Chapter Text
Wei Ying would never forget the day he first met Wheatgrass Guy.
He’d been rotating the stock of bananas, cleaning out the over-ripe ones to move to the bargain bin, when it had happened.
“Excuse me,” came the clear, perfect baritone from behind him. “Where can I find the wheatgrass?”
Wei Ying had pointed even before turning to answer, “End cap, row four -- ” and then he saw him and his mouth went completely dry. Wheatgrass Guy, in all his beautiful, godlike glory. Standing there in his flowy white tunic that fluttered long below his hips. Wearing a pair of pale blue linen pants, as if that was a thing that people did. Who did that? Was it legal to do that? Wei Ying thought not.
Realizing that staring at your customer’s legs was very much something you Should Not Do, Wei Ying dragged his eyes forcefully back up to Wheatgrass Guy’s face.
And that was it. Wei Ying was gone.
“Thank you,” Wheatgrass Guy had said, his startlingly light eyes boring into Wei Ying.
“No problem,” Wei Ying had managed, somehow, despite the fact that his entire mouth was the Sahara. “Let me know if you need help with bananas.”
Wei Ying should not be allowed to speak. Why did people let Wei Ying speak? Wei Ying was never speaking again. Let me know if you need help with bananas . Who had entrusted him with this power. He was a monster, somebody really needed to do something about him.
“I will let you know if I need any help,” Wheatgrass Guy had said graciously, and Wei Ying thought that this guy was too good, too amazing, letting it slide that Wei Ying was an absolute gremlin who shouldn’t be allowed to be around people, “with bananas.”
Oh.
Oh no, that was worse.
Wheatgrass Guy was kind of a bitch.
With effort, Wei Ying did not swoon.
“You do that,” he said, already planning their future together. A small wedding. He’d prefer a courthouse affair, but Jiang Cheng would never allow it. Maybe they’d get married on a beach. Then they’d buy a house together -- leave the city, maybe, buy a little farmhouse in the country. Wei Ying could do the farmwork, Wheatgrass Guy was clearly too perfect to labor out in the sun. They’d adopt some kids -- a nice reasonable number, like five or ten. A brood, as it were, Wei Ying thought, as he watched Wheatgrass Guy walk away, the tunic hem skimming along what Wei Ying was certain was the most perfect ass he’d ever seen.
After, Wei Ying came to terms with the reality that he’d probably never see Wheatgrass Guy again. It had probably been a fluke. No doubt, Wheatgrass Guy shopped at, like, Whole Foods. Or no, too corporate. He probably had a co-op membership. That made sense. Of course, Wheatgrass Guy would.
Wei Ying bid goodbye to him in his heart.
It had been good while it lasted.
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Wheatgrass Guy was back.
Wei Ying, caught completely off-guard, had spotted him in the health food aisle, perusing the granola selection, and had immediately dived behind a display of cornflakes to avoid him. He, perhaps, hadn’t really thought this through. Why was he hiding? He worked here. This was his store, he had every right to be there.
Wei Ying was considering what kind of store business he could use as an excuse to get close to Wheatgrass Guy -- maybe he could reprice the gluten free pancake mix? He’d always thought it was too expensive anyway -- when he was spotted.
“What are you doing?”
Wei Ying jumped, yelping in surprise, and spun to face Jiang Cheng, who was squinting at him suspiciously. “Nothing!” Wei Ying squeaked, innocently.
Jiang Cheng craned his neck to look over Wei Ying’s shoulder, and narrowed his eyes further when they landed on Wheatgrass Guy.
“We need help in the front,” he said. “Stop ogling and go do some actual work.”
“Aye aye, Captain!” Wei Ying said, popping into a stiff salute before hurrying off to help Jinzhu at checkout, opening a second register.
Sadly, Wheatgrass Guy was not in Wei Ying’s line. Wei Ying watched him forlornly as he passed his credit card to Jinzhu to pay for his single bag of pumpkin seeds.
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The thing about Wheatgrass Guy was: he sure seemed to shop a lot. Not that Wei Ying was complaining, but the guy wasn’t exactly an efficient shopper. Over the last month, he’d become a regular. Wei Ying could set his watch by it. He would come in, every Wednesday and Friday, at precisely 5:20pm. He would purchase one or two items -- always something a little strange: wheatgrass, pumpkin seeds, unmilled wheat berries, tahini, nutritional yeast.
Wei Ying had never been more grateful for Lotus Pier’s commitment to their well-rounded stock. He was very proud of it, even if it did cut into their profit margins a considerable amount, much to Jiang Cheng’s consternation. They’d fought about it. A lot, actually. But if they were going to run the store together, then Wei Ying got to have a say in how they did it. And this was his say. He didn’t want to be just another bodega with nothing to offer but domestic beer and Hostess cupcakes. Lotus Pier should be better than that. He’d made an effort to reach out to the farmer’s collectives, to small bakeries, to basically every locally-owned purveyor of produce, meat, and pantry goods he could find. It was thanks to him that Lotus Pier had a reputation as the place to go to get anything.
Therefore, the weird shit stayed.
The unfortunate thing about Wheatgrass Guy becoming a regular customer was that it had given Jiang Cheng plenty of opportunity to observe Wei Ying making a complete ass of himself.
“You need to stop perving on the customers, Wei Ying,” he snapped at the end of what had been a very challenging day. It was Memorial Day weekend, which meant they’d been bombarded by last minute shoppers looking to finish up their cookout menus. Wei Ying had worried that it might interfere with Wheatgrass Guy’s schedule, but he had shown up right as expected, making his way through Yinzhu’s line without complaint.
Wei Ying thought that Jiang Cheng was being a bit unfair. Wei Ying wasn’t perving . He was just looking. Respectfully. So he told him so.
“Looking respectfully doesn’t involve your tongue hanging out of your mouth,” Jiang Cheng retorted.
Which, maybe he had a point. Still, Wei Ying wasn’t quite ready to concede, when suddenly their discussion was interrupted by a very loud nine-year-old.
“I’m not putting that on! It’s stupid!”
Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng, sharing a look, put the argument away for another day to deal with what appeared to be their very angry, very tired nephew.
“Hey, Wei Ying. Jiang Cheng,” Wen Ning said from where he was kneeling down at Jin Ling’s level, holding out a purple jacket emblazoned with the Lotus Pier logo to the boy. Jin Ling’s arms were crossed as he glared at the jacket, hard enough that Wei Ying wondered which of Jin Ling’s family the jacket had insulted.
Probably Jiang Cheng. Wei Ying hated to admit it, but Jiang Cheng was definitely the favorite uncle.
“Hey, Wen Ning!” Wei Ying smiled back at him. “What’s going on here? LingLing giving you trouble?”
“Don’t call me that!” Jin Ling snarled, crossing his arms even harder. “I don’t want to wear the stupid jacket! It’s ugly!”
Wei Ying raised his eyebrows at Wen Ning, who smiled at him sympathetically, nodding his head toward the back of the room. Ah. So whatever this was, it involved a discussion .
“A-Cheng, I’ll be right back,” he said. “You two discuss fashion for a bit.”
This earned him twin glares from both his brother and his nephew. Wei Ying met each with his biggest, toothiest, shitting-eating-est smile as he joined Wen Ning at the back of the room for a Talk.
Wei Ying had grown used to these talks. It used to be a responsibility that he and Jiang Cheng had shared but, after 2 years of co-parenting a-Ling, they had realized that a division of labor was in order. Jiang Cheng was responsible for things like scheduling. Paperwork. Nutrition. Things that involved planning and foresight and attention to detail and the ability to not burn holes through the bottom of stainless steel cookware. Wei Ying was responsible for the things that involved … well. People.
“So,” Wei Ying started once they’re out of earshot, “what has little a-Ling so riled up?”
“The other kids were teasing him,” Wen Ning said apologetically. “From what I gathered, they were making fun of him for wearing a jacket with a flower on it.”
Wei Ying sighed. So they had entered this phase. Wei Ying was not looking forward to this phase.
“Gotcha,” he said. “Noted. I guess we’ll have to find something suitably macho to replace it. Like, monster trucks. Or … dinosaurs? Are dinosaurs cool?”
Wen Ning shrugged. Yeah, that made sense. Neither of them was particularly equipped for this conversation. “Well, thanks for letting me know. Sorry for the tantrum.”
“It’s no problem,” Wen Ning said. “He was just upset. It happens, kids can have big feelings. You just have to let them feel it and then help them sort it out later.”
“Right,” Wei Ying said, trying and failing not to feel completely inadequate..
In their division of Parental Labor, Wei Ying could not help but feel like Emotional-Support-and-Regulation was an area where he and Jiang Cheng didn’t exactly excel. In moments like this, the ache of missing Jiang Yanli was worse than ever. It was always there, like the pain of a sore muscle that never quite healed. A pain that could recede into the background for a while, but then something would happen -- a missed step or moving too quickly or even just sleeping wrong -- and it was back, persistent and fresh and loud and demanding to be felt.
Wei Ying knew better than to fight against it. He let the grief hit him, let himself be bowled over by it -- a man standing in an ocean with a swell behind him -- and then he stood himself back up.
“Thanks for letting me know,” he said to Wen Ning, and jogged back over to Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling. The jacket was nowhere to be found. Wei Ying decided not to ask.
“How about a movie night?” he said instead, hoping that, maybe, they could just have a nice relaxing evening and bypass all the grumpiness. Maybe a nice cartoon. Or a musical. Or--
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A man in a golden wushu uniform yelled, a high-pitched warning cry, as he launched himself at two assailants, feet kicking into their chests in rapid succession as they flew backwards across the screen.
Jin Ling was on his feet, following along with his own series of kicks and hi-yahs. Wei Ying watched, wondering how hard bedtime was going to be tonight. Jin Ling was completely wired. Unfortunately for Wei Ying, Jiang Cheng was already completely passed out, snoring on the couch next to him. He didn’t know how Jiang Cheng could just do that. No matter how tired Wei Ying was, going to sleep before 11pm just wasn’t a thing he could do. And it was only 8:00.
He resigned himself to the fact that Jin Ling was just going to be up late and an even grumpier shit in the morning. He wasn’t going to interrupt. Not when Jin Ling looked that happy, following along with every kick and punch. His heart panged as he watched the boy’s small face glow with hero worship.
A freeze frame left the man suspended in the air, legs kicked into a wide split. The title flashed onto the screen: The Golden Dragon . The frame unfroze, the title wiped away, and the camera zoomed in on the man’s face. Starring Jin Zixuan .
Jin Ling stared at the screen, mimicking his father’s pose and intense expression.
Wei Ying closed his eyes, trying very hard not to think of the past.
--------
Wei Ying had an idea.
Well. Perhaps it was a reach for Wei Ying to claim the idea, seeing as it hadn’t been something he’d thought of so much as it was Jin Ling, dragging him to the community board where a flyer was now pinned and pleading his case.
“Are you sure? Wouldn’t you rather just play a nice easy sport? Like mountain climbing, or decathlon?”
“You’re so stupid!” Jin Ling huffed.
Wei Ying raised an eyebrow at him. It had the desired effect. “Sorry,” he said scowling at the ground. “May I please do it, Uncle Wei? Please?”
“Let me talk to Uncle Jiang,” Wei Ying said. “Now go help Yinzhu count the lettuce.”
“Ugh!” Jin Ling cried dramatically as he stomped off towards the produce section, where Yinzhu was taking stock, oblivious to the small storm Wei Ying had just directed her way. He’d have to buy lunch for her today in apology.
It was always a challenge, having Jin Ling in the store while they were working. Thankfully, it only happened once a week during the school year, on Sundays. Saturdays were spent at daycare -- which they very carefully did not call daycare any longer, after having been informed that “daycare was for babies." Saturday Class, they called it.
Wei Ying turned back to the flyer. Cloud Recesses Wushu Academy .
“At Cloud Recesses, we hold to the traditional training standards. Through diligence, morality, and harmony, disciples maximize physical strength while cultivating mental fortitude.”
Beneath this was a bulletpointed list, boasting such benefits as “Learn Self Discipline,” “Train the Body and Mind,” and “Be Virtuous.”
The whole thing sounded extremely boring.
Checking that Jin Ling wasn’t looking, Wei Ying tore one of the strips of paper with the phone number and address from the bottom and stuffed it into his pocket. It couldn’t hurt to look.
--------
Cloud Recesses wasn’t what Wei Ying had been expecting. He’d been expecting a dingy studio in one of the more washed-up strip malls, probably sandwiched between a laundromat and a nail salon.
He was very, very wrong.
He and an ecstatic Jin Ling stood outside a white stone building with a curving, blue tiled roof -- freshly painted, and practically glinting in the sunlight. There was a long entryway stretching out toward the parking lot, lined with pillars. Wei Ying couldn’t help but give one a knock as he passed. It was solid all the way through.
“Holy shit…” he said under his breath as Jin Ling ran ahead. This was a Bad Idea. A Terrible Idea. He should’ve talked to Jiang Cheng first. What was he thinking, having ideas all on his own? They were never going to be able to afford this … whatever this was.
“Come on , jiujiu!” Jin Ling yelled back to him excitedly.
Wei Ying’s heart swelled, like it did every time Jin Ling called him that. Usually it was just idiot or Uncle Wei . He hurried up to join him. “We’re just here to look,” he reminded Jin Ling. “No promises.”
“Whatever, come on ,” the boy said again, grabbing his hand and pulling him forward.
Well, Wei Ying had tried. It wasn’t his fault if Jin Ling went and got his hopes up after that. He’d just have to find a way to let him down gently.
They walked into the building, and Wei Ying blinked. This … surely this couldn’t be right. They’d walked into some sort of anteroom, filled with warm lighting, the sweet scent of sandalwood incense, and gentle background music that Wei Ying was pretty sure he recognized to be guqin. There was even an honest-to-god water feature .
“Hello,” called a friendly voice. Wei Ying looked up and saw a startlingly beautiful man smiling at them from behind a desk. “May I help you? Are you here for lessons?”
Jin Ling, suddenly shy, looked up at Wei Ying, tugging his hand. Right. Wei Ying’s time to shine, then, apparently. He walked forward, crossing over a small bridge that arched over a stream -- (were there actual koi in there??) -- to reach the desk. “Hey,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m Wei Ying.” That was a little too formal, probably, but Wei Ying had decided that he was going to be Completely Respectable. For Jin Ling’s sake. No matter how pretty this man was.
“Lan Huan,” the man said, accepting his hand and shaking. His hand was very soft, Wei Ying noticed, and his handshake was very firm.
“I wanted to see if it would be possible for me and little LingLing here to get the official tour. You know. See if there’s anything here to interest us.” He gave the man his most charming smile and winked. Acting respectably didn’t rule out a little flirting, surely.
“Of course,” Lan Huan said, standing. And, wow. That right there was a very well-made man. Wei Ying wondered if maybe he should inquire about lessons for himself as well. Private lessons, maybe.
But … no. That ship had long since sailed. “We have a youth class in progress currently. You may observe from the back, if you wish.”
“Great, yeah, perfect,” Wei Ying said, doing his very best not to look directly at him.
Lan Huan nodded politely, and led them through a door at the back.
Crossing through the door was like entering a different building entirely. Gone was the warm lighting and the quiet spa music. Here was a large, bright room, with a vivid blue mat floor, two walls of floor-to-ceiling mirrors, and ten children of various ages, all wrapped in pale blue wushu uniforms and standing alert as a man at the front of the room demonstrated proper kicking warm up.
A man that Wei Ying recognized, probably too well.
He finished his demonstration -- one which involved sinking low into a straddle split and Wei Ying thought that maybe he had died and gone to heaven because how was this happening . Then, as the students began their warm-ups, Lan Huan waved him over and yes Wei Ying was definitely dead.
“Ge,” the man said, not even looking at Wei Ying.
“Lan Zhan,” Lan Huan said, “this is Wei Ying and LingLing -- “
“Jin Ling!” Jin Ling interrupted testily.
“--apologies. Jin Ling. They are going to watch the lesson today to see if they would like to sign up for classes.”
“Mm,” Lan Zhan hummed, his eyes turning to Wei Ying at last.
“Uh … hi,” Wei Ying said, eloquently. “I like your splits.”
Jin Ling groaned, kicking him sharply in the ankle. Wei Ying couldn’t blame him.
“Do not interrupt the class,” Lan Zhan said.
Wei Ying nodded and mimed locking his mouth shut and throwing away the key.
If only it were actually that simple, he thought. Then maybe he could stop embarrassing himself so much.
Lan Huan led them to the back of the room, where a row of parents sat watching, and left them to it. Wei Ying settled in to watch as Wheatgrass Guy demonstrated a high kick by effortlessly lifting his leg in a straight line into the air and over his head.
If Wei Ying wasn’t dead already, then he certainly would be soon.
This was going to be the longest 45 minutes of his life.
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Jin Ling watched the class, doing his very best to sit still and not to interrupt. He thought he was doing a pretty good job. Better than Uncle Wei, anyway, who was being a total pest . Jin Ling wished very dearly that Uncle Wei had waited outside. But, since that hadn’t happened, Jin Ling was trying very hard to pretend that he had no idea who the man sitting next to him was, who kept shouting encouragements and, horrifyingly, making requests.
“Do the five finger death punch!” Uncle Wei yelled, cupping his hands to his mouth as though they weren’t all in the same room and his voice wasn’t echoing off of the walls.
Lan-shifu (as Jin Ling was already calling him in his head, because he was absolutely enrolling here ) glared at Uncle Wei. If they got kicked out because of him, Jin Ling would never forgive him. He’d never talk to him again. He’d run away, maybe go live with Uncle Jin …
Suddenly, at some signal he’d missed, all of the students lined up again, facing Lan-shifu, and, as a unit, bowed. Class was over.
Beside him, Uncle Wei popped to his feet, with a smile on his face that Jin Ling didn’t trust at all. “Don’t--” he started to say, but his uncle was already gone, hurrying up to Lan-shifu, no doubt with the explicit intent to embarrass Jin Ling.
Jin Ling was helpless to do anything but watch as Uncle Wei crowded into Lan-shifu’s personal space, apparently oblivious to the way Lan-shifu was leaning away.
“Hey! Are you new? Thinking of joining?”
One of the boys from class was smiling at him, as three other students looked on from a little ways back. “Yeah, so?” Jin Ling said, crossing his arms. He suddenly felt very aware that they all looked older than him. Even the girl was taller. He scowled more deeply at the boy.
“Did you want to join us for some practice? We always stick around after class. We’re just going over the basics if you wanna try them out.”
Jin Ling’s arms dropped to his side, his guard falling away a little in his surprise. “Really?”
“Yeah!” the boy said. “I’m Lan Yuan, by the way.”
“Jin Ling,” Jin Ling said, holding out his hand the way Uncle Jiang had taught him.
As soon as he did, he heard one of the other kids laugh. He felt very stupid, and started to pull his had back. Lan Yuan didn’t laugh though. He took his hand and shook it, and then said, “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the others!”
Jin Ling followed him over to the group, pushing down his nerves as three pairs of eyes watched him approach. “Hey guys! This is Jin Ling. Jin Ling, this is Ouyang Zizhen -- you can just call him Zizi, we all do -- he’s an orange belt. A-Qing, she’s a purple belt. And this in Jingyi. He’s my cousin, we’re both green belts.”
“Hi,” Jin Ling said, scowling down at his feet.
“Hey,” the one named Jingyi said. Then, “Why are you glaring at the floor like that? Did it insult your mom?”
Jin Ling felt his face grow hot with a familiar prickle of embarrassment and anger. Might as well get this over with. “No,” he snapped, kicking his foot so his toe scuffed along the mat. “My mom is dead.”
He braced himself, waiting for the teasing to start, like it always did. Probably just wanted to get away from you , the voices echoed in his head. I’d rather be dead than hang around you all the time . Who would want to be your mother?
Except, there was no teasing.
Jin Ling looked up, and saw all four of them looking at him. “Lan Yuan’s mom is dead too,” Jingyi said. “And a-Qing’s.”
“We don’t know that,” a-Qing cut in. “Just because I don’t have parents doesn’t mean they’re dead. Maybe she’s a queen in a foreign country or something. Had a secret child and was forced to give me up. Maybe she’s looking for me right now.”
“Do you believe that?” Jin Ling asked, not sure what to make of that
“No,” a-Qing said. “My parents are definitely dead. Probably.”
“It’s possible though!” Zizi chimed in. “You never know!”
That set off a lively discussion of who a-Qing’s bio-parents might be. One that felt well-worn and familiar and, somehow, fun. Jin Ling realized his mouth was hanging open only after Lan Yuan touched him on the shoulder. “Want to practice?”
“Yeah,” Jin Ling said, following him to an open bit of mat.
“How much do you know?” Lan Yuan asked. “Have you practiced at all?”
“I know things!” Jin Ling snapped, firing up at once. They probably thought he didn’t know anything just because they were older than him! Of course Jin Ling knew things. Jin Ling’s dad was Jin Zixuan, greatest wushu master of all time! He’d watched all of his movies, he knew all of the moves. He’d show them who was a baby.
“Okay,” Lan Yuan said. “Let’s practice vertical punches.”
“Boooo-ring!” Lan Jingyi’s voice rang through the room.
“Lan Jingyi.” Jin Ling looked up as Lan-shifu walked towards them, watching them carefully. “Do not make loud noises in Cloud Recesses.”
“Yes, Hanguang-jun,” Lan Jingyi said, abashed.
Lan-shifu -- no, Hanguang-jun, Jin Ling corrected himself -- stopped in front of them. “Continue,” he said.
Jin Ling swallowed. His hands felt very sweaty, all of the sudden. He found himself searching the room for Uncle Wei, despite himself. He found him, standing off to the side, giving him an encouraging double thumbs up.
Idiot , he thought to himself, feeling a little more confident. “Hyah!” he yelled, throwing his best punch. He watched himself in the mirror. This is just how dad did it in Fallen Chrysanthemum . And then he’d --
Jin Ling launched into a spinning kick, imagining he’s just taken down three bad guys with a blow to the head, landing in a fighter’s stance.
In the mirror, Jingyi elbowed a-Qing in the ribs, who looked like she was giggling. Jingyi looked like he was giggling too. Jin Ling felt his face grow hot, his eyes starting to sting.
“Oh,” Uncle Wei said, starting to rush over to him.
“Jin Ling,” Hanguang-jun said, stepping forward. “Your vertical punch. Again.”
Jin Ling glared up at him, fists balled up at his sides. Was he going to laugh too? Jin Ling didn’t need some … some … some old man with … with stupid hair in a stupid braid laughing at him! He opened his mouth to tell him as much, but then he felt a light touch on his wrist. Lan Yuan was looking at him. “Show him,” he said, encouragingly.
Fine. Jin Ling got back into his fighting stance, preparing another punch.
Hanguang-jun stopped him. “Begin in horse stance,” he said. “Spread your legs wider. Now bend your knees.”
Jin Ling did as instructed, squatting down low. “Good,” Hanguang-jun said.
Jin Ling felt a burst of pride, then frowned. Of course it was good! This was baby stuff. Jin Ling knew what he was doing!
“Begin with your fists at your hips. Don’t rise up. Look forward. Now. Punch!”
Jin Ling did. It felt more powerful, somehow. He’d never thrown a punch like that before. “Good job,” Lan Yuan said. “That was really good!” Hanguang-jun nodded.
Jin Ling smiled and then, realizing that it was just one dumb punch, what’s the big deal , frowned again.
“He’s a quick learner,” Uncle Wei said, coming to stand next to Hanguang-jun. “And he’s eager. He’ll be one of your best students in no time.”
Jin Ling agreed, but that didn’t mean he needed Uncle Wei to say it. That was embarrassing! “Are we done?” he asked, doing his best to look bored, but even he knew he only ended up looking like he was pouting.
“Yeah, let’s head out. We’ve taken up enough of your time,” he said the last bit to Hanguang-jun, who didn’t respond. “Come on, Jin Ling. Let’s go home.”
“Are you gonna sign up?” Jingyi yelled after them.
“Come back anytime!” Zizi agreed.
“Or not. Whatever,” a-Qing joined in.
Jin Ling followed Uncle Wei out of the room, more than a little sad to be leaving. “Bye, Jin Ling,” Lan Yuan said. “I hope you come back.”
Jin Ling hoped so too, but he definitely wasn’t going to say it. Instead, he shrugged coolly, without even bothering to turn around.
“See you around, Lan Zhan,” Uncle Wei said, sounding all weird and stupid. “Be sure to stop by soon, we just got some fresh radish greens from a local farm. Go great in smoothies, probably.”
“Shut up,” Jin Ling hissed at him, too quiet to be heard.
Uncle Wei really was the worst.
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“Say that again,” Jiang Cheng said through clenched teeth, rubbing his temples as though Wei Ying’s very presence was physically manifesting a headache.
Which, maybe it was.
“I want to sign Jin Ling up for wushu lessons.”
“That’s what I thought you said,” Jiang Cheng said, inhaling deeply through his nose, looking skyward as though begging for patience. “And why would we do that?”
“Because,” Wei Ying launched right into his line of reasoning. “Jin Ling is interested. Really interested, and you know how rare that is. Plus, they teach them about, like, self discipline. Controlling your emotions, and stuff. Which, let’s be honest, would definitely be a good thing. And, he’d be with other kids his age. Kids who were nice to him, Jiang Cheng,” he said emphatically. “And besides. I think it’ll make him feel. You know. Closer to his dad. He’d probably want that. Or something.”
He squirmed in his chair, the unsaid words hanging in the air between them. Jiang Yanli would’ve wanted it.
Jiang Cheng sighed. It sounded weary. Wei Ying understood. He felt the same way. “How much is it?” he asked.
Ah. This part.
Wei Ying slid the brochure across the table, flipping it over and tapping the pricing table with his index finger.
“Fuck, are you fucking kidding me?” Jiang Cheng asked, eyes going wide. “Are they giving him uniform made of gold? What the shit?”
“He’d probably love that,” Wei Ying said. “But, no. It’s just … it’s a really nice place.”
Jiang Cheng looked at him, and for once he didn’t look angry. He just looked tired. “We can’t afford it,” he said flatly.
Wei Ying chewed his lip. He’d been worried, but surely -- “Surely they’ll pay for this,” he said. “I know they’ve been complete assholes about the money, but this has to be an exception.”
“It won’t be,” Jiang Cheng said darkly. “But don’t let me stop you from trying. Just. Don’t get his hopes up, okay?”
Too late , Wei Ying thought to himself. Fuck, he’s already fucked this up so badly.
“I’m going to bed,” Jiang Cheng said. “Don’t forget, you’re opening tomorrow.”
“When am I not opening?” Wei Ying retorted. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d slept past 6am.
Jiang Cheng didn’t bother answering, storming out of the room -- more out of habit than temper -- and leaving Wei Ying behind to worry. He’d call tomorrow. On his lunch break. Surely they’d pay for this.
Surely.
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“Jin Ling’s trust fund cannot be accessed before his 20th birthday,” Jin Guangyao said, smiling sympathetically over the video call. “I’m sure this is a disappointment, but those are the terms. The lawyers have looked it over, and --”
“Fuck the lawyers,” Wei Ying snapped. Too loudly. Several heads turned to look over at him where he sat at a table in the store’s cafe section, on break. He smiled apologetically at them, tapping his earbud in explanation, and turned back to the call. “Come on, Guangyao. He just wants to be like his dad. Like Jin Zixuan. There’s got to be something you can do. You have to be able to make an exception--”
“It’s not up to me,” Jin Guangyao said, his tone dripping with resigned pity. “It’s the terms of the trust fund, Wei Ying. We can’t change that. But if you were to name myself or my father as his guardian --”
“No,” Wei Ying said sharply. “Absolutely not. We’re not giving up Jin Ling.”
“You wouldn’t be giving him up,” Jin Guangyao reasoned. “It would just be in writing. Nothing would have to change.”
“If nothing would change, then why not just have your dad withdraw some money from the trust fund for him? I’m not an idiot. I know he could, if he wanted to.”
Jin Guangyao smiled at him -- condescendingly. Wei Ying’s hackles rose in response. “I’m afraid father would prefer to know that the money is -- ah -- being used. Appropriately.”
“Oh. Fuck you, Guangyao,” Wei Ying said. “And fuck Jin Guangshan, too.”
“I don’t think that would help,” Jin Guangyao said.
That was enough of that. Wei Ying smashed the ‘end’ button with his thumb, barely resisting the urge to throw his phone through the window. Jiang Cheng would kill him, if he broke a window. Instead, he threw it down on the table, and was rewarded with a lapful of coffee as it knocked over his cup.
“Shit!” he yelled, jumping to his feet to let the hot liquid fall out of his lap.
His back collided with something solid, his feet slipping on the wet floor. Before he could fall and brain himself on the tile -- which, really, not the worst way to go, probably -- something caught him under the arms.
No, not something. Someone.
He looked up and saw Wheatgrass Guy -- Lan Zhan, his brain offered, which, really, was quite generous of it, he was usually absolute shit with names -- looking down at him with a small crease between his eyebrows.
“Whoa, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying said, getting his feet back under him. “Good catch! I owe you.”
“Are you okay?” Lan Zhan asked, releasing Wei Ying only after he was entirely certain he was steady back on his feet.
“Perfect. Golden. Amazing. Never been better,” he grumbled, plucking at his shirt where it now stuck to him, damp with his coffee. “This is really just the topper for a super great day, Lan Zhan. I better have some excellent karma coming my way. Maybe I’ll win the lottery. Develop superpowers. Meet my Prince Charming and be swept away. I’ve earned it, after today.”
Lan Zhan didn’t respond to that. Wei Ying looked up and found him staring deliberately over Wei Ying’s left shoulder. Wei Ying turned and looked behind himself, but there was nothing there. Huh. “Aren’t you going to ask me about my day, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying whined. Really, it was only polite.
“It is not my business,” he said, still not looking at Wei Ying.
Well. Fair enough. Except, it didn’t really feel fair, the way Lan Zhan wouldn’t even look at him.
“So, Lan Zhan, what brings you to my neck of the woods?” he asked, grabbing a handful of napkins and beginning to dab at the wet spots on his shirt and slacks. Great, it was going to look like he'd pissed himself. Maybe he could run home quickly, change into something clean.
In response, Lan Zhan lifted his tote bag to him -- hemp, of course it was hemp. A bundle of green radish tips poked out of the top.
“Oh,” Wei Ying said, his brain slow to process this new information, “you came for the radish greens?”
“Mm,” Lan Zhan said. There was a long enough pause that Wei Ying thought that was all he was going to get, when Lan Zhan added, “I was told that they were good. For smoothies.”
Wei Ying laughed. “Oh god, if you put that in a smoothie, please don’t come after me. I swear, I was only kidding. That has got to be disgusting. Please tell me you're not actually going to do that.”
“Mm,” Lan Zhan said again. He really wasn’t much of a talker. “I believe my rabbits will enjoy it.”
Wei Ying blinked. “Your rabbits?”
“Yes.”
“What, like … pet rabbits?”
“Yes.”
Suddenly, Wei Ying’s brain was filled with images of Lan Zhan wearing his stupid soft looking clothes sitting surrounded by fluffy bunnies, feeding them radish greens.
Oh no. No no no, danger, Wei Ying, danger. His brain threw a thousand blaring red alerts at him to stay well and clear of those images. Too soft. Too good.
“What are their names?” he found his mouth asking, without any permission at all. How did it keep doing things like that?
“Thumper and Babbity,” Lan Zhan answered, with his same serious, unflappable demeanor. Except. Wei Ying blinked, uncertain if he was seeing things. No. No, Lan Zhan’s ears had definitely turned a little pink.
“That is the cutest thing,” he said.
A muzzle. He needed a muzzle. People would think it was some kink thing, but Wei Ying would know better. His mouth was simply not to be trusted.
Suddenly, a voice crackled over the sound system. “Wei Ying to register 2. Wei Ying to register 2.”
“Shit, that’s me,” Wei Ying said. So much for changing clothes. “I’ve gotta run. Duty calls.”
“Will Jin Ling be joining us at Cloud Recesses tonight?” Lan Zhan asked.
“Oh,” Wei Ying stopped, feeling torn. “No, actually. That’s kinda … I mean. It was really great, getting to see you -- I mean, see the academy, but …”
Wei Ying was struggling. He looked at Lan Zhan for help. Lan Zhan offered none. Of course.
Fine.
Wei Ying let out an irritated puff of breath. “We can’t afford it. No offense, Lan Zhan, but Cloud Recesses is stupid expensive. Jiang Cheng and I are doing okay, but if it’s a choice between wushu lessons and, you know, the mortgage. Jin Ling’s college. Retirement. ”
Lan Zhan frowned. “You and your …” he stopped. Cleared his throat. “If you are unable to afford tuition, there is aid available.”
Wei Ying blinked at him. “Financial aid? For … kung fu school?”
Lan Zhan straightened, standing taller, somehow, looking at Wei Ying with an annoyed expression. Wei Ying, being the gremlin that he was, felt a pleasant tingle low in his belly as parts of him began to take interest. Parts that really needed to not be doing so right now.
Baseball. Long division. Big dogs. He thought to himself, nipping those feelings in the bud.
“Cloud Recesses Wushu Academy is an institution of spiritual and physical empowerment,” Lan Zhan said. With a completely straight face. Like he meant it. Wei Ying could admire that, even if it sounded like total horseshit.
“Sure. Spiritual empowerment, for the right price. That must be why there are so many spiritually enlightened rich folk walking around.”
Lan Zhan shifted his tote bag up his shoulder. Wei Ying realized that he looked uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure how he knew -- Lan Zhan had to be the least expressive person he had ever met -- but yeah, definitely uncomfortable.
Wei Ying looked at him and finally let himself appreciate the details. The elegant silver clips in his hair. The pair of stud earrings that, now that Wei Ying looked, looked very much like real diamonds. The way his clothes looked simple in that way that only really expensive clothing ever managed to look simple.
Fuck.
“Sorry, Lan Zhan, I didn’t mean --”
“Half of Cloud Recesses students attend on financial aid,” Lan Zhan interrupted. “I would welcome Jin Ling as a disciple.”
“Really?”
“Mm.”
They stared at each other. Wei Ying didn’t know what to say. It seemed like too much. Was he serious? But, then, why would he lie about this?
Because you’ve been an annoying shit and he wants to embarrass you , said a nasty voice in the back of his head. Why else would he help you?
Joke’s on you , Wei Ying thought to the voice, I can’t be embarrassed.
“Well, in that case, Jin Ling will definitely be there. What time? What does he need to wear?”
“7pm,” Lan Zhan answered. “We will provide a uniform when he arrives.”
“Okay,” Wei Ying said. “That’s -- that’s really great. Thank you, I--”
“Wei Ying!” Jiang Cheng barked from across the store. “Did you not hear Jinzhu call for you? Get your ass over here!”
“Gotta go,” Wei Ying said, turning and jogging over to the registers. “Bye, Lan Zhan! See you tonight!”
Lan Zhan simply nodded at him, taking his bag of radish greens -- for Thumper and Babbity , Wei Ying thought giddily -- and exited Lotus Pier.
--------
“Here is your uniform,” Lan Huan said, handing a light blue bundle to Jin Ling. “You may change in the bathroom. Please let your father know if you need any assistance.”
“He’s not my dad!” Jing Ling retorted, but without any of the usual heat. It seemed he was too excited to manage any of his usual anger tonight.
“I’m coming in in 5 minutes if you’re not out!” Wei Ying called after him. “I’ll assume you fell in!”
“Shut up!” Jin Ling yelled, closing the door hard.
“He’s a real charmer, my nephew,” Wei Ying said.
Lan Huan smiled kindly, but Wei Ying noticed that he didn’t disagree. “Children can be difficult at that age,” he offered instead.
“Do you have any kids?” Wei Ying asked. Then, kicked himself. That was a presumptuous question. He, of all people, should know better.
“None of my own,” Lan Huan replied, apparently not offended. “My partner and I are satisfied to teach, and to be uncles.”
“Oh,” Wei Ying said. “ Oh ,” he said again, as his brain thunked the pieces into place. “Yeah, I totally get that. Jiang Cheng’s the same, I think. But, then, Jin Ling came to live with us, so it’s like being parents anyway, in a way.”
Lan Huan tilted his head curiously, as though he had a follow-up, but at that moment Jin Ling burst out of the bathroom. “Jiujiu! Take my picture!”
Wei Ying didn’t need to be told twice. He fished his phone out of his pocket and held it up. “Smile!” he said.
“Fighters don’t smile!” Jin Ling shot back. Fighters did, apparently, make faces like they were very, very constipated, though. Wei Ying snapped the photo. Extremely adorable blackmail for the future.
“Jin-gongzi, are you ready for class?” Lan Huan asked, struggling to hide his amusement.
“Yeah,” Jin Ling said.
Wei Ying trailed after them, fidgeting with his phone. He was going to record everything .
--------
Lan Zhan was having a hard time.
Jin Ling stood in the front row, alongside all of the newest disciples, diligently mimicking Lan Zhan’s every move. He was focused, eager, and headstrong. Lan Zhan could tell he would be a challenging disciple, especially once some of the novelty wore off.
But Jin Ling wasn’t the problem.
“You’re doing great, sweetie!” Wei Ying’s voice cut across the room in a singsong as he waved enthusiastically at them, phone held aloft.
Lan Zhan felt a muscle jump in his jaw. This was going to be a problem. Lan Zhan needed to focus on the disciples. He couldn’t afford to be distracted, and Wei Ying was very, very distracting. He would have to address this.
“No phones in the practice room,” he said, walking up and deliberately addressing the space over Wei Ying’s shoulder.
“What? Is that a rule or something?” Wei Ying asked, not putting the phone down.
“No,” Lan Zhan said. Then, for good measure, added,, “We have not needed to make it one.”
He expected Wei Ying to be offended. People were often offended by Lan Zhan. He had been told that he was too brusque. That he lacked social grace, that he needed to learn to soften his blows -- framing orders as requests.
He had never seen the point, and so had always taken the criticism and promptly discarded it.
However, Wei Ying was not offended, it seemed. Rather, he was laughing. “Lan Zhan, you’re gonna learn that unspoken rules don’t really work for me.”
“It is not unspoken,” Lan Zhan pointed out.
Wei Ying laughed. Again. That was also very, very distracting. They might need a rule about laughing in the practice room. How was Lan Zhan supposed to teach when Wei Ying was right there, throwing his head back, mouth wide open, with his neck stretched out long, his face animated with joy?
“Fair enough,” Wei Ying said, stashing his phone away at last. “But don’t mourn me too much when Jiang Cheng kills me because I didn’t get a video of our little LingLing’s first class. It’d be such a waste, Lan Zhan, you’re too pretty to be in mourning.”
Lan Zhan’s stomach clenched. How could Wei Ying do that? Say things like that, to him, in the same breath that he talked about his partner? He inhaled around the sour, jealous feeling. Wei Ying must just be like this. The type of person who flirted as easily as breathing. Like it meant nothing.
Lan Zhan would have to remember this. It would be dangerous to forget.
--------
No cellphones in the practice room.
Wei Ying stared at the sign taped to the door in disbelieving delight. “He made it a rule? Really?”
That shouldn’t make him feel like this. Giddy. Excited. But it did. It was all he could do not to crow in triumph.
“Uncle’s idea,” Lan Huan said at his shoulder. “He reviews the lesson tapes. I believe he realized the oversight of not having the rule written down.”
“Your uncle’s idea?” Wei Ying repeated, deflating a little. Not Lan Zhan, then. Well, that was fine. It was probably a good thing. He didn’t actually want to annoy Lan Zhan like that. Did he?
He didn’t.
Did he?
Wei Ying shook his head. “Come on, Jin Ling. Get in there, before there’s a rule about being late.”
Lan Huan smiled. “There is a rule about being late.”
“Ugh,” Wei Ying groaned. “Can’t you write these down or something? How is one man supposed to know all of these rules?”
Lan Huan gave him a strange look, then walked over to the front desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a thick book. He walked back over and handed it to Wei Ying. “You should have already received a copy,” he said. “My mistake.”
Wei Ying blinked at him, then looked down at the book in his hands. Surely not …
Cloud Recesses Precepts. He thumbed through the pages. There had to be at least 3,000 …
“Come on, we’re gonna be late!” Jin Ling said, stomping into the room. Wei Ying followed him, still staring at the book.
--------
“So, Lan Zhan. Do you ever compete?” Wei Ying asked innocently.
Lan Zhan, who had been carefully considering the selection of local honey, pondering the veracity of the labels, turned toward Wei Ying, who was beaming at him. Standing too close.
“Yes,” he answered, in a way that he hoped did not encourage further conversation.
Wei Ying did not seem to notice, leaning in closer. Lan Zhan suddenly felt very aware of the sensation of his own clothing on his skin. “Really? Do you have any competitions coming up? Do the ‘disciples’ compete too? Could I come watch?”
The way he said ‘disciples’, in that sarcastic singsong he sometimes used when he thought something was particularly ridiculous, grated against Lan Zhan’s nerves. He turned deliberately back to the honey jars. “Disciples may compete once they have earned their purple belts,” he said.
“Really? Well, that probably makes sense. Guess we’ve got a few years then before I have any excuse to go to a competition again.”
“Again?” Lan Zhan asked, against his own better judgment.
“Oh,” Wei Ying said, finally leaning back a little. Lan Zhan felt like he could breathe again, but also a bit bereft. Wei Ying rubbed the back of his knuckle against his nose, eyes shifting to the side. “I used to go to them. A lot of them, actually, when I was younger. My brother used to compete. I miss them, sometimes. It was always a lot of fun, all of the adrenaline. Plus, it’s really beautiful, you know? Maybe that’s a weird thing to say about fighting, but I just always thought … I mean, it is martial arts . I guess people say that about taolu all the time, but I think it’s even more true of sanda, you know?”
Lan Zhan did know. To him, wushu was about more than just discipline and power. It was the way that energies flowed, the constant give and take between two opposing forces. He’d always found sanda to be beautiful, as though it were more dance than combat. Except, unlike dance, you weren’t moving in step with a partner. Your movements flowed against another competitor, a rival, a challenger who sought ways to break through your guard, to find your weakness and grasp the holes and yank them wider. The beauty lay in the way two people could come together in movement with the goal of taking one another apart.
“There is a competition next weekend,” Lan Zhan said. “You should bring Jin Ling.”
“Really?” Wei Ying said, so radiant with surprised joy that Lan Zhan could not look directly at him. “He would love that, Lan Zhan! Thank you!”
Lan Zhan nodded. He did not deserve Wei Ying’s gratitude for this. All of the disciples were invited, of course.
“Here, give me your phone,” Wei Ying said, clicking his fingers at him.
Lan Zhan, caught off-guard, did so without thinking, unlocking it as he handed it over. Wei Ying opened his contacts and quickly created a new one for himself. He then opened the camera and took a photo-- holding the phone at arm’s length, flashing a peace-sign with his other hand, sticking out his tongue and winking. He set the photo as the contact image, then sent a quick text.
Wei Ying’s phone chimed from his back pocket.
“There!” he said, handing Lan Zhan’s phone back at last. “Now you have my number! You can send me the details. I’ve gotta get back to work before Jiang Cheng finds me slacking off. He’s always yelling at me for talking instead of working --” Lan Zhan felt his face react to that, frowning slightly “-- but it was worth it!”
He winked at Lan Zhan. “See you around! Don’t be too shy to text!”
Wei Ying waved and then turned and hurried out of the aisle, leaving Lan Zhan reeling in his wake.
He looked down at his phone, at the text still open on the screen.
Lan Zhan’s number! Wei Ying had sent to himself.
As Lan Zhan stared, his phone chimed, and a new text popped onto the screen.
hey lz! send me details on the comp! cant wait to see those high kicks in action ;)
Lan Zhan swallowed hard, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. He dragged his focus back to the jars of honey lined up before him. In the end, he bought a jar that proclaimed to be from an upstate apiary, packaged in upcycled glass with a beeswax paper seal. He hoped it was everything it claimed to be.
--------
"This is a terrible idea," Jiang Cheng said as he helped Jin Ling into his new jacket. It was a stiff, shiny golden windbreaker that Wei Yung thought was at least twice as ugly as the purple Lotus Pier jacket Jin Ling now refused to wear. But you couldn't argue fashion with a nine-year-old.
"It'll be fine," Wei Ying reassured him, despite the knot of anxiety in his own stomach. "We're just watching. It's not like we're going to make trouble."
Jiang Cheng sent a sharp glare in his direction, which Wei Ying didn't think he really deserved. It's not like he was a teenager anymore. He was an adult! With a kid! Responsibilities! He had matured!
"A-Cheng, didi, when have I ever caused you trouble?”
The glare sharpened. Wei Ying laughed. “You could come, if you're worried about it," he offered again, already knowing the answer he would get.
"No," Jiang Cheng said firmly, as he zipped Jin Ling's jacket up to his chin. "Don't get into trouble. And if you do get into trouble, don’t call me, I’m not bailing you out "
"Then why do you have a line on the monthly budget marked Wei Ying Bail Fund? "
--------
The competition wasn't anything like Jin Ling had expected. He'd watched plenty of YouTube videos, but this was nothing like that.
They were in a school gymnasium, wrestling mats taped together, judges wearing suits standing to the side as they watched competitors perform their forms. The sparring was to come later, he’d been told.
"This is stupid," Jin Ling grumped, watching yet another adult run through some extremely impressive forms than he was definitely going to try in his room later. "It's just old people."
The look that Uncle Wei gave him was a little too knowing. Jin Ling scowled. "The kids are getting started at the red mats," Uncle Wei said. "We can go watch them, if you want."
"Fine," Jin Ling said, hurrying over to where he'd seen a-Qing warming up.
They were just getting started. A-Qing was up second, after some kid Jin Ling didn't know. He hung back as they got closer to the mat to watch. There weren't as many people over here, and he suddenly felt very exposed.
"A-Ling!" someone called out to him. He turned to see Zizi waving at him from the other side of the mat.
Jin Ling crossed his arms against the warm, bright feeling in his chest. "Didn't say he could call me that," he muttered under his breath.
A hand touched his shoulder gently. "Why don't you go watch with your friends?" Uncle Wei said.
"They're not my friends!" Jin Ling snapped as he ran directly across the mat to join them.
There was a loud, shrill whistle, followed by a commanding voice. "Only competitors are allowed on the mats!"
Jin Ling stopped, frozen by the reprimand, uncertain what to do.
"Come on," Lan Yuan said, beckoning to him encouragingly.
Jin Ling ran up to him, his face hot even with the relief of seeing a welcoming smile.
"I can't believe you ran across the mat," Jingyi snickered.
"Shut up, Jingyi," Zizi said nudging him in the shoulder. "You spilled an entire soda on the mat at the first competition you went to."
"Yeah, but that was ages ago!" Jingyi retorted. "I know better now! Everyone knows to stay off the mats!"
“You only know because you were told,” Lan Yuan said. “Jin Ling, have you ever watched a competition before?”
“Of course!” Jin Ling said, glowering at all of them. “I’ve seen lots of competitions!”
“Have you ever been to one?” Zizi asked. “They’re way cooler in person.”
Jin Ling’s arms uncrossed. Just a little. “No,” he admitted. “I don’t see how it’s gonna be any different.”
“Oh, it’s totally different,” Jingyi said excitedly.
“A-Qing is coming up soon. Come stand with us, I’ll explain the rules,” Lan Yuan said.
Jin Ling didn’t move, conflicted, until he heard them announce a-Qing’s turn. “Fine,” he said. “But only so you’ll leave me alone!”
Lan Yuan smiled as Jin Ling stormed over to them and settled in, letting the strange warm feeling buoy him along.
--------
“Well, I didn’t think I’d be seeing you here!”
Wei Ying smiled hesitantly as the pretty woman in a golden uniform rushed up to him. She stopped just short of giving him a hug, looking at him with a twisted smile. “You complete asshat, you don’t remember me, do you?”
Something about that tugged at a memory, bringing a name to mind. “MianMian?”
“Oh, so you can’t even remember me, but nicknames are still okay?” She cuffed his shoulder, and not gently.
“Who doesn’t remember you?” Wei Ying asked in his most affronted tone. “My beautiful MianMian, who stole away my young heart and now treats me so cruelly?”
MianMian rolled her eyes. “Stole your heart? And what would I do with it, exactly?”
“MianMian! My affection is very valuable!”
“Mhm, from what I recall you slung it around pretty freely back in the day.”
Wei Ying laughed. Okay, it was all coming back to him. He definitely remembered MianMian now. “Are you slut shaming me? Some reunion this is!”
“Oh, did you grow a sense of shame since we last saw each other?” She raised her eyebrows in a caricature of shock.
It was all so familiar, Wei Ying couldn’t recall why they’d ever fallen out at all. “What have you been--?” he started to ask, but was interrupted.
“Oh, so the prodigal son returns,” hissed a voice from behind.
Wei Ying froze. He knew that voice. MianMian frowned, even as Wei Ying continued, pretending not to hear. “What have you been up to?” he asked again, louder this time. “Still competing, it looks like?”
“Are you ignoring me? Face me, you coward!”
So that’s how it was going to be. Wei Ying drew in a breath, and turned.
“Were you talking to me?” he asked, fixing a baffled smile on his face as he pointed to himself. “Do I know you?”
A man in a golden uniform, matching MianMian’s, was standing there, his mouth open, even as his lip wrinkled in disgust. MianMian made a sound like a stifled laugh. “Are you fucking serious? You know who I am!”
Wei Ying tilted his head at him curiously. “Sorry, I’m no good with names. And you just have one of those faces. They all just blend together. Oh! I know! Did we used to ride the train together?”
The man spluttered indignantly. Wei Ying allowed himself a small feeling of triumph as the man got right up in his face, waving a finger at him. “Hey! Calm down!” MianMian said, trying to step between them.
“No we didn’t ride the train together , asshole! How dare you just show up here like it’s nothing?”
Wei Ying could see where this was going. He could feel the coals being stoked, the low simmer of anger that was always there being baited into something bigger. He tried to douse it. This wasn’t the time. “Just let the kid watch,” he said, then added, more quietly. “You know what it means to him.”
“I thought you didn’t remember me,” Jin Zixun sneered, his voice too loud.
“Don’t you have a match to prepare for?” MianMian said sharply, trying to interrupt whatever was happening.
They were beginning to attract attention, which wouldn’t do at all. Wei Ying had told Jiang Cheng he wouldn’t cause any trouble, the last thing he needed was --
“Is there a problem here?”
Fuck.
Lan Zhan was walking up to them, brow furrowed as he took in the scene. “Jin Zixun. What is the meaning of this?”
“Jin Zixun?” Wei Ying said innocently, as though trying to remember. He brought a hand up to his mouth, tapping his lip, before snapping his fingers. “Oh! I remember! You were the guy who used to always follow Jin Zixuan around when we were kids! Wow. Time hasn’t been kind, has it?”
Jin Zixun snarled at him, taking an angry step forward. Lan Zhan was too quick, placing himself between them, a hand on Jin Zixun’s shoulder holding him back even as MianMian grabbed his wushu uniform from behind. “Why are you defending him?” Jin Zixun snapped. “Don’t you know who he is?”
“He is the parent of one of my disciples. And my guest,” Lan Zhan said.
“Him? A parent? You can’t mean --” his eyes darted around the room, until they landed at last on Jin Ling. “Is that what you’re telling people?” his voice was a low growl now. “He’s not your son . He shouldn’t even be with you! If it weren’t for that bitc--”
Wei Ying felt the thin thread of his self restraint snap. He lunged under Lan Zhan’s arm, making a move for Jin Zixun. Unfortunately, Lan Zhan somehow seemed ready for it. He grabbed him around the waist, holding him back, as MianMian yanked Jin Zixun out of reach. “Let go of me, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying yelled.
“No,” Lan Zhan said. He was holding Wei Ying as though it was effortless. Wei Ying would be impressed if he wasn’t so goddamn angry. He would tear Jin Zixun limb from limb. He would throw the pieces of him into all four oceans, he would make certain he wandered the earth as a ghost for eternity, he would --
“...jiujiu?”
Fuck.
He stopped struggling against Lan Zhan, not taking his eyes off of Jin Zixun. “It’s okay, Jin Ling,” he said. “Go back to watching the match.”
“A-Qing’s done,” Jin Ling said. “What are you doing?”
He breathed in deeply. He needed to calm down. He couldn’t do this in front of Jin Ling. “Nothing,” he said. “Just a grown-up thing. Boring stuff.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” Jin Zixun spat. Because of course he would keep fighting in front of children.
“He is my guest,” Lan Zhan repeated. He was still holding Wei Ying. Wei Ying tapped his arm gently, to signal that he was good to let go. Lan Zhan complied, although a little reluctantly.
“Come on, Jin Ling,” MianMian said, letting go of Jin Zixun to address Jin Ling. “I’m done for the day. Let’s go watch the other kids.”
Wei Ying felt a surge of affection and gratitude for MianMian. He would have to get her number. They could stay in touch this time.
“But--” Jin Ling protested.
“ Go, Ling-er,” Wei Ying said firmly.
“Whatever!” Jin Ling seethed, before stomping away, MianMian close behind.
“You heard Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, addressing Jin Zixun now. “I’m a guest.”
“You were banned . For life . And you don’t look dead to me!”
“I was banned from competing,” Wei Ying said, suddenly aware that this very embarrassing conversation was happening right in front of Lan Zhan, who had gone very still. He could feel his face flushing. Fucking Jin Zixun. “I’m not competing, am I?”
Jin Zixun opened his mouth to retort, but stopped. He was looking at Lan Zhan, and something he saw there must have silenced him. He scrunched his face, and for a moment Wei Ying thought he was going to spit. But he didn’t. Instead, he spun on his heel, storming away. “I’ll see you on the mat.”
Wei Ying watched him retreat and felt the fight rush out of his body. “Fuck that guy,” he said, dispassionately. “Sorry about that, Lan Zhan. I probably should’ve mentioned,” he looked at Lan Zhan now, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m -- uh -- kind of banned by the IWUF from competitions? I should’ve realized it would cause problems, showing up like this. I’ll go grab Jin Ling and we can go --”
“Stay.”
Wei Ying risked looking up at Lan Zhan’s face at last. It was the same it always was. He couldn’t sense any judgment or regret. Lan Zhan’s face wasn’t the easiest to read, it was true, but Wei Ying thought that maybe he glimpsed something else there. Something warm.
“Are you sure?” he asked uncertainly.
Lan Zhan looked at him, then toward the mat where Jin Ling stood with his group of friends. Jin Ling was watching Wei Ying anxiously, clearly too distracted to focus on the competition. “Mm,” Lan Zhan said. “I have to go. I am up soon.”
Wei Ying perked up. “Sanda?” he asked.
Lan Zhan nodded. Wei Ying smiled in reply. “Good. Is it overstepping for me to ask you to kick his ass?”
Lan Zhan’s eyes flashed down at him, then looked back over his shoulder again. “It is a competition.”
Wei Ying laughed. “True. Well, I’ll be cheering for you, Lan Zhan. Give ‘em hell.”
--------
Watching Lan Zhan’s match was like watching everything Wei Ying loved about wushu. Lan Zhan’s natural grace and reserve were displayed to their best advantage by the match, especially in comparison to Jin Zixun. It wasn’t that Jin Zixun was bad , exactly. Wei Ying could see the skill, the work he put into it. In Wei Ying’s estimate, it added up to a perfectly mediocre practitioner of the art. But Lan Zhan …
Lan Zhan moved through the match as though he had the forms etched into the very fabric of his being. Even his stillness was the stillness of deep water. Dangerous. Unopposable. Every kick and feint and strike was deliberate -- no more and no less than exactly what was required. He moved with the efficient grace of an object falling through space -- as though he were the very laws of physics: motion commanded only by the forces of nature.
Wei Ying watched him in awe. What wouldn’t he give to be out there with him? To be the one standing across from Lan Zhan on the mat. He was wasted on Jin Zixun, whose style was showy, often choosing strikes affording the most flourish instead of the most effective. He was clearly trying to take Lan Zhan by surprise by resorting to large spinning kicks and jumps. Sure, they were impressive to watch -- it was close to the sort of thing choreographed for a movie. But it wasn’t the true reality of wushu, an art that often demanded a quick, easy strike, the cat-like slip through another’s guard.
And that was the other thing that had Wei Ying itching to get out there. Watching Lan Zhan was like watching poetry. But, he was a sonnet: 14 lines of movement, a steady iambic pentameter, a rhyming couplet. Lan Zhan used the forms deliberately and elegantly -- he was, in Wei Ying’s estimate, a genius at what he did. But the rigid forms were ingrained in everything he did. Maybe, if Wei Ying could just get out there, if he could face Lan Zhan as an opponent, then he could take him by surprise in the manner that Jin Zixun was trying and failing so desperately.
It wasn’t about the flashy kicks that Jin Zixun was telegraphing to space. It was just a matter of finding Lan Zhan’s rhythm -- finding the beat of the measure, and then slipping through. A trochee at the end of a line. And then, it would be so simple. To catch his foot. To bring him crashing down to the mat. Lan Zhan would be under him, blinking up in disbelief, as Wei Ying smiled down at him in victory, the points his --
“I am afraid that I am going to have to ask you to leave.”
Wei Ying tore his eyes away from the bout, where Lan Zhan had just easily dodged yet another flying spin kick -- Jin Zixun was already showing signs of fatigue from his poor decisions -- and found himself face to face with an older man, white hair swept in a top knot, long beard waxed and tidy. He was wearing the pale blue wushu uniform of Cloud Recesses. Two people in suits stood behind him, each holding a clipboard and looking threateningly official.
“Who are you?” Wei Ying asked, which was definitely rude. But then, his brain had been rather rudely interrupted from more pleasant thoughts. He wasn’t fully back to firing on all cylinders.
The man scowled at him. “Lan Qiren. I am the senior instructor at Cloud Recesses,” he said, “and the host of this event. I must ask you to leave.”
The senior instructor -- something clicked in Wei Ying’s mind. He could see, now, the resemblance. This was Lan Zhan’s relative. His father? Wei Ying’s eyes flicked back to the mat. Lan Zhan was bowing to Jin Zixun. The match was over. “I --” he started.
“You are not welcome at IWUF events,” one of the officials interjected. “Please leave before we call the police to escort you out.”
“No, no, that’s not necessary,” Wei Ying said quickly. “I’ll go. Let me just collect my nephew. LingLing!”
Jin Ling, who was standing a bit away with the rest of the kids, frowned over at him, his hands balled into fists at his side.
“Time to go!” Wei Ying called, smiling as cheerily as possible. He wanted to get out of this, before anyone else noticed. Before Lan Zhan noticed.
Jin Ling said something to his friends, and then stalked up to him. “What’s going on?” he demanded, eyeing the Lan Qiren and the suits.
“You ready?” Wei Ying asked, ignoring the question. “Come on, let’s go get some ice cream.”
With that, he bundled Jin Ling out the door, without sparing so much as a glance backward.
--------
Lan Zhan lay in bed, breaking his own nighttime rule as he stared into the blue light of his phone. It was late, and he was tired from the day. But his mind was buzzing, a barrage of unfamiliar feelings sitting heavy in his stomach.
魏婴 Wei Ying
sorry to leave so suddenly! thx for the invite jl really enjoyed it
congrats on ur match