Chapter Text
Lan Zhan stood beneath the sheltering branches of a weeping white pine and watched as children poured out of the school building on the other side of the wrought iron fence. The weather was cloudy but fair, so he wasn’t sequestering himself from rain but rather from the other parents milling about waiting to collect their energetic and smiling children. Most were mothers with younger siblings in tow, gathered in small groups and talking and laughing while they waited. Lan Zhan felt out of place in their presence, not just because he was a man but because he’d never felt comfortable in the presence of people in general no matter what their gender or age. He kept his keen eyes trained on the door of the school and ignored the curious glances he was garnering from many of the young women nearby.
Yuan emerged at the tail end of the group, not running or shrieking like many of his peers, but there was a happy bounce in his step which Lan Zhan was relieved to see. He was smiling, too, as a boy beside him talked animatedly while turning back to front and jogging in reverse without missing a step.
Wei Ying used to do that.
The thought came unbidden and made Lan Zhan physically flinch. Nine years and more than a thousand miles from the city where they had met, where Lan Zhan had once thought they would make their home together, he still could not contain the physical reaction to thoughts of the man he had loved and lost. It made him angry because coming here, following Lan Huan to this far away suburb when his work had relocated him, had been a primary goal in escaping those memories and that pain.
So far, it hadn’t worked.
'These things take time, Didi,' Lan Huan consoled him with a kind, sympathetic smile as Lan Zhan sat in the middle of his bed petting Lily between the ears to calm her after the hustle and bustle of unpacking and soothe his own still unquiet mind.
'How much time, Ge?' Lan Zhan asked, desolate and frustrated that the new city and new house and new scenery had not already wiped away the clinging stain of his grief.
Lan Huan had only shaken his head and stroked Lan Zhan’s over-warm cheek and gone downstairs to make them dinner.
Time healed, or so the overused saying went. Nine years had healed nothing for Lan Zhan, so he’d thought to add distance and help it along with little result; but perhaps his brother was right, and Lan Zhan was just being impatient. Maybe once he acquired some students and started teaching again, and Yuan made school friends, and they settled into their new life, things would start to change. Six weeks was not enough time to put down roots, after all, especially as introverted as Lan Zhan tended to be in shying away from interacting with his environment, let alone a brand new one. Once they established a new routine and new habits, maybe the old ones would start to fade.
One of those new routines, he thought determinedly, was going to start today.
He glided from beneath the low hanging branches. He did not wave, but Yuan’s gaze tracked to him almost immediately anyway. His smile grew, and he bid a hasty goodbye to the boy at his side, taking off at a run across the lawn. He bounded through the gate and launched himself at Lan Zhan’s side.
'Die!'
Lan Zhan didn’t even sway with the impact, long used to his son’s energetic greetings, even though it astonished him daily how much the boy had grown. No longer did Yuan grab with his chubby limbs around Lan Zhan’s knees but, instead, around his waist with slightly rangy limbs that spoke to his inheriting his fathers’ height eventually, and buried his happily smiling face into Lan Zhan’s stomach. Lan Zhan hugged him back fiercely, some tightly wound knot in his chest, that he had not noticed until now, unspooling with relief.
'You had a good first day?' he asked.
Yuan grinned up at him, and Lan Zhan forced himself to breathe through the double vision of another nearly identical grin shining up at him.
'Yes! The teachers were all very nice, Die. And I made a new friend!' Here, he turned to wave at the boy with whom he’d walked out of the building. 'His name is Jingyi! He said his mom went to school with you. Do you remember her?'
Lan Zhan let his gaze flick to the frantically waving boy—Jingyi, apparently—and the short, stocky woman who had a hold of his backpack strap in an effort to contain him and keep him from running off. She looked vaguely familiar. She turned to see what had her son’s excited attention and smiled when she saw Lan Zhan, gave him a small wave. He nodded politely and refocused his attention on his son.
'I believe Jingyi is correct. She looks familiar. A distant cousin perhaps,' he replied. Lan Huan had mentioned they had relations in the city at one point.
'Can Jingyi come over this weekend?' Yuan asked urgently. 'I told him all about Mop and Lily, and he wants to meet them!'
'We can consider it,' Lan Zhan said. 'We will have to ask Bobo if he has any plans.'
'Mn!' Yuan agreed happily and took Lan Zhan’s hand, signaling he was ready for their walk home.
Lan Zhan squeezed his hand and smoothed a stray strand of hair from Yuan’s eyes. He still marveled everyday how well behaved his son had grown to be. Instead of being impatient or crestfallen at the lack of Lan Zhan’s instant agreement for a playdate, he was content with the possibility and the need to consider others’ needs and wants as well as his own. Lan Huan frequently praised Lan Zhan’s parenting skills in raising such a sweet child, but Lan Zhan was not at all certain his skills had much to do with it. Much more likely it was simply Yuan’s nature, and he had not inherited that from Lan Zhan.
He is so much like you, Wei Ying. Everyday I see more of your heart and soul in him.
Forcibly, Lan Zhan pushed away the bittersweet, fleeting thought. He did not want to deal with it now. He did not want to deal with it ever, anymore; but such thoughts were hard to escape when every year revealed Wei Ying’s ghost in Yuan’s maturing features and his generous, considerate personality…
—————————
'Hold the door, please!' Lan Zhan called, gritting his teeth and sweating at the idea of shouting across a public space. Uncle would be appalled.
The man inside the elevator deliberately slid his gaze away, pretending not to have heard and reached to press his floor button again. The doors started to slide shut, and Lan Zhan swore silently as he skidded slightly on the wet marble beneath his feet in his effort to increase his pace. He was already five minutes late for Su Ming’s lesson because the bus was running behind due to the torrential rain outside, and it looked as if he would be yet another five minutes late due to common discourtesy.
Lan Zhan was two strides away and there was less than a handspan between the doors with no indication the man inside was going to heed his request, when a streak of black eeled in front of him and the blade of a broad, long fingered hand slipped fearlessly into the seam of the doors, prying them back with ease.
'I believe the gentleman said, "Hold the door, please,"' a voice smooth as velvet said right beside Lan Zhan’s ear.
He shivered and whipped his head around to find a tall, lithe figure in a nondescript but well-cut black suit staring at the man in the elevator with an almost sinister little smile curving his lips. The elevator man blinked and unconsciously backed up a step, reaching for the hold button on the panel.
’S-Sorry, I didn’t hear,’ the man mumbled.
Lan Zhan huffed a breath through his nose at the blatant lie. Beside him, the man in black cocked his head, considering. Somehow, it made him look very much like an Apex predator evaluating his next meal.
'Of course,' the man said smoothly, then gave Lan Zhan the tiniest eye roll and a wink, backing up a step with a sweep of his arm. 'After you.'
Lan Zhan offered a polite nod and maneuvered into the cramped space trying to avoid striking either of the instruments slung across his back against the man in black or the side of the elevator carriage. The man in black stepped in after him, insinuating himself like a strip of silk between Lan Zhan and the other passenger.
'Which floor?' he asked, turning the full power of his gaze on Lan Zhan.
And what a gaze it was. His eyes were dark, silver-grey in a way that prompted the word "gunmetal" to Lan Zhan’s mind. They were slightly hooded which gave them a sleepy, sultry quality, and Lan Zhan had to swallow twice over that random word choice before he could rasp out,
'Thirty-one.'
The man smiled. Grinned. More like his face burst into light, Lan Zhan thought dazedly, stunned by the transformation of his expression from brooding hunter to brilliant starling in flight.
'Fate! That’s mine, too,' he said. 'And the day I was born to boot. How lucky.'
He turned back to the panel and elevator-man who was still depressing the hold button and staring at the man in black like he might have grown a third head, all while trying to merge his lumpy body with the stainless steel wall out of some hindbrain instinct to avoid entrapment by whatever the man in black was—
Hunter. Predator. Dangerous.
All these words floated in Lan Zhan’s mind, and his own hindbrain was putting out a cacophony of signals the likes of which he’d never known and hadn’t a chance of processing even as he thought how incongruous any of those descriptors were to his beautiful smile. He watched, entranced as a moth by the fatal flame, as the man in black very deliberately plucked the other man’s finger from the hold button like it was something slightly distasteful and then pressed the button for the thirty-first floor. Then he turned to Lan Zhan, putting his back to elevator-man as if he no longer even existed.
'May I?' he asked, and was lifting the strap of the heavier of the two instrument cases on Lan Zhan’s shoulders before he could even parse a protest. 'It looks heavy.'
Despite this assertion, the man in black slung the case across his back with the ease and grace of someone accustomed to the action, like he carried such an unwieldy instrument around daily. Lan Zhan wobbled slightly from the change in weight distribution before recovering himself.
'I am accustomed to it,' he said lamely.
'You look it,' the man said with a quirk at the corner of his smile and a long, appraising look up and down Lan Zhan’s body that made his ears heat with a rare blush. He gave a micro-shrug, testing the weight of the case and hummed. 'Guqin?'
Lan Zhan stared. The guqin was not a well known or recognized instrument, and most people mistook it for some kind of modern zither when they saw it. For this man to come right out with the correct name for the instrument, sight unseen, surprised Lan Zhan.
'It is,' he replied. 'Are you familiar with it?'
'Not hardly,' the man laughed, and Lan Zhan’s spine turned to something far less supportive than hardened calcium at the sound. 'Haven’t seen one for years, but it has the right shape and heft.'
The elevator pinged the eighth floor and the doors slid open with a soft hush. Shouldering Lan Zhan’s guqin as he was, the man in black had elevator-man hemmed into the corner and was making no move to get out of his way. The other man gave a wary cough to announce his presence. The man in black slid sideways a step like a well oiled hinge.
'Oh, pardon me. I forgot you were there,' he said.
Elevator-man started to scowl at the blatantly rude comment as he jostled around the man in black, but then looked up into his face and froze. The hooded predatory expression was back and a sharp, silvered gaze followed the man’s hasty escape from the confined space. The doors slid shut.
'So, you live here?' the man in black asked, smile back in place as he leaned a shoulder into the now vacant wall behind him. The top three buttons of his black dress shirt were undone and the movement made the fabric gape a little to reveal the shadowed line of a prominent collar bone. Lan Zhan’s mouth went inexplicably dry and then he salivated so much he had to swallow before answering.
'No. I give private lessons.'
The other man eyed the second smaller guqin, sized more appropriately for Su Ming’s small hands, on Lan Zhan’s shoulder and nodded as if answering a silent question.
'Your student doesn’t have their own instrument?'
Lan Zhan refrained from sighing, aware it was uncommon for a teacher to transport an instrument, to say nothing of the fact it curtailed any ability for the student to practice between lessons, but…
'Guqins can be prohibitively expensive,' he said politely.
The man in black swept his gaze around the interior of the elevator, taking in the high polish of the stainless steel, the gilt mirrors lining the upper half, and the plush carpet. 'Living in a private high-rise is prohibitively expensive,' he said. 'What’s their excuse?'
Lan Zhan couldn’t quell the derisive huff. 'Sometimes a side effect of great wealth is to become miserly.' He paused and gave a tiny grimace. 'Forgive me. That was uncharitable. My student is very young and only a beginner. It is only reasonable that her parents secure her genuine interest in the instrument before committing to that kind of investment.'
That’s what Lan Zhan kept telling himself anyway, and for better or worse, at least they were not the kind of people to go out and frivolously purchase a master class instrument with the delusion that their child was a prodigy before they had even learned simple scales. He’d experienced that end of the spectrum as well.
The man in black chuckled, and Lan Zhan saw that his smile had softened in some indefinable, unreadable way. 'You are very pragmatic,' he said. 'And very kind. I doubt they deserve it.'
Deserving had nothing to do with it. Uncle had instilled in both his nephews the ideology that they should be polite and accepting of others circumstances even if they didn’t particularly approve. Lan Zhan found it outwardly easy to abide by that, but not so much all the time in his inner most heart.
The elevator pinged again and the doors opened onto the short, plushly carpeted hallway of the thirty-first floor. Lan Zhan stepped out a little reluctantly, prepared to take his guqin back from the man in black, but he just stepped out behind him as if he’d intended it all along. It wasn’t until Lan Zhan was raising his hand to knock on the door that he realized this was one of the three private penthouse floors and there was no way the man in black had business on this floor unless they were both here to see the same person. Lan Zhan lowered his hand and turned to him.
'This is not your floor,' he said, slightly accusing.
The man in black blushed prettily, something that seemed strangely incongruous and, at the same time, utterly at home on his face with what little Lan Zhan had seen of him so far. He was a man of many facets, evidently.
'Caught,' he said with a self-deprecating chuckle.
'Why?' Lan Zhan asked.
The man looked at him for a long moment, then huffed, rubbing absently at the side of his nose, like it was a nervous tick he’d learned to opt for rather than avoiding eye contact. 'Would you believe me if I said it was because I thought you were beautiful.'
Lan Zhan did not gawk. It was incredibly rude and made one’s expression very unbecoming. But it was a close thing in this instance, as he blinked dazedly at the man in black who was, he suddenly realized, standing significantly closer than was absolutely necessary. A dozen evasions came to Lan Zhan’s mind, but they all drained away in the face of the fact that he did not truly want to evade. If the man in black thought Lan Zhan was beautiful then he was in excellent company because Lan Zhan found him equally beautiful, if not more so.
'Yes,' he rasped. 'But…I do not even know your name.'
Something flashed deep in the man’s eyes, too much and too fast for Lan Zhan to interpret, but it looked like resistance, then regret, and then…resignation.
'Wei Ying.'
Wei Ying. Wei Ying. Wei Ying.
The name tumbled through Lan Zhan’s mind like an avalanche, momentarily sweeping it clean of every other thought but those two syllables.
'Lan Zhan,' he managed in a rough whisper.
'Lan Zhan,' Wei Ying repeated, and it sounded reverent, like a prayer or a plea or both.
Wei Ying transferred the guqin effortlessly back to Lan Zhan’s shoulder. Uncertain what to say or do next, Lan Zhan turned to the door, raising his fist to knock again. Then he paused.
'You carried my guqin and came all the way to this floor because I was beautiful,' he said, staring at the floor, unable to look Wei Ying in the face lest this was some enormous joke or misunderstanding.
'Yes,' Wei Ying said quietly, earnestly. 'That and I can’t abide rudeness leveled at kind people.'
Lan Zhan looked at him from the corner of his eye, head still bent. 'You did not know I was kind.'
Wei Ying said nothing until Lan Zhan, panicked at the silence, forced himself to look up at him.
'Oh, I knew, Lan Zhan,' Wei Ying said then with unshakeable certainty. 'I’m very good with people. I know these things.'
Lan Zhan had nothing to say to that.
Wei Ying stepped back and gave a flourishing little bow, his easy grin back in place. 'Fate willing, Lan Zhan, I will behold such beauty again before I die.'
It was an incredibly odd thing to say, Lan Zhan thought, but Wei Ying gave him no chance to respond before he turned on his heel, striding back to the elevator and whistling softly.
It was almost a week later—in which Lan Zhan found his daily focus continually hampered by the memory of a supernova smile and his nightly dreams haunted by glinting silver eyes—that he looked up to see a headline splashed across the paper Lan Huan was reading at the breakfast table declaring the mysterious death of one Mao Tian, a resident on the eighth floor of the high-rise where Lan Zhan had met Wei Ying. The accompanying picture was of the rude elevator-man. The murder happened the same day Lan Zhan had been there, maybe while he was in the building.
It was over a year later that Lan Zhan learned Wei Ying’s true purpose in the building that day and that he had deliberately detoured from his mission of murdering—assassinating—a corrupt accountant who had been laundering millions of tax payer dollars and funneling them into the offshore accounts of a major crime and drug syndicate. Lan Zhan was flattered in a guilty, stomach-twisting kind of way that Wei Ying had been so enthralled with him from that first moment to allow himself to be so distracted.
The knowledge didn’t make the fact that Wei Ying was dead any easier to live with.
——————————————
'A’Die, the house is this way!' Yuan declared, tugging at Lan Zhan’s hand and grinning, just like Wei Ying, at the idea that Lan Zhan might have lost his way.
Lan Zhan took a deep breath.
New routines. New habits. New beginnings.
He had to let the past go, even if it was starring him in the face every day, more clear and vibrant as every one passed.
'I know,' he said. 'There is a cafe at the end of the block. I thought you might like a treat after your first day of school.'
Yuan’s eyes lit up. 'Yes, Die. That would be awesome!'
Lan Zhan smiled at his son’s excitement and made a concerted effort to share in it. He pointed out the shops as they strolled by, taking particular note of the ones that most interested Yuan. Perhaps if Jingyi’s mother agreed to the playdate and Lan Huan was free this weekend, they could bring both boys down here and do some window shopping. Lan Zhan had never window shopped before. He’d never seen the point in spending time looking at things one didn’t intend to buy or could not afford, and he’d never enjoyed being in the crowds that could usually be counted on in malls and shops. But it was something new, something he would not have done in the past, so he was determined to try it now.
The cafe was larger on the inside than its quaint exterior suggested, hosting tall ceilings and a loft with overstuffed chairs and small tables where one could sit and relax for a while and take a break from the bustle of the day. The interior was done in dark, warm wood, slightly rustic by design, but it avoided feeling cavernous because of all the bright foliage, most of it real as far as he could tell, and the strategic lighting that bathed the whole place in a soft, welcoming glow. Yuan stared around in awe for a moment, pointing at various brightly colored tropical plants and paper birds and butterflies that hung from the rafters and railings. Lan Zhan nodded at it all approvingly. This would be a nice new habit. He would bring Yuan here once a week as a father-son outing. It would ensure bonding time as Yuan grew more and more involved in his studies and school activities. Perhaps Lan Huan would even like to join them occasionally.
'Welcome!' a young man in a bright blue apron called from behind the counter. 'What can I get started for you today?'
They approached the counter and pondered the menu. Lan Zhan was aware of several people coming in behind them, and he didn’t want to hold up the line, but the young man behind the register with the soft face was only smiling patiently and waving to the occasional regular as they strolled into the shop. Finally, he offered, speaking in Yuan’s direction,
'There’s a lot up there, isn’t there? Why don’t you tell me your favorite thing, and I’ll see if I can make a recommendation.'
'Vanilla ice-cream with honey!' Yuan piped up.
'One vanilla honey smoothie, coming up!' the young man said. His name tag declared him to be Wen Ning, and Lan Zhan gave him a grateful nod. He smiled back reassuringly and turned back to Yuan. 'How do you feel about hazelnuts?'
Yuan looked up at Lan Zhan for guidance.
'You have had them in some of your New Year candy. You like it,' he confirmed.
'Yes, please,' Yuan said politely to Wen Ning’s question.
'Excellent choice! One vanilla honey smoothie with hazelnuts. And for you, sir?'
Lan Zhan skimmed the menu again. It was quite overwhelming, but Wen Ning took pity on him. 'I would peg you as a man with simple but elegant tastes. I think a matcha latte would suit you very well.'
Lan Zhan nodded his agreement. 'Thank you.'
'And are we feeling hot or cool today?'
Lan Zhan blinked. Yuan tugged on his hand and translated in a whisper, 'Do you want it hot or iced?'
'Ah, I think iced would be fitting, thank you,' Lan Zhan said.
Wen Ning grinned. 'Iced matcha latte, got it. Any midday snacks for after school hungry tummies?'
Yuan gave the fresh cookies in the glass display case a longing look, but then slowly shook his head. Wen Ning nodded approvingly.
'No spoiling our dinner, very responsible of you.'
He rang up their order, and Lan Zhan paid, and they found a table near the front window away from the thickest part of the crowd.
'He was very nice, Die,' Yuan said, settling and shedding his backpack. 'I like him.'
'Yes,' Lan Zhan agreed. 'He was very friendly.'
Lan Zhan watched Wen Ning work the line of customers, each of them receiving personal treatment whether they knew what they wanted or not. His mannerisms and the way he smiled somehow reminded Lan Zhan of Wei Ying, but he pushed that thought away forcefully. This time was for Yuan, and Lan Zhan was not going to spoil it by letting unfounded similarities between Wei Ying and a stranger make him maudlin.
'I got my first assignment today!' Yuan said, pulling papers from his bag. 'The teacher asked us to write a story about our summer vacation. I’m going to write about taking the train here and bringing Mop and Lily in the carrier, and how Bobo accidentally left the door unlatched so I had to crawl under all the seats to go find Mop.'
Lan Zhan smiled at the memory. It had been somewhat inconvenient and annoying at the time, but it was quite funny in retrospect. Neither he nor Lan Huan had been small enough to get under the seats and search, so Yuan had wiggled his way halfway down the carriage, politely excusing himself to all the passengers as he searched for their escaped bunny. Mop, it turned out, had found a very comfortable bed in a lady’s open handbag where she had stored a soft wool shawl for the trip. Fortunately, Mop had not felt the need to nibble any holes in the shawl or bag, and the lady had been very amused by the whole thing and good natured about it. Lan Zhan had offered to pay to have the shawl cleaned of rabbit fur, but she had waved him off with a smile, saying it was payment enough to have the story to tell her sister about her trip.
'I think that is an excellent choice,' Lan Zhan agreed.
'We’re supposed to draw a picture to go with it,' Yuan said, pulling a box of colored pencils out of his bag. He sounded a little less enthused about this part of the assignment. 'Do you think Bobo will help? He’s much better at drawing than I am.'
'I am certain he would if you asked him,' Lan Zhan said.
He thought, Wei Ying was an excellent artist, and he would be thrilled to help you draw rabbits for your assignment.
He shoved that thought away as well. It was unhelpful. Wei Ying had been a great artist, though he always disparaged his own work and said he was nowhere near good enough to make money at it. It was why he’d claimed to have gone into marketing instead (a career path Lan Zhan now doubted ever existed), still artistic but didn’t rely on his drawing skills. Lan Zhan had called him ridiculous. Of all the talents Yuan was steadily revealing he had inherited from his other father, drawing was, unfortunately, not one of them.
'Iced matcha latte and a vanilla honey smoothie with hazelnut!' a voice called over the buzz of the afternoon crowd.
'I’ll get it!' Yuan said, nearly catapulting himself from his seat.
It was a good thing, too, because that voice had frozen Lan Zhan to his seat.
He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled his hands into his lap, fisting them until his nails bit into his palms. Ridiculous, he told himself. There were thousands of people in the world, millions. Billions! Surely, a high percentage of them must sound like Wei Ying.
'Well, look at this little radish, so full of energy!' the voice said.
Cheerful, playful, lilting mischievous in the same way Wei Ying had always sounded, especially around children.
'It is not Wei Ying,' Lan Zhan hissed under his breath. 'Wei Ying is dead.'
He unclenched his hands and forced himself to open his eyes. All he had to do was look. Just turn and look and reality would reassert itself. That voice did not belong to Wei Ying. It couldn’t. That would be impossible.
'You look like a radish who has had a very good first day at school,' the voice continued jovially.
'I did!' Yuan answered enthusiastically. 'We came here as a treat. I think we’ll come back. We both really like it!'
'Well, I’m glad to hear that, and who is 'we'? Did you come with a friend?'
'No, with my Die,' Yuan said. 'He’s over there by the window.'
Instinct made Lan Zhan turn at the moniker. Nine years of being his son’s only parent, excepting Brother’s steady influence, had trained him to respond to the word no matter what or where.
The man was leaning on the counter to be on a level with Yuan, his high ponytail fallen over his shoulder and sweeping the polished wood surface. It was longer than he’d ever worn it when they were together. His bare arms were sinewy, lithe, lightly muscled but harboring a caged strength, Lan Zhan knew from the many times they had lifted and held him. He would be tall when he stood up, an inch or so on Lan Zhan’s not inconsiderable height, and his shoulders would be broad, his waist trim. His eyes would turn into crescents when he smiled—
Lan Zhan tried one last time to desperately hold onto reality, to stay in the present.
'He is not—'
The man looked up and their gazes met, magnetized, searching across the space and finding, drawn by an irresistible force. Silver-grey eyes blinked once, slow and disbelieving, and the man’s smile froze on his face.
'—Wei Ying.'
The name was punched from Lan Zhan’s lungs, and suddenly there was no air in the entire space to breathe. He watched the man’s smile tremble and slip, his lips forming around silent syllables. A name.
Lan Zhan.
Nine years ago Lan Zhan’s world had shattered, and he had barely survived the aftermath of the storm.
This time, he was certain he would be swept away and drown…
——————————————
Lan Zhan had thought Wei Ying being launched through their second story apartment window, thrown by the force of a high powered rifle at close range, plummeting to the ground, and landing in a tangle of broken limbs on the sidewalk was the worst thing he would ever see in his life.
He’d thought his uncle telling him a week later that Wei Ying had died in the fire fight (because Nie Huaisang had refused to confirm anything and Lan Zhan had spent the last nine days in abject terror, a virtual prisoner inside his uncle’s house, 'For your own safety, A’Zhan,' while no one would tell him anything about…anything!) and his funeral was the next day was the worst thing he would ever hear.
He’d thought the splintering agony of a thousand shattered dreams scraping against the inside of his ribs as Wei Ying’s coffin was lowered into the ground (closed casket because, 'A’Zhan, I’m sorry…you really…don’t want to see.') and dirt thrown onto it along with half wilted white lilies, because the air was too stagnant and hot, was the worst pain he’d ever feel.
But his uncle sitting him down three days after the funeral and calmly explaining to him that his life for the past year had all been a lie; that the man he had fully intended to marry before the turn of the next year was someone he didn’t even know…
That was an indescribable abyss of worse, the depths of which Lan Zhan did not think he had yet fully plumbed.
'I’m sorry, A’Zhan. I know how much he meant to you,' Uncle consoled in sympathetic, measured tones.
It was perfunctory, mere lip service, because there was no way anyone could know how much Wei Ying had meant to Lan Zhan; and now not even Lan Zhan knew himself because he hadn’t really known Wei Ying at all, as it turned out.
'You are welcome to stay here, A’Zhan, for as long as—'
'I am pregnant.'
The statement was apropos of nothing in this discussion, but Lan Zhan had to say it. He had to say it out loud to…someone. Because he’d planned to tell Wei Ying that afternoon, had prepared his confession complete with notecards so he could get through all the reasons their keeping the baby was a good idea even though neither of them were particularly well paid and they weren’t married yet and they would definitely need to upgrade from their one bedroom apartment even though it would make the budget that much tighter—
But none of that mattered anymore.
It had ceased to matter the moment Wei Ying had slammed through the front door with Nie Huaisang clinging to his heels and hauled Lan Zhan to his feet, practically yelling in his face, 'You have to go, Lan Zhan. Now!'
You have to go.
Lan Zhan remembered the wording specifically. Not 'we'. You.
Wei Ying never intended on getting out of that apartment alive.
He’d rummaged in their front closet for a desperate moment and thrust a small backpack into Lan Zhan’s arms before he shoved him at Nie Huaisang and told them to get out.
He hadn’t even kissed Lan Zhan goodbye. He hadn’t even met his eyes directly.
Nie Huaisang, with extremely uncharacteristic strength, efficiency, and determination, had manhandled Lan Zhan down the stairs and out to a nondescript sedan where he unceremoniously shoved him in the backseat and locked the doors. They were the kind only the driver could unlock. Like one found in a police vehicle.
Lan Zhan had pummeled the doors and back window, alternately shouting at Nie Huaisang and screaming for Wei Ying. Until he’d seen Wei Ying flying through the air.
The world seemed to stop between one heartbeat and the next, shocked to complete stillness by the unthinkable, impossible event of Wei Ying no longer co-existing with it.
One ragged, disbelieving sob had torn its way from Lan Zhan’s throat. He met Nie Huaisang’s gaze in the rearview mirror and, finding no reassurance that this was all some horrible nightmare, he’d doubled over and thrown up in the footwell. Nie Huaisang said absolutely nothing and just kept driving.
'I am pregnant,' Lan Zhan repeated, just to hear the words, to know they were real. In the last few days, it was the only thing that seemed real to him at all, the only grounding force he had to remind him there was a reason to keep breathing.
Uncle bowed his head and pinched between his eyes, his shoulders sagging in a kind of defeat Lan Zhan had never seen before. He braced himself for the lecture on how irresponsible he was, the shame this would bring to the family name, the reminder of his father’s similar indiscretions.
'Alright, A’Zhan,' Uncle said slowly. 'Alright. We’ll…make it work.'
Lan Zhan deflated, unwinding from the tight defensive ball he hadn’t even realized he’d compressed himself into. Warily, he said, 'I am keeping it.'
Uncle’s head snapped up. He was scowling fiercely, but it cleared almost instantly at whatever he saw in Lan Zhan’s expression and folded into something much more conciliatory. 'Of course, you are, A’Zhan,' he said, and it was earnest. He meant it. Lan Zhan stared at him for a whole minute in silence, then reached for the bag at his feet that he’d hardly let go of in the last two weeks.
It was a cheap nylon bag printed with blue rabbits romping in all manner of play, sized appropriate for a toddler to carry. Wei Ying had laughed himself silly when Lan Zhan mooned over it at the store. It hadn’t contained very much, and Lan Zhan had removed some of the items already—a photo album of nearly every picture of the two of them together that Wei Ying had collected over the year since they met, many of them candid that Lan Zhan didn’t even know about; a rabbit plushy Wei Ying had won at a carnival where he bulls-eyed a dozen moving targets in under five seconds to the surrounding crowd’s shock and awe; a letter addressed to Lan Zhan, sealed, and with large blocky instructions written on the front that he was not to open it until after he had talked to Lan Qiren. He still hadn’t opened the letter. The edges of the sealed flap were curled in a few places like it had gotten wet. Lan Zhan wondered if they were tear stains.
He upended the bag in the middle of his uncle’s desk. Several strapped stacks of high denomination bills tumbled out, a hand gun that Lan Zhan recognized from when Wei Ying had insisted on taking him to the shooting range, and a plastic bag with several very official looking documents, including a passport, driver’s license, birth certificate, and even a library card—all with Lan Zhan’s picture but a stranger’s name attached.
Lan Qiren made a grating sound in his throat, and his hands clenched briefly into fists as he surveyed the strewn contents. Then he closed his eyes and scrubbed his face with both hands. At length, he picked up the bag of documents, eyeing them with some strange mix of anger and fondness, and no little regret.
'He was prepared for the worst, then,' he said very softly.
Lan Zhan waited for more, but when it didn’t come, he asked, 'Is this…legal?'
Lan Qiren nodded slowly. 'It is. He probably had to pull some high strings to get some of this stuff but, knowing him, it’s all above board.'
Knowing him…
Fury flared in Lan Zhan, and he threw the bag down on the desk. His own uncle had known who Wei Ying was, and yet Lan Zhan, the man who loved him and lived with him and was carrying his child, didn’t have any idea what it meant to know Wei Ying.
Lan Qiren picked up the bag, held it between his hands like it was something valuable. 'A’Zhan, he did all this for you. This was all for your protection if…' He laid the bag down and smoothed his palms over it. 'You won’t need it now. They won’t come after you since…'
They. Lan Zhan had heard enough references to this illusive they. He was tired of hearing about them. He didn’t care about them, not even if they were going to come after him for…whatever reason. The only reason they mattered at all was because they had taken Wei Ying away from him and ruined Lan Zhan’s life.
'I do not care about money!' he shouted. Lan Qiren flinched because Lan Zhan hadn’t raised his voice to anyone since he was a child. 'I do not care about documents or a gun I cannot shoot!'
'A’Zhan—'
Lan Qiren stood up, leaning forward, but Lan Zhan stumbled back from him, chest heaving.
Behind him, the door was flung open, banging on the bookshelves behind it so that it sounded like a gunshot. Lan Zhan full body flinched and screamed at the noise, flung himself around in a panic and slammed straight into his brother’s broad chest.
'A’Zhan!'
Lan Huan’s eyes were wide with concern, but Lan Zhan didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything. Not any of it.
'I do not care!' he raged, beating his fists against Lan Huan’s chest until his brother captured his wrists and tucked them down and wrapped his arms around him and held him so tight he could barely breathe. 'I do not care about any of it! I want Wei Ying!'
The last words came out a pathetic whimper, and Lan Huan held him even tighter.
'Oh, A’Zhan, I know. I know you do.'
Lan Zhan sobbed into his brother’s shirtfront while some silent conversation happened between Lan Huan and Uncle over his head, and then he was being led away, out of Uncle’s office and up to his room.
Hours later, Lan Zhan lay curled into a tight ball on his bed, his back to his brother’s warm thigh where he was propped against the headboard with his legs stretched out. He’d been sitting there for hours with Lan Zhan, in the silence, holding him until his tears ran out and then stroking his back like their mother used to do when either of them had gotten upset. He was clutching the white rabbit plushy under his chin. Its ears were soaked through from his crying.
'Who was he?' Lan Zhan croaked, his throat raw and sore from his tirade earlier in the day.
Lan Huan’s hand paused for just a moment, then resumed, more slowly. Lan Zhan could almost feel how his brother was carefully considering the question through his soft touch. Finally, he said,
'A’Zhan, I think you know who he was.'
'But I do not,' Lan Zhan protested hoarsely. He could feel the tears building again, and he didn’t want to cry anymore. He was too tired to cry, but they leaked out between his squeezed-tight eyelids anyway. 'It was all a lie…'
Lan Huan took a breath, let it out slowly, then, 'I saw you together, Didi. I saw the way he looked at you. That was real. The most real thing—the most true thing—I’ve ever seen. We should all be so lucky.' He paused. 'Have you read the letter?'
'No.'
Lan Zhan couldn’t bring himself to read the letter. He couldn’t bear to hear the lies spoken in his head in Wei Ying’s own voice.
'Maybe you should,' Lan Huan said gently. 'Then you would have your answer.'
Maybe his brother was right, Lan Zhan thought. But it was equally possible the words on those pages would only raise more doubts and questions, and Lan Zhan couldn’t bear the thought of that. He curled up tighter and buried his face in the rabbit’s scratchy fur. Lan Huan hummed something old and soothing and kept stroking his back until Lan Zhan finally gave into his exhaustion and slept..