Chapter Text
“Five-eighths inch wrench,” Wei Ying requested, holding out his hand.
At the top of his step stool, Yuan inspected the labels beneath each of the wrenches hanging over Wei Ying’s tool bench.
“Which is a fraction with a five on top?” prompted Lan Zhan.
Yuan pointed. “This one!”
“Mn. What is the bottom number of that fraction?”
“Sixteen!”
“How are sixteen and eight related?”
“Sixteen is twice as big!”
“Correct. If the sixteen and the eight are both at the bottom of the fraction, is this wrench bigger or smaller than the one we need?”
“Smaller!”
“With this knowledge, which wrench do you think Baba needs?”
Yuan pointed again. “This one!”
“What does the label say?”
“Five over eight,” Yuan read, pointing clearly to each number.
“Then that is a five-eighths inch wrench.”
“The one Baba needs!” With two hands, Yuan unhooked it from the wall, scampering down his step stool to slap the wrench into Wei Ying’s waiting palm.
“My best helper,” cried Wei Ying. “Let me just tighten this up here and Sonic the Headbutt will be all set for today’s competition!”
“He’s gonna win. I know it.” Yuan crouched down next to Wei Ying, watching him secure the base panel under Sonic’s chassis.
It was a good bot, and Wei Ying had high hopes for the day ahead. Nevertheless. “Even if he doesn’t win, we’re going to have a fun time with our friends at the club, right?”
“Right!”
Lan Zhan’s phone gave a soft chime. “Huan-shushu will be here in five minutes. This would be a good time to use the potty and wash hands.”
“I don’t have to!”
“Good to know,” said Wei Ying, standing up to theatrically crack his back. He raised his hands and twisted from side to side, stretching thoroughly. “Lan Zhan, don’t bother brining money for popcorn. A-Yuan won’t want any.”
“I will! A-Die, he’s telling stories. I do want popcorn.”
“How will you eat it with dirty hands?” asked Lan Zhan.
Like a shot, Yuan raced inside to wash up. Tossing a shop towel over his shoulder, Wei Ying followed. His husband’s arm looped around his waist, unsubtly taking part of his weight. “Your leg is bothering you?”
“Forget my leg. Your weak husband is too soft to lie on hard cement for long, Lan Zhan. It’s my back that needs a massage!”
“We have discussed this with Doctor Park. You do not need to misdirect. I can handle the fact that my husband was injured rescuing me. What I want, more than anything, is for you to trust me with the truth of your pain.”
Wei Ying made a face. “You’re not allowed to be mad at me. Promise.”
“I promise will not be mad at you,” said Lan Zhan, without the slightest air of exasperation. According to Doctor Park, Wei Ying’s repeated demands to hear those words were not conducive to open communication, as they restrained Lan Zhan’s ability to be honest about his own emotional state. But they were easier to ask for. They felt like a joke. Even when—especially when—they weren’t.
Unprompted, Lan Zhan added, “I love you.”
Wei Ying melted, letting his weight fall against his husband’s body while his heart oozed sugary caramel all over the garage floor. Hearing that made everything easy. Somehow, it always did. “I think I forgot to take my muscle relaxant at lunch.”
“I set it beside your plate.” Lan Zhan’s voice was neutral, completely void of judgment.
“Where it likely remains, even now, in glorious obscurity. I just had that really good idea about boosting Sonic’s vibro-blade. And then A-Yuan caught my excitement, and—”
“I was there.” Lan Zhan pressed a kiss to Wei Ying’s temple. “If you recall, I was also excited and came to join you without clearing the table. My apologies for failing to notice you had not taken your pill.”
“Hey.” Wei Ying stopped walking so he could wrap both arms around his husband and steal a kiss. “I like it when you’d rather hang out with me than clean up after me. It’s very sexy.”
Returning the kiss, Lan Zhan tucked a stray strand of hair behind Wei Ying’s ear. With a deadpan face he said, “I like it when your prescribed medication reaches a therapeutic level in your bloodstream and prevents the underlying causes of pain without a need for opiates. I also find it deeply sexually arousing. Truly, a quality possessed only by my romantic ideal.”
Laughing, Wei Ying surrendered. “You know what else prevents the underlying cause of my pain, er-gege? Not putting weight on my leg.”
Instantly Wei Ying was swept up in strong arms, being carried like a bride through the back door of his home. To his delight, a truck horn honked in the driveway at just that moment. Nie Huaisang stuck his head out the window to wolf-whistle.
“Isn’t my husband the strongest and the best?” Wei Ying cried to his friend.
Lan Zhan didn’t even pause to say hello, just continued walking into the house.
“I don’t know,” shouted Nie Huaisang, tumbling out of the pickup truck. “He’s very rude. Come say hello, Lan Zhan!”
The screen door closed behind them, so Wei Ying didn’t bother responding to his friend, just grinned up at his husband’s handsome face. “You could put me down in the chair.”
“Unnecessary.” Lan Zhan shifted his weight, freeing his hand to lift the pill from the table without jostling Wei Ying at all.
Wei Ying opened his mouth, accepting the pill placed on his tongue. He waited for a glass of water to be pressed against his lips as well and swallowed. “I love you, too, you know.”
“I know,” said Lan Zhan, dabbing his husband’s cheeks with an unnecessary napkin. “Should I carry you back out to greet my brother?”
Wei Ying gave this offer the serious consideration in merited. “Nah,” he said at last. “That’s enough for now. Is it okay if, uh—”
“I love you,” said Lan Zhan firmly. “Caring for you is a privilege I hope to exercise at great length later tonight.”
What an impossible man! There was only one answer Wei Ying could make to that without dissolving into tears: he smacked a wet, cartoonish kiss to his husband’s forehead. Springing out of Lan Zhan’s arms, he skipped back out to the garage to meet their visitors.
Nie Mingjue and Lan Huan were respectfully admiring Sonic the Headbutt and the glory of his 180 degree vibrating blades. Both of them turned to greet Wei Ying, Lan Zhan, and Yuan with effusive warmth. Sitting on the work bench with his legs dangling back and forth while he composed an Instagram post, Nie Huaisang barely looked up to wink. Taking the remote from beside Huaisang’s behind, Wei Ying had Sonic play a little tinkling hello on his internal speakers.
“I thought it would be blue,” said Lan Huan. “Like the hedgehog.”
“As if Wei Ying would ever go with an aesthetic other than black and red,” said Nie Huaisang. “That name is clearly just pandering to the crowd, anyway. What’s it really called?”
“Chenqing,” Wei Ying admitted. “I just didn’t want to hear an English speaking announcer mangle it.”
“Fair enough.”
“It’s lovely,” said Lan Huan. “Very neat lines.”
“Very sharp blades,” agreed Nie Mingjue. “Let’s get it loaded up!”
Jiang Cheng was already in the stands with Wen Qing, Wen Ning, and Granny, holding seats for everyone. “I could have come to pick you up,” he grumbled when Wei Ying trapped him in a hug.
“Nie Mingjue has a truck.”
“I could have a truck,” said Jiang Cheng, with all the plaintive petulance of a boy born rich.
“That’s how much you love me?” teased Wei Ying. “You’d give up on squiring a beautiful doctor in your latest sports car to schlep me in a pickup truck?”
“I fly two thousand miles to watch robots bump into each other and you doubt me?” Jiang Cheng punched him hard in the arm. “Go sit with the competitors before I break your legs.”
Before Wei Ying could respond to that, Yuan squirmed down, trying to escape Lan Zhan’s arms.
“I want to sit with Cheng-shushu,” he announced.
Jiang Cheng softened instantly, helping his nephew up onto the seat between him and Wen Qing. “Hey, baobei. Want some popcorn?”
“Don’t take it personally.” Wei Ying leaned into Lan Huan’s ear without lowering his voice. “Jiang Cheng bribes him.”
“Yup,” said Jiang Cheng, unrepentantly plying Wei Ying’s innocent baby boy with butter and salt.
“I will simply have to increase my own efforts to do the same.” Lan Huan smiled amiably, and Wei Ying considered the six crates of Duplo blocks in Yuan’s bedroom with something like fear.
“Or, hear me out, all of you could stop spoiling my son.”
“Unlikely,” said Lan Zhan, getting out a packet of organic, unsweetened applesauce that made Yuan immediately abandon the popcorn.
“Wen Qing, Granny, back me up.”
“Applesauce and popcorn are both sometimes foods,” Wen Qing agreed, taking the popcorn and helping Yuan straighten out his packet so he could inhale the treat within more quickly.
“Shouldn’t you be down there with your robot dear?” asked Granny.
Throwing his hands into the air, Wei Ying gave up. Before he could go, however, Nie Huaisang stopped him.
“Conviction came down,” he said quietly. “Jin Guangshan is going to jail for twenty-five to life.”
“Holy shit,” said Wei Ying. Jiang Cheng shot him a scandalized look, covering Yuan’s ears. “Really?”
Nie Huaisang held up his phone wordlessly so that Wei Ying could read the screen. It was true.
When Wei Ying asked Wen Ning to write a virus that would post the hidden files of whoever tried to rob him onto the internet, he’d anticipated dramatic justice. His intention had been to publish the secret, in progress experiments of whatever company tried to steal and patent his turbine design. While this wouldn’t change much in any legal sense, the world being full of unscrupulous characters, it was guaranteed to lose them at least one patent in progress and cost them a lot of money.
Once the hidden files of Koi Consolidated started posting, however, patents were the last thing on anyone’s mind. Bribery, corruption, coverups, and, not least, evidence of dozens of rapes perpetrated by their CEO entered the public awareness. In turn, the public eviscerated him long before he went to trial. He was finally thrown over by his sycophantic board of directors just before the company could go under completely.
Jin Zixuan stepped up. To everyone’s surprise, it wasn’t to return to business as usual. Instead, he used the position to clear the rest of the rotten apples out of his barrel in round after round of firings. Then he started paying out restitution to everyone wronged by the company before instituting fair labor practices, better environmental standards, and true charitable giving. It was hard work, but with Yanli’s support and Mianmian as his CFO, he managed to keep Koi Consolidated afloat through the spectacle of his father’s criminal trial. Now all that was finally over. They could move on.
Wei Ying looked at his brother. “Have you heard from Yanli?”
“Called her this morning. She’s doing just fine. You know that quiet satisfaction she gets when the world is operating the way she wants it to.”
Wei Ying did. For his first few years as the Jiang Foster Kid, his goal in life was to bask next to Jiang Yanli when she was radiating that kind of contentment. “And the peacock?”
“Honestly, Zixuan was hoping for this verdict. His biggest fear was that it would be something wishy-washy like probation and his father might eventually try to step back into the corporate arena. This makes life easier for them.”
“It’s still his father.”
Jiang Cheng shrugged unsympathetically. “Doesn’t change the fact that he violently attacked thirty-six women. That we know of. He’s always been an asshole. To Jin Zixuan’s credit, he apparently really was just that oblivious about it for all those years. Now that he knows, he’s sworn that Jin Ling will never see Guangshan again.”
“Did you see Jin Ling on the call?”
Jiang Cheng softened. “He got Zixuan in the eye with his lightsaber.”
Wei Ying laughed.
“I think they’re starting,” said Wen Ning, pointing to the competitors gathering around the outer ring of the arena floor.
“Shit.” Turning, Wei Ying started bolting down the steps only to be caught, spun, and dipped backward in a fervent kiss.
“For luck,” said Lan Zhan, releasing him.
Looping his arms around his husband’s neck, Wei Ying said, “I need more luck than that.” He took another kiss. Then he dashed away shouting, “First victory is for A-Yuan, second is dedicated to Lan Zhan!”
Behind him, he could hear the laughter of his family echoing through the auditorium. He didn’t need Sonic the Headbutt’s metal rending vibro-blades screeching through the steel of the competition to feel like a winner.