Archive of Our Own

Poor Lan Qiren had had to clutch his desk to brace himself when the principal announced the new head of department at the staff meeting.

Wei Ying.

That name, that face.

Lan Qiren pictures a small, untidy boy with a cheeky grin. He sees scraped knees, bedecked with blades of broken grass. Doodles on a desk, a few made in pencil, most in permanent marker. A muddy football sailing cleanly through a glass window.

Above all of that, he sees the scowling, unhappy face of his younger nephew, begging and pleading with his uncle to please, please seat him beside anybody else.

As it turns out, adult Wei Ying is nothing like his younger self. Still the same grin, yes, but there’s a new gravity to it now, a certain solemnity brought on by the passage of years. On his first day, he surprises Lan Qiren with a hug and a heavy box filled with bottles of Eu Yan Sang chicken essence and the finest ginseng bird’s nest.

“Now that I'm in education myself, I realise just how awful I was to you back then. I'm sorry for causing you so many headaches! Lan-laoshi, I really look forward to working with you.”

As an informal rule, the staff go on a first-name basis with each other, but Lan Qiren knows he will always be Lan-laoshi to Wei Ying.

As head of department, Wei Ying is startlingly competent. Not only does he know the curriculum like the back of his hand, but his pedagogy methods are also largely aligned with Lan Qiren’s own. It doesn’t take long for the other teachers to notice that Wei Ying is a hands-on, caring teacher. Quite unlike his predecessor, Lan Qiren muses, who was admittedly more of a pencil-pusher.

No, Wei Ying is different. From the moment of his arrival, he had disdained the idea of having his own private office, preferring instead to sit in the cube farm with the other teachers to partake in the chatter and discussions. Despite their reporting relationship, he treats Lan Qiren with a hefty amount of respect. At the same time, there’s a certain sharp-mindedness hidden behind his joking facade which Lan Qiren finds extremely familiar. Their conversations energise him, and he unexpectedly finds himself beginning to anticipate the rush hour commute to school in the mornings, eagerly awaiting the moment where he might have yet another stimulating exchange with his new boss.

Lan Qiren realises, with some mild surprise, that he’s not had this kind of banter or rapport with a colleague in years.

At some point, he takes to bringing Wei Ying hot tea in the mornings.

“Aiya!” Wei Ying exclaims, smiling. “Orange peel pu-erh, my favourite! Lan-laoshi, ah. You’re spoiling me.”

“You young people really should drink more hot drinks. Too many of those cold, iced drinks like bubble tea are bad for your digestion.”

But Wei Ying just laughs. He's thirty-six this year, and in Lan Qiren’s humble opinion, the perfect picture of youth and health.

“How's your family?” he asks Lan Qiren now, resting his forearms cheerfully over the divider between their desks. “Your nephews? Lan Huan and… ah… the other one? What’s his name again?”

Lan Qiren takes a moment to respond.

He thinks of Lan Zhan, his younger nephew, and of the day Lan Zhan had had his crayons stolen and broken by another student in their class. Before any of the teachers had gotten the chance to intervene, Wei Ying had gotten there first. He’d given Lan Zhan his own crayons, and then he’d cheerfully confronted the other boy and come away with a bloody nose.

Lan Qiren thinks of the paper hearts Wei Ying had handed out to his friends on Children’s Day, some twenty-nine long years ago. Love you forever :), he’d written on Lan Zhan’s. Lan Qiren thinks about how the heart, now crumpled and slightly discoloured, still hangs on the wall above Lan Zhan’s bed. Once, Lan Zhan’s ex had unknowingly brushed it to the floor, and Lan Zhan had immediately broken up with him, just for that.

Lan Qiren clears his throat. “Lan Zhan. My younger nephew. He considered you his best friend, you know.”

Wei Ying wrinkles his nose, thinking. “Oh, yeah! I think we played football together? Shit, my memory is so bad. Wait, best friend? I'd always thought he hated me. Because… of something to do with crayons. Lan-laoshi, ah, tell me the truth. I ate his crayons, didn’t I?”

Not for the first time in his life, Lan Qiren thinks he might shake Wei Ying. Instead, he looks pointedly down at Wei Ying’s hand. “Are you married?”

It's Wei Ying’s turn to be taken aback. “W-what?” he laughs, a flush rising on his cheeks. “I'm not, but why would you ask me that?”

Lan Qiren spins his chair away with a satisfied huff. “No reason.”

“Wait a minute,” Wei Ying says. His eyes are wide, sparking with good humour and mischief and delight. “Lan-laoshi! Are you trying to… set me up with someone?”

Lan Qiren turns again to look him squarely in the eye. “That depends.”

“Huh? On what?”

Lan Qiren rubs his chin. Come to think of it, he supposes, it would be quite inappropriate, considering that Wei Ying is his boss now. Maybe it should only happen after he retires. Which should probably be some time next year. Yes, yes, that would probably be for the best.

When he turns, however, he finds Wei Ying staring at him with huge eyes. Lan Qiren mentally curses his own carelessness. He hadn’t meant to say any of that out loud!

But Wei Ying’s expression turns unexpectedly sad and serious. He hurries around the desk and sinks to a crouch beside Lan Qiren. “Lan-laoshi? You’re… retiring?”

“I'm thinking about it,” Lan Qiren grumbles, supremely annoyed at being caught off-guard. “I'll be sixty-three next year, after all.”

Wei Ying’s face crumples. “I see. That's such a shame. You were always my favourite teacher. Even though, you know. I probably wasn’t your favourite student.”

Wei Ying is in a low mood for the rest of the week. He does his best to hide it with his usual jokes and banter.

Lan Qiren is surprised at two things: first, at the depth of Wei Ying’s feelings; and second, at how well he’s come to know Wei Ying in the past few months.

A memory intrudes. Lan Qiren remembers attending Wei Ying’s parents’ funeral twenty-eight years ago. For weeks afterward, Wei Ying had continued laughing and playing with his classmates in the quad as usual, his smile never quite reaching his eyes.

In the present, Lan Qiren brings Wei Ying a tin of homemade love letters, hoping to lift his spirits. “My little nephew made these for me to share with people at work.”

“Lan Zhan made these?” Wei Ying helps himself to one, smiling at Lan Qiren’s clipped nod. “They’re so crisp and buttery. I’ve not had love letters this good in forever! Does he have his own bakery or something?”

Lan Qiren stifles a smile. “No. He has a day job as a pharmacist, and this is just something he does as a hobby. If you like these, you should tell him yourself. I'll be inviting him along to the next family day.”

The school’s family day falls on a Saturday morning during the June break.

Lan Qiren looks proudly up at his two nephews as they walk together into the sunlit park where the festivities are held. He waves to his colleagues, most of whom are with their children and spouses.

It had taken a surprisingly small amount of convincing for his nephews to agree to come with him. Lan Zhan had hesitated, but then Lan Huan had looked at him across the dinner table, and the two of them had had a silent conversation with each other over Lan Qiren’s cooking. And the matter was settled.

They would both attend, because their uncle was a sentimental person, and because he wanted to show Wei Ying off — look at how mature he is now, how competent, how respectful! My former student, now my boss!

It's Lan Huan who spots Wei Ying first. He nudges his brother excitedly and points, waving enthusiastically. Lan Zhan looks quickly, and then back down at his feet, a deep, intense flush spreading over his face.

Wei Ying comes bounding over to greet them. He's in a sports singlet and tight joggers, his tanned tattooed arms on display.

Tattoos. Lan Qiren blinks at the dark ink marking Wei Ying’s broad shoulders and arms, which are barely concealed by the brief singlet. Had it not been for the long-sleeved dress shirts that Wei Ying always wears in school, he would never have known. Still, Lan Qiren muses, it suits him. Not exactly a teacherly look, but it definitely adds to his character.

“Lan-laoshi,” Wei Ying exclaims. He gives Lan Qiren a tight, sweaty hug.

Lan Qiren hugs him back heartily, pleased at the warmth, the easy familiarity. When he turns, both his nephews are staring, eyes wide as saucers.

“Wei Ying,” he says. “My nephews — Lan Huan, and you’ve definitely met Lan Zhan before. You were in the same class, and you were once best friends.”

“Hi,” Wei Ying says. He gives Lan Huan’s hand a quick polite shake, then he clasps his hands together and bows deeply to Lan Zhan. “Lan Zhan! Oh god. I'm so, so sorry, I don't really remember much about our time in school together. What I do remember though, is eating your crayons. And for that, I'd like to sincerely apologise. If you have any children of your own, I'd be happy to pay for a lifetime’s supply of crayons for them.”

Lan Huan stifles a snort. Just as Lan Qiren opens his mouth, Lan Zhan says in a soft voice, “Wei Ying, I don't have any children.”

Lan Qiren can’t take it anymore. “That's not what happened. As I recall, you fought with another child who stole and broke Lan Zhan’s crayons.”

“Yes, shushu. That's also what I remember.”

Wei Ying puts his hands over his face. “Oh, I did? I was always getting into trouble then. I’m just so grateful that Lan-laoshi never gave up on me. I used to dread his lessons because he was so stern. But he helped me to focus, and he made me fall in love with Chinese literature. It's entirely thanks to him that I am where I am today.”

Lan Qiren’s lips twitch. Wordlessly, he puts his arm around Wei Ying.

“So,” Wei Ying says cheerfully, popping a slice of papaya into his mouth. The three of them are sitting at a picnic table in the shade of a large tree, sharing a large platter of fresh cut fruit. “There’s a telematch over there, and an art competition, and a photobooth… who’s interested in those?”

Lan Huan clears his throat delicately. “I'll probably do the telematch with shushu,” he says. “But my brother will stay put here, won’t you?”

At Lan Zhan’s jerky nod, Wei Ying tosses his head back and laughs. “Lan Zhan is dressed so nicely! He shouldn't get his clothes ruined in the telematch.”

Lan Qiren thinks, then, about how Lan Zhan had chosen his outfit this morning, quiet and thoughtful and deliberate. He had awoken to the sound of the brothers whispering together in Lan Zhan’s room.

“No, wear this shirt instead,” he’d heard Lan Huan mutter. “It's much better cut than the other one.”

Lan Qiren is jolted out of his reverie by Wei Ying saying, “Lan Zhan, we should take a photo at the booth together to commemorate this occasion. Our fateful reunion, after what, twenty-five years? You really haven’t changed. You’re still as handsome as ever.”

Lan Qiren glances quickly at his younger nephew, whose ears are bright red.

Just then, a harried woman carrying a baby hurries up to the table. “Good, you can feed him,” she sighs, dumping both the child and her handbag in Wei Ying’s lap. “I have to go to the women’s room.”

“Come back — aiya!”

With a heavy sigh, Wei Ying slings her handbag over his shoulder without an ounce of shame. Lan Qiren watches with astonished eyes as he expertly hauls the infant into a sitting position and digs around in the handbag to produce a canister of powdered milk, a hot water flask, and an empty baby bottle. The child settles easily in his arms for the milk.

Beside him, Lan Zhan’s face is hardening, closing off, his eyes shifting to peer unseeingly down at his own feet. Lan Qiren clears his throat, his voice coming out colder and sharper than intended. “Are you the child’s father? Was that your wife?”

“What?”

He finds his tone rising. “I thought you said you weren’t married.”

“Ah, shushu —” Lan Zhan begins.

Sated, the infant lets out a small burp, the teat of the bottle falling quietly from his mouth. Wei Ying heaves him over his shoulder and rubs his back gently.

“That was my sister,” Wei Ying says, softly. “I invited her and my brother-in-law today. But as you can see, A-Ling is far too young to enjoy most of these activities.”

The woman bustles up to them. “I'm back,” she says, ruffling Wei Ying’s hair. “Did he finish everything?”

Wei Ying beams. “Yeah.”

“Thank you.” She plucks the sleepy baby from Wei Ying’s arms and picks up her handbag. “I'm so sorry for dumping him on you like that.”

“Not at all.”

The woman tickles the baby under his chin. “Come, A-Ling. Let’s go see where your ba went. Maybe he’s at the mini golf booth, ah?”

“Lan-laoshi,” Wei Ying murmurs, after they have gone. “Are you upset with me?”

Lan Qiren takes a deep, steadying breath. He glances across the table at Lan Huan and Lan Zhan, who are both looking at him as though he’s turned radioactive.

“No,” he says, at last. “Wei Ying, you’re a good uncle.”

“Thank you,” Wei Ying whispers. He looks down at his hands, the tip of his nose glowing red. “I… I always want to be there for A-Ling. To give him the best childhood, the one I never got to have. Look, I know it’s a running joke amongst the other teachers that I have a terrible memory. And honestly I don’t mind people saying that, because it’s true!

“But the thing is, laoshi, when my parents died, I purposely made myself stop remembering things, just so that it wouldn’t hurt. The only things I chose to retain were entirely homework-related. So, no matter what happens, I never want A-Ling to go through what I did. I want him to be the happiest, most loved child in the world. You’re an uncle yourself, so hearing you say that means a lot to me.”

Overcome, Lan Qiren reaches across the table to hold Wei Ying’s wrists.

“It's true, laoshi,” Wei Ying says. He's smiling now, a watery smile, but a real one. “Being in your class, hearing you read the four classics aloud… it had a calming effect on me. I'll never forget what you did for me. It's actually why I went into teaching, you know. I hoped that someday, I might be like you. And then I’d be able to do the same, to help all of the other kids like me.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Qiren says, gently. Impossible, indeed, to fathom the depths of his influence on this bright, impressionable child. Lan Qiren finds himself recalling his own brother’s and sister-in-law’s deaths, the grief that had swept like a pall over his heart. How he had thrown himself into his work, and his care for his little nephews. He’d found comfort in routine, in presence, in discipline, in books.

Just like Wei Ying, he had actively tried to forget.

Because if you never let yourself think of the pain, it becomes easier to pretend it doesn’t exist, and that the bad things had actually happened to someone else.

No wonder, Lan Qiren thinks. No wonder he had been so drawn to this wayward, disruptive, grief-stricken child.

Laughing weakly, Wei Ying draws a hand across his eyes. “Ah, sorry, I'm rambling. I hope I didn't make anyone too uncomfortable.”

Lan Qiren sees a tentative movement from the corner of his eye.

“Wei Ying —” Lan Zhan begins, but he’s cut off by a loud blast of music. An announcer’s voice booms around the park, laced with static.

The telematch is about to begin.

“Come, shushu,” Lan Huan says, with a meaningful glance at his brother, and Lan Qiren gamely allows himself to be led away.

Lan Qiren lets himself be swept up in the excitement of the telematch; the cheers of his colleagues, the laughter of children. Lan Huan’s grin is blinding as he moves easily through the tasks: balancing an egg on a spoon, hopping to the finish line in a sleeping bag, spinning a hula hoop around his waist.

They end up in second place, losing out only to a couple of his colleagues from the PE department. Lan Qiren beams happily as they shake hands with the principal during the prize reception. He’s so proud of Lan Huan. Of them all, really.

They return to a small commotion at the picnic table. Wei Ying and his sister are fussing over the bawling infant. There’s a large purple stain down the front of Wei Ying’s singlet, and an empty plastic cup lies on its side in the grass.

Lan Qiren hurries up to Lan Zhan. “What happened? Is the baby all right?”

Lan Zhan nods. “Nothing serious. The child knocked over a cup of grape juice as he was playing. He gave himself a little scare.”

Wei Ying’s sister pinches the bridge of her nose, sniffing. “As soon as my husband gets back from the car, we’re probably going to head home.” She pats Wei Ying’s arm. “Thank you for inviting us. Sorry that we weren’t much fun.”

“It’s not your fault, jie,” Wei Ying says. He blows a loud raspberry against the child’s cheek. “Dealing with little children will do that to you. Yah, don’t cry anymore, A-Ling! I'm the one covered in grape juice, ah, not you! Look over there, your ba is back, see?”

A Jin, Lan Qiren thinks, noting the child’s father’s features. He vaguely recalls an elderly Mr Jin, who had been a close personal friend of the previous principal. In exchange for a generous donation, Mr Jin had had an entire wing in the school named after him.

Wei Ying’s brother-in-law thrusts a shirt brusquely into his hands. “My spare golf shirt. Please make sure you follow the laundry and care instructions properly this time.”

Wei Ying makes a face. “Yeah, yeah, handwash, no cheap soap, no indoor drying. Don’t worry, I got it.”

He strips off his singlet, then and there.

Beside Lan Qiren, Lan Zhan draws a long, slow breath. Lan Qiren automatically averts his gaze out of politeness. But then he hears Lan Huan say, “Hey, wait, I recognise that waterfall.”

Unable to help himself, Lan Qiren looks. He sees a waterfall on Wei Ying’s chest: done in the style of shan shui, swirling strokes and muted ink, and extremely beautiful.

Just like Lan Huan, he would know that waterfall anywhere.

Twenty-four years ago, Lan Qiren had had a hanging scroll with that exact waterfall on it. It’d hung on the wall behind his desk in the staff room. He’d bought it on a whim from a master artist at a night market in Taipei. One week after he’d put it up, Lan Qiren had found twelve-year-old Wei Ying kicking a football alone in the rain after school. He'd brought Wei Ying into the staff room and given him a dry towel, a cup of hot ovaltine, and a steamed bun from the canteen, before promptly launching into a well-deserved lecture about good health habits.

But during a pause in his speech, Wei Ying had pointed to the scroll behind Lan Qiren’s head. “Lan-laoshi, what does that waterfall mean?”

And Lan Qiren had frowned. As usual, Wei Ying seemed to be trying to deflect the lesson. Still, he had answered. “‘Taste the water, remember the source.’”

“Huh?”

“Remember your past, have gratitude for your present. 饮水思源，比喻不忘本。”

“Oh.” Wei Ying had paused, staring at the waterfall. “It's so beautiful, laoshi. Which waterfall is it?”

“I don't know,” Lan Qiren had answered, honestly. “But it looks like Lushan.”

Lan Qiren didn’t remember much of the rest of the interaction. After the lecture, Wei Ying had apologised and thanked him for the hot drink and food. And then the year had ended, and Wei Ying had graduated. A new principal had joined the staff, and immediately declared the scroll to be an eyesore. And Lan Qiren had quietly taken the scroll down from the wall and brought it home, because while he loved the scroll, he loved his job and students more.

The scroll had sat in a cardboard box in the storage room of his house for decades. That is, until Lan Qiren moved in with his nephews five years ago. His eyesight had been beginning to fail, and he had started needing a bit of help with small household tasks. The scroll had gotten lost in the shuffle.

Lan Qiren had shrugged it off. It had been years since he’d last looked at or thought of it, anyway.

Until now.

“Lushan,” Lan Qiren murmurs, and Wei Ying smiles at him.

“See, laoshi,” he says. “I remember.”

Wei Ying has a couplet inked beside the waterfall in flowing calligraphy, over his heart. 落其实者思其树，饮其流者怀其源。

Lan Qiren presses his lips together. He can feel his eyes growing warm.

“It’s very beautiful,” Lan Huan says, with genuine sincerity. He gestures eagerly to his brother. “Look, xiaowanzi. Doesn’t it look exactly like shushu’s old scroll?”

And Lan Zhan nods, ears very pink. “It does.”

Wei Ying grins. “Lan Zhan, ah! I have more tattoos I can show you if you like the style of that one. But maybe some other time, when we’re not in a public space surrounded by lots of people.”

Lan Qiren clears his throat. “We should probably head off,” he says, pointedly. “It's almost noon, and the event is nearly over.”

“Yeah!” Wei Ying says. He pulls his brother-in-law’s golf polo cheerfully over his head. “Lan Huan, Lan Zhan, it was really nice to meet you both. Please take good care of your uncle for me! As for laoshi — I'll see you on Monday, as usual!”

“Goodbye, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan whispers.

The ride home is silent but pleasant. Lan Huan hums quietly along to an instrumental song as he drives. In the front passenger seat, Lan Qiren closes his eyes. He thinks of Wei Ying, and of that rainy afternoon, and of the old scroll, lost to time.

Lan Zhan’s soft voice drifts over from the back seat. “He liked my love letters.”

Lan Qiren doesn’t say anything. After a moment, Lan Huan says, “You worked very hard to make them.”

“Mm. I did.”

There’s another silence.

“He liked my shirt as well,” Lan Zhan says. His tone is light, carefully neutral.

Lan Huan turns the wheel. “He has good taste.”

There’s an insinuation in his older nephew’s voice. Lan Qiren knows it for what it is. It’s so innate, so familiar, that he does not need to go out of his way to look for its meaning.

Back in their home, Lan Huan waits for Lan Zhan to go into his room. Then he rounds on Lan Qiren.

“Shushu.” Cautious, soft, respectful. “What was that all about?”

A question below the question. Lan Qiren smoothly turns it back on Lan Huan. “Don’t you think it’s a good thing?”

“I…” Lan Huan looks lost for a moment. “But there's more than one person’s happiness at stake here.”

“I didn't mean it in that way,” Lan Qiren says, very gently. He looks at Lan Zhan’s closed door for a moment, then back at Lan Huan’s face, protective and resolute.

“It's not just my own happiness that I'm thinking of.”

And eventually, Lan Huan nods.

Ah, Lan Qiren thinks. He's complicit in this now.

Wei Ying is in good spirits for the rest of the week. There’s a palpable glow to his movements, a secret simmering below the surface, effervescent as joy.

Lan Qiren thinks he might know the reason. His confidence in the matter rises when Wei Ying shows up on Friday morning in a sharply-cut dress shirt and slacks.

“Laoshi, ah,” Wei Ying says sheepishly, leaning over the divider. “I'm so embarrassed to say this, but I have to trouble you to replace me for the 6PM school bus duty today.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you,” Wei Ying says, solemnly. “I'll make it up to you next week.”

Lan Qiren’s phone buzzes. When he picks it up, he sees a message from Lan Huan.

Shushu, it’s just the two of us for dinner tonight. I'll steam us a small pomfret and some vegetables. See you later.

Lan Qiren suppresses a smile.

At five-thirty, Wei Ying makes to bounce out of the office with the biggest grin on his face. “See you on Monday, laoshi. Have a happy weekend!”

“Bye, Wei Ying,” Lan Qiren replies, pleasantly. “Enjoy your date.”

At the doorway of the staff room, Wei Ying freezes, a deer caught in the headlights.

“Ah?” he turns towards Lan Qiren, smiling nervously. “I'm… I… I don't remember saying — wait, laoshi! How did you know?”

Very deliberately, Lan Qiren helps himself to a love letter from the jar on his desk. “I just guessed.”

Wei Ying peers at him furtively. “And — do you approve?”

“Well,” Lan Qiren says. “It's your love life, not mine. It’s not my place to say whether or not I approve.”

Wei Ying squints at him. “Right. But…”

“You’re a good person, Wei Ying. I absolutely know you will treat your girlfriend well.”

Silence. Lan Qiren feels almost gratified at the flush suffusing Wei Ying’s face. He spins his chair about to hide his expression and pretends to forage for a piece of paper on his desk.

Wei Ying’s mouth opens and closes a few times. “Laoshi, ah,” he says at last. “It’s not a woman I’m going out with.”

All the same, Lan Qiren thinks, pleased. He rubs his chin. “Very well. In that case, I have every confidence that you will treat your boyfriend well.”

“He’s not my…” Wei Ying bites his lip. “I haven't asked him yet. We haven’t been seeing each other for that long, but I just know he’s the one. I was planning on asking him tonight, actually. I really hope he’ll say yes.”

Lan Qiren looks carefully at Wei Ying’s face, earnest and pink. His eyes drift to the paper bag that Wei Ying is carrying. Inside is a boxy gift wrapped in light blue paper with a repeating cartoon rabbit motif.

He stands, and places a hand on Wei Ying’s shoulder. “I know he will.”

The next day is a Saturday. Lan Qiren puts on a Teochew opera and prepares to vacuum the house. It's six in the morning, and his nephews are currently at the park for their daily ten-kilometre run.

When Lan Qiren enters Lan Zhan’s bedroom, he sees a new paper heart hanging above the bed.

To Lan Zhan, it reads. 还在爱你哦！from: 你唯一的心上人（男朋友）

There's a new baking set on Lan Zhan’s desk that looks heavy and expensive. Lan Qiren smiles to himself. He does not need to look in the wastepaper basket for the remnants of the bunny wrapping paper.

“He said yes,” Wei Ying says, on Monday. He's smiling at Lan Qiren, a little nervous, a little tentative, clutching a steaming mug of coffee close to his chest.

Lan Qiren feels a rare smile spreading over his face. “Wei Ying, I'm so very glad you found your happiness.”

Lan Qiren’s announcement about his retirement takes the school staff by surprise.

“You’re only sixty-two,” the principal exclaims in dismay, when Lan Qiren announces that his last day will be in January. “You still have a good five or six years yet.”

“I've already decided,” Lan Qiren declares. “I've been looking forward to this for a long time. I want to enjoy my grandchildren.”

The principal gives Lan Qiren a strange look. He's a decent man, Lan Qiren thinks. They've known each other for close to fifteen years. He and Lan Qiren know the basics of each other’s lives: hobbies, likes and dislikes, family members’ names.

“I thought your nephews were both single. Did one of them get married and have a child?” the principal asks, confused. “If so, the school would’ve sent a red envelope and a congratulatory hamper.”

“Not married yet,” Lan Qiren says. “And, well, no grandkids as of this moment. But I expect it will happen very soon.”

“Well,” the principal says. “In any case, I’m very happy for you, laoshi. After all you’ve done for the school and students, you deserve a good retirement.”

Tributes begin to pour in, from old and new students alike.

“That bouquet is from Nie Huaisang!” Wei Ying exclaims, as he walks past Lan Qiren’s desk. “I'm so surprised he sent you something, laoshi. He always said he wanted to forget everything about school.”

Lan Qiren vaguely remembers Nie Huaisang: a boy with a confused, uncertain face, who had been a part of Wei Ying’s friend group for a spell. Nie Huaisang had surprised everyone in his final term by coming in within the top five in their cohort for the leaving exams, just behind Wei Ying.

On Lan Qiren’s last day, Wei Ying books a private room at an expensive seafood restaurant. He invites everyone in their department to attend the banquet, and Lan Qiren’s nephews as well.

Lan Qiren watches Lan Zhan and Wei Ying carefully throughout dinner, but their interactions remain brief, professional, and polite. Anyone looking at them would believe them to be strangers; the kind of people who only see each other infrequently at class reunions, and who keep their personal feelings buried deep, out of respect for the people around them, and reverence for the occasion.

That night, Lan Qiren wakes at four in the morning to a soft scraping noise in the kitchen.

Quietly, he climbs out of bed and shuffles out of his bedroom for a look. His limbs creak, just a little, as he moves through the dark house. In the predawn darkness, he sees Lan Zhan standing alone in the kitchen, brewing tea.

“Xiaowanzi,” Lan Qiren whispers, and Lan Zhan spins around, eyes wide.

“Shushu,” he breathes.

Lan Qiren stops. Lan Zhan is wearing his usual sleep pants, but it’s the red flannel button-down with dark accents that catches Lan Qiren’s attention. He has seen that shirt before. Just earlier that evening, in fact. On an entirely different person.

“You’re up early,” Lan Qiren remarks.

Lan Zhan looks down, flushing deeply to the tips of his ears. “Mm. I came outside to make some tea.”

Lan Qiren looks at the mugs on the counter. Not one, but two.

“Shushu —”

“Does he treat you well?” Lan Qiren murmurs. “Do you see a future with him?”

Lan Zhan’s head snaps up. “Shushu.” He looks as though he’d been punched. “You know about — how long have you known?”

Lan Qiren smiles. “For a long time.”

He watches Lan Zhan digest this. Quietly taking it in, turning each remark, each moment, each memory over in his mind.

“I'm sorry,” Lan Zhan says, at last. “For keeping it a secret from you, shushu. Neither of us wanted to create problems for you at work.”

“I know, and I appreciate that,” Lan Qiren says. “But as of today, I no longer work for the school any more.”

Lan Zhan ducks his head. “Then, in that case, I'd like to introduce him to you and ge. Formally.”

Ah, here it comes, at last.

“I look forward to meeting him,” Lan Qiren says, folding his lips together. “Do you think he and I will get along?”

And for the first time, Lan Qiren sees the hint of a genuine smile blooming across Lan Zhan’s face.

“Yes, shushu,” he says. “I have a strong feeling that you will approve.”