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Lan Zhan’s past comes back to haunt her on a Tuesday night, drenched in Emperor’s Smile while wearing a set of rhinestone pasties and high-heeled Louboutins.
It’s been years since Lan Zhan had last seen her. Wei Ying had dropped out of Gusu University to pursue modelling full-time, and now she’s back and taking campus by storm. A couple years ago, she’d made a splash in international media modelling up-and-coming lingerie designer Nie Huaisang’s Yiling Collection at the Lingerie Rocks show at Paris Fashion Week, and ever since then, her face seems to be plastered across every billboard in Suzhou. Lan Zhan can barely get groceries without encountering at least one poster with Wei Ying’s iconic smokey-eye smoulder boring into her soul. And that’s even before the fact that the majority of these posters are of Wei Ying in various sets of lingerie.
Even when the advertisement is about Wei Ying’s line of ‘Drop Dead Gorgeous’ cosmetics, she’s still lounging around in impractically lacy things, draped in feathers and tulle and all other materials that Lan Zhan’s uncle would have disapproved of as ‘too decadent’.
Lan Zhan herself mostly owns clothes made of wool, cotton, linen. Sensible fabrics, in sensible colours of white, blue, grey. The students of Gusu University have collectively rated her ‘probably really hot if she bothered to smile’ and ‘could do with wearing something not a turtleneck for once’, though most of those comments were by intimidated (and frankly sexist) young men convinced her legendary frigidity was contributing to her ‘leftover’ status.
(That’s another headache Lan Zhan doesn’t want to think about right now. Not with what she’s seeing in front of her very eyes.)
On the stage, Wei Ying is lying on a giant jug of Emperor’s Smile, long slender legs draped over the side as she playfully kicks her Louboutins to her stage assistants. As the music rises to its final playful peak, Wei Ying blows kisses out to the audience before rising onto her knees and pouring a cup of Emperor’s Smile down her chest. Lan Zhan almost rips a hole in her programme at that.
Finally, Wei Ying slides onto her stomach and kicks up her legs, and the song ends on one final wink. The crowds go wild, while Lan Zhan hovers near the back of the room with warmth slowly pooling in her gut.
“Thank you all for coming out here tonight,” trills Wei Ying as she takes the microphone from an assistant. “I’m so excited to see so many new faces here! But of course you would be new — if you’re still here from my undergrad days, I’d have to be very concerned!”
Lan Zhan is tempted to mention that she’s here, but quashes the urge. Wei Ying beams, before slowly shifting off the jug. Her assistants hand her a fluffy black robe, and she ties it snugly around her before taking a seat on the chair that had been set up next to the jug.
“Well, any questions?” she asks, and a multitude of hands shoot up. “Yes, you!”
Lan Zhan doesn’t pay attention to most of the questions, since most of the answers are facts she’d already known from their time in undergrad together. Wei Ying likes the colour red, takes her coffee with soy, and her favourite Journey to the West character is the Monkey King. Her first car was a bright red jalopy she’d gotten as a hand-me-down from her sister, Jiang Yanli, which she’d named Suibian for the fun of it.
How Lan Zhan still remembers all of this despite time and distance is not something she wants to examine right now; all it’ll do is make her heart hurt. She’s content to just watch Wei Ying talk, but then, suddenly, someone asks:
“Did you ever date someone while you were a student here?”
The entire room freezes, as if holding its breath. Wei Ying takes a sip of water, smiles widely, and says:
“No, but I had a big crush on someone while I was here. Promise you won’t tell?”
Murmurs of assent flow through the room. Wei Ying laughs.
“I don’t wanna give up their name, since it’s such a personal thing, but I can tell you they were in my class at Gusu University.”
Lan Zhan doesn’t know if she wants to hear any more of this. While they were in undergrad together, she and Wei Ying had almost never gotten along. In fact, it’s probable that Wei Ying had detested her, and may still detest her in spite of all this time and distance.
Lan Zhan manages to slip away before the speculation starts. She tries hard not to look back.
“Alcohol is against the policies of Gusu University.”
Lan Zhan is resolute, determined, crossing her arms and scowling at the girl perched on the fire escape with a jug of Emperor’s Smile.
“Wow, did the dorm granny die and put you in charge?” the girl wonders. Lan Zhan takes a deep, calming breath, before replying:
“No, but alcohol is still against university policy and smuggling it in is a disciplinary offense.”
The girl blows a raspberry. “I’m just having a quiet get-together with my friends. The door will be closed. We promise we won’t get sick. Pretty please don’t report us?”
Lan Zhan’s hands clench into fists behind her back. “No,” she insists.
The girl pouts. “Well, one good turn deserves another. You don’t rat me out, and I’ll — I’ll tell you where all the coolest clubs are! And, well, I’ve got a lot of Weibo followers, so if you ever need something to get some attention, I could put it there…”
“No,” repeats Lan Zhan, already starting to walk in the direction of the dorm manager’s office. She’s stopped halfway, though, by the sound of the girl’s laughter. Turning, she sees that the girl has already shimmied open the window leading back into the dorm.
“You know, I just realised something,” teases the girl as she straddles the windowsill. Lan Zhan tries her hardest not to fixate on way her skirt hitches with the movement, the way her long slender legs hug the window frame. “We don’t actually know each other.”
Lan Zhan hates that she has a point. She, in fact, doesn’t know this girl’s name.
“It’s a bit tough to report someone if you don’t know their name, you know,” continues the girl sweetly, before slipping into the dorm with her Emperor’s Smile. Lan Zhan immediately races inside, hoping to intercept her at the stairs, but when she gets to the second floor landing, the girl is already gone.
That night, every time she closes her eyes, she revisits the curve of the girl’s smile and the mischief sparkling in her sea-grey eyes.
Lan Zhan wakes to the sound of a thousand notifications in the middle of the night. Groaning, she dismisses them all before turning around and trying to salvage her sleep.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t happen. Especially not when the messages she’d glanced through are all texts from Gusu University alumni asking her if she knew anything about Wei Ying’s undergrad crush.
My heavens, just because I took a couple classes with her doesn’t make me her best friend and confidante, Lan Zhan thinks sourly as she scrolls through a couple at the inadvisable hour of 3 AM. In fact, given the conversation they had had the last time they met, Wei Ying probably doesn’t even consider her much of a friend anymore.
The thought of that makes her a lot more sad than she has any right to be.
The notifications don’t stop throughout the following morning, though. Her phone keeps buzzing with them throughout class, causing Lan Zhan to turn off her notifications entirely. But even that gives her no respite from curious onlookers.
“Yes?” she asks, near the end of a presentation on Madam White Snake. The young man she’s looking at lowers his hand sheepishly, his face already bright pink.
“May I ask Professor Lan a question?” Lan Zhan nods, and he continues, “Does Professor Lan know anything about who Wei Ying liked back when Professor Lan was a student here at Gusu University?”
A long, terrible pause. Other students either try to hide their giggles, or desperately look around the room as if searching for escape routes. Lan Zhan resists the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose.
“My personal life is none of your concern, Mr Luo,” she remarks drily. He flushes harder at that, hunching over slightly in his seat.
Someone else pipes up, “I heard Professor Lan hated Wei Ying when they were in university together, so how would Professor Lan know anything about who Wei Ying liked?”
Lan Zhan can feel the tips of her ears flushing at that, and wishes for a moment that her hair was looser so that she could hide it. It’s one thing to realise she and Wei Ying rarely ever spoke on civil terms during their time as students together, but it’s another for someone else to point out exactly how that would look to everyone else.
“Well, if that means Professor Lan is out of the question for who Wei Ying was referring to, then that must mean it was Huaisang. After all, Huaisang’s the one designer Wei Ying has worked the most with, and it’s their designs that made Wei Ying famous,” muses a third student.
“Just because you work professionally with someone doesn’t mean you fancy them,” Mr Luo points out. “I’m Professor Shen’s research assistant, but I don’t fancy him.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” mutters the young man next to him. Mr Luo flushes bright red at that.
“I don’t think it’s Huaisang,” he says, slightly defensive. “I think it’s Wen Ning, her photographer. She literally told Vanity Fair she’s nothing without him.”
Lan Zhan remembers reading that exact interview and then promptly sneaking into her brother’s secret liquor stash. That had not been a good night for anyone involved, least of all their uncle.
“Yeah, but that’s because he always gets her best angles,” another student points out. “Like you said for her and Huaisang, it’s probably just professional appreciation.”
Mr Luo bristles at that. “Okay, but then how do you explain how they’re always together on Weibo? There’s at least five selfies of her kissing his cheek!”
“She’s also seen kissing her sisters’ cheeks too; does that mean she’s attracted to them?” the other student protests, but before the whole class can split into warring camps over the line between professional appreciation and romantic interest, Lan Zhan clears her throat, and silence falls upon the room like a thick blanket.
“Gossiping is discouraged in my classroom,” she says, glaring at all of the students, many of whom shrink back in contrition at the ice in her tone. “Speculation about someone else’s private life is a violation of their privacy. Let us return to Madam White Snake, which was the intended discussion topic of this class…”
Soft groans roll through the classroom, but everyone turns back to their notes on the presentation nonetheless. Lan Zhan’s phone buzzes again, but this time she turns off the device entirely.
“Let us discuss the ways in which the story of Madam White Snake has evolved, from a cautionary tale on the dangers of free love, to an impassioned plea on the importance of love in the face of societal prejudice…”
“So that’s your name, huh, Lan Zhan,” teases the girl as she catches up with Lan Zhan in the corridor outside their classroom. Lan Zhan can’t believe her luck. Of course she would end up in the same literature class as that irritating girl with the bright smile and smuggled alcohol!
She says nothing, hoping that the girl — Wei Ying, apparently — will tire of taunting her and go pick on someone else. But it seems the stars are not working in her favour, since Wei Ying falls into stride beside her and starts babbling in earnest about how much fun she’d had with her friends and their against-university-policy alcohol that other night. Lan Zhan has the distinct impression that Wei Ying is flaunting her weakness in front of her, and it only makes her jaw clench tighter.
“ — What do you think?” Wei Ying’s sudden question drags Lan Zhan out of her thoughts. “Of us working together on the project Professor Ling assigned?”
Lan Zhan makes a protesting noise, which Wei Ying somehow takes to be the exact opposite. She immediately claps her hands and starts talking excitedly about how she’d split the workload. Lan Zhan’s gut instinctively curls with dread — chances are, Wei Ying would probably flake out on her half of the project, leaving Lan Zhan to do all the work. She’s definitely no stranger to having to carry the group in a group project, which is why she had hoped to be able to do the project by herself.
But Wei Ying is already setting up meeting times and a shared folder, her fingers flying like lightning across her phone. Lan Zhan sighs internally, already regretting not having been more vocal about her protestations. It’s like she’s been strapped into a rollercoaster she hadn’t even lined up to ride in the first place, and she has the heart rate to prove it.
“Okay, now that that’s all set up, what do you think about reinterpreting Madam White Snake?”
Lan Zhan stops in the middle of the hallway. “Reinterpreting?” she echoes. Wei Ying backtracks to her, nodding eagerly.
“Yeah! When I was reading the story, I thought it was interesting that it’d changed from a horror into a romance! The original one by Feng Menglong was kinda a cautionary tale, right? Since the monk was more or less trying to save Xu Xian’s soul from the dangerous White Snake demon who was posing as his wife. But so many subsequent retellings make the White Snake so much more sympathetic, making her and Xu Xian become tragic lovers whose union is opposed by society. Which, in turn, is represented by the monk, who does everything in his power to keep them apart. And it’s those same societal pressures and expectations that Xu Xian has to unlearn in order to truly love the White Snake for herself.”
Lan Zhan can only blink, as a bright bolt of morning light filters through a narrow window above, capturing Wei Ying in its beam. Something deep inside Lan Zhan crumbles in response, ensnared by the excited sparkle in her grey eyes, by the expressive gesture of her hands.
Wei Ying sees her staring, and laughs sheepishly. “It’s just a thought I had,” she demurs, stepping out of the light.
“Go on,” says Lan Zhan, her voice hoarse. Wei Ying fiddles nervously at her fingers.
“I thought, well…” she looks up and down the hallway, and then pitches her voice lower, “what if we rewrote it so that both Xu Xian and the White Snake were women?”
Lan Zhan nearly drops her satchel at that. Wei Ying laughs again, before waving a dismissive hand.
“I mean, we don’t have to do that! We could do another story? Or do something that’s a bit less surprising? I just thought, since it was a story that resonated with me, that it’d be cool to — nevermind, it’s silly.”
“If they were both women, Fahai’s actions against them would be interpreted as being opposed to the union of two women,” says Lan Zhan. “The White Snake would be considered morally decadent, and a threat to traditional family values.”
Wei Ying’s eyes are wide. “Wait, you actually like my idea?”
Lan Zhan hums. Wei Ying doesn’t need to know she’d basically just quoted her uncle. Lan Qiren, President of Gusu University, had cared for her and her brother ever since their parents’ untimely deaths, and because of that, she respects him very much.
(The problem lies more in sustaining that respect as the years go by.)
Beside her, Wei Ying is back to tapping eagerly at her phone, talking excitedly about the other little changes she’d have to make to the narrative to account for Xu Xian becoming female. Lan Zhan is content just to listen in, letting Wei Ying’s excitement wash over her.
To her surprise, Wei Ying has a first draft of their project done by the end of the week, far in advance of the actual due date. Lan Zhan reads through it, something warm and forbidden blooming in her chest at each word.
Perhaps she’d been too hasty in her assumptions.
“Lan Zhan!”
The familiar voice disrupts Lan Zhan from her grading. “You are not my student,” she remarks, as Wei Ying pauses at the threshold to her office.
“This used to be Professor Ling’s office, so maybe I’m just trying to visit her by proxy,” she jokes.
Lan Zhan hums, setting down her pen. “Wei Ying,” she says, folding her hands together, “what brings you here?”
Wei Ying looks down at her feet, folding her hands behind her back. “I can’t come visit an old friend?” she asks.
“Are we?” wonders Lan Zhan. That causes Wei Ying’s cheeks to colour.
“I — well, if that’s what you think, I won’t —”
“No,” says Lan Zhan immediately. “I apologise.” Slowly, she rises to her feet, gesturing to the chairs across the desk from her. “Sit. I will make tea.”
Bolstered, Wei Ying steps into the office, looking around her. “You’ve definitely made this place your own,” she remarks. “The only things I recognise are Professor Ling’s old furniture.”
“They were serviceable,” says Lan Zhan, her gaze briefly skimming over the other woman’s silky black blouse and tight red jeans.
Wei Ying chuckles, briefly peeking under the cloth cover for Lan Zhan’s guqin, before moving to admire the jade rabbits lined on her bookshelf in front of her numerous journal publications and books. “You’ve been busy,” she says.
“As have you,” demurs Lan Zhan, now determinedly refocusing on her kettle and teapots. Wei Ying giggles, before finally taking her seat at the desk, crossing her legs. Lan Zhan’s hands tremble against the teapot.
“You don’t seem to have any water in that,” says Wei Ying, after Lan Zhan spends a couple minutes trying to figure out why the tea won’t pour. Lan Zhan huffs, before filling the pot with water from the kettle.
“My phone has been constantly ringing with notifications,” she states. Wei Ying sighs.
“About what I mentioned at my show, right?” she asks. “I’m sorry about that. Basically anyone who’s ever known me here has been flooded.”
“My students believe it is either Nie Huaisang or Wen Ning.” Lan Zhan sets the kettle back down, her back still turned to Wei Ying as she watches the tea leaves steep.
“Who do you think it is?” wonders Wei Ying.
Lan Zhan swallows. “I do not care,” she lies. She pours out a cup and sets it down in front of Wei Ying, whose scarlet nails are tapping out a thoughtful rhythm against Lan Zhan’s desk.
“Do you really?” Wei Ying wonders, arching an eyebrow.
Lan Zhan does not want to wonder if that means it’s her. Thinking that way will only lead to heartbreak when the other (sparkly, high-heeled, probably super expensive) shoe drops.
“It is none of my concern who you were attracted to while at Gusu University,” she replies, turning back to pour her own cup. Wei Ying purses her lips at that.
“Well, I didn’t come here to talk about that,” she says after a moment. “I came here to catch up with you. What have you been up to lately, Lan-jiejie?”
Lan Zhan feels a shiver run down her spine at that familiar pet name. “I teach,” she replies, as she returns to her seat with her cup.
“I can tell,” says Wei Ying. “But what about outside the classroom?”
Lan Zhan says nothing. Wei Ying traces a finger along the rim of her cup.
“You really look like you haven’t aged a day,” she remarks. “And still dressing like you don’t want people to find out you have a body.”
“Modesty is righteous,” replies Lan Zhan automatically. Wei Ying blows a raspberry at that.
“And exactly how is that righteousness playing out for you?” she wonders. “Found a nice young man to date yet?”
Lan Zhan’s hackles rise at that, but not of her own volition. “I see no use in seeking that sort of companionship at this juncture,” she replies.
“Tick tock, though,” laments Wei Ying, with a sigh. “I get it. I’m also too busy to ‘find a husband ’; I get spread all over the world with all these bookings and photoshoots. I’ve got to go to Singapore tomorrow morning, but I just wanted to drop in and check on you before I left Suzhou.”
“I am fine,” replies Lan Zhan, and then realises her words might seem a bit dismissive. “Thank you,” she adds on hastily. Wei Ying waves an airy hand.
“Least I could do,” she replies. “What do you say to getting lunch together?”
Lan Zhan’s body first changes when she turns eleven, and the rest of the world changes alongside her almost overnight. A couple months into the emergence of her breasts, Uncle Qiren buys her blouses with high collars and turtleneck jumpers, and tells her she’s no longer allowed to wear pants or skirts cut above the knee.
Modesty is righteous. We don’t want people getting the wrong impression of a Lan woman.
(You have curves now, and having curves makes you look like a slut by default.)
Lan Zhan complies with her uncle. After all, she respects him, which is his due as the one who raised her and her brother. Uncle Qiren knows best; the world outside is dangerous and full of men who prey on women dressed the wrong way.
When Lan Zhan is twelve, one of these men wolf-whistles at her on the metro to school, and the day after that Uncle Qiren hires a chauffeur to drive her and Lan Xichen around for the rest of their schooling. Lan Xichen takes the opportunity to change from his skirt into trousers during the drive, and begs his sister not to tell.
(Lan Zhan is the keeper of Lan Xichen’s secrets, including his name.)
Starting Gusu University is both escape and confinement, like moving from a birdcage into a fishbowl. Becoming an adult gives her more freedom in the choices of her classes and passions, but being at Gusu University means staying under the watchful eye of Uncle Qiren. Yet, with his guardianship being all she has known in her life, untethering herself is undeniably a terrifying prospect.
“Come into the water, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying calls from the water. Lan Zhan remains resolutely under the umbrella, an oversized t-shirt covering up her one-piece swimsuit.
Several people in their class have arranged this trip to Lake Biling for Labour Day, and Lan Zhan had come mostly because her brother had suggested she take in the May sunshine instead of confining herself to the university library. The class has taken over an entire segment of the small beach along the eastern shore, spreading out towels and snacks before running into the lake. A small floating dock bobs in the deeper part of the water, near the buoys that restrict swimmers from going out too far. In the distance, people sail by on boats and jetskis, having the time of their life.
Lan Zhan wishes she’d brought more books.
A shadow falls over her, along with the smell of lakewater. Lan Zhan looks up to see Wei Ying towering over her in a perky red bikini, her grin rivalling that of the sun. “It’s such a hot day, and you’re still wearing clothes,” says Wei Ying, plopping down onto the towel next to her. “Are you, like, a vampire or something?”
“No,” says Lan Zhan.
“Really? You’d make a great vampire,” teases Wei Ying. She raises up her phone in its waterproof sleeve. “Smile for Weibo!”
Lan Zhan does not smile. Wei Ying laughs as she shows her the photo.
“So stoic,” she teases, flopping back under the umbrella to snap another selfie. Lan Zhan tries not to let her gaze linger over the other girl’s bikini-clad body. “But don’t worry, in terms of resting bitch face, yours is the cutest one of them all.”
Lan Zhan feels her ears heating up at that, as she hesitantly leans back on the towel alongside Wei Ying, who immediately curls up closer to her, scrolling through all the Weibo likes and comments she’s getting on their selfies.
Lan Zhan had made a Weibo a while ago, one that she’s only told her brother about. She follows him on it, as well as Wei Ying, and that’s it. No posts, no likes, no replies. The internet can be vicious to people — especially women — who say the wrong thing, so the wiser choice is not to say anything at all.
But Wei Ying doesn’t care about that, if her millions of Weibo fans are of any indication. She readily offers herself out to the world, and Lan Zhan has no right to feel as annoyed as she does about that.
“Did you not bring a bathing suit?” wonders Wei Ying after a moment, turning to look at her. Lan Zhan says nothing to that. “Why go to all the trouble to put on a bathing suit if you’re not going to go into the water?”
Lan Zhan looks away just in time to see Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang win a game of chicken against Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli. Wei Ying laughs at that, before rising to her feet.
“Come on, we could totally take them on,” she says, extending a hand.
“No,” says Lan Zhan, even as the way Wei Ying is haloed in the spring sunshine takes her breath away. She pulls her t-shirt down over her legs, feeling weirdly exposed.
Wei Ying pouts, before turning around and whistling. Almost immediately, Wen Ning — that sweet, shy-faced photographer kid Wei Ying spends a lot of time with, not that Lan Zhan had noticed — appears at her side. “Ningning, Lan Zhan’s being a grinch and won’t go in the water.”
Wen Ning flushes. “What do you want me to do?” he wonders.
Wei Ying moves behind Lan Zhan. “You get her legs and I’ll get her arms,” she replies.
Now the indignity of being tossed by two people into the lake outweighs just sucking it up and going in on her own, so Lan Zhan swiftly rises to her feet. “No need,” she grumbles, stripping off her t-shirt before heading down the shore. The coldness of the lake shocks her at first, but just as her legs start to acclimate, she’s tackled into the water from behind.
“Oops!” says Wei Ying, unrepentant. “I didn’t see where I was going, my bad!”
Pain stings at Lan Zhan’s knees from where they’ve hit the gravel, but somehow it feels muted against the wrenching of her heart when she turns to see Wei Ying hovering over her, caught between mischief and concern. The lake ripples roll in around them; the water glistens like translucent pearls along Wei Ying’s collarbone, down the swell of her breasts.
It would be too easy to tangle her fingers in Wei Ying’s hair and crush their lips together. But even that thought startles Lan Zhan out of it, scrambling away from the other girl as if she’d been scalded. Wei Ying’s gaze rakes openly down her body, and Lan Zhan quickly crosses her arms over her chest, feeling a shameful flush glow along her ears.
“Lan Zhan, why are you hiding like that?” wonders Wei Ying. “I think your body’s beautiful.”
She’s just saying that to get a rise out of me, Lan Zhan thinks furiously, as she strides back out of the lake to fetch her things. Wei Ying calls for her, shouting apologies and platitudes, but Lan Zhan doesn’t hear them as she hits the parking lot where her car is waiting.
She returns to campus early, and if Lan Xichen notices that her eyes are red-rimmed as she throws herself back into the familiar sanctuary of the library, he doesn’t comment on it.
Wei Ying takes her to a Western-style bistro, complete with au fresco seating and smooth French music. It’s in a quiet garden courtyard, removed from the blare of traffic. Lan Zhan has no idea what half of these menu items even taste like.
“The croque madame is really good,” says Wei Ying, when Lan Zhan mentions that. “And the soups and flatbreads are good, too. I think the chef lived in Paris for a while and gets his ingredients imported; that’s why everything is so pricey.”
Lan Zhan hums, before her attention is drawn to something on the dessert menu. “White Rabbit ice cream,” she remarks.
“Oh yeah! That’s why I picked this spot,” says Wei Ying, her cheeks light pink. “I remember you used to love White Rabbit — do you still like it? Or has your taste in candy gone the same way as your taste in clothes?”
Lan Zhan furrows her brows. “Tedious,” she mutters.
Wei Ying laughs. “Classic Lan Zhan,” she says, before turning back to the menu.
Lan Zhan’s phone pings again. “Hm,” she says, looking at the email. Wei Ying, who had been placing orders with her phone, raises an eyebrow.
“Work?” she asks.
“You,” replies Lan Zhan, holding out the phone. Wei Ying takes it, groaning when she sees who it’s from.
“Ignore her,” she says. “Wang Lingjiao’s a harpy who thinks the truth is optional.”
“Tabloid?” asks Lan Zhan. Wei Ying nods. “Why?”
Wei Ying grimaces. “There’s nothing people like more than the idea of a beautiful woman getting into some sort of scandal,” she spits. Lan Zhan is a little taken aback by the vehemence in her voice.
Notoriety is a dangerous burden, and Wei Ying’s shoulders are bowed under its weight. It’s not the first time Lan Zhan wishes she could just hide Wei Ying away from the world. She suspects it won’t be the last.
Wei Ying finishes placing their orders and perks up when her flute of sparkling Emperor’s Smile comes out within a couple minutes. “Want a sip?” she asks. Lan Zhan shakes her head, and Wei Ying laughs. “Of course. You really haven’t changed at all.”
And you have, so much, Lan Zhan wants to say. Wei Ying’s hair is now professionally styled, her black and red pantsuit elegantly cut. Gone is the gangly young woman dangling on the fire escape, the messy-haired student who considers pants optional on most weekends. Wei Ying is undeniably in the full bloom of her beauty, remarkable and dangerous in equal measure.
Their food arrives quickly. “How is Xichen-gege?” asks Wei Ying.
Lan Zhan stabs at her salad. “Busy,” she replies. “But well.”
“Has he…?” Wei Ying awkwardly moves her hands down her chest. Lan Zhan nods. “Oh! Good for him.”
“He no longer lives with us,” Lan Zhan adds. “He moved out with some friends from graduate school.”
“Yeah, I heard — Huaisang mentioned Xichen-gege moving in with their sister.” Wei Ying sighs. “I’m guessing your uncle didn’t take that well.”
“He is recovering,” replies Lan Zhan neutrally. The argument following Lan Xichen’s announcement had been terrible, shaking the very foundations of everything Lan Zhan had taken for granted with their family.
Your mother’s heart would break to see you making this decision.
Don’t presume what Mother would have wanted from either of us, Uncle. Believe me, if I could have chosen to be comfortable in my body, I would have done so.
What could have possessed you to think you are anything but who you are? This is a mistake, Lan Huan —
My name is Lan Xichen, and I am not a mistake!
“Lan Zhan?” asks Wei Ying softly, jolting Lan Zhan from the memory. “You okay?”
Lan Zhan nods, turning her attention back to her food. Wei Ying is only in town for one day, and dwelling in the past will squander the present.
Wei Ying orders them a cup of White Rabbit ice cream to share afterwards. “I can’t have too much,” she laments, as Lan Zhan takes an experimental bite and has to suppress the instinct to moan at the creamy deliciousness. “It’s so sweet, but so good.”
“Here,” says Lan Zhan, scooping another bite before extending it to Wei Ying’s lips. The model blushes, but wraps her lips around the spoon nonetheless, a streak of crimson lipstick lingering against the metal when she pulls away.
Lan Zhan’s heart briefly stops at the sight, and at the way Wei Ying keeps her gaze firmly fixed on her as she licks her lips.
“Lan-jiejie, so bold,” she purrs, briefly turning Lan Zhan’s knees to jelly. Flustered, she takes another bite of the ice cream, biting down on the spoon a bit harder than necessary. Wei Ying laughs at that, before checking her phone.
“I have a photoshoot this afternoon,” she continues. “It’s for Huaisang’s new line — really cute pieces, I think even you would like them — and I was wondering if you’d like to tag along?”
Lan Zhan’s confusion must have been obvious, because Wei Ying’s cheeks flush harder at that and she starts fiddling with her napkin. “I mean, I just wanted to continue catching up with you — if you weren’t too busy — and also Huaisang and Wen Ning would be there, so it’s all just Gusu U alums anyway, and we might need someone to stand in for a model who came down with a cold this morning — oh, don’t worry!” She waves a hand. “The only person stripping down for this shoot would be me.”
Lan Zhan swallows, checks her planner. She doesn’t have a class this afternoon, and she’s been good about staying on top of her grading lately. One afternoon with Wei Ying won’t hurt.
She nods. Wei Ying blinks, as if she’d expected a different answer, before an ecstatic grin spreads over her lips.
“Fantastic!” she chirps. “Let’s finish the ice cream, and then we’ll go to the loft!”
Lan Zhan takes another bite, but the only sweetness that matters to her now lies in the curve of Wei Ying’s smile.
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying’s voice at Lan Zhan’s window startles her out of her assignment. Raising her head, Lan Zhan sees the other student dangling from the fire escape just outside her window, another jug of Emperor’s Smile clutched in her hand.
Lan Zhan opens the window. “I should report you for possession of alcohol,” she snaps.
“But you’re not going to,” says Wei Ying, her smile damnably sweet as she clambers into Lan Zhan’s room. “And now you really can’t, because the alcohol is in your room, and you’ll be held just as accountable as me!”
Lan Zhan’s lips curl at that. Wei Ying sets the jug down on the desk on top of Lan Zhan’s homework, before rummaging around in her tote for something else. With a flourish, she pulls out a bag of small white candies with rabbits printed on them.
“Here, an apology for what happened at the lake,” she says, tearing the bag open and taking out one of the candies. Lan Zhan’s heart skips a beat as vague memories of hospital sheets and the gentle carding of her mother’s hand through her hair resurface in her mind.
The last time she had eaten White Rabbit, she had been so young that the memories are only sensations now. Wei Ying unwraps one, pressing the white candy against her lips. The rice paper crumples on the dorm room floor.
Lan Zhan numbly opens her mouth, letting the memories of her mother wash over her. Wei Ying’s curious hands ghost along the hem of her shirt, causing heat to pool in her gut.
(Is it the proximity between them, or had the room always been this stuffy and hot?)
“Have you had White Rabbit before?” wonders Wei Ying. “I wasn’t sure, since you look like you’ve never known the concept of fun all your life.”
“Mm,” replies Lan Zhan, her gaze greedily darting to the bag clutched in Wei Ying’s hands. Wei Ying chuckles, unwrapping another candy and popping it into her own mouth.
“If I give you this bag, would you pretend you didn’t see my Emperor’s Smile?”
The moment pops like a balloon. Lan Zhan scowls — turns out this had been more of a bribe than an apology after all. Before Wei Ying can stop her, she swipes up the Emperor’s Smile and returns to the window, opening it and lobbing the jug out into the night. Wei Ying shrieks, lunging towards the window as if intending to dive back out after her alcohol, but Lan Zhan stops her by grabbing her shoulders.
For one heart-stopping moment, their bodies are pressed together against the windowsill, which digs harder into Lan Zhan’s back with each of Wei Ying’s protesting pushes. “Let me go!” she screams. “I can’t believe you’d do something like that!”
Lan Zhan resolutely pushes her back, away from the window. Wei Ying thumps at her shoulder ineffectively, before suddenly realising something with a devilish grin. Her hands dart forward to grab at Lan Zhan’s chest, causing the other girl to flinch away and giving Wei Ying the chance to pull herself free.
“Sorry!” she exclaims, darting free of Lan Zhan’s next attempt to grab her. “You left me no choice!”
Lan Zhan growls, her hand flying out to slam the window down. Wei Ying darts for the door, but Lan Zhan manages to rugby tackle her to the ground. After blinking away the pain from hitting the threadbare carpet floor, Lan Zhan looks up, panting, to see Wei Ying looking down at her, wide-eyed and flushed.
Then Lan Zhan realises how close her face is to Wei Ying’s lap, and scrambles back, embarrassment creeping down the nape of her neck. “My apologies,” she manages, her voice rougher than she’d like.
“It’s — it’s all right,” breathes Wei Ying, before wheezing out a hysterical laugh. “What were we — what were we even fighting about?”
“I threw your wine out the window,” says Lan Zhan.
“I’ll get another one,” says Wei Ying, waving a dismissive hand. “Waste of a good jug, though.” She shifts onto her knees, nodding towards the bag of White Rabbit that had dropped to the floor in the heat of their fight. “Let’s split the bag. You get half, and I get half.”
“Mine,” says Lan Zhan. It’s only fair, considering the number of skinned knees Wei Ying’s been giving her lately.
“Okay, okay, it’s yours,” concedes Wei Ying. “Can I at least have one more?”
Lan Zhan considers it, before taking one of the candies and unwrapping it. “Open,” she says.
“ Aah,” replies Wei Ying with a grin, closing her eyes as well. Gently, Lan Zhan puts the candy on her tongue, her stomach fluttering as she watches Wei Ying savour it in front of her. Her hands linger by the side of Wei Ying’s face, tempted to reach out and touch.
Wei Ying makes that decision for her. She leans into Lan Zhan’s hand, her lips pouting almost as if expecting Lan Zhan to kiss her. In the gleam of her desk lamp, Lan Zhan can make out the faint sheen of Wei Ying’s lip gloss.
Would kissing her taste as sweet as White Rabbit? Lan Zhan has never wanted to know more than she does in this moment. But she stays frozen, doubt curling at her heart even as Wei Ying nuzzles against her hand before pulling back, winking at her.
“I mean what I said at the lake, Lan-jiejie,” she says, slowly rising to her feet and openly raking her gaze down Lan Zhan’s body. Lan Zhan crosses her arms over her chest again, suddenly regretting her decision not to put something on over her t-shirt and pyjama bottoms. “You’re beautiful, all of you. Wear whatever you’re comfortable with, but… I hope someday you’ll be able to dress in a way that doesn’t look like you’re trying to hide the fact you have a body at all.”
And with that, she slips out of the room, leaving Lan Zhan sitting on her dorm room floor, surrounded by both the pieces of her world and the White Rabbit candy spilled from the bag.
“How are you doing?” calls Wei Ying through the curtain. Lan Zhan pulls at the sleeve of the suit jacket, before looking again at her reflection in the mirror.
Nie Huaisang’s assistants had descended upon her almost as soon as they’d entered the loft for the photoshoot, shepherding her over to a rack full of suits in a variety of pastel colours. They’d taken her measurements with deadly precision before picking this ensemble and pushing her into a curtained-off section to change.
Lan Zhan suspects there might have been some magic involved, because this suit fits her like a dream. It’s in powder blue, hugging her curves without making her look like she’s about to burst. The neckline of the soft white shirt underneath flatters her cleavage without flaunting it too hard, and the strings of pearls tie the entire look together. They’d even gotten her a set of powder blue heels. Lan Zhan has never worn heels this slender before.
By some miracle, she’s able to keep her balance as she pulls back the curtain and steps outside, only to lose her breath at the sight of Wei Ying’s outfit. The model is clad in decadent wine-coloured lace, her hair artfully arrayed in loose curls about her face.
Lan Zhan’s knees wobble. Wei Ying darts out to steady her.
“You okay?” she asks. Lan Zhan nods, determinedly keeping her gaze fixed above Wei Ying’s collarbones. Huaisang’s assistants quickly arrive on the scene to whisk Lan Zhan away for hair and makeup, while Wei Ying is guided onto set for some test shots.
“We’ll only need Dr Lan for a couple shots, so let’s get those out of the way first so she can be cut loose as soon as possible,” Nie Huaisang is saying when Lan Zhan finally emerges from hair and makeup smelling distinctly of hairspray. Wei Ying, who’d been lounging on a white leather armchair, quickly springs to attention.
“Come on, Lan-jiejie, sit,” she says, shifting onto the armrest so that the seat is open. Lan Zhan digs her nails into her thumb just to make sure she’s not dreaming, as she totters over to the armchair and sits. Immediately, Wei Ying crawls into her lap — and that’s a lot more of the other woman’s skin than Lan Zhan had ever expected to touch.
“So, the entire concept behind this shoot is that you’re an innocent, wide-eyed ingenue, and I’m the devious temptress about to lead you astray,” teases Wei Ying, tilting her chin up. “Huaisang might have us touch one another a lot more closely than we’re used to. Is that alright with you?”
“Mm,” agrees Lan Zhan, feeling her ears heat up at their current proximity.
“I might even kiss your cheek or hand. Would that be alright with you?”
“Mm.”
“I might crawl all over you just like this, or put my hands near or below your waist. You sure you’re fine with that? You just have to say the word, and we’ll stop. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
“Mm.” Lan Zhan’s focus is already drawn to the shimmer of gloss on Wei Ying’s lips. Wen Ning’s camera clicks.
“Keep doing that,” he instructs. “Keep staring at her lips. Yingying, tilt your head a little —”
“Yingying?” remarks Lan Zhan drily.
Wei Ying laughs. “It was only fair, since I call them Ningning a lot.”
“You picked it up from my sister,” mutters Wen Ning, as they get a couple other angles. “Okay, Yingying, put your heel in Lan Zhan’s lap and look away from her. Lan Zhan, look up at her like you’re absolutely okay with this.”
I am, Lan Zhan can’t help but think, as Wei Ying’s wine-coloured high heel sandal comes to rest against her thigh. It’s so easy to gaze up at Wei Ying like a poet to the moon, like a supplicant before a goddess.
She’s been looking up to her from afar for years already, after all.
Lan Zhan first sees the photos on a midterm study break. Each one is skilfully posed and edited, letting Wei Ying’s playful charm show through as she models a series of xianxia-inspired lingerie sets.
The gardens of Gusu University are eerily quiet, like the calm before the storm. Lan Zhan flicks through the photos on her secret Weibo account, her heart clenching and stomach fluttering at each one. In one, Wei Ying holds a red paper umbrella while arrayed in a lacy black-and-red dudou. In another, Wei Ying plays a flute in a sheer black robe artfully draped off one bare shoulder, clearly wearing nothing else underneath.
Lan Zhan’s favourite, though, is the one where Wei Ying is stepping on the cover of a jug of Emperor’s smile with a pair of Louboutins. She’s dressed in a red-and-black bra and panty ensemble with a matching suspender belt, sheer lace stockings, and a silky black robe, and her expression is coy yet daring. Her smokey eye makeup only lends more warmth to her smouldering gaze.
Lan Zhan finishes thumbing through the photos, and then realises with a sinking sensation in her stomach that the number of likes on it has already exceeded a thousand, and the number of reposts just a little under that.
The photos go viral within ten hours. Wei Ying gets pulled before the school disciplinary board within eleven.
“What’d they tell you?” Jiang Cheng, Wei Ying’s adoptive sister, asks as Wei Ying emerges from the board with her face red and expression furious. “They didn’t expel you, right?”
“No,” says Wei Ying. “I dropped before they could.”
Dropped. Lan Zhan wants to know more, but Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng are already moving down the corridor. She follows at a distance, keeping herself within earshot despite not being able to understand their heated dialect.
After a long while of what Lan Zhan can only hear as bickering, Jiang Cheng finally sighs and pats Wei Ying’s shoulder before turning to leave. When she passes Lan Zhan, who had been pretending to review her notes, she scoffs briefly before striding away.
Lan Zhan then takes the chance to approach Wei Ying, who has moved towards a window looking out at the gardens. Outside, the workers have swept up the fall foliage into neat little piles, and the Mid-Autumn spirit is already heavy in the air.
“Your hearing?” Lan Zhan asks, folding her hands behind her back. There’s a small sniffle from next to her, causing her to look at Wei Ying in alarm. But there are no tears on Wei Ying’s face, and she actually appears to be… giggling. Lan Zhan raises an eyebrow.
“Oh, it’s nothing, Lan-jiejie,” says Wei Ying, waving a hand. “I just realised that dropping out means someone else is gonna have to deal with the ants in mine and A-Cheng’s room. Don’t know if I want to inflict that on someone else, though!”
“So you are dropping out,” states Lan Zhan.
Wei Ying nods. “They would have expelled me otherwise. I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction.”
“I thought you would ask Mr Jiang to intercede,” remarks Lan Zhan. Wei Ying laughs harshly.
“And explain to him that I only got into this situation because I posted photos of myself modelling lingerie? No, thank you. Besides, I’ve already gotten an agent to help book me for more gigs. I might as well go full-time, and make some money.”
“Your education is also important,” Lan Zhan points out. Wei Ying scoffs at that.
“Not the theoretical crap they try to peddle here,” she sneers. “And definitely not the side of ‘what are you even doing in this major, you’re a woman’ kinda sexist bullshit I’ve been getting from the boys in the computer science department. Some of them have such fragile egos; they hate it when a girl is better at them at anything.”
“But you need a degree,” protests Lan Zhan, “just in case this does not work out.”
A pause. Wei Ying’s eyebrows almost disappear into her hairline.
“You think I won’t succeed as a model?” she asks, her voice low and dangerous. Lan Zhan feels the urge to take a couple steps back, but she holds her ground, turning back to the window.
“Your success in that field lies so heavily on your looks and whether or not people like you, which are both subject to change at the slightest notice,” she says. “What if you offend your fans? What if you were injured?”
Wei Ying’s eyes narrow. “Let’s not kid ourselves, Lan Zhan. Success in any field for a woman depends on looks and likeability.”
Yours is more critical, Lan Zhan wants to say. Images rise in her mind, unbidden, of Wei Ying bent over a toilet bowl in an attempt to maintain her figure. Of Wei Ying breaking herself into pieces trying to attain an unattainable expectation of beauty, and then being discarded anyway because of age and wear.
The thought of anyone abandoning Wei Ying makes anger rise inside her like bile. To Lan Zhan, Wei Ying will always be beautiful, no matter if she’s scarred, or missing a limb, or just bowed old and grey with age. It’s easy to love her now, but Lan Zhan already knows that even when it gets harder, she will still persist in loving her.
But none of that will matter if she says the wrong thing and loses her now, forever.
“Stay here,” she pleads instead. Wei Ying shakes her head, already ringing her agent’s number.
“I can’t,” she says. “I’m sorry.”
Lan Zhan should have known Wei Ying would be stubborn like this. For a moment, all she can do is clench and unclench her fists, before lowering her head, turning around, and walking away. But at the end of the hallway, she caves to her heart one last time, and looks back to memorise the way the autumn sunlight dances across Wei Ying’s face.
And then, with her vision swimming and her heart splintering, she turns and walks away for good.
By the time the shoot ends, the light outside the windows have faded into dusky evening. The loft has a bathroom, so Lan Zhan eagerly washes out the remaining product from her hair and makeup from her face.
She’s less eager about putting her old clothes back on. Wei Ying, who has already changed, laughs at that and shakes her head.
“You should keep the suit,” she suggests. “I think Huaisang would want their shoes and pearls back, but the rest of the outfit was designed with you in mind.”
“She’s had this agenda since she got famous,” Wen Ning chips in from where they’re bent over a laptop, uploading the contents of their camera. “She’s always wanted to dress you up.”
“Shut up, Ningning,” whines Wei Ying. “You’re supposed to make me look cool!”
Lan Zhan’s old black Mary Janes look weird with the suit, but it’s a small price to pay. She can buy new shoes anywhere, but a custom-designed suit is much harder to come by.
“Thank you,” she says, before Wei Ying whisks her out of the loft with her old clothes folded into a Gucci bag. The apartment building is part of a small residential community surrounding a small garden bursting with late-blooming flowers, and the evening is warm as they walk through it. Lan Zhan, secretly, never wants this day to end.
“Well,” says Wei Ying, stopping under a streetlight to adjust her lapels. “It was exciting to see you in trousers for once.”
“I have worn trousers before,” Lan Zhan points out.
“Not ones that flattered you,” replies Wei Ying. “You should get them altered, if you don’t want to get rid of them entirely.”
Lan Zhan raises an eyebrow. Something about Wei Ying’s tone suggests she’d rather burn all of Lan Zhan’s wardrobe. It’s a bit endearing, in a slightly terrifying way.
“When will you be back in Suzhou?” she asks instead. Wei Ying pulls a face and shrugs, fiddling with her fingers.
“I’m not sure,” she admits, “but I did hope I could come back more often. I bought an apartment near Jinji Lake, but I really haven’t had the time to unpack it. Did you want to see it?”
Lan Zhan swallows. “You have an apartment in Suzhou,” she states. Wei Ying’s cheeks flush bright under the streetlamp.
“Yeah! It was a new development, and the prices weren’t that bad, and I’d just signed on with Sephora to develop the Drop Dead Gorgeous line, and I reckoned, well —” she shrugs, “what if I could find an excuse to come back and visit my old stomping grounds a bit more often?”
“You wanted to return.” Lan Zhan’s not sure why it’s taking so long to wrap her head around the concept of Wei Ying trying to settle down back in a city she’d fled to pursue her dreams. What could have possibly spurred such a decision?
(“I had a big crush on someone while I was here. Promise you won’t tell?”)
Wei Ying’s cheeks only flare harder, and she turns to take a seat on a nearby bench. “Of course I wanted to return,” she flusters, crossing and uncrossing her legs and fiddling with her fingers, obviously nervous about something. “I — it’s taken me a long time and a lot of countries to realise the only place I really want to be is wherever you are.”
Lan Zhan blinks. “Me,” she echoes, stepping closer to the bench.
“You,” Wei Ying agrees. She reaches for Lan Zhan’s hand, and Lan Zhan lets her take it.
Slowly, Lan Zhan sinks down onto the bench beside her, and Wei Ying leans her head on her shoulder, entwining their fingers. Lan Zhan can still smell the residual hairspray, but somehow on Wei Ying it’s not nearly as obnoxious.
“I — If that’s not — if you’re not — it doesn’t have to be —” Wei Ying, as usual, trips over her words as she tries to justify her actions. Lan Zhan can’t help but chuckle at that, making the model pull back to stare wide-eyed at her. “Did you actually laugh?”
“Maybe,” hedges Lan Zhan, letting the corners of her mouth quirk up. Wei Ying gasps like a wide-eyed schoolkid seeing the Great Wall for the first time, and then promptly flushes even redder.
“You… you don’t mind?” she ventures.
“Only with you,” replies Lan Zhan. She has never considered anyone else, anyway.
Wei Ying stares at her for a long moment, eyes searching as if desperate to make sure Lan Zhan isn’t pulling some elaborate practical joke on her. Lan Zhan stares back, her breath suspended, her heart racing.
Wei Ying’s fingers are gentle when she cups Lan Zhan’s cheek, and her lips are gentler still when they brush against Lan Zhan’s lips. She tastes, faintly, of White Rabbit and Emperor’s Smile, intoxicating Lan Zhan in more ways than one.
Lan Zhan chases her lips when she tries to pull away. Wei Ying giggles, and presses their foreheads together.
“Dinner?” she asks, and Lan Zhan nods eagerly, impatiently, before leaning back in to kiss her again.
After Wei Ying drops out of Gusu University, Lan Zhan can only keep tabs on her through her Weibo, which quickly becomes an official account clearly managed by someone else. It breaks her heart a little, but curated news is better than no news at all.
Wei Ying’s photos quickly grow from silly university selfies into professional shots taken in exotic locations, from sun-drenched Greek islands to moody Scottish moors. She enthralls the world with her smokey eyes and brilliant smile, while Lan Zhan watches from afar and tries not to feel jealous of the rest of the world for taking Wei Ying away from her.
(It doesn’t work like that. Lan Zhan isn’t her keeper, no matter what the deepest, darkest parts of her want to say. Wei Ying is an adult and can make her own decisions.)
When Nie Huaisang’s Yiling Collection — the lingerie that had started it all — makes it to Paris Fashion Week, Lan Zhan watches as Wei Ying proudly walks down the catwalk in that gorgeous red-and-black ensemble with the silky robes and the Emperor’s Smile. After that, she sneaks a glass of brandy from Xichen’s stash, and the rest of the night is a blacked-out blur.
A couple days later, a kuaidi package that she doesn’t remember ordering arrives in a locker at their residential community. Lan Zhan collects it before Uncle Qiren can ask any questions, taking the plainly-wrapped bundle to her room and locking the door.
The instant she sees the pale blue lace, a shiver runs down her spine. Gingerly, Lan Zhan holds the pale blue babydoll up to the light, admiring the soft gossamer and satin bows. There’s also a matching panty that’s little more than a scrap of lace affixed with satin bows, its lack of coverage both exciting and terrifying at the same time.
Lan Zhan changes into the ensemble after her shower for the night, dimming the lights in her room before admiring herself in the mirror. She turns slowly, her heart racing as the gossamer sways and the lace sparkles on her body. It’s beautiful in a way that she can’t quite describe — a piece of decadence for her eyes alone.
The last time she’d ever worn anything so luxurious to bed was a white silk nightgown, as a young girl. Her grandmother had made matching sets for her and Xichen, and Xichen had hated his. Lan Zhan had liked the little blue clouds patterned on the silk, and was quite upset when she started outgrowing it.
But even that nightgown had been modest, long-sleeved. This is something entirely different.
Lan Zhan’s hands move up to cup her breasts, feeling their weight in her hands. Her reflection betrays her nervousness, from the flush in her ears to the uneasiness in her eyes. Taking a steadying breath, Lan Zhan slowly lets her hands move down her body, fingers skimming along sheer gossamer before coming to rest against the apex of her thighs.
She hadn’t touched this part of her in a long time, not since one afternoon during her childhood when she’d sat on the washing machine on the patio while waiting for her laundry to finish, and realised that the vibrations felt weirdly good. Uncle Qiren never explicitly forbade touching herself, but Lan Zhan knew that in his eyes, all things that felt too good were probably considered ‘morally decadent’, and this would definitely qualify.
So she never sat on the washing machine again, and if her hands ever wandered between her legs in the quiet hours of the night, the morning after always felt tainted with shame and guilt which she feared her uncle could read from a mile away.
A good Lan woman would never do anything so shameful, he’d say, his disapproving tone curling against her ears even now as she slowly steps back onto the bed, spreading her legs in front of the mirror. A good Lan woman saves her purity for her husband.
(But Uncle Qiren had also told her stories of their ancestors, of how family founder Lan An had given up his monastic life to pursue true love. Was the pursuit of true love only a luxury for the men of the Lan family? If so, why imbue a young girl’s dreams with such fanciful impossibilities?)
Lan Zhan slips a hand under the gossamer babydoll. Hooks her fingers under the waistband of the lace panty. She looks at herself in the mirror, her cheeks flaring as her fingers slowly slide into the wetness between her folds. Her breath hitches, as her other hand comes back up to cup her breasts.
“ Wei Ying,” she murmurs, rolling the name across her tongue like White Rabbit, sweet and forbidden. What would Wei Ying say, if she saw Lan Zhan like this — her legs spread in front of a mirror, a finger slipped inside herself? Would she turn, embarrassed at last?
Or would she wander closer, and try to lend a hand?
Lan Zhan tries to imagine Wei Ying’s lips against hers, tries to imagine Wei Ying’s fingers against her skin. She can almost see her in her mind’s eye, sliding into the space between Lan Zhan’s legs and replacing Lan Zhan’s fingers with her own.
Lan Zhan falls back against the silk comforter, closing her eyes as she imagines Wei Ying stroking her, touching her, worshipping her. Wei Ying’s hair would fall wild in her face, her grey eyes smouldering as she slowly kisses away all of the breath in Lan Zhan’s lungs.
Wei Ying’s fingers would know exactly where Lan Zhan wants to be touched, even before she realises it herself. Pleasure mounts inside her as she rubs harder and faster, squeezing her thighs together as climax draws closer. Lan Zhan, Wei Ying would whisper against her ear, her fingers coated in Lan Zhan’s slick as she teases her skilled fingers against Lan Zhan’s sweet spot. Doesn’t this feel good?
Yes, more than anything. Lan Zhan bites down on her lips, as her fingers finally push her over the edge. It feels like finally letting go of a breath she’d been holding for so long, relief and pleasure rolling through her in exhilarating waves.
Afterwards, Lan Zhan has just enough presence of mind to change back into her regular pyjamas before turning off her lamp to go to bed. The lingerie is carefully washed and tucked away, a little secret for another day.
Perhaps, someday, she’ll actually get to wear it for Wei Ying.
They forget about dinner.
Lan Zhan barely sees any of Wei Ying’s apartment, but the little she does see in between Wei Ying’s hungry kisses is mostly boxes clustered around brand-new furniture covered under plastic. Wei Ying guides her to the master bedroom, where the comforter is mussed and a carry-on suitcase lies open and bursting with clothes.
“Let’s try not to wreck your new suit,” Wei Ying gasps, pulling back to help Lan Zhan out of her jacket. She drops it in the direction of the suitcase, before turning back to help Lan Zhan unbutton her shirt and trousers.
Lan Zhan feels a bit self-conscious when she finally gets down to her underwear. It’s not exactly the lacy ensemble she’d secretly bought for this moment, but then again, she hadn’t even anticipated Wei Ying dropping in on her office hours, let alone returning her feelings. But Wei Ying chuckles as she raises Lan Zhan’s cotton camisole over her head, as she unhooks Lan Zhan’s plain-jane white bra, chasing away Lan Zhan’s fears with her brilliant smile.
“You’re lovely,” she says, pressing a line of kisses from Lan Zhan’s collarbone to the top of her cleavage, looking up at her adoringly. “I love how soft your breasts are.”
Lan Zhan’s ears flush pink. Wei Ying raises an eyebrow, as if asking for permission to go further. Lan Zhan nods, and Wei Ying gently cups her breasts, her thumbs running over Lan Zhan’s nipples until they pebble under her touch.
“How sensitive,” she murmurs, before leaning in to kiss each nipple. Lan Zhan’s breath hitches; she stumbles backwards, falling heavily onto the bed. Wei Ying gets rid of her silky black top as if it’s nothing, shrugging out of the lacy red bralette underneath without a care. Heat courses through Lan Zhan as Wei Ying shimmies closer, setting one knee on the bed in between Lan Zhan’s thighs as she tilts Lan Zhan’s chin back, running a thoughtful thumb along Lan Zhan’s lower lip.
“Do you want to know what I thought, when I first met you?” she asks. Lan Zhan says nothing, but Wei Ying continues with a grin. “I thought you were like the moon, so pretty and distant and cold. It doesn’t hurt that you’re always in white, but…”
She cards one hand through Lan Zhan’s hair, letting its soft waves cascade through her fingers.
“I didn’t know why I liked teasing you so much,” she admits. “Back then, I thought it was just funny to try and get you to blush. You look so cute when you’re blushing, you know —” her fingers skim along the shell of Lan Zhan’s ear, across her now-heated cheeks. “But I realised, after a long time away… that I like you. I want you. I don’t ever want to leave your side.”
Lan Zhan’s breath hitches, as Wei Ying kisses her again before taking her hands and putting them over her own breasts. Her skin is soft, supple; when Lan Zhan mimics the way Wei Ying had touched her nipples, Wei Ying’s lashes flutter erratically.
“Fast learner,” she teases. Lan Zhan hums, her hands skimming down her waist and the small of her back, before squeezing a handful of her ass. “Ooh! And where’d you learn that?”
Lan Zhan arches an eyebrow. “Not telling.”
Wei Ying pouts. “Naughty,” she says, before pushing Lan Zhan fully onto the bed. “Aren’t you supposed to be a good girl?”
Lan Zhan looks up at her, breath stolen by the way Wei Ying seems to glow in the half-light of the room. “Research,” she hedges.
(Books don’t exactly compare. No amount of written erotica from anywhere in the world could possibly have described the exhilaration of Wei Ying’s touch against her skin for real.)
Wei Ying pulls off her plain cotton panties so fast Lan Zhan almost misses it. “Spread your legs, Lan-jiejie,” she murmurs, and Lan Zhan scrambles to obey, heart racing as Wei Ying’s kisses move from her breasts to her navel, to her hips. She skirts the soft bush between Lan Zhan’s legs at first, raining kisses against the insides of her thighs instead. A soft moan escapes Lan Zhan’s throat before she can pull it back in, causing her to clap her hands to her mouth.
“It’s alright,” says Wei Ying, her breath ghosting mere inches from Lan Zhan’s dripping folds. “You can make as much noise as you like.”
“Wei Ying,” breathes Lan Zhan in between her fingers. “Please…”
“Please what?” wonders Wei Ying.
Lan Zhan bucks her hips in lieu of words. Wei Ying laughs.
“You’ll have to tell me what you like,” she admonishes. “You’re a Chinese lit professor; surely you’ve got a way with words?”
“Not like this,” protests Lan Zhan, embarrassment creeping up her collar. She does know the words. It just seems weird to say them aloud to someone.
“Well.” Wei Ying’s own cheeks are rosy, as she leans back up to kiss her. “I was thinking I’d kiss you down there, and I wouldn’t stop kissing you until you came. Does that sound like something you want?”
Lan Zhan nods eagerly, so Wei Ying laughs and settles between her legs again, her fingers parting her folds. Lan Zhan shivers, as the wet heat of Wei Ying’s tongue slides into her.
Wei Ying is as good as her word. What she lacks in finesse, she more than makes up for in eagerness, the slide of her tongue overwhelming against Lan Zhan’s sensitive skin. Lan Zhan quickly finds herself reduced to little more than a creature of sensation, biting her lips and clenching the comforter in an attempt not to moan too loudly.
“Let it out,” breathes Wei Ying, when she briefly resurfaces for air. “I want to hear you, Lan-jiejie.”
Lan Zhan covers her mouth with her hands. “I — Wei Ying —” she stammers.
“You don’t need to hide.” Wei Ying kisses her hips, causing Lan Zhan to gasp. “Your voice is beautiful, too.”
“Wei Ying,” murmurs Lan Zhan, her thighs pressing against the sides of Wei Ying’s head.
“You really like my name, huh?” Wei Ying grins, her tongue softly lapping against Lan Zhan’s clit. “That’s good, I love the way you say it. Lan-jiejie, Professor Lan, Lan Zhan…”
Lan Zhan’s hands move down to grip Wei Ying by her nape, holding her in place as her hips buck against Wei Ying’s mouth. The other woman’s eyes widen, but she quickly recovers, tongue thrusting into her with renewed urgency.
It doesn’t take long for her to come. One more lick at her clit, and release shudders through Lan Zhan in a bolt of pure pleasure. She falls back bonelessly against the comforter, her racing heart slowly falling back to its normal pace. From between her legs, Wei Ying licks her lips before slowly clambering up to kiss her.
Lan Zhan tastes herself on Wei Ying’s tongue, before she flips their positions. Wei Ying’s cheeks flare, as Lan Zhan peppers soft kisses against her shoulders, her collar, her breasts.
“May I return the favour?” breathes Lan Zhan as her lips trail against Wei Ying’s sternum, down her belly, around her navel piercing. Wei Ying gasps into her touch, nodding furiously.
“By all means,” she breathes, spreading her legs. Her scarlet lace panties are soaked with her juices.
Lan Zhan peels them back, and tastes forbidden fruit.
In the morning, Lan Zhan wakes to the sound of her phone going off. Fumbling for the nightstand, she quickly realises that her phone isn’t there.
The ringing continues, as Lan Zhan quietly creeps out from under the comforter over to a suitcase full of bright clothes that don’t belong to her. Her phone is still ringing when she finally fishes it out of a Gucci shopping bag, alongside her old white turtleneck and dark blue skirt.
“Ugh, what time is it?” someone mumbles from the bed. Lan Zhan freezes, realising that she’s naked. She looks back, just as Wei Ying sits up in bed, her hair falling in an untamed black mane around her face as she rubs the sleep out of her eyes.
Lan Zhan’s breath hitches. “Half-past six,” she says, holding up her phone. She has several missed calls from her uncle and brother, not to mention alarmed WeChat notifications.
Wei Ying swipes her phone out of her hands, grinning as she scrolls through the messages. “Oh my,” she murmurs as she hands the phone back. “You should probably let them know not to call the police.”
Lan Zhan can feel a headache coming on at the very idea, and sends off two messages instead. Wei Ying pats the bed, and Lan Zhan slips back beneath the covers. Immediately, Wei Ying curls up next to her, kissing gently at her shoulder.
“I have a flight to Singapore at nine,” she mutters. “Photoshoot for Hong Kong Vogue. I don’t want to go anymore.”
Lan Zhan huffs, amused. She herself has class this afternoon, and she still has papers to finish grading in her office. But a part of her agrees with Wei Ying — she doesn’t want to leave this bed, or the sanctuary of Wei Ying’s arms.
Doing that would mean facing the rest of the world, and the consequences of this new something blooming warm and sweet between them. Lan Zhan’s heart skips a beat, as Wei Ying’s fingers trace lazy designs across her skin.
“When will you be back?” she asks. Wei Ying grimaces.
“Probably in a couple of days,” she says, “and then I go to Tokyo the week after, and New York the week after that. I’m always on the go, so if that’s not something you want…”
Lan Zhan kisses away the rest of her sentence. “I want you,” she says, “no matter what. As long as it is you.”
The morning sunlight hits Wei Ying’s face with golden brilliance, and lights up her smile until it’s as warm as the feeling tangled deep in Lan Zhan’s chest. “Move in here, then,” she suggests, reaching up to cup Lan Zhan’s face. “You could wear whatever you want, do whatever you like. This place isn’t that far from the school; you could commute with the metro.”
Lan Zhan kisses her hand, nodding. Wei Ying cheers, before leaning back in to kiss her deeper into the pillows. Lan Zhan’s hands tangle in her girlfriend’s hair, while her heart soars with newfound freedom.
That afternoon, Lan Zhan strides into her class with her new suit on, as well as a pair of white heels borrowed from Wei Ying. She can feel the class’s befuddled stares at her back as she pulls up the presentation, before turning around to face them with a raised eyebrow.
Mr Luo raises his hand. “Nice outfit, Professor Lan,” he says.
Lan Zhan lets the slightest of smiles quirk at her lips. “Thank you, Mr Luo,” she says. “It was a gift from Wei Ying.”
The sounds of jaws hitting desks fill the room. Lan Zhan turns away, hiding a wider smile, before starting the lecture.