the way. “Last I heard, they were by this entrance though, so you’ll have to cross the kitchen. You want me to grab someone with security?”

Lan Zhan shook his head. There wasn’t time.

Just as Mo Xuanyu said, Lan Huan was standing with Meng Yao exactly where he’d directed Lan Zhan to go. They all but curved into one another, speaking low and intimately to one another as though nothing else in the world mattered. Even though it was probably only business they were discussing, it managed to seem romantic and Lan Zhan couldn’t help but ache with jealousy.

It was his own fault that things had turned out the way they did. He shouldn’t have wanted…

That was his problem: wanting things. This situation wouldn’t be what it was if he didn’t want so much that he couldn’t temper himself, make delicate any of his approaches or reactions.

And all he could think the whole time, even now, was that Wei Ying couldn’t have done this if he hated Lan Zhan, right? He might not have let Lan Zhan say any of the things that had so far been left in his heart to decay and die unheard, may have assumed the worst of Lan Zhan the way that Lan Zhan had assumed the worst of him first, but that didn’t mean he hated him. He wouldn’t have done what he did—

Right?

“Didi,” Lan Huan said, noticing him finally, startled as Lan Zhan approached from an unexpected direction. His gaze dipped to the empty mug in his hand. A soft smile crossed his features as he took it in.

“Where is he?” Lan Zhan asked.

Lan Huan’s smile turned sad and wistful. “He wanted to speak with you before your performance, but…”

Lan Zhan’s heart thudded wildly in his chest, threatening to break all over again at the thought of missing the chance to see Wei Ying already, maybe clear all of this up once and for all. How did Wei Ying always manage to slip away? “Why didn’t you let him?”

“That was my fault,” Meng Yao said, tilting his head down slightly in acknowledgment.

“It was not.” Lan Huan blinked at him as though it was self-evident: Lan Zhan didn’t want to see anyone before performances. This was known and Wei Ying must be counted among that number technically, but Wei Ying was not and had never been anyone. Lan Huan should have known that.

But Lan Zhan couldn’t scold his brother or Meng Yao for following his long-standing directives, but he would have thought—they understood each other so well…

“I asked him to stay until it was over, but he…” He exchanged a helpless look with Meng Yao. Meng Yao could only shrug in response. “He wouldn’t.”

Lan Zhan, who was never given to angry outbursts or violent impulses, wanted desperately in that moment to throw a punch or scream or shake his brother until he fixed this for Lan Zhan, brought him back, made him listen just once to the words Lan Zhan could never give him before. That was a childish desire and suited him ill. Drawing in a deep breath, be brushed his hands down his shirt. The impulse to anger flickered and died in his chest, curling up and turning to ash. “What did he want?”

“I believe he wished to speak with you about Lotus Pier.”

“Lotus Pier? I thought he…” Of course. It had been stupid for him to think it might have been for any other reason. Lan Zhan was starting to hate that cursed place. So many things had gone wrong in its name.

When Lan Huan said nothing, Meng Yao cleared his throat. “He wanted to inform you that he was willing to sell.”

His heart lifted to think of it and fell just as quickly, a new splinter of pain working its way into his heart as the implication struck. “What happened?” Something must have happened; he wouldn’t have changed his mind otherwise. “He wouldn’t just give it up like that.”

“Perhaps,” Meng Yao said, “it would be best to take him at his word. Everyone would end up happier, I think.”

Except Wei Ying couldn’t possibly be happy about it, word taken or not.

“Do you know what the problem is?” Lan Zhan asked.

“I didn’t pry.”

“You didn’t—”

“I was under the impression there is some difficulty…”

Lan Zhan blew out a breath. All the more reason that he couldn’t just poach Lotus Pier from Wei Ying now. There was no honor in that.

“Again,” Meng Yao said, opening his hands helplessly. Of course he didn’t pry. Why would he pry over such an important thing?

“Phone,” he said, holding his hand out to Lan Huan. As soon as he handed it over, Lan Zhan was heading in the direction of the exit, fingers already slipping over the screen to pull up Wei Ying’s number. Who cared what he thought before? This had to be resolved.

“A-Zhan, you can’t go now.”

“Do you think I can remain here if something…” He stopped and swallowed. “Something is wrong. I have to.”

“Wei Ying is not fragile and he’s a grown adult. Do you think he’ll appreciate it if you attempt to swoop in and take control of the situation this way? You’re doing important work for the foundation here. That’s worthwhile, too.” A worried expression crossed his face, like maybe he wanted to just give in and let Lan Zhan go. “Don’t do anything rash. It will work out. I’m willing to make that promise to you, okay? Just—don’t do anything without thinking it through.”

“Wei Ying is more important.” And Lan Zhan wasn’t as certain as his brother about what Wei Ying would and would not do. There was likely nothing Lan Zhan could do that he would appreciate, which meant this would cost him as much or as little as doing nothing or doing the right thing would. What did he have to lose when there was nothing to be won except trying to do the right thing?

“It’s only another hour or so. In the meantime, perhaps A-Yao will attempt to find out where Wei Ying has gone, hmm?” Gently, he took the phone back from Lan Zhan’s now lax grip. An hour. It was impossible to think of it in those terms. Lan Huan might as well have asked him to remain for an eternity. “How much difference can an hour make?”

A reasonable person would have said that it wasn’t possible for Wei Ying to disappear in an hour, but Lan Zhan knew the truth. It only took Wei Ying a second to disappear. It took less time than that. It took him no time at all. Between one blink of the eye and the next he might disappear in all the ways that mattered.

Unable to hold it back any longer, the thing that had been eating away at him, Lan Zhan asked, “You saw his live stream and you can still say that to me?” He’d gone through the night, through the day, through this entire fucking performance thinking of nothing else, turning the whole event into a nightmare, the worst performance in his career by far. And then Lan Zhan had had to eat a meal Wei Ying had prepared and face a mug of drinking chocolate and all the while his brother had known, had seen him, had spoken to him and now he was still asking for Lan Zhan to stay. He’d already done his duty to everyone else. All he wanted now was to do his duty to Wei Ying. “You’re always watching Yiling’s videos when you’re free. You saw it. I know you did.”

“A-Zhan?” When his brother tried to touch him, fingers skimming gently over his arm, he flinched back.

“I couldn’t sleep yesterday. I was—” In truth, he couldn’t say why it was that he decided to watch it, how the idea had even gotten into his head to visit Yiling’s page at all, but it didn’t even require Wei Ying taking off the scarf to know it was him once he saw. He could have known all along if he’d given the videos more than a cursory glance at any point in all the time that he’d known his brother had watched him. He’d… it hadn’t been good once he realized and he did not want to think about the chasm that opened inside of him when he realized. He still wasn’t certain how he’d restrained himself at all and was disgusted with himself that he managed at all. A whole day he held it together and for what? To have Wei Ying so close and still not know? “I saw what he said and did. I can’t stay.”

And now Wei Ying wanted to sell Lotus Pier. The timing couldn’t be a coincidence, though Lan Zhan couldn’t logically trace the one event to connect it with the other. But who cared about the timing, when Wei Ying had said all those words, filled Lan Zhan with hope that couldn’t quite dash itself on the rocks of what they’d gone through together and separately. Even though he’d—he’d decided to send one single, solitary message to the number he’d never been able to delete, knowing even so that his own was probably blocked, that Wei Ying may not want to hear from him even if that number was still good—though he’d carried Wei Ying’s phone in his hand once, he didn’t dare snoop—and hadn’t heard back, he still carried hope.

At least his brother had the good grace to look guilty. It was nice that he wasn’t alone in that any longer. “A-Zhan.”

“I can’t stay.”

“You can’t go. I’m sorry, but—” He lifted his chin and stared down at Lan Zhan, a firm expression on his face, and he knew what Lan Huan was thinking about. All those tapping, typing fingers in that room. What might they say or do or demand if they weren’t satisfied by their experience tonight? He had said he would be back, didn’t he? “You have obligations here. I will find him, okay? Will that make you feel better?”

It did not, but he knew that Lan Huan would stop at nothing for him, especially not now that he knew he owed Lan Zhan something.

It felt like a betrayal to say the words, but he said them anyway. He did, after all, have obligations. He’d gone nearly ten years fulfilling obligations for people who weren’t Wei Ying. What was one hour more except everything? He could give that up, right? Everything? Truthfully, hadn’t he already done that?

“They get an hour of my time and not a minute more.”

After the complete failure of his evening to gain for him what he was most hoping to get, he couldn’t quite bring himself to go home and wouldn’t bring himself to go back to Lotus Pier. He didn’t particularly want to skulk around the hotel either, but that appeared to be what was happening as he kicked pebbles on the pavement.

Stupid. So stupid. Even he couldn’t explain how he got from fixing Wen Chao’s mistakes, still certain that he could at least say his piece to Lan Zhan, to this hunched chicken shit scuffing his shoes up and down the cement. All he knew was this, like lightning striking the ground: he couldn’t bother Lan Zhan again. It had been selfish of him to try.

Seeing him on stage only confirmed the niggling seed of doubt that sent him packing in the first place. Lan Huan wasn’t stupid. He knew more than he’d let on to Wei Ying—he was healthy, yeah, sure, but Wei Ying hadn’t been asking after his health. Though it was possible someone or something else was upturning Lan Zhan’s life at the same moment Wei Ying was, he doubted it.

He just wasn’t good for Lan Zhan and that was fine. He hadn’t exactly proven himself to be worth Lan Zhan’s time lately.

There was a scuffling sound behind him that he intended to ignore as he hurried along and then a sharp, barking laugh stopped him in his path. “Ah, if it isn’t little Wei Wei,” Wen Chao said, obnoxious as always, words slurred with the liberal application of alcohol. It wouldn’t be his first time encountering Wen Chao this way, but he sure as fuck hoped it would be his last. “Wei Wei Wei Wei Wei. Such a good chef, but so bad at everything else.”

“I’ve seen your vlog, Wen Chao. I think you know a little more about being bad at things than I do.” Laughing lightly, he took a step in the direction he’d been walking and was annoyed when Wen Chao mirrored it in ugly, stumbling fashion. “I saw your kitchen tonight, too. Embarrassing.”

He knew better than to provoke Wen Chao. It would do so little good in the long run, but he was congenitally incapable of doing the smart thing it seemed and Wen Chao was here and Wei Ying would never feel guilty venting his frustrations on him. So provocation it was.

“What’s embarrassing is that sappy admission you made about Yiling.” With a scoff, Wen Chao spit on the pavement very near to Wei Ying’s feet. “I had my suspicions, but it was nice to have them confirmed. Got you a lot of attention. It also made me wonder why you were willing to burn your whole secret identity to the ground.”

Oh, here we go. Even though he’d been prepared for backlash, he hadn’t expected it to come so soon or for it to come from Wen Chao specifically while he smelled like he’d just been vomited into a vat of beer.

Actually… well, this was Wen Chao. Vomited into a vat of beer was probably a slight improvement from the eau d’despair that usually clung to him and not so very out of character.

“I don’t know why you care so much about that shit place,” Wen Chao continued, vehement even though his words and speech were all fuzzy, swaying toward and away from Wei Ying. It reminded him of a jellyfish that couldn’t make a decision. Sadly, Wei Ying had a lot of experience with that feeling lately. “You never really had a chance of saving it from itself, did you?”

The fuck was he even talking about? Not every restaurant or bar or café had to be exponentially popular to be worthwhile. Sometimes, getting by was enough. If he had to tell himself that simply to be contrary to Wen Chao, then that was what he was going to do. Lotus Pier was enough as it was. Fuck you, Wen Chao.

Wei Ying rolled his eyes and gave Wen Chao a distinctly credulous once over. “Because you know a lot about saving things from themselves?”

“I could pull your ass out of the fire, surely.” He spit again and though Wei Ying was rarely viscerally disgusted by anything, he found his stomach turning at the thick sound of it, the splatter of it against the ground. “You need money, don’t you? Why you’d want to sell to the Lans is beyond me when you could have come to us. They’re not even in the hospitality business. Our money is just as good as theirs.”

Ha. As if he’d ever in ten million years give Lotus Pier to Wen Chao. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“So I didn’t overhear you begging the first precious, sparkling jade of fucking Suzhou’s boyfriend to let you speak with Lan Zhan about it? As though he’d want to have anything to do with you or your stupid coffee shop?”

Now Wen Chao was just trying to get under Wei Ying’s skin because he was an asshole. And the hell of it was, it was working. In fact, he positively itched to throw a punch in counterpoint to the one Wen Chao had thrown earlier, well deserved. And even better: there was no security to stop either of them this time.

But he wouldn’t do that, not when Lan Zhan was somewhere in the building just trying to do his job. It was Wei Ying who kept fucking things up. Why did Lan Zhan need that in his life, especially not when he got told twice over that his wish was a stupid and impossible one?

“And what do you suggest?” he asked instead, morbidly curious, trying to find another outlet for the wellspring of anger bubbling inside of him.

He wasn’t saying anything that Wei Ying wouldn’t have thought for himself eventually. He wasn’t sure what was worse, that Wen Chao’s information was only half correct or that he somehow perfectly distilled down exactly how pathetic Wei Ying felt about the whole situation to a few words.

Wen Chao carried on, heedless of the true effect those words had had on him. That was the good thing about Wen Chao. He was too much of an idiot about interpersonal relationships to do his very worst. His attacks were obvious. At least his verbal attacks were. Truthfully, some things just couldn’t be seen coming. “I’ll match Lan Zhan’s offer. We’ll turn it into another profitable Wen business venture and you won’t have to worry your pretty little head about anything. You shouldn’t be slinging coffee for nobodies. Even I know that.”

You don’t know shit about what I should be doing, Wei Ying thought, his breath stolen from him, but you’re only half as wrong as I wish you were.

“Why would you do that?”

“I’m not completely stupid,” Wen Chao answered. “I would rather punch you in the stomach than admit it, but you did good work in Yiling. My father is… not unaware of this fact.”

“Does that hurt your feelings a little bit maybe?” Wei Ying asked, his mind screaming at him all the while for answers. Where was Wen Chao going with this? What was the angle? It was already bad enough that sometimes Jiang Cheng acted like Wei Ying was the greatest villain in the world because his father supposedly preferred him when he was feeling ugly about it; he couldn’t even imagine what it would be like if Wen Chao believed anything like the same about his own father. “How badly did he yell at you for us to have reached this point?”

Dear lord, the man looked almost earnest in his drunkenness. Earnestly pissed off, frowning deeply and listing to the side, but earnest. If Wei Ying didn’t know intimately what Wen Chao was capable of, he might have felt some sympathy for him. As it was, he could only summon a lurching, unhappy dread that he’d somehow gotten caught up in yet another family’s drama and that it would only end in tears.

“Fuck you, Wei Ying,” he said, deeply aggrieved. “How about I take that time suck off your hands and you go back to Yiling and we’ll graciously forget that you screwed us over when you came running home to your daddy-insert.”

Daddy-insert. Good fucking lord. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Wei Ying shook his head and laughed, because if he didn’t laugh he feared what he would do instead. Going back to Yiling. That. No, he couldn’t do that. “Charming. This is all very sweet of you, obviously, but what if I say no?”

And there was the cruel curl of lip that Wei Ying expected to see.

“I just bought out the building across the street. The coffee business can’t be that difficult to break into, right? Unless, of course, we don’t have any reason to turn it into one. For example, because you decide to sell Lotus Pier to us.” Shrugging, he yawned, features sharpening. “What will you do with a healthy dose of real competition?”

A healthy dose of competition. No, a slaughter more like.

Sucking in a deep breath, Wei Ying closed his eyes and tilted his head back. The cool, crisp night did nothing to ease the furious heat flooding his face. No matter how good or bad a Wen-run coffee shop would be, it was game over. Wen Chao would dump so much money into it that it didn’t even matter if it was terrible as long as he could screw Wei Ying. People would flock to it because of advertising, because of hype, and even if they didn’t, as long as Wen Chao could siphon off enough customers, he’d still drive Lotus Pier into the ground.

If he tried to win, Wei Ying would only be fighting a war of attrition and one that he would lose no matter what. Fuck. Fuck. Of all the things he might have seen coming, how had he not imagined this possibility?

Why shouldn’t he screw Wei Ying where it hurt the worst? What Lan Zhan offered was nothing to Wen Chao. He probably didn’t even have to blink before he bullied his way into buying one of the buildings across the street. If Wei Ying said yes now, he wouldn’t blink about the bank transfer either. It would just happen.

That made it easy, though, didn’t it? There could be no Lotus Pier no matter how hard Wei Ying might have struggled for it. He could have loved it more than anything in his life, more than his family, more than Lan Zhan, and he still wouldn’t have been able to keep it. Where did that leave him?

He could get nothing and they could all end up dead in the water because of him or he could get Wen Chao’s money. Even if he personally ended up dead in the water as a result, what did that matter? Securing Uncle Jiang’s comfort was the important thing.

He was almost thankful to Wen Chao for taking the worst of the decision from his hands. He still couldn’t make it, not without being certain that this was what everyone else wanted. Though he already knew what Jiang Cheng felt about the matter, he only had Madam Yu’s word on his uncle’s feelings. And, in truth, that it was Wen Chao made a difference. He had to tell them first.

“How long do I have to decide?”

“Make the decision or don’t, Wei Ying, I’m not interested in playing around.”

“I can’t just unilaterally tell you yes or no. You said it yourself: you’re only mostly a moron. Even you must know I have to consult with the rest of my family. I don’t actually own it yet.”

Wen Chao sniffed and scrubbed his hand across his face like a child. His voice was weak when he answered, full of surprise, like he didn’t actually expect it to work. How had he ever been afraid of what Wen Chao could do? He was pathetic. Except even when he was pathetic, he could accomplish this “Two days.”

“Is this a mob movie or something? Who says that? Fine, fine. I’ll message you within two days to let you know. Now get the fuck out of my face.” Turning away, he shouted out, certain he would be heard, “Wen Zhuliu, come get your trash!”

He watched closely as Wen Chao finally saw fit to wander away, eyes narrowed as he imagined every bit of revenge he was going to take out of Wen Chao’s hide once he got back there. If Daddy Wen wanted him back that badly, then that meant he had options, and he’d exercise each and every one of them against Wen Chao. So what if Wen Chao pressured him this way? Wei Ying would make him pay for it. That meant it had to be better than last time, right?

Fuck. Fuck Wen Chao. Fuck all of this.

The thought of arranging a trip to Shanghai this late in the day was far too wearying to deal with.

Jiang Cheng was going to throw a fit when he heard, but that was just how it had to be. He refused to have this conversation with Uncle Jiang anywhere other than in person, where he could best gauge his uncle’s response.

When Wen Chao was finally out of sight, he fished his phone from his pocket, feeling secure in the knowledge that Wen Chao wasn’t planning on following him around any longer. Just as he was about to dial Jiang Cheng’s number, the screen lit up with a call from a number he didn’t recognize.

It could be anyone. Over the last day he’s gotten a lot of messages from a lot of numbers and he still hadn’t worked his way through the backlog. Most of the unknown numbers were friends he’d lost touch with from school and elsewhere. Maybe that was all this was.

He considered ignoring or declining it and decided that the better part of valor would be in getting it over with, whatever it was. It was a night for getting shit over with apparently.

“Wei Ying,” he said, feigning a cheer he did not feel.

“Wei Ying.” It was Lan Huan’s voice and it sounded so relieved that Wei Ying stopped walking just to listen to it. “I thought I was going to have to track you down personally. Lan Zhan would like to see you.”

Wei Ying’s mind might have gone offline at hearing those words. Following closely on the heels of that was no, please, not now, not right now, I can’t. Wei Ying didn’t answer for fear of just those words falling from his mouth.

“Given how desperate you were to speak with him earlier, I’d say you’re sending some mixed signals.” Lan Huan was not unkind, but he was firm as he spoke. It was a fair point and one that Wei Ying couldn’t explain even to himself, not really, but that timer Wen Chao set for him was ticking away in the back of his mind and even if he wanted to try, he didn’t, couldn’t think of what to say. Was there time to fumble through an explanation? Not really. So he maybe did what he always did. Shoving people aside and sprinting in the other direction worked miracles when it came down to it.

“What’s the point when you and Meng Yao both said he won’t take Lotus Pier? That’s the only thing I wanted from him. You provided that answer. That’s the end of it,” he answered, swallowing. It felt cruel to say these words, but he didn’t know why it struck him so deeply when he’d said so much worse in the past. “I… there's a lot going on right now, Lan Huan. I have to deal with it. You can tell him he doesn’t have to worry anymore and that I’m sorry I couldn’t give him Lotus Pier when it mattered.”

“Wei Ying, do you know why Lan Zhan wanted it so badly?”

Apparently he wasn’t getting out of this conversation.

“No, and I don’t think he’d tell me even if I asked. I figured he just liked the space. I doubt he wants to run a coffee shop, though I bet he’d be good at it. He’s good at everything.”

“Would you?” Lan Huan asked, cool, composed. “Would you actually ask?”

Wei Ying wandered toward the curb and sat, arms wrapped around his knees as he cradled the phone against his ear. It felt like one of those kinds of conversations, the ones you needed to protect yourself from, curling up around your midsection to shield your vital organs. Though the night was cold, he still felt warm all over from his encounter with Wen Chao and now because even thinking about Lan Zhan was enough to make his cheeks flush with a different sort of warmth, not necessarily better. “I… don’t know.”

Lan Huan huffed. It was not in amusement. “I think I do. Would you like my thoughts or his?”

“Which are right?”

“Lan Zhan has been searching in earnest for a new studio space for the last couple of years. Nothing has ever managed to be what he was looking for and he’s grown… restless. He’s been restless. I’m afraid I didn’t notice it enough until recently. He hid it well for so long, probably longer than even I knew. It caught up with him finally, that restlessness.”

Despite everything that was happening, there was still a piece of Wei Ying’s heart that could reach out to Lan Zhan and hurt for him. It could reach out, but it couldn’t make contact, not now. “And what does Lotus Pier have to do with it?”

There was a long, penetrating moment of silence before Lan Huan answered. “It wasn’t a studio he was looking for. I think something in him recognized something of you in Lotus Pier and that was what he responded to.”

Wei Ying laughed bitterly. “That is a very nice thought, Lan Huan. Very sweet.” It was more than a nice thought. Improbable, impossible… that was what it was. How could it be true? “Lan Zhan can’t be that much of a masochist.” A little bitter: no wonder he gave up on it in the end if that was how he felt.

“Do you think it is? A nice thought, that is,” Lan Huan asked lightly. “Considering how much you’ve…”

He trailed off, leaving Wei Ying to consider for himself all the many and varied ways he’d told Lan Zhan to fuck off in the last weeks. He knew what conclusion Lan Huan wanted him to reach, but Lan Zhan was more sensible than the rest of them. Wei Ying could not grasp this possibility between his hands, not even when Lan Zhan’s own brother tried to hand it to him.

The idea that Lan Zhan only wanted Lotus Pier because it reminded him of Wei Ying was a flattering one at its heart and it enamored Wei Ying deeply. For all the strife the offer had caused him and his family, well, Wei Ying could be privately selfish: it was a rather romantic notion. And that was how he knew it couldn’t possibly be true. Nothing like that would ever happen to him. He hadn’t done anything to earn it.

“Lan Huan, I appreciate it, but… but you said it yourself that Lan Zhan wouldn’t change his mind. I’ve troubled him enough as it is. There’s no point in pushing for anything else.”

Lan Huan made a noise of consideration, somewhere between agreement and disbelief. “Aren’t you tired of this? This… whatever it is you’re doing? Do you even know what you’re doing?”

Wei Ying scrubbed his hand over his face. Yes, he was really fucking tired of a lot of things. “I really don’t know.”

“At least you’re honest about that. Come back,” Lan Huan asked, begged almost. “I can’t tell you exactly what’s in my brother’s heart, but your fears are… you’ve blown them out of proportion, no matter what it is he feels for you. You’re hurting the both of you for no reason. You were strong enough to try tonight. I believe you’re strong enough to see it through.”

Would that that were true.

But in what world would that ever be the case? Past experience proved he was strong enough for nothing, could do nothing but run and run and run. Still. Still. The temptation was… Hearing what Lan Huan said, he wanted to believe that it couldn’t be as bad as it seemed, that he didn’t have to run.

Except he had proof it was exactly that bad. Wen Chao had outplayed him and he wasn’t even that upset about it. That was bad. He knew on a very distant and very intellectual level that it was bad. Lan Huan was trying to give hope back to him and he couldn’t nurse the possibility into even a flicker of optimism. That was bad.

“Can you tell me what good it will do really?” Wei Ying asked, almost begging in turn, needing something else to cling to. Hope wasn’t enough.

“At worst you’ll have closure,” Lan Huan said. “But think about what you might gain in the best case scenario.”

How fucking nice would that be, closure? And that said nothing of the best case. That one, he couldn’t even picture, but closure seemed manageable enough. Closure might be worth it.

All he knew was too tired to fight Lan Huan and Wen Chao in one night.

“Fine. I won’t—” He swallowed thickly and he thought he could be brave, maybe. What did he really have to lose at this point? He was just going to disappear again anyway. He could carve out a few moments to strike the final blow with Lan Zhan or salvage whatever could be found in the wreckage of his life. “I’m not going to run away this time, but I have some business I need to take care of. You can give him my apologies if you’d like, but I really need to clear this up first.”

“Wei Ying, I don’t think you understand quite how imp—”

“Lan Huan!” The desperate shout of Lan Huan’s name caught Wei Ying by surprise, as did the way he was suddenly on his feet again. “I’m not playing around. I’m sicker of this whole fucking thing than you can possibly understand, but I have to deal with it. I’ll be back from Shanghai in a day or two. I’ll take care of this then.”

“Shanghai? Why are you—?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s not got anything to do with you or Lan Zhan. I’ll contact him when I get back. That’s the only thing I can give you right now.” Don’t ask for more right now, please. Please, don’t.

“I can’t force you to do anything, of course,” Lan Huan replied, cool and mild. No doubt he didn’t fully believe Wei Ying. Even Wei Ying didn’t fully believe it, but he’d be distracted by Lan Zhan if he gave in now. It wouldn’t be fair to his family or to Lan Zhan to split his attention. This situation with Wen Chao had to be resolved first. It didn’t matter if Lan Huan’s voice finally past cold into frigid territory and he finally maybe believed the worst of Wei Ying’s character, too, when he said, “I’ll pass along your sentiments, but I can’t guarantee how Lan Zhan will take them. His last performance in Yunmeng is in two days. You have that long to do right by him. Do you understand?”

Wei Ying was to the point of hanging up when Lan Huan said one more thing, voice softening again. “And Wei Ying? Think about doing right by yourself, too, please. I think you might be surprised by the result.”

At this point, he’d be surprised if he didn’t get sucker punched in the face in the next ten seconds, let alone what would happen if he did right by himself.

As soon as the call ended, this time for real, he screamed pointlessly into his palms, the sound muffled by how tightly he held onto his own face. If he was going to go mad right here on the street, he wanted to do it as discreetly as possible.

It didn’t help anything, shouting into his hands, but it also didn’t hurt either and that was enough of a novelty that he couldn’t bring himself to complain about the utter futility of the action in retrospect.

Two days. Two days to clean up this mess with Lotus Pier and the mess with Lan Zhan. Managing even one felt impossible.

But talking to Lan Huan was still somehow less frightening than the call he’d been trying to make before he’d been interrupted, that he now had to make if he had any hope of meeting Wen Chao’s stupid deadline. There was so much left to do and all he could think about was Lan Zhan instead. Selfish, when he should have been more worried about the fact that Wen Chao would very soon own Lotus Pier.

“Hey, Jiang Cheng!” he said, falsely cheerful, when the call connected.

He could have waited forever for the chewing out he was about to receive—it was sure to be one for the record books—but he couldn’t put this off any longer.

The hallway outside of Jiang Fengmian’s room was crisply white and sparsely appointed, aseptic and unwelcoming and the last place on Earth Wei Ying would have imagined him ending up. Though attempts were made at warmth, pictures along the walls, pretty if forgettable landscapes to punctuate the white with splashes of color, there was just no escaping that this was a hospital.

Wei Ying pasted a smile on his face and took a step toward the door which was slightly ajar already. He could hear Madam Yu murmuring in low, scolding tones even from outside, and wondered at the fact that all of this had somehow managed to temper the worst of her ire, gentle it almost.

Was it really that bad? Was Uncle Jiang so poorly off that even she had finally relented? Jiang Cheng hadn’t told him all that much and he hadn’t heard anything from Madam Yu saying he was getting worse, but how was he to know?

With that thought, he couldn’t keep the false pleasure in his smile and dropped it as he lingered outside the door. He couldn’t walk in with such a terrible expression on his face, but he wasn’t certain how to pretend everything was okay this time. He was exhausted and spent maybe twenty minutes in the hotel room he’d booked while on the overnight train to take a shower, change, and down a cup of indifferent instant coffee. Hell, his hair was still damp and his clothes, he was only realizing now, were rumpled from the way he’d shoved them into his backpack instead of properly folding them.

He had to look awful.

And the fact that he’d only shown up now, when there was business to discuss? It was damning.

He should have made more of an effort, should have listened to Jiang Cheng about coming last time. So many things ought to have been different than they were.

“You can do this,” he whispered as he tugged at his collar, the lapel of his jacket, nicer than what he usually wore, but he knew how to show his respects. It was the least that he owed Uncle Jiang.

He pulled himself together with a deep inhale and knocked on the door before pushing it more open and poking his head in. Perhaps he couldn’t bring himself to smile, but he could at least not look quite so gloomy. “Uncle Jiang,” he said, quietly. “Madam Yu.”

They both turned his way, the former smiling widely and beckoning Wei Ying in. Madam Yu was much more circumspect and rose from the end of the bed, a frown forming as she watched him.

“A-Ying,” Uncle Jiang said, grasping his hand tightly. His skin carried more color than he remembered from last time and his eyes gleamed. The strength of his grip was greater than before. “How are you? It’s been too long.”

Wei Ying blinked back tears. If Wei Ying didn’t know he was sick, he might not have realized it at all. Did that mean he was improving? Wei Ying wanted to ask, but the question lodged itself in his throat.

“I’m good, Uncle,” he replied.

“You look like you haven’t been sleeping,” he answered, not scolding exactly, but slightly concerned, as close as Jiang Fengmian ever allowed himself to get to expressing worry over anything.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked, a deflection. “Madam Yu?”

“We’re both okay,” Uncle Jiang said. “Now sit, sit. Tell me what you’ve been doing. How have you really been? It must be hard handling Lotus Pier with only you and Jiang Cheng.”

Ah, of course he had to get right at the heart of it immediately without even meaning to. That was Uncle Jiang exactly. Even Madam Yu was staring at him, considering. Her thoughts remained her own however; she didn’t give voice to them and he couldn’t read them in her features like he usually could.

“It’s been okay,” Wei Ying said, hardly the right words for the question, but not so far off from the truth that Wei Ying felt all that terrible about it. They were managing the place itself fine, as stressful as it could sometimes be. It was just everything else around it that was a complete pain in both of their asses.

If people would just stop trying to take it from them, everything would be great. Comparatively anyway. Wei Ying might have gone his whole life not knowing what he now knew.

He’d told Jiang Cheng about Wen Chao’s proposal and what exactly it would mean and he’d been more pissed off about it than Wei Ying, his desire to crush the guy overriding his earlier assertion that he wanted out from under Lotus Pier’s debilitating shadow. Fuck that guy for what he did to you and fuck him for doing this, Jiang Cheng had said. Yunmeng is ours.

As gratifying as it had felt to have Jiang Cheng want to go to bat against Wen Chao for him, it only made it harder now to broach the subject with Uncle Jiang. It had taken him longer than he would have liked last night to convince Jiang Cheng that there was no winning. There was giving in while Wen Chao chose to be ‘generous’ about it or there was losing everything and frankly Wei Ying intended to take Wen Chao for as much as he could first. At least, that was what he told himself to make himself feel better about the whole thing.

He didn’t know either if Jiang Cheng had spoken with Uncle Jiang about this yet. He’d had nearly the entire morning to call and spill. It wasn’t out of the question.

Just from looking at Uncle Jiang, though, he couldn’t tell. If he had to guess, he’d have said no.

“Dearest, do you think you’d mind getting Wei Ying some coffee?” Uncle Jiang asked of Madam Yu. “He’s looking a bit wan for my liking.”

She snorted at that and crossed her arms. “If he wants coffee, he can get it himself. Whatever he has to say can be said in front of me. Or you for that matter.” Her eyes could have pinned him to the ground with their ferocity. It was nothing he wasn’t used to and yet it still took his breath from him when the news was this bad. “Isn’t that right, Wei Ying?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he said, managing barely to avoid cringing. Neither of them knew everything about Wei Ying’s relationship with Wen Chao or the work he did for his restaurant in Yiling, but neither of them had ever been particularly impressed with the family, sometimes even spoke harshly of their methods. This news wouldn’t go over well.

Would Uncle Jiang find that same fighting spirit that Jiang Cheng had found? Would Madam Yu? Before, she’d wanted him to give it up. Would she still feel that way now that Wei Ying had gotten Lotus Pier backed into a corner? Wei Ying was rather perversely hoping so. It would be easier if he had her on his side, too, cowardly a side though it was.

But she was the sort who would cut off her nose just to spite her face; Wei Ying could, in some ways, relate to that and could definitely empathize.

Still. He was exhausted. So tired of this. Let it be done.

“Uncle Jiang, I’m not sure how much Jiang Cheng has told you about… about the potential sale of Lotus Pier, but—”

A troubled look crossed Uncle Jiang’s face. “I’ve heard that Lan Zhan wished to buy it,” he said, deliberate, careful, like he knew this was delicate territory, “and that you two were not opposed to selling it, but that he decided against it. From everything I know of him and his family, he’d have been a fine successor to the space even if he changed it into something new.”

“He would have turned it into a studio from my understanding, Uncle Jiang,” Wei Ying answered, “but he would have certainly respected its history and…” Heavens, what was the point in talking Lan Zhan up now when Wei Ying had managed to screw that up so thoroughly? “And it’s too bad that opportunity fell through.”

Madam Yu snorted indelicately, a sharp contrast to her ever elegant looks, and looked Wei Ying up and down as though she could already tell exactly what happened there and whose fault it was.

“Mm,” Uncle Jiang replied, neutral, as though that fact hardly mattered to him these days. It was so strange to see, when all through Wei Ying’s youth, he’d worked so hard for the shop. “I expect something has changed?”

“I will… I would still put forth the money if you’d like…” Between Meng Yao’s insistence about honoring the contract and whatever he ends up getting from the competition, he’ll at least be able to help Uncle Jiang be comfortable here for at least a while, buy Jiang Cheng time to figure out what else he would do, but how long would that last? Compared to that uncertainty, Wei Ying’s future was already so conveniently handled. Either he’ll keep the shop or he’ll go back to Yiling. Neither option made him very happy. “But Wen Chao has… he bought out a space across the street and intends to turn it into a coffee shop if we don’t sell Lotus Pier to him.”

A flicker of something crossed Uncle Jiang’s face while Madam Yu remained impassive except for the fire in her eyes at the ultimatum.

“So you lost,” was what she said after only a moment’s reflection, performing the same mental calculations Wei Ying already agonized over.

“That’s—yes, I suppose that’s true.”

“What do you want to do, A-Ying?” Uncle Jiang asked. Though it was a fair question, Wei Ying had no answer that would do him credit. “I believe my desires would be superfluous at this juncture.”

“Don’t say that, Uncle. If you’d like me to keep Lotus Pier for you under these circumstances, I will do it.” Though he knew what Madam Yu had told him, he felt he needed, absolutely needed to hear it directly from Uncle Jiang when these were the stakes. “I’ll do my best against Wen Chao. It wouldn’t be the first time I got the better of him eventually. But I’ll support you and your recovery however I need to, whether I have Lotus Pier or not.”

If he said the words with enough arrogance, maybe they would be true. Perhaps he could find a way. Even as he left his fate in Uncle Jiang’s hands, he knew he would try at least if that was what he wanted.

He exchanged a look with Madam Yu, hoping she would understand that whether Wei Ying bought Lotus Pier or not, anything he had was theirs. She nodded so slightly that Uncle Jiang didn’t even seem to notice, too busy pondering.

“What will happen if you sell to him?” Uncle Jiang asked.

“He’ll probably turn the place into a gaudy monstrosity and then tank it.” He swallowed and deliberately did not mention that he would have to return to Yiling for him, go back to the work that made him hate his vocation to start with. He probably wouldn’t even pretend he wanted to make something of Lotus Pier once the deal was done. It was a formality at best, an excuse to get Wei Ying back, a carrot before the stick or maybe just a stick fashioned into a carrot.

He’ll have to wriggle his way out of that one on his own. That at least was something he was good at when it truly came down to it. Didn’t make him feel very good, but if the situation called for it…

Uncle Jiang nodded thoughtfully and exchanged a look with Madam Yu, one Wei Ying found indecipherable.

“It’s a lot of money though. Same as Lan Zhan offered,” Wei Ying said, admitting that final piece of the truth. “You wouldn’t be hurting for much if this is what you want to do.”

His voice cracked on the last word and he hoped, hoped that they couldn’t hear it. The last thing in the world he wanted was to unduly influence them.

The second to last thing he wanted was to be in this position at all. Because once Uncle Jiang opened his mouth, he said, “If he’s that determined and there’s no other choice, then I suppose it would make more sense to sell, would it not?”

Madam Yu’s lips thinned, but she nodded decisively as well. And just like that, easy as a few minutes spent pondering the possibility, it was done. It didn’t seem real, even though he’d spent the time since last night preparing for this. Yes or no. He’d thought he was ready.

He wasn’t.

“Then why didn’t you just go over my head back when Lan Zhan put down an offer?” he blurted out before he could stop himself. “If you were so ready to let it go, why did I—why is it okay to sell now?”

Uncle Jiang blinked in apparent surprise. So Madam Yu was right all this time. Why was Wei Ying the last one to realize? Did nobody think perhaps he should’ve been one of the first to find out that nobody else wanted to keep the place running? Had he done all of this for no reason at all?

“We thought that was what you wanted,” Uncle Jiang said, so reasonable that Wei Ying almost shouted in response. “Lotus Pier mattered so much to you.”

“I never wanted to run a coffee shop like this,” he all but cried, unable to stop himself or the pitch of his voice as it rose. He felt like a fool. Worse than a fool, like everyone had only been indulging him in something he hadn’t even asked for. “I only ever wanted to be good to the rest of you! Why doesn’t it matter to you?”

“Wei Ying!” Madam Yu said sharply, reminding him without saying it that this was a hospital and his uncle was ill and he needed to behave when all he could want was to scream his frustrations into the world. So many questions crowded his mind. How long? Was anyone ever going to tell him? How could none of them have known this wasn’t truly what he wanted?

They were, to the last, selfish questions. In a very short amount of time, he’d be paying for that selfishness, he supposed.

Still, he managed to keep them trapped in the back of his throat where they couldn’t damage Uncle Jiang’s nor Madam Yu’s moods any further.

He’d thought it was hard hearing it from Jiang Cheng the first time. This was so much worse.

He only ever wanted to be a part of something bigger than himself with the people he cared about most; that something bigger wasn’t ever meant to be a drag on all of them.

“Okay, okay!” He raised his hands to ward off any further bad feelings. It could only be what it was. He could accept that. And if he couldn’t, Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu didn’t need to see it when he couldn’t. “That’s that then. I’ll make sure the deal goes through. You won’t have to worry about Lotus Pier any longer.”

At least he’ll get to wash his hands of this one thing and then the rest of them will be free of it.

“Why didn’t you ever tell us how you felt, A-Ying?” Uncle Jiang asked, curious and sad—sad apparently for Wei Ying, who’d been wasting his time all this time instead.

“How could I?” He hadn’t ever really realized it himself, but in truth, even if he had known, he wouldn’t have said anything, not until he knew from them first. If Jiang Cheng was never willing to throw in the towel, then Wei Ying wasn’t willing to risk disappointing anyone if he could help it.

“What will you do?” Uncle Jiang asked. “You came back because nobody wanted to—”

“Oh,” he said, unable to keep a slight hint of bitterness from his tone, “I have a job opportunity lined up already. Please don’t worry about me.”

Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu exchanged another look that Wei Ying couldn’t parse, but he didn’t have it in him to care or otherwise attempt to clear it up.

“Wei Ying, it’s okay to want what makes you happy,” Uncle Jiang said. “Will you be happy?”

Wei Ying choked back the lump in his throat. Oh, but it was hard to force the words out. They had to be said though. “Yes, Uncle.”

“Go ahead with the sale then, A-Ying. Be free of this.”

Free. Ha. What would that be like? He won’t find out any time soon.

Since he was here already, he should actually visit with them instead of wallowing. Wrapping his hand around a chair, he pulled it close to the end of Uncle Jiang’s bed and dropped into it and tried his damnedest to pretend. “Who wants to talk business anyway? How are you doing, Uncle?”

He was never one to hold a grudge if he could help it. The pair he carried, one for Lan Zhan and one for Wen Chao, were too heavy already.

What was done was done. All he could do was accept it.

Wei Ying was used to fast-paced, but even he was left with a spinning head and a desire to take a breath without having to consider what he’d be doing next in the hours following his visit to Uncle Jiang. Even before he got back to his hotel, he was calling Jiang Cheng, asking and answering questions regarding the agreement, regarding any loopholes Wen Chao may try to find, regarding whether Wei Ying really wanted to do this, as though there were any other choice now that Uncle Jiang had made his lack of desire known.

Within that stupid two day deadline set by Wen Chao, Wei Ying was finally ready to say yes. Or as ready to say yes as he was ever going to be under this or any other circumstance. Between the two of them and Lao Yu, a lawyer from Madam Yu’s side of the family who did work for them and could be scary when she wanted to be, Wei Ying was prepared.

“You gonna tell him?” Jiang Cheng asked as soon as he climbed into the passenger’s seat of the SUV, watching him as he stared down at his phone and pushed his backpack between the seats. It landed with a thump on the floor, which just about figured, but Wei Ying couldn’t care less right now. Air travel sucked at the best of times, but it had made more sense to take the plane back than waste the day on a train. Overnight was one thing, but there’d been no point in him trying to sleep on a train two nights in a row. So. Splurge on a plane ticket.

He just wanted to get away from the airport and get home, but there wasn’t any time for that either.

“I still have a few hours,” Wei Ying insisted. “Let me have these last moments of freedom, huh?”

Instead of arguing, Jiang Cheng—for the first time in his life—just nodded and smiled sympathetically. At least that was what Wei Ying thought his constipated expression was meant to convey. In truth, he couldn’t be entirely sure, having never seen it before. “Let me know if you need anything after.”

He’d had to tell Jiang Cheng the full details in order to come up with a contract that wouldn’t somehow screw Wei Ying over ever worse than he was already being screwed. That was not an argument he wanted to repeat now or ever, he could sure say that much, but it was nice that Jiang Cheng was so concerned for him.

“I’m fine. Just… maybe you can drop me at this address?” He sent a link to Jiang Cheng for the hotel Lan Zhan was staying at. He’d make good on this one promise and be done with the whole fucking thing finally.

“The fuck you want to go there for?” Jiang Cheng asked, but he stabbed at his phone a few times and rolled his eyes and drove in that direction, not bothering with the GPS.

When they arrived, there were already signs up everywhere announcing Lan Zhan’s last engagement in Yunmeng, and Jiang Cheng was shaking his head and telling him he’d make sure he had the cops on speed dial if anything happened.

Wei Ying flipped him off and told him to drop his bag off at his apartment if he wanted to do something for Wei Ying.

Alone on the curb, Wei Ying stared at the posters. They said without saying it that this was Wei Ying’s last chance to make this one thing right.

Perhaps he actually was ready to see Lan Zhan, too, hear him out on whatever it was he wanted before going back to Yiling.

It was the least he could do before he left again. He’d split without giving Lan Zhan a true goodbye once before and he couldn’t do it again, not when he’d nearly destroyed himself without truly resolving anything in the process. If he could get one thing out of this whole experience, he hoped it would be a chance to… he’d like to be Lan Zhan’s friend again if possible. That would… that could help him, he thought. He’d be able to face anything as long as he knew Lan Zhan didn’t hate him.

Though it was still a few hours before attendees would be allowed in, there were quite a few already loitering out front or in the lobby area while security worked diligently to get ready for the evening. Though they kept their eyes on the group, they didn’t shoo them away, probably because they were all more interested in standing around chatting quietly than disrupting any of the proceedings.

The guards from the other night were conspicuously absent, Wei Ying noticed, grateful.

Most of the fans carried signs with them, black-backed and glittering with lights that picked out the affectionately grandiose name of Hanguang-jun in pale blue and white. None of this mattered to Wei Ying, of course. Lan Zhan had always just been Lan Zhan to him.

None of his fans dared to share that familiarity, it seemed.

He felt awkward around all of these people who acted like they knew exactly what was going on and he considered pretending he had urgent business on his phone just to ease the fear in his heart. There was no reason to be nervous now when the worst was already done, yes?

Maybe he could bypass all of this and just call Lan Huan directly?

But he didn’t want to talk to Lan Huan about this again, not until he talked to Lan Zhan first. He was tired of other people interfering. Just once, he wanted to be the one taking control of the situation. If he got really desperate, it wasn’t like calling Lan Huan wasn’t an option.

“Are you here for Hanguang-jun, too?” a young woman asked, not the youngest of the group, but probably near to it despite the settled, certain kindness in her eyes.

He found he wanted to be truthful with her, which was fully in keeping with the sort of fan Lan Zhan would inspire, wouldn’t it? Though he hadn’t always done so with Lan Zhan himself, he’d always wanted to tell him everything.

It just didn’t work out that way.

“Yes.”

She said, allowing a hint of surprise to color her voice, “I thought I knew all of Hanguang-jun’s fans in the area. I don’t recognize you. You just looked nervous. You have no reason to be. He rarely presents himself before his fans and prefers to enter facilities through back and side entrances.” She smiled. “Most of us have learned not to stake such spots out though. Besides, this is a hotel. He’s probably staying here and won’t need to come in at all.”

Oh. Well. That certainly put a damper on things, but it was also information he would need, wouldn’t it? Perhaps his true fans weren’t shameless enough to stalk back entrances, but Wei Ying was the most shameless man in Hubei. Still, if he hadn’t left the hotel, that didn’t do much good, did it? He didn’t really want to do this over the phone, but if he had to… “Then why are you all out here?”

She smiled fondly. “The camaraderie, I think. And his manager always ensures that he’s aware that his supporters are present and are compensated one way or another.” Shrugging, she gestured back at the rest of them. “Though really, knowing he knows we support him is enough. Depending on the venue, the fans will sometimes see him as he heads further into the building and he’ll offer a nod of acknowledgment. He hasn’t arrived yet today though if that’s the case.”

This girl knew everything, didn’t she? Incredible.

“What’s your name?” she asked, gesturing for him to follow her back to the corner of the lobby that she’d staked out for herself. She patted the cushioned bench and smiled again.

He swallowed around the answer. It wasn’t that he expected her to know him, but he felt very vulnerable, fragile, these days, now that he’d put himself back out there. All he’d ever wanted was to bake. He’d never wanted notoriety because of it. “Wei Ying.”

Her brows furrowed and then her expression cleared, excitement sparkling in her eyes. “Oh, you’re that—ah, I’ve seen your vlog before. Yiling, right? Yeah, you just posted telling the world who you were! It was all over hot search.” She was prescient enough to keep her voice down. Nobody around them noticed. Even if they didn’t know who he was, they’d be curious that another person was suddenly so interested in him. Then they’d want to know who he was, too. “Nice to meet you! Your vlog is really sweet. When will you be posting again? I’ll be sure to check it out!”

She was being polite, but it was so genuine that Wei Ying genuinely felt bad to disappoint her. “I’m not entirely sure,” he admitted.

“Ah, that’s too bad. You helped one of my friends get together with her girlfriend. They held a commitment ceremony not long after. The peony-shaped chocolates, I think? I don’t know if they ever wrote back to let you know, but you helped them find happiness together!”

Ah, the peonies were one of his favorites. He blinked a few times, glad at least that something good had come of it. If they reached out to him, it might’ve gotten lost in spam. That happened sometimes. “I remember. Tell them I’m very glad everything worked out for them.”

He was saved from more conversation by a sudden rush of whispers from the other small knots of fans. Though each on their own was quiet, together, it was impossible not to feel like people were shouting.

The girl elbowed him in the side. “Looks like you’re our lucky charm today, Wei Ying.” She pointed through the floor to ceiling windows at a small retinue that was approaching the same door they’d all used to enter the lobby. “See?”

Of course he saw. How could he not? He’d learned long ago how to recognize Lan Zhan from a distance. Even with his head down and sunglasses covering his eyes, he would know Lan Zhan.

“Come on,” she said, wrapping her hand around his wrist while pulling him into the orderly group his other fans had formed. Now that there was a very real possibility that Lan Zhan would see him, he hesitated and wriggled out of her grip. Lan Zhan managed to be a bigger draw to her than he was though, because she let him go with a small smile, waving at him in farewell.

Wei Ying’s heart climbed his throat as Lan Zhan’s small security team opened the door for him, almost superfluous because his fans hardly moved, didn’t even dare breathe as he approached. Wei Ying knew the feeling. He was certain that his lungs would burst from within his chest.

They were so different from the sparkling, elite crowd that had attended the performance the other night.

And suddenly, he knew he couldn’t do this. What would Lan Zhan want Wei Ying’s messy, unexpected presence for? He should’ve just messaged or called, offered the necessary pleasantries, let Lan Zhan say what he needed to say and then get the hell out of here, move on with his fucking life the way he’d never quite been able to do before. Seeing Lan Zhan in person was impossible with so many people around like this. He’d just sneak out and call Lan Huan’s number instead of making a public spectacle of it. Or, you know, he could just fuck off to Yiling and never come back. That sounded really good right now, too. He could just disappear into the gaping, awful maw of that place and…

Edging toward the back of the crowd as Lan Zhan nodded politely at his fans, saying a few quiet words to them with hardly an expression on his face, he thought for sure he’d be safe from having to face this in this way when his newest friend turned and winked at him, raising her voice to say, “Wei Ying, say hello!”

Lan Zhan’s head snapped around, mouth falling open, eyebrows raised above his sunglasses. His gaze unerringly found Wei Ying as he was taking a final step toward one of the handful of doors that spilled onto the street, his hand already around the bar, waiting to push it open.

There was no way Lan Zhan would be able to catch him even if he tried to give chase, which he wouldn’t do because it was too undignified. If he wanted to, he could escape.

But he couldn’t move, as though his feet were grounded in cement, as though this one part of him refused to betray his original intentions in coming here, fed up with the rest of him.

Could he do this? He supposed he had to.

He raised his hand in a weak wave. “Lan Zhan,” he said, pitiful, “hi.”

Lan Zhan crossed the distance between them far too quickly, making security scramble to follow, and it was a good thing Wei Ying was holding onto something, because he went weak in the knees as soon as Lan Zhan was close enough that Wei Ying caught the too familiar scent of sandalwood and—and…

And Lan Zhan was taking off his sunglasses, his eyes saucer-wide. “You’re here. You came back.”

He said these words as though it was the greatest wonder the world has ever seen that it should be true. He said it as though Wei Ying was a precious, long lost friend and not just that guy who’d inadvertently broken his heart once upon a time. He said it as though he’d resigned himself to never seeing Wei Ying again.

“Lan Zhan,” was the only thing he could say in response, the only damned thought in his head, and if his voice was watery, wavering, laden down with more emotions than he knew what to do with, that was his own business. They were, after all, the only words in the world worth saying, his name. “Lan Zhan, I’m s—”

Without thinking much one way or the other, he reached for Lan Zhan and only at the last minute realized that perhaps Lan Zhan wouldn’t appreciate an armful of human folly at all, let alone in front of the people who admired him so deeply. His hands ended up pressed rather awkwardly against Lan Zhan’s sturdy, warm chest instead, which wasn’t any better, even if he flinched back immediately in an attempt to undo the damage of—of touching Lan Zhan without his permission. While there were people watching. Avid fans who’d—

But not a single one of them had their phones raised when Wei Ying risked a glance their way.

Then Lan Zhan’s warm palms cupped his elbows, giving him no opportunity to improve the image they presented. His grip was strong, crushing. Wei Ying could not have retreated even if he wanted to.

“I’m so sorry,” Lan Zhan said in a rush, surprising even himself maybe as his eyes widened further and the tips of his ears turned pink. The rush in his voice matched Wei Ying’s as he said the same thing at the same time, a matching flush burning across his cheeks and crawling down his neck. “I’m sorry.”

Those words were the key to a floodgate slamming back into place. Both Wei Ying and Lan Zhan stiffened, with Lan Zhan firmly closing his mouth and stepping back, perfectly composing himself. The distance, even as small as it was, sliced through Wei Ying’s heart until he reminded himself that there truly were a large number of people watching them and maybe Lan Zhan wouldn’t want this whole mess exposed to the world. It didn’t mean that Lan Zhan was rejecting his apology out of hand. There was a chance.

Wei Ying chanced one more glance in that direction.

Had there been that many before? Surely not.

“Can we… could we speak privately?” Wei Ying asked, not daring to hope for anything except to get out from beneath the scrutiny of all these people.

“Of course.” Lan Zhan’s hand wrapped again around his elbow as he nodded at his security team and he was practically dragging him away from the door. His hand slid eventually to Wei Ying’s lower back as they walked through the lobby, its own version of heaven and hell all at once for all that it seemed natural, like Lan Zhan wasn’t thinking at all as he did it. The guiding hand on his elbow might have been the safer option.

If Wei Ying was worried about his knees before, they were in even worse now. Jelly might have made a more stable base than his own bones at the moment.

“I know you don’t like seeing anybody before performances…” Wei Ying said.

“You’ve never been anybody,” Lan Zhan answered, crisp, prim with repressed emotion. There would be no arguing with that tone of voice. Wei Ying just wished he knew what emotion Lan Zhan was repressing.

At first glance, Lan Zhan appeared as serene as he normally purported to be, but that pink remained splashed across the tips of his ears and his chest was rising and falling rather quickly, each breath in and out faster than Wei Ying was used to seeing. But Lan Zhan’s face told every possible lie for him. No wonder he was so bad at speaking falsehoods and chose instead to never speak at all. It was easy to get away with it with a face like that.

Even after all this time, though, he was beautiful and in this moment Wei Ying wanted nothing more than to make him as happy as he possibly could. It was the one constant in his life, this desire. Even when he was let down by the realities of his own life, even when he had to give up the only other thing that ever made him happy, even when he couldn’t succeed in saving Lotus Pier, this remained. Right here. Right now. The fact that he couldn’t was neither here nor there. The fact that he had no right was beside the point.

He only ever felt like he hated Lan Zhan because he hadn’t been able to give any happiness to him, and felt like he had to make it true in every way that mattered. If he couldn’t give him any happiness, then he should at least have earned the unhappiness that had been handed to him instead.

They reached Lan Zhan’s private rooms almost before Wei Ying could even finish that thought.

For a moment, Wei Ying could only step inside and boggle at how pretty it was, all whites and blonde woods and those somber gray-blues that reminded him of the most perfectly melancholic days of his youth. It was just the sort of space that Wei Ying felt most at home in because it was most welcoming to Lan Zhan. Whoever ensured the venues catered to Lan Zhan’s tastes did so with alacrity and grace and Wei Ying was glad that Yunmeng could give him that much.

Wei Ying wanted to stay. Always. The one thing he couldn’t do.

It was easy suddenly to just spit it all out, staring at this room that might have been a mirror for Lan Zhan’s apartment. What did it matter? Nothing mattered. He was a ghost in this place. His impact, ephemeral. Even Lan Zhan wouldn’t be here tomorrow.

“Lan Zhan, I want to apologize to you for… for everything,” he said, turning around to face Lan Zhan, gathering up his courage all the while, because if he didn’t say it now, he’d never get to say it and might never allow himself to say it. “I’ve been unfair to you when you’ve been nothing but—” Yourself. Which meant that Wei Ying loved him anyway, even when it wasn’t perfect, even when Lan Zhan couldn’t tell him what he meant, even when he refused to fight when he should have and only pushed when Wei Ying couldn’t take it or when Wei Ying didn’t have the strength to fight for the both of them when it mattered.

Their timing was terrible. Perhaps that would never change.

“Awful to you,” Lan Zhan finished before he could.

Wait.

Awful? Lan Zhan believed he was the one who’d been awful? He’d made one mistake in all of this and that was so long ago… it was Wei Ying who was at fault now. “Lan Zhan…?”

Lan Zhan took a step toward him, staring at him so intently that Wei Ying almost gave into the urge to back up. But this was Lan Zhan and if he wanted to approach Wei Ying, then who was Wei Ying to stop him?

“The past is in the past, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, barely refraining from stammering out the words, less certain it was true than he wanted to be true, but he couldn’t be petty in the middle of an apology. For the length of this conversation, it was done. “I… could be a flirt when I was younger and I can see how you might have misconstrued some things.” A flare of annoyance flickered in his chest, one that he snuffed out because it was done. It was in the past and he was tired of carrying it around. As long as Lan Zhan didn’t still believe him to be so unreliable, that was the important thing, and Wei Ying could believe that about him if nothing else. The situation with Meng Yao and his brother proved that. “I’m sorry I didn’t explain before I jum—”

“I knew you. I shouldn’t have misconstrued at all. You shouldn’t have had to explain anything. I should have found a better way to tell you. I tried to take Lotus Pier from you without ever knowing…” He shook his head. “That doesn’t absolve me.”

Wei Ying’s heart clenched in his chest. Such words he didn’t dare hope to ever hear, but they weren’t ones that he needed now that he understood it wasn’t Lan Zhan who’d caused their recent misery. He tried this time to take a step back to gain some distance, a bit of perspective, buy himself a moment to think but…

It turned out that Lan Zhan was the one to take a step back instead; he took a step back in order to bow to the waist, too much, too overwhelming, like he was some disgraced figure in a drama, lowering himself for no good reason. It was so perfectly ridiculous and somehow so perfectly Lan Zhan. “I’m so—”

Wei Ying couldn’t stand it anymore. Lan Zhan shouldn’t prostrate himself this way, so formally, so stiffly, not for Wei Ying, not when he was already overcome by Lan Zhan’s first admission, too much for him already. He grabbed Lan Zhan by the arms and pulled him upright. “There’s no need for that.” Tears prickled in his eyes and his cheeks warmed and a breath lodged in his throat. He was supposed to be apologizing to Lan Zhan, not… not this. “Lan Zhan, get up. You’re making me nervous. Don’t do that.”

It was worse when Lan Zhan straightened up, because then Wei Ying could see the look in his eye. If anyone ever accused Lan Zhan of being unfeeling, this moment would have disabused them of that notion. There was no misconstruing the devastation in his eyes. His liar’s face betrayed him. “I should have kissed you again instead of berating you. I shouldn’t have pushed you away and I shouldn’t have let you push me away. You should have been allowed to know how I felt about you long before you kissed me.”

“Lan Zhan!” He couldn’t just—people didn’t just say things like that, right? “I’m the one trying to—”

“Thank you for coming to see me today, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, finding his decorum again, that awful devastation fading, though his words were spoken quickly, like he had his own time limit to abide by or because he was worried that Wei Ying wouldn’t let him finish. Given their recent history, who could blame him? “I know you must loathe me for my weaknesses, for the discredit I did to our relationship, our friendship, but I—I appreciate the chance to say—I’ve wanted to say that for a long time. Thank you for allowing me the chance to finally do so.”

If he’d thought Lan Zhan apologizing was bad enough, then hearing him express his gratitude for this was even worse.

Wei Ying didn’t deserve it. He didn’t want it. To hell with it.

“I couldn’t loathe you even when I wanted to,” Wei Ying said, the words cracking to pieces in his mouth, like biting down on shards of glass. This was what he’d wanted to say all this time. Lan Huan had been right and he’d been wrong. This was the not quite the most awful thing he’d ever had to go through, though it was brutally, viciously close, but he needed it, too, and he was surviving it. “I shouldn’t have wanted to.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes widened, sparkling with unshed tears. Tears. When did Lan Zhan cry?

Wei Ying closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. Why hadn’t he given Lan Zhan a chance? Even if every one of those messages Lan Zhan had left him was just him telling Wei Ying again that Wei Ying didn’t mean what he felt, he should have listened to them. What could have been worse than knowing what he’d been avoiding was a lie, the worst sort: the utterly pointless kind he told himself to feel… different, not even better, just another sort of awful?

“Lan Zhan, I’m… I’ll be leaving again soon. Going back to Yiling. I didn’t want a repeat of last time. I didn’t want to leave without seeing you. That might have been selfish, but…”

“Soon,” Lan Zhan said, toneless. “How soon?”

Now. Tomorrow. The next day? It didn’t matter when everything was ending tonight and Wen Chao held all the cards. Who knew how soon he’d demand Wei Ying’s presence? “As soon as I’ve…” There was so much to do. “I’m not sure. I have some business to wrap up and then…”

“Can you stay for tonight?” Lan Zhan asked, like it was the most complicated request of all time, like that wasn’t exactly what Wei Ying wanted to do. If things were different, he would have given this to Lan Zhan, but he’d already spent the time that remained to him and gotten more for it than he could have ever hoped for. Asking for more felt like risking death. He couldn’t be this lucky a second time and he hadn’t yet secured the possibility of Lan Zhan’s forgiveness. He needed that first.

“I can’t.” And how unfair was life that this was taken from him, too? Lan Zhan finally asked him to stay and he couldn’t. “I’ve got to sign a contract with Wen Chao—”

Lan Zhan’s eyes narrowed and his voice sharpened to a knife point. “Wen Chao?”

“Yeah, he’s…”

“I know who he is.” He said it with such vehemence that Wei Ying could only assume that Lan Huan told him about the debacle the other night. “Why are you signing a contract with him?”

“Lan Zhan…”

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying sighed in disgust, both toward himself and this situation. Had Lan Zhan never faced a situation he wasn’t interested in hashing out in exquisite, painful detail? Apparently not. A part of Wei Ying delighted in the opportunity, was still shocked that Lan Zhan wasn’t pushing him out the door, so he couldn’t be as mad as he wanted to be, though the admission would flay him alive and hurt Lan Zhan in the process. This much truth he owed to Lan Zhan. He peeled another ugly layer of himself away and handed it over. “In exchange for me going back to Yiling to run his restaurant, he’s going to buy Lotus Pier.”

In all of Wei Ying’s life, he’d never heard Lan Zhan swear before or pace so viciously. To hear it and see it now was surprising, probably a never to be repeated event. If he was in a better mood, he would have savored it. As it was, it only highlighted just how fucked this whole situation was.

“You can’t sell to him,” Lan Zhan insisted after a moment, his hands twitching at his sides. “Wei Ying…”

“What else am I supposed to do, Lan Zhan?”

“Fight for it,” Lan Zhan said, “You’ve always…”

Fight? He couldn’t even fight for Lan Zhan. Why should he have wanted to fight for this? No one else wanted it. Wei Ying didn’t have to want it either. “I don’t want to fight for it! I don’t want to fight for it when I don’t want it, when the money can allow Uncle Jiang to be entirely comfortable while he’s getting treatment in Shanghai. It’s the best deal I’m going to get now. It would be selfish to force Uncle Jiang to take an inferior offer when there’s no chance anyway. Who wants to fight that?”

It’s the only deal left open to me.

“Fighting is pointless,” he finished awkwardly.

Lan Zhan’s mouth fell open again and he was still blinking so much that Wei Ying was left worrying that he’d broken Lan Zhan’s brain. “Jiang Fengmian is ill?”

“Yes.”

Lan Zhan nodded jerkily, lips thinning, like he had more questions but knew, too, that time was slipping from between his fingers, sensing Wei Ying’s impatience perhaps and needing to take from Wei Ying as many wide-ranging answers as he could get before Wei Ying bolted. Another fair assumption. “And you don’t want Lotus Pier? That was what you wanted to discuss the other night? You were told I wouldn’t capitulate?”

He could see the gears turning in Lan Zhan’s head, but he couldn’t think of a way to say it that wouldn’t suggest guilt on Lan Zhan’s part. “Yes.”

“And… between then and now you made a deal with Wen Chao?”

“I didn’t want to, but that’s the gist of it. Yes.”

“He forced a deal?”

Wei Ying made a vague sound of disagreement at the ferociousness in Lan Zhan’s tone. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“How far would you go, Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying did not cringe. “He… didn’t make it very easy to say no.”

“What exactly is the deal?”

Wei Ying did not fidget and he didn’t feel like he was on trial. If he told himself that, it must be true. “He matched your offer.”

“You just have to leave your home for it.” There was an undercurrent of anger in his voice, brittle and threatening to splinter under the slightest strain. What business did Wei Ying have putting it there? Lan Zhan didn’t need to shoulder this burden even if he was asking for it.

“Aiyah, it’s not like I’ve never done that before. Or like Yiling is so far away.” He shoved at Lan Zhan’s shoulder, knowingly taking this closeness for granted, hoping it would put more space between them. “Don’t worry about it, Lan Zhan. I didn’t come here to talk about this.”

If Lan Zhan’s tone before was blank, it was now hollow. “You just wanted to say goodbye.”

“And hear you out. I’ve owed you that for a long time. I gave Lan Huan my word to pass on to you. I figured… it seemed like the right thing to—I wanted to apologize first though. You managed to beat me to the punch for once.” He laughed a little nervously and shoved his fingers through his hair. “I’ve messed this all up. I—”

But Wei Ying couldn’t finish speaking, because suddenly Lan Zhan’s hands were on his arm, around the back of his neck, and he was pushing Wei Ying back toward the wall, the back of Wei Ying’s head cradled in his palm, and his lips were pressing against Wei Ying’s with an urgency Wei Ying hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

Hadn’t felt, in fact, since the time he kissed Lan Zhan.

The last time he kissed anyone.

The only time he kissed anyone.

He kissed Wei Ying so deeply that Wei Ying was certain he’d die of hypoxia-induced euphoria before Lan Zhan ever let him go and he was so very okay with that as his hands scrabbled against Lan Zhan’s sides, over his back, pulling him in until Wei Ying couldn’t quite distinguish between them anymore. He kissed Wei Ying until Wei Ying forgot that ten years separated them from the happiest Wei Ying had ever felt. If this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up.

Wei Ying was kissed until he couldn’t remember anything except the taste of Lan Zhan in his mouth.

“Don’t sell to Wen Chao,” Lan Zhan said quietly into Wei Ying’s neck after he pulled away. His lips skimmed over Wei Ying’s skyrocketing pulse, teeth scraping lightly over the tendons as he spoke. “Don’t leave. Don’t say goodbye.” His fingers pressed hard against Wei Ying’s biceps, threatening to bruise so sweetly that Wei Ying gasped in response. When he lifted his head, it was watch as he slayed Wei Ying’s heart. “Stay at Lotus Pier with me.”

Stay at—that was impossible, wasn’t it?

“You still want it?”

“I never stopped wanting it. I just didn’t want to take it from you and I don’t want it now if you’re not there. I didn’t know it belonged to your family. I didn’t know anything. If I’d known… it doesn’t even have to be my studio. It can stay as it is if that’s what you’d prefer. Just don’t let it go.”

“Lan Zhan, if I don’t sell to Wen Chao, he’s going to ensure it gets run into the ground anyway. Even if I wanted to run it, it would do no good.” He was less upset about the possibility than he ought to have been maybe, but truly, all he cared about anymore was ensuring Uncle Jiang’s comfort. The rest of it could hang. His family was what mattered, the memories of all those good times. The building was a building. The coffee was just coffee.

The building was just a building.

Lan Zhan’s brow furrowed, as though he couldn’t imagine. “Then—”

“If you want it, you can do whatever you like with it.”

“And you’d stay?”

He imagined Lan Zhan taking it over, turning it into something else entirely, fucking Wen Chao over in spectacular fashion because he couldn’t win if Lotus Pier wasn’t a coffee shop at all anymore. But reality had to reassert itself at some point. A kiss and an apology couldn’t make such a big decision for him, no matter how spectacular the former or heartfelt the latter. “Lan Zhan, what am I going to do at Lotus Pier if it’s your studio? Get in your way while you practice? Be reasonable.”

His gaze took on a slightly glazed quality and his voice was a little dreamy. “Mn. That sounds reasonable.”

Still a dream then. He tugged at Lan Zhan’s ponytail, pulling the ribbon free to run his fingers through Lan Zhan’s gently waving hair because if this was an illusion he was damned well going to take advantage of it and he’d wanted to do this for so long. Lan Zhan’s hair was so soft and his head tipped gently into Wei Ying’s palm. “I could be your kept man while you do all the work, hmm?”

“If you want.”

Wei Ying made a gagging sound at the thought of that and frowned theatrically. Now it was Lan Zhan who was being ridiculous. This couldn’t be a dream if Lan Zhan was acting stupid, too. Wei Ying would never have conjured that for himself. “What about what you want?”

He was quiet and somber for a long time and then his features cleared and his eyes glinted with possibility, like he knew finally the answer to the question.

When he shifted slightly, legs pressing more firmly against Wei Ying’s, spreading his thighs until one of his knees was between both of Wei Ying’s legs, he thought it was obvious, but then Lan Zhan jostled him slightly and his hand went into his pocket and Wei Ying was left thrilled with the idea that Lan Zhan might be prepared to… might want—

Not that this was the time or place for something like that. They probably, uh, actually needed to have a conversation, a real one, before they ever considered doing… that… but—

Tell that to the rest of him.

When he merely retrieved his cell phone, a serious look steeling over his face, Wei Ying couldn’t decide whether he was going to laugh or cry. Oh, he hoped Lan Zhan, never, ever changed, not even when Wei Ying was pinned against a wall by him, hardening against his thigh, confused and turned on and a little bit scared at the scope of what was now forming between them, how they’d gone from one extreme to another so quickly. Did Lan Zhan even notice it from how earnestly he was staring at his phone? It didn’t seem like it.

“I thought you might want studio space of your own,” he answered, stunning Wei Ying into complete and total silence as he poked and prodded at the screen. When he turned it, he saw that the winners had been announced for the competition earlier today.

Oh. Oh, wow. That—he’d forgotten about it entirely.

And Lan Zhan had been… “You were following this?” He snatched the phone from Lan Zhan’s hand and pulled it close to his face in disbelief. As incredible as it was, it didn’t hold a candle to what he’d won in this room instead maybe. If he didn’t screw it up. “You want us to share studio space?”

“I saw your…” He trailed off, because the specifics didn’t matter. Wei Ying already knew. What else was there to see really? “Mn.”

“You saw my…” My confession. He couldn’t even say it because holy shit. Lan Zhan saw. He… he knew. And Wei Ying didn’t even know for how long.

“I did, but you didn’t answer my message after. Just because you—even if you meant it, that didn’t mean you’d want…” When he wouldn’t look at Wei Ying any longer, Wei Ying tipped his chin up, forced their gazes to match. He finally finished the thought, a killing blow to Wei Ying’s resolve. There was fearlessness and fear both in Lan Zhan’s eyes, fighting an endless battle within their depths. “You can be in love and still have it not work out. I thought my brother was just being kind when he told me you were planning on reaching out to me.”

He’d known that long. How must he have felt that whole time? And when Wei Ying chickened out on seeing him the very next day? No wonder Lan Huan pushed as much as he did, so out of character for him. “Lan Zhan.”

“I want to share space with you. That’s all I ever really wanted. I’m sorry I never knew how to say it before or let myself want it or show you. I’m sorry you never knew.”

“That’s…” Wei Ying swallowed back as much of the emotion he was feeling as possible. Too much of it leaked out regardless, but all that succeeded in doing was making Lan Zhan look at him with… with rather more fondness than Wei Ying deserved. He saw so much fragile hope there that he threatened to be smothered beneath the delicate weight of it. “Lan Zhan. It’s too…”

“Please.”

And, really, who was Wei Ying say no when he wanted it more than anything, when Lan Zhan was giving him everything he ever wanted just by saying he wanted Wei Ying to be around him.

“Stay,” Lan Zhan asked, thumb brushing over Wei Ying’s lower lip, his eyes, imploring.

He couldn’t quite stop himself from nipping lightly at Lan Zhan’s finger. “How could you say these things after everything I’ve said and done to you?”

“None of that matters. I can’t let you leave this room thinking I don’t want you. Shout at me, slam the door in my face, never take another call from me, I don’t care. You’ve done nothing to me I didn’t do to you first. It was my fault you spent so long thinking you were alone in your feelings and I let it keep happening when you showed back up and I hated myself for it every single time and I still didn’t do anything when I ought to have. So I’m doing it now while I still can. Wei Ying, stay.”

Wei Ying hadn’t heard Lan Zhan say this many words in one night ever and they both knew it and it frightened him how much he wanted this, how much he worried it would blow up because he wanted it so badly, but he couldn’t say no. Not this time. Not when Lan Zhan’s features were screwing up again, like he was trying to dig out more words from the detritus of his own heart that might turn this battle in his favor even after he’d exhausted every weapon at his disposal.

But this wasn’t a battle and even if it was, Wei Ying was already lost.

They’d have to work at it, but—Wei Ying wanted to try. He needed to try. He wouldn’t run. He would not run. He wouldn’t say no.

“Okay, okay, Lan Zhan. I’ll stay.” And then Lan Zhan made a sound that Wei Ying had never heard before and never wanted to hear again, a desperate keening as he practically collapsed in Wei Ying’s arms, held up by Wei Ying, his hands clutching at Wei Ying’s back as he pulled him into a hug, his face buried in Wei Ying’s neck. “Lan Zhan, I…” And then it was Wei Ying making a noise he never wanted to hear again, as mortifying as it was surprising. It was the most twisted version of a laugh Wei Ying had ever given and split itself into an ugly cry of anguish he couldn’t suppress quickly enough. “Lan Zhan, I didn’t get your message after that stream. I haven’t checked them all yet.”

It was a stupid thing to say, meaningless. There were a million other things he should have said instead.

When he finally lifted his head again and scrubbed his hand across his eyes, his palm came away wet.

“Lan Zhan, I won’t leave.”

Of the many things he’d had to do in his life that were hard—and there were many, so, so many, this might actually have been among the hardest. Even with Jiang Cheng at his side to help deliver the news, it was difficult. Well, in truth, it was Jiang Cheng doing the actual heavy lifting, but it was still hard. Not because it was bad, not because he didn’t trust that the others wouldn’t find their ways without him or Lotus Pier, but because it was easy for him to get maudlin and lonely and he’d miss them and though it didn’t seem like a complete failure, he still felt responsible for these people he’d surrounded himself with for so many years. The building may have been a building, but the people were his people.

If he left it to Jiang Cheng to tell them that Lotus Pier was being sold, that they’d be getting good severance packages—between Lan Zhan’s, Wei Ying’s, even Meng Yao’s contributions to their family’s security, neither he nor Jiang Cheng felt right not doing as much as they could for the rest of the employees—and excellent recommendations, that was his business, and if he got misty-eyed when Wen Yuan came up to him afterward to congratulate him, that was also his business and his alone, definitely not Mianmian’s, though she clapped him on the shoulder as she passed, a glass of sparkling water in her hand, and said, “Buck up, you think we don’t know where to come harass you? Stop looking so sad about it.”

Wen Yuan smiled, too, and nodded his agreement. Once she moved on to giving Jiang Cheng a hard time, punching him in the arm and asking him exactly how she’s supposed to give him a hard time if he’s all the way in Xiaonan running the front of a fancy restaurant there, Wen Yuan’s smile widened even more and gazed thoughtfully at Wei Ying. For a kid who wasn’t even twenty yet, he sure had keen eyes. It was like he saw right through Wei Ying. Talk about spooky. “Now I know why you never wanted me to call you boss.”

“Ah ha,” Wei Ying answered, crossing his arms awkwardly over his chest. “You know me. I’ve always loved shirking responsibility.”

“Is that what it was?” He made a thoughtful humming sound of disbelief, the nerve. “You seem happier now anyway, no matter what Luo Qingyang says. I’m glad. I wish I’d known you were Yiling sooner. I feel like I should have known.” Pulling his phone from his pocket, he ducked his head. “I found some of your videos online a while ago and it sort of inspired me to start up my own. Nothing as professional as yours obviously, but…” He showed Wei Ying a time-lapsed video of some latte art he’d apparently done in his spare time. No wonder he was so good at it. “But it’s been fun and a good excuse to practice. I can see why you love it.”

Wei Ying grabbed the phone out of Wen Yuan’s hand and clicked through to a few others. They were charming and sometimes Wen Yuan ducked his head into frame or flashed a thumbs up at the camera and it was just about the cutest thing he’d ever seen. Some of the designs were incredibly elaborate and some of the videos weren’t even just art. Some were just really soothing videos of him making cups of coffee, trying out different brewing and cupping methods, so in-depth and lovingly accomplished that even Wei Ying wanted to drink them.

“I didn’t know you liked coffee that much,” he said, giving the phone back.

“Mn, yes! What’s not to love?”

Wei Ying bit back a string of knee-jerk invective. There was a lot, in his opinion, to hate about coffee. If it didn’t go into a bar of chocolate or find its way into a cake, it was pointless. “I should introduce you to Uncle Jiang one day.” One day, he thought, might not be all that far off. Uncle Jiang was responding well to treatment and was already eager to come home. Wei Ying would bet every cent he had that they’d get along well. “You and he would have a lot to talk about.”

Wen Yuan’s teeth gleamed, that smile going all the way to a happy, full-blown grin. “I’d like that!”

“Good,” Wei Ying said, “and if you ever want any tips, you let me know. I haven’t played with douyin much, but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be fun, right?”

Wen Yuan lowered his head, hiding even more of his pleasure as he shuffled his feet and pocketed his phone. “I’d like that even more, ge.”

Wei Ying startled at that form of address, but he liked it, too, a lot and wrapped his arm around Wen Yuan’s neck to guide him back toward the snacks and desserts he’d made for the occasion that kind of… took over the entire counter. He wasn’t going to leave happy until every last one of them were gone, even if that meant letting Jingyi loose on the whole spread, all of them except the handful he intended to take back to Lan Zhan, the few he was sure Lan Zhan would like anyway and the ones Lan Zhan had, to Wei Ying’s surprise and endless delight, specifically asked for before Wei Ying left Lan Zhan in his apartment.

“Okay, Yuan-di. You’ve got yourself a date. How about next week?” he asked immediately so that it wouldn’t turn into one of those things that never actually happened.

It might, somewhere in the course of that first afternoon spent working together on Wen Yuan’s videos, be decided that one date will turn into standing weekly visits will turn into Lan Zhan sometimes composing short strings of music for Wen Yuan to use because Lan Zhan said he saw something of Wei Ying in the way his eyes glinted as he worked and that all on its own was enough to inspire him to action. Wen Yuan might become something of a sensation as a result of his hard work and diligence and Wei Ying won’t know it’s possible to be this proud and happy all at once until it happens, but he’ll have the proof of it all the same when they all sit together sometime later, showing Uncle Jiang Wen Yuan’s videos, after which Uncle Jiang will decide it’s time to pull out of storage a whole lot of equipment Wei Ying hadn’t seen in years.

They’ll get on like a house on fire, Wen Yuan and Uncle Jiang will, just like Wei Ying thought they would and Wei Ying won’t even feel like he’s created a monster, even though that might end up being true, too.

It was a good thing Wei Ying had so much hair, because with how fiercely he was tugging at it, he was bound to lose some of it as he attempted to turn the awfully edited mess on his hands into something he could conceivably actually post to the internet without a feeling of shame overtaking him. How had Lan Huan convinced him to join up with Lan Entertainment when everything he did was turning out to be garbage? This video was at one turn too cutesy and the next too pathetic and the third, better to not talk about the third. The third turn was awful. The worst editing job ever. Wei Ying was going to throw his laptop across his living room if something didn’t change soon.

It was too much. The only thing keeping him remotely sane was the sound of guqin strings being plucked, the melody unfamiliar, but beautiful. The melody was often unfamiliar these days and not only because Wei Ying fought so hard to avoid hearing them. They were truly new pieces, or bits of pieces, will-one-day-be-pieces pieces.

Dating a Lan was like winning the lottery every day of the year in this respect. Who else had their own personal musician on call to soothe their wretched mind? Okay, maybe quite a few people because musicians were people, too, and presumably some of them dated, but only Wei Ying had Lan Zhan, which meant he was the luckiest of them all.

Even so, he couldn’t quite concentrate this time, not when Lan Zhan was the only thing left in the room that was beautiful and good and not part of a stupid video that wouldn’t gel right.

“Don’t we have a studio for you to practice in?” Wei Ying said, not quite snappish, but definitely overwhelmed with the desire for something to happen, even if it was only needling Lan Zhan a bit. “Why are you sitting there in the corner playing like that? I have to be bothering you.”

Lan Zhan smiled placidly from said corner of Wei Ying’s living room, his corner, a living room that was way, way more organized than Wei Ying was used to, but sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. Besides, it was more like their living room at this point. Pretty much. Since Lan Zhan basically lived here and had even brought his much superior couch along. And also his bed. And, okay. So Lan Zhan lived here. At least until they decided they’d rather live in a house.

“You like it,” Lan Zhan replied, “and it’s good to learn how to cultivate focus when there are children about.”

“Am I the child in this situation?”

Mirth, mirth of all things twinkled in Lan Zhan’s beautiful, devious gaze. He’d changed so much since they found one another again, a constant surprise to Wei Ying in ways Wei Ying would never have imagined in the past. When he wouldn’t have done so before, for example, he now teased Wei Ying. A lot. Every chance he got. “I wouldn’t dare to presume such a thing.”

Wei Ying wagged his finger at Lan Zhan. “You never should have started teaching little ones. It’s all gone to your head. You’re nice and… soft now. How am I supposed to bully such a sweet man as this even when he bullies me?”

Lan Zhan leveled a dry expression at him. “The studio is yours, too, Wei Ying. And it has that big monitor you—”

Wei Ying was not going to flush, not this time, and he definitely wasn’t going to…

Lan Zhan watched him placidly, plucking lightly at the strings of his guqin. “Yes?” he asked when Wei Ying made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. Maybe he liked the big monitor, okay? It was very professional. And kind of sexy. And Lan Zhan had picked and picked and picked at him until he’d finally admitted he wanted it and bought it for himself. How was that Wei Ying’s fault?

Lan Zhan’s gaze dipped to Wei Ying’s lap, which was blessedly hidden from view by the lap desk Lan Zhan got for him so they could sit on the couch together, Wei Ying using Lan Zhan’s arm and side as a backrest so he wasn’t marooned at the dining room table where Lan Zhan couldn’t conveniently see him unless he sat there, too, which he’d sometimes done before The Lap Desk because it would have been embarrassing for Lan Zhan to see his true process, which always involved shitty snacks and dramas and risking permanent injury to his back from the way he sat.

Anyway. Enough about lap desks and monitors and Lan Zhan being so merciless with him. “Are you sure your brother’s okay with this? It’s his private life I’m…”

Lan Zhan’s hands pressed lightly against the guqin strings to silence them. “His private life hasn’t been private in years and he is looking forward to directing everyone to you if they have questions about his romantic entanglements. He’s perfectly okay with this. He wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise.” Lan Zhan’s gaze grew more pointed. “And he wouldn’t have asked you to build a the new web entertainment division as a part of your ambassadorship if he wasn’t certain that you’d do well there.”

In fact, it was the culmination of his original idea to harvest Meng Yao’s relationship woes for content, back before he’d known it was Lan Huan he’d had his eyes on. Now he had the whole affair documented, built around the footage he’d originally gotten what felt like a million years ago now, along with a few additional baking lessons, one of which even included Lan Huan, because it was fun to teach people how to bake on camera while he asked them about their loved ones.

So maybe it turned out Lan Huan hadn’t needed to be wooed, but that didn’t mean he didn’t deserve it even after the fact. And if it turned out Meng Yao liked baking a little bit, well, nobody needed to know that, but everyone would. Or everyone who watched the videos would anyway. Which would be everybody since it involved Lan Huan.

It was fun, the most fun he’d had in a long time, at least during filming: the perfect continuation of his earlier exploits, just like he’d known it could be. Meng Yao was perfect on camera and best of all, Wei Ying didn’t have to come up with clever hacks to make sure nobody saw his face or connected the dots of his past to his present. And unlike the culinary world, the vlogging community was far more forgiving of Wei Ying’s past transgressions. In fact, except for a handful of persistent trolls, nobody really cared and it wasn’t like he didn’t have persistent trolls before.

Wei Ying sighed and scrubbed his hand through his hair. How could Lan Zhan fight Wei Ying’s insecurities with logic? “But what if nobody likes it?”

“Then you’ll do something else that makes you happy,” Lan Zhan said helpfully as Wei Ying glared at his laptop.

“Haaaaaa, ha ah, Lan Zhan, I’m not sure this makes me happy anymore.” He stabbed at the keyboard a few times, frowning at the screen. God, but he wanted to recut this thing from the beginning. He’d need the big monitor for that though. “Can I do you instead? That’ll definitely make me happy.”

“You’ve done a good job and brother is pleased with it. There’s no reason to worry.”

While Wei Ying pouted and fussed for a few more minutes, Lan Zhan resumed playing. Each note was more soothing than the last, but it did no good. Wei Ying was lost, ruined, bereft. A talentless hack.

Sighing, he leaned his head back against the couch cushion.

Lan Zhan stopped again, the bastard. “Is my playing distracting you?”

“Never!” Yawning into his sleeve, he made sure everything on the laptop was saved and closed the lid. He could afford a five minute… okay, three minute breather. Maybe if he just closed his eyes for a minute, he’d regain perspective. “It's the only thing that keeps me going, Lan Zhan. You know that.”

Which was obviously why Lan Zhan should have chosen that moment to start back up again, not raise his eyebrow at Wei Ying so suspiciously.

Then Lan Zhan climbed to his feet, elegantly stretching to his full height before he walked across the floor to run his fingers through Wei Ying’s hair. “You’re very likable, Wei Ying. As you. Not just because you were Yiling. They’ll like what you do because you are personable and good and charming, not because of a scarf-covered face.”

He sat next to Wei Ying and took Wei Ying’s hand in his. His fingers were warm from playing and Wei Ying rubbed his thumb over his knuckles, hoping to ease the ache in them that Lan Zhan refused to complain about even though Wei Ying had caught him rubbing liniment into his skin on more than one occasion.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, that’s kind of you—”

“I liked you from the minute I saw you,” Lan Zhan said. “I don’t like anyone, but I liked you. You are personable. And good. And charming. Even when there’s no scarf wrapped around you.”

Wei Ying blushed and ducked his head. It was growing easier by the day to talk about their past, cradle the good parts and leave aside the parts better left to those times. “And here I thought you were such a tough nut to crack. Stop disabusing me of my romantic notion that I wore you down.”

“You did that, too.”

Wei Ying slapped him lightly on the hip since it was the closest thing to him from his slouched position. “You say the nicest things, Lan Zhan. I’ll have to—”

Lan Zhan stopped him with a kiss, the finest way to shut Wei Ying up that had ever been invented. Carefully, he plucked the lap desk and laptop from where it was balanced on Wei Ying’s thighs and then shoved them onto the other end of the couch.

Laughing delightedly, Wei Ying snuggled back into the couch. “Lan Zhan, if you were concerned that your playing was distracting, this is, uh…”

“I won’t be long,” Lan Zhan said as he straddled Wei Ying, his knees perfectly bracketing Wei Ying’s hips, pinning him down as he palmed Wei Ying’s dick through his jeans. Jerking up into Lan Zhan’s touch did little as Lan Zhan merely pushed him back down, immobilizing him.

“That’s because you’re too good at it and won’t let me—” Wei Ying whined.

“Do you want me to take my time?”

Argh! Wei Ying always wanted Lan Zhan to take his time, the demon, but he was working to a self-imposed deadline here and his stupid laptop was still calling out to him. “The romance is dead, Lan Zhan! Now we’re negotiating how long it’ll take? What’s next? Will you pencil me into your schedule? ‘Fuck Wei Ying at 6:15 sharp, make sure he comes by 6:30, guqin practice at 7:00?”

Lan Zhan’s knuckles teased at the seam of Wei Ying’s jeans. “I think you’d like that too much.”

“Of course I would! All that anticipation? It would—”

Lan Zhan pressed his palm over Wei Ying's mouth, fingers digging into Wei Ying's jaw.

“You talk a lot.”

It was only when Wei Ying went completely still, trembling minutely, that Lan Zhan let go of his face. He breathed in as though he intended to say something, but then Lan Zhan slipped between his legs, knees landing with a thud against the hardwood floor, and he was pulling Wei Ying's jeans down his thighs, trapping him, before Wei Ying could get a single word of what he was going to say out. Not that he remembered what he was going to say, but…

Instead, he went with the infinitely more elegant, “Oh, fuck. You're…”

Wei Ying's fingers threaded through Lan Zhan's hair, tugging gently, insistently. He took Wei Ying into his mouth and held Wei Ying by his hips, thumbs digging into the bone. Showing Wei Ying the same attention that he devoted to everything he loved, he hollowed his cheeks and swirled his tongue, doing each of the things to Wei Ying that Wei Ying enjoyed best, which was anything Lan Zhan ever did.

He chanted in his head all the words he couldn’t quite bring himself to say. Though he was doing better at talking about things, it still required baby steps. He knew it was only a matter of time before he did and in the meantime the grace they’d struggled to find together kept him from fearing a worse misunderstanding than the ones they’d already gone through.

It was one thing to hear them from behind the safety of a screen, to know the words weren’t truly meant for you to hear. It was another… it was another for Wei Ying to say them and know he’d face the consequences immediately. It wasn’t that he was afraid precisely. More that he wanted the moment to be right, the way dessert could live or die by the timing of each and every step.

I love you. You're perfect. It could never have been anyone else. I love you. I love you. I’m sorry it took me so long.

He shuddered and whined, head thrown back, neck arched until he ached. A distant cramp threatened to form in his calf and somehow even that was exciting as long as he didn’t accidentally end up kicking Lan Zhan in the face or something. “Lan Zhan, this isn't gonna—”

Lan Zhan wasn’t interested in what wasn’t going to happen, his hands pressing Wei Ying even more firmly into the couch. He sucked even more insistently and swallowed Wei Ying down as deeply as he was capable, which was… really, really deep, too good, too fucking—

Though Wei Ying tightened his grip in Lan Zhan’s hair and he ground out a warning, Lan Zhan didn’t even let him do the gentlemanly thing, not that he ever did really.

Of course, Lan Zhan had to be perfect, swallowing every bit of evidence. The only proof left on his face was in the rosy pinkness of his ears and mouth. Wei Ying maybe regretted that a little bit, might have liked to know what it looked like if…

So Wei Ying could, occasionally, also be a demon.

Flopping back, Wei Ying patted Lan Zhan’s head and floundered for any bit of Lan Zhan he could reach to haul him up, his collar being the closest. “You're incredible. Let me—”

But Lan Zhan was already getting to his feet and slipping from his grasp. A telltale stain spread across his open trousers like he was a reprobate and a cupped hand spoke very, uh, dirtily to what Lan Zhan had done to himself while Wei Ying was too occupied to pay attention.

Oh, Lan Zhan.

“That was cruel of you, Lan Zhan. You know I like to see.” He grabbed Lan Zhan’s wrist and tugged him off-balance and managed at the very least to lick the come from his palm because if Lan Zhan was going to get shameless on him, then Wei Ying needed to up his own attempts because there was no way he was letting himself be outdone in this. Wei Ying could be defeated by every other metric, who cared? But this? It was his territory first.

“Next time.” There was, very possibly, the slightest stammer in his voice, which Wei Ying was absolutely not proud to have instigated, not at all, especially when it was so difficult these days to fluster Lan Zhan.

If Wei Ying found a second wind for and a fresh bout of confidence in his work while Lan Zhan wandered off to wash his hands—and put on a pair of Wei Ying’s sweatpants like a common heathen scoundrel bastard, how could he do such a thing when they didn’t even reach his ankles properly—he was never, ever going to admit to anyone that it was all thanks to Lan Zhan’s ability to suck cock like a champion.

Well, except for Lan Zhan. He had to admit it to Lan Zhan. Somewhere along the way, they’d managed to secure an agreement in which they both copped to their feelings, even the stupid ones, even the hard ones—except for that one single one that Wei Ying kept cradled within his chest, surrounded by bubble wrap where it waited for its chance.

It was really awkward, this insistence on talking, and Wei Ying was half sure that Lan Zhan hated it, too, but it worked so they kept at it. It worked for them to admit to even the dumbest shit their minds came up with—well, Wei Ying’s mind. Lan Zhan only ever spoke romantically, like sharing that he’d found a poem that reminded him of Wei Ying or he wanted Wei Ying to fuck him slow just to see how long past Lan Zhan’s bedtime they could last, really nice things. Not like Wei Ying.

So he might have said, “Lan Zhan, thank you for sucking cock like a champion. You truly are a saint among men,” while Lan Zhan tried to innocently mind his business and go back to practicing.

“There’s no patron saint of fellatio that I know of,” Lan Zhan said as he stared very, very hard at his guqin and didn’t touch it, maybe despairing inside for having caused this all to happen. It would serve him right if he did regret it.

Then Lan Zhan lifted his head and Wei Ying locked eyes with him and said deadly seriously, only barely managing to stop himself from dissolving into laughter at Lan Zhan’s disgruntled expression, “Oh, I think there might be now. Congratulations. The job is yours.”

Lan Zhan said nothing and then said nothing and still said nothing, until:

“Fine.” His eyes narrowed and the corner of his mouth twitched. “If it must be someone’s job.”

“But only for me?”

Fiercely challenging, Lan Zhan looked back at him, “Only for you.”

Wei Ying could say this for him: the man kept his promises.

Lan Zhan was busy fussing with his collar when Wei Ying came into his dressing room, a lovely, indomitable whirlwind who was all smiles and—

“You dressed up?” Lan Zhan asked, throat going dry because Wei Ying was wearing the crispest tuxedo Lan Zhan had ever seen and it looked… really, really good. Weird on Wei Ying, but. Good. Good? Was it good? No. Incredible might have explained the sleek lines of Wei Ying’s body in the suit, somehow different from when they ran into each other for the first time again, because this time, Wei Ying could be openly admired without any fear of reprisals.

Even his hair was brushed back and neatly gelled into place, which was too strange to contemplate, so Lan Zhan mussed it and then immediately went to the washroom to scrub the sticky goo from his hands.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying wailed.

His curls remained mostly tame, but at least Wei Ying was recognizably Wei Ying this way as he watched Wei Ying in the mirror through the open door.

“I was trying not to embarrass my boyfriend,” he said, pouting as he wandered over to the mirror and assessed the damage from behind Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Now I look like a street urchin who wandered by and got thrown into a penguin suit. You could have looked like you chose to date a suave, sophisticated man instead of me. You’ve ruined it.”

“I don’t like sophisticated men.” Lan Zhan pressed a kiss to his temple and squeezed his shoulder. No, very fortunately, if he had to pick a type, Wei Ying would be the very template. Emotional, exuberant, a fireworks display in human form. Sophistication had no place there. “You should probably get to your seat. It's just about time for me to go on.”

“I see you’re not denying that I’m an embarrassment.” Wei Ying adjusted Lan Zhan's bow tie slightly and did a better job of it than Lan Zhan had managed. His hands might have been shaking a little bit when he put it on earlier. That made adjusting his suit a little difficult. “I guess I can run off to my seat like a good little boy.” He patted Lan Zhan’s chest affectionately. “You are too handsome for your own good. Think of all those people’s feelings you're out there hurting with all this elegance?”

Lan Zhan's cheeks warmed at the compliment. “Go, Wei Ying. It'll be worth it, I promise.”

At least he hoped it will be.

He’d waited weeks, months, years for this moment, and now that it had come, he actually had Wei Ying to share it with when he never thought it would be possible. He had never mentioned the problems he was having before in specific terms, one thing he never wanted to burden Wei Ying with now that he knew the cause, his own grief over the loss of Wei Ying choking the creative life out of him. It probably didn’t matter since since his brother once told him that Wei Ying was aware something had shifted in Lan Zhan's playing while they’d been estranged. If Wei Ying were to ask about it, he would have been honest. As it was, he could tell he was working through it almost from the moment Wei Ying came back to him and so it didn’t seem worthwhile to mention in detail.

And now, he’d finally fully solved that problem. And he thought—or hoped anyway—that Wei Ying will soon realize what that meant to him. If Wei Ying did not, he’d tell him and he would not be disappointed in having to speak the words. Probably he’d tell him anyway because if Wei Ying could get away with saying anything and everything, then Lan Zhan could do his part, too.

As soon as he stepped onstage, he saw Wei Ying in the seat set aside for him, Lan Huan and Meng Yao next to him. Though his brother and Meng Yao were chatting, Wei Ying’s focus was entirely on him. There might as well not have been anyone else in the room at all.

He rarely spoke during performances and so it presumably wasn’t a surprise to anyone when he didn’t do so now. He simply sat at his guqin, played for a while, and then, once the notes faded on the last piece, he reached for the microphone that was only really ever there as a formality, but which Lan Zhan had specifically ensured was present tonight and had asked to be checked multiple times. Just in case.

Tonight, it was anything but a formality. Tonight, it was important.

Tonight, he did have something to say which his music couldn’t quite convey, not the things he hoped Wei Ying would hear, but important context nonetheless.

For the first time in years, he experienced mind-numbing stage fright as his fingers wrapped around the mic, reminiscent of his first recital when he was seven and wished his mother could have been there. It was like he could hear everything going on in the room all at once suddenly. Each cough, squeaking seat, and mumbled word was audible to him and overwhelming.

“We love you, Hanguang-jun!” someone—not Wei Ying, surprisingly, not that Lan Zhan would have minded—shouted.

Titters of awkward, joyful laughter worked through the audience. His eyes found Wei Ying’s again, warm and kind and happy just to be there, and once he’d looked his fill, all of his worries melted away.

“I'd like to play some new music for you. It hasn't even been recorded yet. This piece is something I've been working on since my third year of university. It was never quite right until recently.” He laced his fingers together around the mic and bowed his head slightly. “Thank you.”

He could speak with eloquence on any subject except his own heart, but instead of worrying that his words weren’t enough, he chose to be grateful that he got them out at all.

Excitement built and built and crested and built again in the crowd at the mention of new music, as Lan Zhan sat back down and made some fine, minute adjustments to his instrument.

He began playing a piece that was hauntingly beautiful even to him own ears and hopeful, longing. He’d known immediately it was the best thing he’d ever do once it was complete—a thought that should have frightened him, but couldn’t, not in this case—and he felt the electric shock of the audience as they seemed to realize it, too. Nobody moved or seemed even to breathe through it, not Lan Zhan either.

Each note caught inside of him first, plucked loose by fingers too nimble to stumble through the fear that beat away inside his chest anew because he couldn’t look at Wei Ying until he was done.

For most of his pieces, he could trace the entire genesis from thought to composition to completion. Others spoke sometimes of inspiration as their primary engine of creation and Lan Zhan privately scoffed because it was hard work that saw him through, the careful application of theory to practice, his training honing an initial kernel—perhaps inspiration, who was he to say otherwise—into something worthy of the people who cared to hear his music.

The beginning and the end of this composition was Wei Ying and he could no more explain it than explain how the neurons in Wei Ying’s brain or the muscles in his heart formed the spirit within him that Lan Zhan so cherished.

Lan Zhan had only ever felt like a conduit only here, at the mercy of whims he could not understand. As such, it was the easiest composition he’d ever written in some ways and the hardest in others.

As soon as it was done, the whole room, which was normally very quiet and composed, perfectly respectable, was stunned into complete silence until the last note faded and then the audience, almost as one, rose in a standing ovation that embarrassed Lan Zhan as much as it gratified him.

When the lights were raised, the first thing he saw was Wei Ying looking on with tears in his eyes, brushed quickly away and then banished entirely by a smile.

He understood. Of course he understood. How was there ever a doubt in Lan Zhan’s mind? Except he knew exactly how he might have harbored doubts. There was more than ten year of doubt between him and the last time he’d known himself to be securely, positively, certainly happy. Ten years of Wei Ying doubting him. And one too many moments of Lan Zhan doubting Wei Ying first.

Lan Zhan blew out a pent-up breath.

Wei Ying was again finally the one who understood him best. There was no more need for doubt.

“So, are you excited?” Wei Ying asked, leaning against Lan Zhan, tangling their fingers together. It was a lovely day and Wei Ying was not above admitting that he was utterly delighted with everything and everyone, most especially Lan Zhan. Always Lan Zhan.

“I’m gratified that you’re excited,” Lan Zhan said, more circumspect than Wei Ying and also far more polite.

“Ah, Lan Zhan. Who wouldn’t want to see this fancy coffee shop Wen Chao has been threatening me with for months now?” He made an exaggerated face and bopped Lan Zhan lightly on the nose. “That ominous coming soon sign has been teasing me!”

“You’ll have to see it actually be open now,” Lan Zhan pointed out, “every day.”

“Let me have one moment of enjoyment, Lan Zhan, before you force me to acknowledge reality, please.”

“With your luck, he’ll choose to spend most of his time here, too.”

“Lan Zhan, cursing my unborn babies would be more kind. Why are you wishing this on me?” In fact, it was perfectly likely that he would, regardless of Wei Ying’s luck. Though he had no proof, he could see Wen Ruohan forcing Wen Chao to choke on this mistake for as long as possible before finally allowing him to come back to what he would term civilization.

“I’ll protect you if the worst comes to pass,” Lan Zhan answered. “He will not know a single comfortable moment in Yunmeng.”

“My hero.” They stopped just in front of it, too sleek for Wei Ying’s taste, all modern with no grace, not like Lan Zhan, who was modern and graceful and perfect. “Is he trying to say his coffee is so good, it’ll send you into outer space?” he asked, kicking lightly at one of the spiky metallic decorations that stood out front, just the kind of thing Wen restaurant clientele usually liked. “This looks like a deconstructed rocket ship.”

Too bad it was just normal, not stuck up people who lived here and not Wen restaurant clientele who lived here.

Wei Ying poked his head through the open door, since Wen Chao had senselessly chosen dark, smoked glass, making it difficult for Wei Ying to snoop from outside. There was a long line of customers and potential customers, a mix of his own former regulars, uniformly unimpressed, and the haughtier sort that would make a spectacle of the fact that they were coming here before realizing there was nothing here with any cachet and therefore of little interest to them.

Nobody seemed happy as they snapped pictures of their drinks on their phones or sipped indifferently from seats or stood around waiting. Wei Ying wondered how much money in advertising this was going to cost him.

“Who charges this much for coffee?” Uncle Liu was saying, shaking his head as he berated Wen Chao himself at the counter. “Nothing is the same since Wei Ying abandoned us. I’ll never—”

He turned back to Lan Zhan, pointed inside and then in the direction of their studio, and waited for a nod from Lan Zhan before proceeding.

“Hey, Uncle Liu!” Wei Ying called. “Why don’t you come to the studio with Lan Zhan and me, eh? I still have the coffee machine. I’ll take care of you.”

“Wei Ying!” Uncle Liu said, a smile stealing over his mouth.

Wei Ying beckoned him over and then waved at a stormy-faced Wen Chao. “Good morning, A-Chao! I hope business treats you well! Congratulations on the open!” Holding out his arm for Uncle Liu, he added, “Have fun in there.”

“You—” His eyes widened and he moved as though to step out from behind the counter, except somebody was already stepping up to his sleek register and he was forced to adopt a greasy little smile as he took his next customer’s order instead.

He’d be fine probably; he just won’t like it. Let him feel the same shackles that Wei Ying and the rest of his family had experienced, those ones Wen Chao thought he could save Wei Ying from. That was more than enough revenge for Wei Ying.

“Come on, Uncle Liu.”

They then crossed the street and entered the studio. Most of the space out front belonged to Lan Zhan and it showed, especially when Lan Zhan began retrieving the various instruments that were so beautiful they might as well have been pieces of art and placed them on the handful of low tables that sat in neat little rows near the fireplace. The old stock room had been partitioned off to form a sound-proofed recording space, but Lan Zhan had decided to keep most of the rest of it open and airy, with windows and light, wispy curtains that could be pulled aside when students arrived or because it was a particularly beautiful day or simply because Yunmeng really was as nice as Wei Ying always said and even he could admit it.

Wei Ying led Uncle Liu to his desk, the desk that used to be in the room where Jiang Cheng worked that had had its walls knocked down so Wei Ying and Lan Zhan could see one another. The desk was made from Lotus Pier’s old counter because he couldn’t quite bring himself to give it up when the contractors were trying to remove it during renovations. Lan Zhan’s idea, perfectly thoughtful.

It was different when he was the one choosing it rather than the other way around.

“Sit for a moment with me here, uncle. I’ll get you taken care of in just a moment, there’s just one thing I need to tell Lan Zhan.” Though that stupid monitor Lan Zhan teased him about beckoned for him, it could wait.

And then he was traipsing across the floor space, wrapping his arms around Lan Zhan from behind, pressing his ear against Lan Zhan’s curved back as he worked at setting up his guqin at the table he favored, one he’d had since they were in school together. Lan Zhan was humming something, a melody that might one day become a song that might one day make it onto an album. It was new. Something Wei Ying had never heard before, not even when Lan Zhan was noodling at home.

Lan Zhan was always humming these days or scribbling, so much so that sometimes he went to bed with fingers that couldn’t quite be scrubbed clean of ink because he’d written so many notes across as many sheets of paper. His notation and penmanship were so beautiful they could have been art all on its own and he seemed to go through reams and reams of paper.

His heart thrummed against his rib cage for no good reason at all. “Hey, guess what?”

“What?” Lan Zhan tried as best he could to turn toward Wei Ying, hard to do with the way Wei Ying was clinging.

Smiling gently, he pressed a dry, closed mouth kiss between Lan Zhan’s shoulder blades, earning a mouthful of fuzz from his sweater for the effort. Totally worth it even as he spat dryly afterward. And then he knew. There was nothing really special about this day versus any other. Lan Zhan wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary. Wei Ying didn’t feel any different. But even so.

It was time.

He didn’t flinch or even blink.

“Lan Zhan, I’ve been in love with you from the minute I saw you,” he said, giving over the words he never thought he’d be able to, entrusting them to Lan Zhan’s care, all of them, every last one. “I wanted to do everything with you then and I still want to do everything with you now. I’ve loved you through every day we’ve been together and every day we were apart.”

Lan Zhan stilled, but laced their fingers together above his heart, which was beating furiously against Wei Ying’s palm. His ear was hot to the touch of Wei Ying’s cheek against it. “What brought this on?”

“Nothing! You’re too beautiful to not say those words. Who could help himself?”

“Every other person on the planet has managed so far.”

“That is demonstrably not true, but I won’t be a bad boyfriend and pull up Weibo to prove it. Lan Zhan, just let me say something nice to you. How about some tea before your kiddos come in, hmm? I’m making coffee for Uncle Liu anyway.”

“No need.”

“Please, Lan Zhan? I’m feeling nostalgic.”

Lan Zhan huffed in amusement, which meant Wei Ying had won and he had to run away with his victory as fast as he could before Lan Zhan could take it back.

He was caught halfway across the room by Lan Zhan’s hand around his wrist and was tugged backward into his embrace.

“Wei Ying?” he said, his breath warm against the back of Wei Ying’s neck, his hands sliding down to wrap around Wei Ying’s abdomen. He was too smart to kiss the fabric between Wei Ying’s shoulder blades, but he did land one on the shell of Wei Ying’s ear as Wei Ying shivered. “I love you, too.”

Wei Ying leaned his head back against Lan Zhan’s shoulder, his head turning toward Lan Zhan’s neck to press another kiss to the quick, fluttering pulse in his throat. “Guess what, Lan Zhan? I knew that already.”

If there was one constant in the universe it was this: Wei Ying loved Jiang Yanli.

He loved her even though she had so, so much time on her hands and he was discovering just how much now that she’d come to stay in Yunmeng for a while so she could see for herself how her father was doing. She spent so much time in Yunmeng that Jin Ling was enrolled in kindergarten here. He spent most of his day there and when he wasn’t there, Madam Yu and Uncle Jiang were demanding to see him. Her husband spent a lot of his time in Lanling and she… she poked around Wei Ying’s kitchen so often that maybe, possibly, he was ready to say something about it. For Lan Zhan’s sake if not his own, because it was obvious that Lan Zhan was going a little feral around the eyes from all the company.

Then again, there was only so much time she could spend with her parents before she got a little feral around the eyes and Jiang Cheng had gone and netted himself a restaurant in Xiaonan and only came back on weekends, pleasing his parents by staying with them when he did it. Which didn’t help Wei Ying at all the rest of the time.

Lan Zhan’s version of feral meant he retired to their bedroom a little bit earlier than Wei Ying might have liked because he was too polite, but it still worried Wei Ying.

He loved jiejie and loved having her around, but he wanted Lan Zhan to be comfortable, too, and didn’t quite know how to tell his sister, didn’t particularly want to send her back to Uncle Jiang’s and Madam Yu’s when it was clear she was used to being out from under their wings and needed some space, too, even if that space was also Lan Zhan’s space.

“Jiejie,” Wei Ying said in that whining tone of voice he got as he stomped childishly into the kitchen. It was the tone that made her tap his nose and call him her A-Ying, as he wrapped his arms around her midsection and hooked his chin over her shoulder. He thought about Lan Zhan alone at the desk Wei Ying had bought for him, his composition notebook open before him while he hummed melodies to himself, all alone, when he might have been messing around on his guqin instead. “Jiejie, you know how much I love your soup.”

“I am aware,” she said, doing nothing to stop herself from focusing entirely on it.

“But I don’t think you’re making this soup for me,” Wei Ying sing-songed. “Though I like that you’ll probably scandalize the entirety of Shandong province. Are you mad at your husband or happy? I can’t quite tell.” Frankly, it was even odds in Wei Ying’s mind: he was fussy and traditional, but he’d been born into a rich family which sometimes meant you’d try to act cutting edge. Wei Ying only ever got to see him when he was being fussy, but Jiang Yanli wasn’t generally given to spite, so maybe he had a faux-experimental side that Wei Ying didn’t care enough to know about. “Do you miss him?”

She stiffened. “…maybe.”

“You know you can go back,” he replied. “Uncle Jiang is doing better. It’s not that far. You’ve been here for two months already.” Two months during which neither he nor Lan Zhan instigated anything in the living room because it was weird when jiejie might be coming over at any moment. Two months during which Wei Ying wondered whether they really did need to buy a house or something so he wouldn’t have to keep making up said couch when she decided to stay over because her mother didn’t need her help to rear Jin Ling apparently.

She spun so quickly that the ladle clattering to the stove top, startling Wei Ying with the loud, metallic sound of it. Her voice shook slightly when she spoke. “In other families, I’d be scolded for leaving.”

Wei Ying didn’t think he’d ever seen her quite so rattled, but it wasn’t fair to assume she wasn’t at all affected by what had happened with Uncle Jiang. She always acted like nothing bothered her, but that couldn’t be true, could it? “A-jie?”

“I want to stay. A-Xuan has a few more years on his contract in Lanling, but…”

Holding her by the shoulders, he looked deep into her eyes. “You’re allowed to stay in Lanling with your husband if that’s what you want.”

“And what do you want?”

“Jiejie,” he said, “the one person in all of this you don’t have to worry about in this is me. There’s only ever been one place in the world I’ve wanted to be.”

“Here?” she asked.

Wei Ying smiled. “Close.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing toward the bedroom. “With that dummy back there and he’s not going anywhere. You can go where you want. I’ll look after Uncle Jiang.”

“No, this is… I want to come back. I want to be here with you and mom and dad. With A-Cheng in Xiaonan…”

Wei Ying searched his sister’s features. There was more going on here. He just couldn’t see it, but he needed to find it anyway. It was sometimes hard for her to talk about her own feelings and in some ways, he blamed himself for that. When they were younger, he and Jiang Cheng, they never let her have any space. She was always their jiejie, unflappable and there for them exclusively. She never forced them to be the reverse for her. They never thought to be there for her on their own.

“You feel guilty.”

She winced. “A little.”

Well, Wei Ying knew more than enough about that for the both of them. “Have you talked to your husband about it?”

“Not yet.”

Wei Ying frowned and arched his eyebrow at her. “Why don’t you leave A-Ling with us for a few days and go back and discuss it with him?”

“I…” And here her cheeks were flushing. She ducked her head slightly, perhaps in preparation to say something else, and Wei Ying took the opportunity to look over her shoulder to make sure the soup wasn’t going to boil over. She raised her head again in time to catch Wei Ying in the act at which point he adopted an innocent expression. Jiejie would know whether her soup was going to boil or not. “There’s something else.”

“Oh?” he asked, nonchalant.

“A-Ling’s getting old enough that I don’t have to… there’s time for other things than caring only for him. And being back, I’ve… I’ve had a lot of time to think.” She fished her phone from the pocket of her skirt. “You’re always complaining about wanting a nicer kitchen to film in.”

He wasn’t sure he liked where this was going. Sure, he’d bemoaned having to film here a time or two and still wasn’t quite sure how he’d get from the template he’d set with Meng Yao without inviting strangers into his home, which no. “A-jie…”

“Well, I want a nicer kitchen to cook in.” She lifted the phone and showed him a commercial real estate listing. The address was very close to where Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu now lived. “And I want that nicer kitchen to sit in a restaurant and I want a patissier’s input for the dessert menu.”

His breath caught in his throat as he grabbed the phone out of her hand to swipe through the pictures. It could be a beautiful space and hers was a lovely dream, but he’d found his vocation and that knowledge had been hard-won. “A-jie, I have work already.”

“I know that. I won’t ask you to be my pastry chef, but—but I want your stamp on the recipes at least. I want us to be in this together. I want Jiang Cheng to come back from Xiaonan to run it when it’s ready. He shouldn’t have had to feel like he had to go in the first place.”

Wei Ying couldn’t argue with that at least. He’d never tried to stop Jiang Cheng, but he didn’t like him going either. The only thing that stopped him from dragging Jiang Cheng back was the fact that he seemed to enjoy it well enough for the time being.

Blinking, mind racing, not exactly disagreeing but not sure how to agree either, not when his life was what he wanted it to be, except now he wanted this, too, again, Wei Ying asked, “How long have you been thinking about this?”

He just worried that they were all chasing a memory better left in the past.

She tilted her head up. “Long enough.”

“And you’re sure? You want to come back here and…” He waved his hand in the air to encompass everything. “With us?”

“Yes. I could have my cake and eat it, too, this way.” And she said it so earnestly that Wei Ying couldn’t lie and say he didn’t want it now a little bit, too, wanted to flit in and out of jiejie’s restaurant on his and her whim, but it wasn’t just him anymore. He couldn’t just recklessly walk into this, no matter how much her enthusiasm threatened to infect him.

“I’ll have to talk to Lan Zhan about it,” he cautioned, “and I’d like to see a plan if you have one.”

He worried that she would be disappointed in him that he didn’t immediately jump into it with her, but instead she merely beamed at him and waved her phone in his face, this time showing him a very professional looking document that he couldn’t actually read with her moving the phone so much. “A-Ying is so grown up now.”

She stabbed at her phone and a moment later, his phone was beeping. From a quick scan of the document she sent, he could tell that it was very thoroughly done and then at the bottom was a name he was far, far too familiar with. “Meng Yao drew this up for you? How do you even…?”

No wonder it was thorough. That bastard was too much. But how did he get involved with jiejie?

Her eyebrows furrowed together and she pursed her lips into a thin line. “He and A-Xuan are half-brothers. I figured you knew since…?”

Wei Ying nearly dropped his phone. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’ve told better jokes before, A-Ying. Why would I kid you about this?”

Wei Ying bit back a laugh. Small world, he supposed. “You know what? You’re absolutely right.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek and patted her on the forehead. “I’m going to go check on Lan Zhan. Let me know when you’re done with the soup. I’ll see if he wants to come back out and have some.”

He wouldn’t dare have left her on her own if she wasn’t cooking, but when she was, she got into her own world and didn’t need Wei Ying. That made it a little easier to walk away.

“Oh, I…” She flushed and looked away. “I have been spending a lot of time here, haven’t I?”

Shit. “That isn’t what I said. You’re welcome here as long as you want to be here. It’s just that if I don’t harass him sometimes, he gets very grumpy.” Well, that absolutely sounded plausible. Way to draw attention to it.

“You don’t have to explain, A-Ying. This is your home.”

“My home is your home. Let me know if you need anything.”

“A-Ying, I’m serious.”

“And so am I.” He relented finally with a sigh, because he had been wondering and it wasn’t fair to say it was fine when maybe it wasn’t. “I’ll tell you if it’s too much, jiejie.”

“Good. I like him too much to want to make him uncomfortable in his own home, too.” Her gaze was searching. “He really isn’t anything like I imagined he’d be from… from what you said.”

“I wasn’t at my best back then, jiejie.”

“You were in mourning. I think some slack can be cut.”

When her attention shifted back to the pot of soup, Wei Ying knew he was free and slipped back toward the bedroom, quietly opening the door to find Lan Zhan not sitting at the desk, but sitting with his back against the headrest of their bed, a book open in his lap while he stared into the middle distance, his fingers plucking at invisible strings.

Even when he tried to relax, he couldn’t ever truly relax. It was charming.

So Wei Ying did what he had to do, which was take a running leap at the bed before springing up and over Lan Zhan’s legs to land on the other side of him, all but dive bombing the pillows in the process. Lan Zhan wasn’t seriously working on anything, so he felt safe shattering the calm in this fashion.

“Lan Zhan, we’re having a baby.”

Lan Zhan’s eyebrow climbed his forehead, but he knew Wei Ying’s sense of humor well enough that he merely glanced down at Wei Ying’s abdomen, taking the chance to skim his fingers over Wei Ying’s t-shirt, pulling it up to splay his hand across his stomach. “Congratulations. I didn’t realize we were expecting.” Then, smiling a little, because he also knew what Wei Ying was really saying, “How long are we keeping A-Ling this time?”

Wei Ying, stretching, snaked his hand between Lan Zhan’s back and the headrest, pressing his ear against Lan Zhan’s chest to listen to the steady thunk of his heartbeat. “A few days. If that’s okay?”

“Good.” Good, he said, as though he didn’t try to spoil Jin Ling even worse than Jiang Cheng did, earning Jiang Cheng’s everlasting ire in the process. “What’s the occasion?”

And here Wei Ying wasn’t entirely certain what to say. He knew it had to be said and it wasn’t anything bad, but it felt like upsetting an apple cart and Wei Ying didn’t want to do that when he’d finally managed to get everything right. But it was for jiejie and she wouldn’t have decided to do this without thinking it through. He wouldn’t be left holding onto something all by himself. He didn’t have anything to fear except his own worries. “Jiejie wants to come back and open a restaurant,” he said, ripping the words away like a bandage. “She wants me to help.”

Lan Zhan’s fingers, which had been stroking over his stomach and side, stilled. “What do you want?”

“I do want to help,” he admitted, “but I’m afraid I only want to because it’ll recapture a past I don’t even need anymore.”

Shifting further upright, Lan Zhan pulled Wei Ying up, too, and searched his face. Whatever he found there suited him, because he smiled slightly. “Is there anything so very wrong with wanting to recapture the past?”

Wei Ying opened his mouth to say yes, who wanted to go back when the future was so bright? Except… he realized it just wasn’t true. He and Lan Zhan were proof of that. And from that recaptured past, they’d grown something beyond even Wei Ying’s wildest imaginings of what they could be. The future was only so bright because they’d grabbed hold of the past—the parts of the past worth holding to, honoring the best parts of it and accepting the worst as the price paid for them, acknowledging them and letting them go in turn once accepted.

Maybe it could be the same with this?

“You think I should do it?” Wei Ying asked.

“I think you’ve earned the right to trust your own heart on the matter, but I will support you regardless.”

“I’ll…” With Lan Zhan’s assertion, Wei Ying felt capable of doing anything, even this. Which was how he knew he needed to slow down and not just go for it anyway. “I’m going to think about it.”

“Very wise. And what will you do in the meantime?” Then Lan Zhan pressed his lips to Wei Ying’s neck and pushed him down onto the sheets and Wei Ying didn’t think about anything at all for a while after that, biting his own knuckles to keep this from turning into something jiejie didn’t really need to hear about.

When they finished, it was Lan Zhan who rested his head on Wei Ying’s chest, his fingers dancing across Wei Ying’s ribs as though he was the instrument. Wei Ying toyed with the longish hairs at the nape of Lan Zhan’s truly exquisite neck, playing with them until Lan Zhan shivered and clutched harder at him. “You would tell me if jiejie’s here too often, wouldn’t you?”

“Mn. I would.”

“You promise?”

“Yes.”

“Because this is your hom—”

“Wei Ying, I know. I do not mind.”

“But you’ve been coming back here more lately.”

“I happen to like this room very much.”

Wei Ying looked around and hummed. “It is a good room, but—”

“It is. And she is welcome for as long as she wishes to stay. Have I offended her by coming back here? I could spend more time in the living room if she’d prefer.”

Wei Ying scoffed. As though she could ever be offended. “No, she just worries she’s pushing you out of your space.”

Lan Zhan patted Wei Ying’s chest. “She needn’t. And you don’t need to either. I like how happy you are when she’s here.”

“Okay.” He breathed in deeply. “Okay.”

He supposed maybe he could try not worrying. If Lan Zhan said it was fine, it was fine. Everything was fine. Better than fine even, it was good. Jiejie was going to come back! And they’d get to see A-Ling more! And she was going to open her own restaurant!

“Do you want some of jiejie’s soup?” he asked, fiddling still with Lan Zhan’s hair because he couldn’t get enough of it ever and Lan Zhan let him and he wanted to.

Lan Zhan pushed himself upright again and said indulgently, “I’ll have some of your sister’s soup,” and it was one of those dumb things that happened sometimes that left Wei Ying feeling like he’d been struck by a hammer’s blow to his chest with happiness. It caught him off-guard that this belonged to him at all.

“Dad, you can’t be serious,” Jiang Cheng was saying, fluttering around Uncle Jiang as though he was a particularly fragile butterfly and Jiang Cheng was the only thing standing between him and having his wings ripped off. This was how he always was when he was home now, like being that much more intense all at once would make up for not being here the rest of the time.

“I’m entirely serious,” Uncle Jiang answered, placid, eyes dancing. Even though he tired more easily than he used to, he was doing better, taking care of himself now that Shanghai had put the fear of heaven into him. “It’s a walk. We all want to go. Even your mother is going. How can I get into trouble if she’s there?”

Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes at Wei Ying, who was standing in the doorway of Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu’s home, innocent in all this. It wasn’t the home they’d given up before going to Shanghai, so uncertain of the future, but it was beautiful and Madam Yu seemed happy enough with it, finding so little to complain about most days that she settled on berating Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying instead and, of late, jiejie, since she’d been back for so long.

Wei Ying lifted his hands and then pointed at her. It was such a pain in the ass to not just spill right here and now. “You’re not going to say no to jiejie, are you? Jiejie, tell him he has to go.”

“You’re all out of your minds. What’s so great about the street? It’s not home.”

“It is if we make it so,” Uncle Jiang said. “I’ll even let you hold onto me if you need to.”

Wei Ying ducked his head into Lan Zhan’s shoulder to keep the smile on his mouth from giving the game up. He had no idea why Jiang Cheng was picking today to be so pig-headed, but it was going to put a serious cramp in their plans if Jiang Cheng kept saying no.

“A-Cheng,” jiejie said, grabbing onto him and hauling him toward the door. “Get out there. We’re going for a walk. All of us.”

This time, Wei Ying couldn’t stop himself from laughing, not when jiejie spoke so authoritatively. It was like hearing Lan Zhan swear except somehow charming rather than terrifying.

Jiang Cheng threw a sour look Lan Zhan’s way, like he hadn’t perfectly well accepted Lan Zhan into the group the first time he complained that Lan Zhan’s shirt was ‘too starched, how can you even date a guy who starches his shirt like that, you could cut somebody on the collar of his shirt’ like he didn’t do the exact same thing to his shirts.

“All of us, huh? What about your husband if everybody is going? Where’s he?”

“Taking A-Ling to play at the park,” jiejie said, patient, “the way he always does when he comes over from Lanling. Why are you being so difficult?”

“I’m…” He paused as he considered the question, a haunted expression crossing his face. Wei Ying knew why. Somewhere deep down inside, he realized he was out of the loop on something and didn’t like it and he wanted to take it out on the rest of them. “I don’t know.”

“You’re doing it just to do it then. Go outside. Head north. We’re right behind you.”

His eyebrows furrowed, forehead wrinkling. He looked at Wei Ying again, who only made a shooing gesture because he couldn’t really help being obnoxious sometimes. “We’re right behind you, A-Cheng.”

“I don’t like this,” Jiang Cheng said.

“You don’t like anything,” Wei Ying said.

“Well, I especially don’t like everyone staring at me.”

Jiejie laughed lightly and rolled her eyes. “Just go. You’ll end up being annoyed that you missed out if you don’t. Right?”

Jiang Cheng slanted his gaze away, eyes narrowing. “It’s not my birthday today. I don’t know why anyone is paying attention to what I want or don’t want.”

“No,” jiejie answered. “It isn’t your birthday.”

With a huff, Jiang Cheng finally pushed open the door, a call of thank God going up from Wei Ying’s corner. Rather, Wei Ying was the only one who said it, but Lan Zhan was right next to him and would take equal blame for it if that was what Wei Ying wanted, not that anyone would blame Lan Zhan.

Though Wei Ying wanted to hurry ahead, drag Jiang Cheng kicking and screaming all the way to their destination, he refrained, scuffing his heels on the concrete and squeezing Lan Zhan’s hand simply because he could, because he was here and every day was made purposefully better than the last by one or both of them in whatever small way they could think of.

It was already hard enough to keep his mouth shut, especially since he couldn’t exactly ask Lan Zhan to keep it occupied for him out here on the street like this. But his excitement could hardly be contained and was only inflamed further by Jiang Cheng’s reticence and suspicion. Why did he have to make it so much fun to give him a hard time?

“Where are we even going?” Jiang Cheng was asking jiejie, who was strolling arm in arm with him up front while Wei Ying purposefully hung back with Lan Zhan. Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu were between each pair. From the straight line of Madam Yu’s back, Wei Ying could tell she was still wary, wasn’t quite ready to let Uncle Jiang or any of the rest of them have this, but she didn’t stop them and she didn’t do anything to bring down the mood, not even berate Jiang Cheng for his overreaction to something that would be enjoyable if he’d let it be.

Given all the time he and jiejie had spent working on this, he wasn’t going to be the one to spoil it by blabbing. They weren’t far now anyway.

It really was jiejie’s to share anyway.

Uncle Jiang turned slightly to wink at Wei Ying and then favored Lan Zhan with a warmly paternal smile, one that Lan Zhan returned with an incline of his head. It was a nice smile, warm, the sort of smile Lan Zhan offered all the time now, no special occasions or intense cajoling required.

Once they rounded the corner she was looking for, she pushed ahead of them all a bit, finally coming to a stop before an empty storefront. It was not so impressive today, but it would be. “A-Cheng,” she said, “take a look at this.”

Wei Ying caught up to him just in time to see his face.

He frowned and opened his mouth to say something inflammatory, but because it was jiejie, he managed to stay the impulse. He did throw a dirty look Wei Ying’s way, because he always had a sixth sense for when Wei Ying was involved in some trouble or other and had to vent at someone.

“It’s a…” And ha, it must have hurt for him to be this confused and this unwilling to be mean to his sister. Wei Ying had to bite back a smile again. “…very nice building, jiejie…?”

This time when he looked toward Wei Ying, he was searching for a rope to cling to in the deep, dark waters of his present ignorance. Wei Ying only shrugged, unwilling to provide it. “I really don’t know,” he answered sweetly.

Wei Ying caught sight of Madam Yu rolling her eyes. “A-Li, put him out of his misery, please. I don’t want to take him to the hospital because he’s had an aneurysm waiting for you to tell him.”

“Tell me what?”

“Welcome to Lotus Pier,” she said, a brilliant grin crossing her lips.

It didn’t click and it kept not clicking and Jiang Cheng was growing more obviously infuriated with himself by the second until—

“Wait. You mean…?” He pointed pointlessly at the building and then at jiejie. “You’re coming back for good?” was what he asked instead of the question Wei Ying was expecting, but that was okay, because he looked so incandescently happy for a moment in a way that Wei Ying had never ever seen before and might never see again and then he was grabbing Wei Ying and dragging him over so he could hug both him and jiejie at the same time and it was great. It was perfect.

It was the best.

“A-Cheng, you’re coming back for good, too,” jiejie said, only for Jiang Cheng to squeeze them both even more tightly, the only answer any of them needed.

One day, Lan Zhan was going to figure out how to get out of bed without disturbing Wei Ying’s rest, but today was not the day because today, like every other day, Wei Ying was plastered against him like he was determined to become a weighted blanket in his next life. Or maybe this one. He wasn’t too far off now.

It was not fair to Wei Ying that he should constantly be pushed around at such an ‘ungodly and heinous hour’ and Lan Zhan had begun to relax his habits as a result. Weekends, he did not climb out of bed at five; he didn’t even set his alarm, in fact, and let himself and Wei Ying wake whenever they woke up. Lan Zhan was usually still first up, but Wei Ying was rarely much further behind.

Today was not a Saturday or Sunday, but as soon as Lan Zhan twitched even one muscle toward the edge of the bed, Wei Ying was pushing himself upright and dragging his hand through his hair, one hand braced against Lan Zhan’s chest, looking rumpled. “Filming, we’re filming today. It’s Thursday, right?” He yawned and groaned, stretching until his back popped. “You’re going to do it with me?”

Yes, that was the plan, but not until later in the morning.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said. “I agreed, did I not?”

“To a bullshit request I made, yeah! I wasn’t expecting you to say yes.” Even so, he couldn’t hide the flash of surprised pleasure as he said it, not even reflecting on the fact that it ought to trouble him that he could think such a way still. “You didn’t have to say yes.”

In truth, Lan Zhan sometimes worried that was the problem. Wei Ying would throw out ideas, never once expecting Lan Zhan to agree with them, and then stare at Lan Zhan as though he’d grown a second head when he said yes. It had been like this… well, since the beginning, in truth, back when Wei Ying said yes to him, yes to staying, yes to not running away and keeping that promise to such an exquisite degree that Lan Zhan no longer woke up fearing that this would be the day he stepped incorrectly and sent the whole of this thing they’ve built crashing down around him.

“It was not… that,” Lan Zhan said, grimacing at Wei Ying’s choice of words and then grimacing again at the thought of articulating his misgivings. Though Wei Ying was still half pressed against him, Lan Zhan was able to push himself up and did so, carefully wrapping his arm around Wei Ying’s waist to keep him steady. “Wei Ying, you should expect me to say yes.”

“Lan Zhan?”

Words were the bane of his existence. “I need you to know that I will always say yes to you.”

Wei Ying’s mouth opened and then closed again and he furrowed his brow. Lan Zhan could see the calculations going on behind those eyes. Even this early, with sleep still present in his eyes, brushed away easily by the light touch of Lan Zhan’s thumb, Wei Ying was alert enough to figure it out.

For a moment, Wei Ying’s features crumbled before they firmed back up. His lower lip wobbled once until he bit it and then he nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Does that mean er-gege will come back to bed?”

Lan Zhan didn’t struggle more than a second before he leaned back and pulled Wei Ying against him. For his trouble, he earned a light slap against his sternum, though that didn’t stop Wei Ying from nuzzling against his neck for a moment. “Lan Zhan, go take the shower I know you want to take. I’ll make sure I’m ready once you’ve gone through your morning routine. I won’t make you late for your recording session this afternoon.”

In truth, Lan Zhan was perfectly content to remain here a while longer, but Wei Ying was already climbing off of him again, fighting another yawn, making a beeline toward the door, his step light and nimble as he shoved his feet into his slippers and darted into the hall.

By the time Lan Zhan was ready, there was a still steaming mug of tea on the counter waiting for him and Wei Ying was setting up his tripod and the camera attachment for his phone.

“Where’s your camera?” Lan Zhan asked. “The one you actually like?”

“What?” Wei Ying asked, curious. “My—why?”

Lan Zhan clenched his jaw. Wei Ying could be so forgetful about the things that were important to him. He was acting as though Lan Zhan hadn’t heard him decry his ability to use it more often because it was unwieldy without someone else to help, much easier to adjust the phone’s camera, it wasn’t like it was bad…

But Lan Zhan was here. He was someone who could help.

And he might have read up on videography just a little bit when Wei Ying wasn’t around to keep himself entertained. Possibly, he also downloaded the manual for Wei Ying’s camera and he might have—when Wei Ying was busy helping his sister with the restaurant renovations or spending the weekend in Xiaonan with his brother while he made preparations to come back, and Lan Zhan felt far, far away from Wei Ying—practiced with it.

He would never be a true professional and Wei Ying refused to hire someone because the authenticity was worth more to him than a perfect polish, so maybe a diligent amateur could bridge the gap.

“I’m going to get it.”

“Lan Zhan, what—”

But Lan Zhan wasn’t listening, not even when Wei Ying tugged at his arm and insisted that he just wanted to show Lan Zhan off a bit. Lan Zhan was just supposed to sit around and look a little pretty and maybe pretend like Wei Ying knew what he was doing. He didn’t expect Lan Zhan to work! And what was he now, huh, a cinematographer? Why did he care about the camera so much?

“Not cinematography,” Lan Zhan insisted. He’d learned pretty quickly that there was indeed a difference.

“That still doesn’t explain what you’re—” Wei Ying stopped himself in the middle of the living room while Lan Zhan continued toward the small closet in the hallway where Wei Ying stowed his spare equipment. “If you don’t want to be on camera, you can just keep me company off-screen.”

“It’s not that,” he answered. In fact, this might have been the only time when exposing himself to public scrutiny didn’t bother him all that much. It allowed him to stake a claim in quiet fashion and have one be staked in return. It said without words that they were intimate. Lan Zhan liked that.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying replied, pouting.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan answered, mirroring his delivery down to the pout. “When you asked me, you said you wanted something special for the vlog.”

“Yeah, and the something special was your pretty face in the corner where I could tease you a little bit sometimes while I made you breakfast.”

“No, the something special is this.” He swallowed. What he wanted to offer, that was the hard part. “I want you to show me how to make your favorite dessert.” It wasn’t because he wanted to best Meng Yao at something when he knew it was the thing Wei Ying was most proud of so far, but it wasn’t not because of that either. Besides, the seeds had already been laid out. As soon as his sister’s kitchen was finished renovating, he wanted to make these sorts of videos more prominent, dragging people into the kitchen and showing them a thing or two for a loved one, ask them about their loved ones. He was still working out the logistics of it because he wasn’t going to let random people into his home and nobody else was really in need of intervention.

He’d practiced once with Meng Yao to great success; why not do so again with him? Lan Zhan was always in need of intervention in matters such as these.

Wei Ying drew in a deep breath and let it out, shaky. “How are we going to do that if you’re running the camera?”

This question was easy to answer. It was one he’d pondered for a long time as he worked out how it would go. “We’d only need to do it three times to get everything.”

“You have better things to do with your time, Lan Zhan. Like record? Let me just do what I was going to—”

It was his studio. Like it mattered what time he showed up. He could go in whenever he wanted. It wasn’t even a real recording session he was planning. It might be different if he’d called his engineer in to help out, but even then, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have cancelled or delayed recording just for this. “There’s no better use of my time.”

Wei Ying blinked, his mouth falling open, and then he blinked again, unable to form any words at all. His lips shaped the syllables of Lan Zhan’s name though. It was nothing Lan Zhan had never felt before or expressed, perhaps wordlessly, but for whatever reason, it seemed to strike Wei Ying ferociously this time. Stopping himself short, he finally said, “Wow. That’s…”

Too much. Maybe it was too much. Maybe Lan Zhan had—

And then Wei Ying was stalking toward him, pressing his hands against Lan Zhan’s cheeks and leaned in. Against his lips, deadly serious, he said, “Lan Zhan, let me marry you.”

The world stopped and didn’t restart until Lan Zhan’s hand cupped Wei Ying’s, their fingers tangling, his own shaking enough that he felt the tremor against his own face even with Wei Ying’s to steady it. Even if they could only sign over guardianship rights, it was a symbol of their dedication to one another. It still meant something.

Wei Ying wanted to marry him and there was only one answer he could give.

“Always,” he answered, breathless. “Yes.”

If it was the first and only time Wei Ying posted a video late, he didn’t cast the blame Lan Zhan’s way, though Lan Zhan would have deserved it. Instead, he crowed often about how it remained his most popular video of all time, his own version of that composition of Lan Zhan’s which would never be bested either.

He seemed as okay with that as Lan Zhan was. Lan Zhan was glad for that.

Wei Ying hadn’t been sitting in Lotus Pier long, notebook on the table before him, pen twirling between his fingers, his thoughts a million miles away as he planned… well, he wasn’t supposed to be planning anything at the moment, but he couldn’t help himself and jiejie wouldn’t let him into the kitchen anyway. He was just so full of ideas as summer shaded to autumn, the air growing crisp in the evenings while the daytime hours were just a little bit muggier to compensate.

He loved it and he had the time and he was maybe, maybe a little excited for the place to officially open, so he could start turning his ideas over to her to be made manifest in spun sugars and sweet, fried batters and… and whatever else he dreamed up.

“Wei Ying!” Jiang Cheng snapped as he unlocked the door and stepped inside, catching him immediately. “Put that shit away. A-jie’s going to kill you if she figures out you’re trying to work right now. You already finalized your part of the menu.”

He strode over and grabbed the notebook out from beneath Wei Ying’s hand, quicker than Wei Ying could stop him. He glared down at it and flung it across the room where it skidded dramatically across the floor to hit the opposite wall. “Where’s your husband to stop this nonsense?”

“Picking up his brother and Meng Yao from the airport,” Wei Ying said. “You can take it up with him when he gets here.” Retrieving the notebook, he returned to his seat and lowered himself onto it pointedly, smoothing down the page. “I’m sure he’ll side with you this time.”

Jiang Cheng crossed his arms and looked away, pouting. “He never sides with me.”

“Should’ve gotten to him first, I guess,” Wei Ying said, stretching before he scribbled another thought down. This wasn’t work to him, this right here, and what jiejie didn’t hear from him wouldn’t hurt her. She probably already knew anyway. “Are you sure the people you hired are good enough? They’ve been in there all day…”

Pulling out the chair next to Wei Ying, Jiang Cheng turned it and straddled it, arms over the back. “Wei Ying. Are you questioning me and your sister right now?”

“No, I just—”

“They’re good. You’ll see.” He reached out and punched Wei Ying in the arm. “You don’t want to be back there, you’re just worried you need to be. It’s fine. You’re not the only qualified chef in the world. You’re not even really a chef…”

Wei Ying decided to punch him back and then relaxed instead as Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu stepped through the doors. Madam Yu always did have a sixth sense for mischief and raised her eyebrows at both him and Jiang Cheng.

“You’re really going to make your sister do all the work?” she asked, sharp, and then when he and Jiang Cheng both scrambled to their feet at the same time, she scoffed and shook her head. “Sit back down. I know she kicked you both out earlier.”

“Madam,” Uncle Jiang said in amused reproach. He was still moving a little slow for Wei Ying’s liking, but he looked hale enough and that was all Wei Ying could hope for.

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Ying whispered, scandalized, elbowing him in the side. “And here you were just scolding me for the exact same thing. Tsk tsk.”

“Yeah, well, you bought it. Serves you right.”

“I sho—” But whatever he was imagining, he lost its thread because the door was opening again and Lan Zhan was stepping inside and that mattered a whole hell of a lot more than needling Jiang Cheng for the ten-thousandth time. “Lan Zhan!”

As he grabbed Lan Zhan and pulled him into a hug, he waved at Lan Huan and Meng Yao from over his shoulder. Dragging Lan Zhan inside, he gave them enough room to enter, too, before he let Lan Zhan go. “How was your trip?”

“Uneventful,” Lan Huan said, the highest form of compliment in his book. “How have things been here?”

Wei Ying grinned. Uneventful was not the word Wei Ying would have wanted to use, but he didn’t need to go around embarrassing anyone either. “I’ll defer to Lan Zhan.”

“Lovely,” Lan Zhan said, right on cue as he slipped his hand into Wei Ying’s, “as always.”

“Come on, jiejie should be putting the finishing touches on everything now. She said I couldn’t help because I have to be able to trust her people to follow the recipes correctly. Can you believe it? That’s my kitchen, too.” He sniffed theatrically. “What if they get it wrong?”

“Didn’t you say once that baking was just reading and chemistry?” Lan Huan asked, so innocent that butter wouldn’t have melted in his mouth. “And isn’t the whole concept of your vlog going forward that anyone can do it?”

“Lan Huan! This is scandalous!” He began pushing Lan Zhan toward the table and gestured Lan Huan and Meng Yao over as well. “Lan Zhan, aren’t you going to defend me?”

“Wei Ying’s work speaks for itself,” was all he said. Utter betrayal.

“Lan Zhan, you’re condemning me in my own house.”

“My apologies. I will make it up to you later.”

Wei Ying was not going to flush. He wasn’t going to. Not even when Meng Yao’s eyes widened and the smile on his face went plastic because it must have been very hard for him to witness Lan Zhan flirting in public. Well, he’d have to get used to that tonight. Lan Zhan flirted in public a lot these days.

Lan Huan and Meng Yao took their seats on the other side of the circular table and if Wei Ying wasn’t mistaken Lan Huan immediately hooked his ankle around Meng Yao’s, which was really cute in all honesty. But Wei Ying wasn’t going to embarrass him by pointing it out. Unlike some people—Lan Huan and Lan Zhan—he wasn’t a traitor.

Besides, there was yet more commotion from the door, this time in the form of a toddler-sized shout, which meant that A-Ling had arrived and would be the center of attention henceforth. His father, looking rather harried, if also happy, stepped inside not a moment later.

“Zhan-ge!” A-Ling screamed, launching himself on pint-sized legs at Lan Zhan.

Wei Ying exchanged glances with each of the unchosen in turn. “We’ll have to start a support group,” he said to Jiang Cheng, Meng Yao, and Lan Huan, each of them entirely forgotten in favor of Zhan-ge. “All the uncles and older brothers who have been relegated to second-tier status.”

Out of all of them, only Lan Huan didn’t seem to mind much, too enamored of how stupidly soft his younger brother looked while staring down at the most hellacious child that any group of men could ever hope to dote upon.

Lan Zhan bent down and picked A-Ling up because otherwise A-Ling was just going to end up falling on his butt as he tried to clamor up into Lan Zhan’s lap. “It’s better if we’re quiet,” he said, serious and somber, and A-Ling ate it up, like he wouldn’t have kicked his feet and shrieked if any of the rest of them dared to ask him to keep his voice down. “Are you well today, A-Ling?”

He nodded, utterly and infuriatingly enchanted with Lan Zhan and started babbling about anything and everything in his ‘quiet’ voice. Even Jin Zixuan looked vaguely betrayed. Maybe, maybe Wei Ying would let him in the inevitable group chat when all was said and done. At least if he was in it, they’d all have instant access to any image of A-Ling they might have wanted. That might have been worth Jin Zixuan’s inclusion.

“I thought I wore him out,” Jin Zixuan said.

Wei Ying clapped him on the shoulder. “You thought wrong. Good job.”

He’d apparently only worn himself out, because instead of bickering with Wei Ying, he wandered over to Meng Yao to start talking about whatever it was they talked about, no doubt something far more corporate than Wei Ying was interested in hearing about.

So Wei Ying contented himself with staring at Lan Zhan as he bounced A-Ling on his knee, a faint smile on his mouth. That, he never got bored with. Seeing Lan Zhan this at ease was a gift and Wei Ying never took it for granted.

In his wildest dreams, even the ones he had back when they were in school together and he believed that forever was something that would just fall into place for him without any work on his part, he never would have imagined his body could carry this much happiness and not burst from the strain of it.

Then Lan Zhan turned his head, noticing Wei Ying looking at him, and stared at Wei Ying with the same wonder in his eye, like he was only realizing this, too. “What is it?”

If he could marry this man again, he would. “Lan Zhan, you’re beautiful.”

His ears went pink immediately and his lips thinned. “Wei Ying is more beautiful.”

A-Ling grabbed at Lan Zhan’s ear. A stubborn, sourly pouting expression crossed his face; he didn’t like it when the attention shifted away from him. “Zhan-ge is more beautiful!”

“Eh eh eh, A-Ling, what about your uncle?”

His little face scrunched up in a frown. “He’s okay.”

“Oi! Just okay?”

A-Ling nodded decisively, putting an end to it once and for all. Feigning an injury, Wei Ying placed his hand over his chest and swooned. “Lan Zhan, avenge me.”

“A-Ling,” Lan Zhan said.

Heaving a sigh that a man ten times his age would consider extreme, A-Ling replied, “I guess he is beautiful.”

Laughing, Wei Ying scrubbed his palm over A-Ling’s dark, silky head of hair, getting his hand swatted away for his trouble. “Good talk, kid.”

The door to the kitchen swung open and a pair of jiejie’s hires were stepping out, laughing with one another as they carried trays laden with a variety of delicacies. Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng both strode over to take them because they could apparently only control themselves for so long.

Whatever it was they’d been up to all day smelled delicious. But of course it smelled delicious. It was jiejie’s cooking.

“There are a few more inside if you want to help,” one of the young women said, rolling her eyes the exact same way jiejie might have. “She said you’d want to.”

A wall of heat confronted Wei Ying as he stepped through the door, not unexpected, but he still raised his hand in front of his face as though that would somehow lower the temperature. “Jiejie, can we help?”

“A-Ying,” she said, turning and smiling, her face lightly flushed. A purple scarf was tied around her hair, a little damp around the edges. “A-Cheng. Go back out and sit. We’re fine. Is everyone here yet?”

The long, expansive stainless steel table in the center of the room begged to differ. It was full of what looked like the entire menu she’d set. A full fourth of it was devoted to the part of the menu Wei Ying was responsible for and he naturally drifted over there. Perfectly uniform egg tarts with various toppings, not quite traditional, but beautiful all the same, gleaming in shades of red and purple filled a lot of the space. More importantly, though, was the cake glazed with a delicately pearlescent white ganache which carried the scent of lotus.

So maybe jiejie was right. These looked just as good as what he could have managed. He’d have to taste, of course, but—

“A-Ying, don’t ruin your appetite,” jiejie said as he reached for one of the egg tarts. He retracted his hand immediately and held it behind his back until her gaze softened and she gestured. “Go ahead and take one of the trays out. You, too, A-Cheng. Then go sit and enjoy. I’ll be out soon.”

They both nodded in unison. Wei Ying grabbed the tureen of soup and Jiang Cheng took care of a large bowl of noodles.

Banished once again from the kitchen, Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng returned to the table. Everyone else was already eyeing what was there and jiejie’s team were distributing plates and cutlery and setting down places for themselves as well as jiejie. Jiang Cheng put his bowl on the central serving area and carefully spun it so Wei Ying had room to place the soup. Shortly, jiejie came out with the last of the food and grinned in pleasure, swiping the sleeve of her jacket across her forehead as soon as she sat it down.

“I’m just going to clean up really quickly. Dig in. Meng Yao, make sure you eat. You look like you’ve been skipping out on meals again.” She swooped in and pressed a kiss to A-Ling’s forehead and then disappeared for a few moments through the kitchen door.

Meng Yao opened his mouth to argue, but Lan Huan was already filling his plate, staring pointedly at him. Wei Ying was about to laugh at Meng Yao’s awkward gestures and, “A-Huan, please, that’s not necessary,” when Lan Zhan shoved a plate in his own face.

How’d he even have time to do that already?

“Lan Zhan?”

“Eat.”

He took the plate and didn’t know how he was supposed to accomplish that when Lan Zhan was looking at him and most of his favorite people were gathered in one place and Lotus Pier may not have been what it once was, but he thought it could maybe be even better now than it ever might have been if Wei Ying was left in charge, and his body felt like it might float away from all the happiness he was feeling. “You eat,” he answered, childish, taking Lan Zhan’s plate in turn and filling it with the bits and pieces that filled the table that would appeal to him.

Lan Zhan’s mouth twitched as he took it back, now filled, perhaps filled too much. For a moment, their hands touched, skin warmed by the heat of the food leeching through, and in that moment, Lan Zhan pressed a kiss to his mouth and then his cheek, taking the chance to say, for Wei Ying’s hearing only, “I would risk it all again for this.”

And Wei Ying didn’t know why he said it now, why he felt Wei Ying needed to hear that he thought everything they went through was worth it, but—but it was. If this was what it took for them to reach this perfect moment right here, then Wei Ying would have suffered it all over again as many times as he had to in order to get there. But the world was kind sometimes and Wei Ying could reply with confidence, incandescent and relieved, a promise and a belief in them both, “You don’t have to, Lan Zhan.

“Neither of us has to.”

What, then, was the need for regret between them? There was, in Wei Ying’s estimation, none at all.