Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

「 There’s a place you just can’t reach,
unless you have a dream too large to bear alone. 」

He sees the exact moment the minute hand ticks past noon. 

The clock chimes once, loud and obnoxious, echoing around the tall walls of the lecture hall. Perking up, Jiang Cheng turns expectantly towards the front of the lecture hall. Yet, to his frustration, nothing around him changes. The professor continues to drone on. The class continues to diligently take notes. They have been on the same fucking slide for the last fifteen minutes , and literally all it says is the name of the course. Biting back a groan, he looks again to his watch, impatience only growing with every passing second.

It’s the first week of class. Truthfully, he had been banking on this class ending early, but his professor is taking an unnecessarily long time to explain the syllabus, and now, they are running late . Jiang Cheng had stopped listening a full ten minutes ago , consumed with anxiety and a single thought: he needs to go. He needs to go.

Finally, the professor pulls up a YouTube video. 

“And to conclude today’s class—” 

Yes.

“I would like to show you a video on process innovation in a company that I’m sure all of you know of.”

As he catches sight of the video’s title, Jiang Cheng closes his eyes, praying for patience. Around him, his classmates have begun snickering and shooting him meaningful looks. The professor’s crinkled eyes twinkle at him.

The professor clicks play. After a short moment, a woman’s voice begins to speak pleasantly.

“At Jiang Enterprises,” begins the voiceover, “innovation is a core part of the business model, whether it comes to food, hospitality, or electronics. As one of the biggest conglomerates in China, Jiang Enterprises has…”

Jiang Cheng tunes out the rest of the video, discreetly opening up WeChat on his laptop.

臭婴儿 // Big Baby

class running over time. meet outside your lecture building?
12:05PM

He waits for a full minute, but does not receive a response. His message has not even been read. A burst of irritation overcomes him, and he slams his laptop shut just as the video draws to an end with Jiang Enterprises’ familiar corporate motto:

“Achieving the Impossible. For you. With you.”

The professor ends the lecture, and Jiang Cheng immediately books it out of there. His chauffeur is already waiting at the foyer when he reaches the main building. He jumps into the car, pulling on his seatbelt.

“Zhongyang Conservatory,” he says shortly. “And step on it, please.”

They reach the university within twenty minutes. Swinging his messenger bag over one shoulder, Jiang Cheng hops out of the car and heads off for the lecture hall at a dead run. He manages to draw his phone out of his bag as he does so. Opening Wechat, however, he finds that his message has still not been read. Sure enough, there is no one waiting for him outside the lecture hall.

Making an educated guess, he heads towards the recording studios instead. He is immediately recognized by a student as he makes his way through the winding corridors. The boy nods at him in greeting, carrying a trombone over one shoulder.

“Here to drag your brother out for lunch?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng manages, still breathless from the run.

The boy nods again, and points. “He’s in that studio.”

“Thanks,” Jiang Cheng pants, and pushes the right door open. 

As expected, Wei Wuxian is still in front of the computer, biting his thumbnail down. His notes are strewn all over the table, his instruments not even in their respective cases yet. Jiang Cheng’s irritation doubles.

“Wei Wuxian!” he snaps, and immediately begins to gather up the papers. “We are late to meet Dad! We were supposed to be waiting at the foyer ten minutes ago!”

“I know, I know,” Wei Wuxian groans. “It’s just— the file is too big. I need to wait for it to finish rendering before I can save it.”

As Wei Wuxian waits anxiously for the loading bar to complete, Jiang Cheng hurriedly begins to put the scattered instruments back in their cases, neatening the papers and slotting them into Wei Wuxian’s bag. Finally, the application finishes processing and Wei Wuxian manages to save his file.

It’s another five minutes or so of frantic packing before they leave the recording studio, carrying a few bags each of recording equipment and instruments. They are halfway to the foyer when Wei Wuxian startles, slapping first at his pockets, and then ferreting desperately through his bags. He looks up at Jiang Cheng.

“I think—” he begins, “I think I left my headphones in the recording studio.”

Those headphones were a present from Father, noise-cancelling, top of the range. Jiang Cheng knows just how attached his adopted brother is to those headphones. Groaning, he thrusts the bags into Wei Wuxian’s arms.

“Head to the foyer first,” he orders. “I’ll get your headphones and catch up with you.”

With a firm nod, Wei Wuxian turns and continues to hobble determinedly towards the foyer, all but drowning in bulky black bags and instrument cases. Jiang Cheng sprints back to the recording building and locates the studio they’d just left. Thankfully, he finds the headphones still hooked up to the computer. 

He carefully unplugs them, and runs back out.

By the time he reaches the foyer, a familiar burgundy limousine is already waiting. While the driver helps Wei Wuxian to load his stuff into the car, Father stands by the open door, checking his watch. He turns as Jiang Cheng arrives panting, and frowns.

“A-Cheng,” he begins disapprovingly, “why didn’t you help your brother carry his things from the studio?” He looks down at his watch again. “You are also very late.”

Abruptly, Jiang Cheng’s throat tightens up. He doesn’t think he could say anything at this point, even if he wanted to. At that moment, however, Wei Wuxian comes hopping out of the car, eyes wide, and hands held out placatingly.

“He did help!” he protests. “I left my headphones back in the recording studio and only discovered halfway here, so he left the bags with me and ran back to get it! We didn’t mean to be late, Uncle Jiang. I’m sorry. It was my fault for not leaving the recording studio on time.” 

He holds out his hand for his headphones and, with a lump in his throat, Jiang Cheng wordlessly hands it to him. Father’s eyes widen at that gesture.

“Oh,” he says, and swallows. “I— I’m sorry, A-Cheng.”

But the lump in Jiang Cheng’s throat does not dissolve. Unable to speak, he just shakes his head and shrugs, as if to say it’s okay. Not meeting his father’s eye, he climbs into the limousine, sits down, and looks determinedly out of the window.

To say that Jiang Cheng had never been the apple of his father’s eye would be to speak an unfortunate but undeniable truth. 

He’s never been the apple of his father’s eye. Truthfully, Jiang Cheng doesn’t think he’s ever been the apple of anyone’s eye. His sister used to tease that he’d come out of his mother’s womb frowning. He’d proceeded to grow into a sullen, scowling child, and then a sullen, scowling teen, and now into a sullen, scowling adult. To put it bluntly, he had been a spectacularly un-adorable child, silent and glowering like he’d emerged into the world carrying the memory of a thousand past lives’ grudges.

That was unfortunate fact number one.

Here’s unfortunate fact number two:

Wei Wuxian.

Yeah, that’s it. That’s unfortunate fact number two.

Jiang Cheng vividly remembers the day his father had come home with Wei Wuxian in the car. Pale and thin, all but drowning in tattered and poorly patched up clothes, the boy had nevertheless emerged from the car, chattering with all the brightness of the sun. Even then, he had been effervescent; cheerful, sociable, and unfortunately— utterly adorable.

Father’s eyes had not left the boy’s face for even a moment as he’d led the boy up into the Jiang family mansion. They had stayed rooted and smiling even as Jiang Cheng had run excitedly down the foyer to greet him, even as his dogs had followed, barking excitedly in tow. He had only looked away as that boyish grin had turned to tears, as the chatter had turned to screams.

At that point, Jiang Cheng had only had Princess, Jasmine, Coral and Lovely for two weeks, but he had already known in his little five-year-old heart that he had four soulmates, and that their names were Princess, Jasmine, Coral, and Lovely. In other words, he had been completely and utterly smitten, and found it frankly incomprehensible how any sane human being could not like dogs. And thus, he knew that Wei Wuxian had to be no good news at all. Probably a demon. Maybe some gremlin in hiding.

Supernatural premonition had likely been the reason for the lump in his throat as he’d watched his father pick that strange boy up, as he’d walked up the stairs, bouncing Wei Wuxian on his hip and murmuring soothingly. Jiang Cheng could count on one hand the number of times his father had held him like that.

He still remembers trailing after them, wanting to speak, wanting to shout for his father— but struck strangely speechless, for the first but not the last time. That evening, around the dinner table, he had watched in that same powerless silence as Father had explained the situation.

At the time, he had only explained the bare bones of it, but Jiang Cheng had slowly gathered the rest of the story over the years. Wei Wuxian’s parents had been Father’s best friends from childhood. Although they had once shared dreams of travelling together, making music and starting an independent label, Father had eventually been unable to join them. The other two had gone on to start Wei Records while touring as an instrumental duo. Unfortunately, just as they had begun their rise into stardom, they had met an unfortunate end on the way to a performance venue, leaving their only son behind.

Mother had watched stonily as Father explained that Wei Wuxian would be living with them from then on.

“From now on,” he had said, “A-Xian will be your brother.”

Jiang Cheng had finally stood up, unable to listen on for a moment longer.

“He doesn’t even like dogs!” he’d blurted out, with all the strident horror of a five-year-old. “How can a person who doesn’t like dogs become my brother?”

Father had turned to him with an expression of indescribable disappointment, and Jiang Cheng had shrunk back in his seat. For the second, but not the last time, he had been struck painfully mute by that single expression.

The next day, he’d emerged from his room late in the afternoon, having spent most of the previous night crying inconsolably into his blankets. Somehow, although he had overslept by many many hours, no one had come to wake him. As he’d wandered the empty, echoing corridors of the Jiang family mansion, he had become increasingly confused. Like a living nightmare, he’d begun to run through the manor, searching frantically for his missing companions. At last, he’d found his Father reading the newspaper in the parlor, and burst into tears.

“I can’t find them,” he’d sobbed. “Princess, Jasmine, Coral, and Lovely— they’ve gone missing!”

Bewildered, Father had immediately risen, setting his newspaper aside.

“I—” he had begun, numbly. “I did not know you were so attached to them, A-Cheng. They’ve only been here for two weeks.”

He’d bitten his lip.

“I gave them away.”

After a short drive, the limousine pulls up at the entrance of an opulent hotel, set in the very heart of Beijing. Lotus Pier’s manager is already waiting by the front doors. Bowing and greeting Father in a low voice, he ushers them up the stairs of the grand foyer and into a restaurant. The restaurant is bustling and lively, but somehow serene, set on a large terrace that overlooks a sprawling field of lotuses. It’s clear from the first glance that the restaurant is fully booked, but they are quickly guided towards a private room.

Over the past few years, this particular restaurant has steadily gained a reputation as one of the best restaurants in the country, raising the profile of the hotel along with it. Only three weeks ago, the restaurant had finally been awarded its third Michelin star, cementing Lotus Pier’s status as the crown jewel of Jiang Hospitality. 

Inside the room, his mother and sister are already waiting. Mother immediately narrows her eyes.

“You are late,” she notes bitingly.

“I apologize, my lady,” Father responds.

They sit down around the table.

“A-Xian, A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli greets fondly. “It’s been awhile. I’ve told the staff to make all your favorites.” She turns to the waiter. “You can start bringing in the dishes. Bring some lotus seeds too.”

Wei Wuxian flings himself at her in a hug.

“Lotus seeds~!” he sings, and then pulls back. “We heard about the third Michelin star. Congratulations, A-Jie! I guess that makes you a three Michelin star chef now!”

Jiang Yanli chuckles.

“It was a team effort,” she says humbly. “I’m not the main chef of this restaurant.”

“Ah, but it was you who trained up the chefs and the staff,” Father interjects. “If not for you, would this restaurant have improved enough to earn its third Michelin star? Would Lotus Pier have gained such recognition and prestige?” He smiles warmly. “I’m so proud of you, A-Li.”

The waiter comes back with the requested lotus seeds, freshly picked and still in the pod. Amidst the crack and crumble of fingers into crispy shell, they catch up with each other on their recent activities.

“I suppose I’ll just keep on moving through our restaurants for now,” Jiang Yanli says, popping a peeled seed into Wei Wuxian’s bowl, “training up the staff, and improving the facilities and recipes one-by-one.”

Wei Wuxian lights up, abandoning the lotus seed he’d been attempting to peel with much difficulty, to devour the one in his bowl.

“A-Jie is the best!” he coos, and grins. “Maybe you can earn us a few more Michelin stars, eh?”

Jiang Yanli laughs. “I can try, but no promises.”

“If anyone can do it, it’s A-Jie!” Wei Wuxian praises shamelessly.

A round of laughter goes around the table. Father leans forward, looking to Wei Wuxian.

“And what about you, A-Xian?” he asks warmly. “How is Wei Records going?”

At that, Wei Wuxian immediately begins to prattle about the track he’d completed since they’d last met up. Much of it goes right over Jiang Cheng’s head, but Wei Wuxian quickly fishes out his phone to let them have a listen. They all quiet as he plays the track.

“The backing track is exquisite,” Father praises.

“I like it,” Jiang Yanli agrees.

Jiang Cheng just listens quietly for a few moments. The beat is complex in a way he doesn’t have the vocabulary to describe, slow, but wicked sharp, layered over one another and reverberating in a strangely textured rhythm.

“Who’s singing?” he asks instead, after a moment. He’s listened to a number of Wei Wuxian’s tracks, but this is the first time there’ve been vocals.

“I was producing the track for my coursework initially,” Wei Wuxian admits, “but my professor liked it so much that he introduced me to one of his ex-students, who’s trying to debut as a solo artist. I adapted the track. She composed and sang the vocals. I sent the track to her three days ago for review. Once she’s approved it, it will be the first track released under Wei Records.”

Father sits up with a delighted gasp.

“That’s a milestone!” he cries. “Bagging the first client is always the hardest part of starting a business, A-Xian. Congratulations!”

“I knew you could do it,” Jiang Yanli tells him warmly. “You’re so talented. Everyone should be able to see that.”

Jiang Cheng is silent for a few moments longer.

“You’ll need to do some publicity when you launch the track,” he finally says. “Or else, no one will ever hear of your track. Have you settled on your marketing plan?”

Wei Wuxian’s smile turns a little sheepish. He looks to Jiang Cheng with an embarrassed grin.

“Ah, yes,” he says, and laughs. “That’s the part I know nothing about. I’m still trying to figure that out.”

“Take your time,” Father cuts back in excitedly. “If you need anything— equipment, contacts, capital— err, manpower? I’m not so sure what goes into marketing a track either, but if you need anything, just let me know. Wei Records is a subsidiary of Jiang Enterprises. Any of Jiang Enterprises’ resources are yours now.”

Lowering his eyes, Jiang Cheng continues to peel his own lotus seed. 

Four years ago, Wei Wuxian had been accepted into the composition program under the prestigious Zhongyang Conservatory in Beijing. He had conveyed his intentions to drop out of high school, so as to begin the program immediately, and to revive Wei Records under the stage name Wei Wuxian. While Mother had been appalled, Father had been extremely supportive. He’d clearly been elated to see the revival of the company he had always dreamed of starting with his best friends. 

His father’s clear laughter brings him back to the present. He looks up to see Father leaning over the table, patting Wei Wuxian’s hand fondly.

“Oh, A-Xian, I am so excited,” he sighs. “I just know it. One day, Wei Records will be an entertainment empire, another one of Jiang Enterprises’ crown jewels.”

Father settles back into his own chair, still chuckling.

“Jiang Enterprises is a huge conglomerate,” he muses, “but we still do not have any investments in entertainment. That really is a pity, don’t you think? One that I hope to rectify, starting with Wei Records. With the rise of the internet age, digital media is truly is the future. We cannot afford to miss out.”

Finally, it seems like Mother can hold her tongue no longer, scoffing.

“Entertainment is a dangerous investment,” she cuts in. “It’s entirely out of Jiang Enterprises current core competencies.” She purses her lips. “Jiang Fengmian, don’t just go giving out money and contacts, taking unprofitable businesses under the Jiang umbrella, just because you wanted to be a musician all those years ago! We’re running a business here. There’s no room for sentimentality.”

In unison, all three children lower their eyes, sensing a brewing argument. Father’s jaw stiffens, but he somehow manages a smile.

“Ah, my lady,” he says rigidly. “You must have more faith in A-Xian’s business venture. Unprofitable? He’s already been spotted by one of his professors. One day, he will be a great CEO of a flourishing company.”

Mother slams her cup down.

“CEO!” she cries, and laughs. “Jiang Fengmian, don’t forget who your actual heir is. He is here!”

She jabs her finger at Jiang Cheng. He flinches back, hunching down in his seat.

“A-Cheng will be CEO of Jiang Enterprises one day,” she grits out, “and yet, you have not spoken even a word to him since we got here.”

Sucking in a breath, Jiang Cheng closes his eyes. That familiar lump rises again in his throat.

“Now, my lady,” Father soothes, voice strained. “This lunch is to celebrate A-Li’s achievements. Let’s not overshadow it with arguments and strife.”

Finally, he turns to Jiang Cheng, still wearing that pinched smile. 

“It’s true that I’ve not spoken nearly enough to you today, have it?” he asks lightly. “That’s unacceptable. Now that you and A-Xian are in university, we see each other so infrequently.” He laughs. “So what about you, son? What have you been up to lately? Last I heard, you were helping your mother with Yu Semiconductors?” 

Jiang Cheng startles, surprised to suddenly find himself the topic of conversation.

“Ah. Yes,” he begins.

There’s a moment of silence as he tries to figure out how to make his work sound interesting.

“I—” he eventually starts helplessly, “I’ve just been rotating through the departments, learning how everything works. This week I’m in the loading docks, so I’ve been helping to load boxes onto the trucks to be dispatched.” He pauses, realizing how trivial that sounds, and hastens to add on. “But before this, I was in the factory doing quality control on the goods we were receiving from suppliers.” 

He pauses again. That doesn’t sound much better than loading boxes, does it? It sounds like a whole lot of grunt work.

“Ah,” Father says, clearly at a loss of how to respond. “I see.”

Frantically, Jiang Cheng begins to wrack his brain for something, anything important that he’s done, anything that doesn’t sound like mere grunt work. The more he reviews his own progress in his head, however, the emptier he feels in his chest. 

It is, he realizes numbly. It is grunt work. He’d been somewhat proud of himself, excited to be learning, to be gaining real life experience in Yu Semiconductors, but the truth is— he hasn't achieved anything important, has he? 

Mustering up a look of nonchalance, he turns to Wei Wuxian instead.

“So…” he somehow manages, through the lump in his throat, “the track you’re working on now. You— you said you had problems with the… the tendering?”

It’s a poor attempt at a conversation, but Father immediately perks, turning to Wei Wuxian with a frown.

“Rendering issues?” he asks, concerned. “Is the school using cheap software?” He shakes his head, tutting. “That won’t do. If there’s a better software, you let me know. I’m sure our corporate philanthropy department would be excited to sponsor an upgrade.”

Wei Wuxian begins to shake his head frantically at that, waving his hands just as frantically in rejection.

“No, oh no,” he blurts out. “That’s really not it, Uncle Jiang. I’ve just been experimenting with layering ambient noises together to create a more textured beat, and the file is a lot bigger than usual, that’s all. No need to sponsor an upgrade!”

Father settles back down at that, but clearly looks piqued.

“Now that you haven’t told us about,” he says. “What kind of ambient noises have you been working with?”

Looking somewhat relieved, and somewhat embarrassed, Wei Wuxian begins to fish in his pocket for his phone again.

“Well, it’s more stuff like flickering lights, clashing metal, crunching sand,” he explains. “I’m trying to produce a more kinda… grungy sound. Wait, I think I have the mid-term progress submission on my phone. Have a listen.”

He plays the track.

Jiang Cheng leans in, somewhat relieved, but somewhat bitter. Across from him, Mother watches on with a stormy expression.

In retrospect, two weeks had been extremely short a span of time to get so attached to those puppies. Father had been right to be surprised.

Still, what else could he have done, when he’d had no other companions in his life up till then?

The differences between Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng had been apparent from the start. While Jiang Cheng had always been alone, what with his sour disposition and nasty temper, willing playmates had quickly begun to gravitate helplessly towards Wei Wuxian. The other kids had been quick to follow him into mischief; laughing, watching, and listening eagerly for his every command.

As much as Jiang Cheng hated to admit it, Wei Wuxian had always had that kind of artless charisma to him, effortlessly charming whoever he came into contact with— Father had not been an exception. While he’d never quite approved of Jiang Cheng’s sullen moodiness, he’d opened fully to Wei Wuxian’s cheerful disposition. 

And truth be told, why wouldn’t he? 

Wei Wuxian had always been magnetic, articulate, larger than life. Wei Wuxian had always been gracious and gentle, kind but endearingly brash. Wei Wuxian had always been everything that Jiang Cheng had never been, and if there was such a thing as fate, then it was apparent from an early age that Wei Wuxian was meant for the glaring lights of vast stages, to command stadiums, to move millions. He was always meant to be the brightest and most brilliant star in the sky.

It would probably have hurt less if it were just a matter of charisma, but even in their studies, Wei Wuxian had always done better with little effort, no matter how hard Jiang Cheng had tried, no matter how hard he had worked. Everything Jiang Cheng had ever thought to try, Wei Wuxian had been effortlessly better at. The discrepancy had been so much so that, eventually, Jiang Cheng had begun seriously worrying that his father would strip him of his birthright, offering it to the son he preferred — to the son who clearly deserved it more.

And so, when Wei Wuxian had dropped out of high school to go into music four years ago, Jiang Cheng had breathed an enormous sigh of relief. 

Finally, Wei Wuxian would not be able to challenge his position.

That same year, Jiang Cheng had applied to enter the accelerated program under his high school, completing senior high in two years instead of three, and then applying to the prestigious business program at Tsinghua University in Beijing.

Upon graduation, he had packed up his things, said his goodbyes, and chased Wei Wuxian to Beijing, without ever looking back.

Once they finish their meal, they get back into the limousine. Amidst warm laughter and warm smiles, they begin the drive back to Zhongyang Conversatory to drop Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng off.

Father and Wei Wuxian continue to speak enthusiastically about the tracks Wei Wuxian is working on, and while he had initially been glad for something else to fill the silence, it’s beginning to weigh on Jiang Cheng’s patience. 

He wants to talk to Father too . 

Ever since they moved away from Wuhan^[1], away from home, to faraway Beijing where the people are different and the food is unfamiliar and the accents are strange— he hasn’t often gotten the chance to see Father. Still, the lump in his throat keeps him silent. He does not know what to say to his own father.

And so, he tilts his head back against the headrest, eyes closed, and says nothing at all.

Eventually, they pull up at the conservatory. Beginning to heft his instrument cases up onto his shoulder, Wei Wuxian turns to Jiang Cheng with a smile— half cheeky, half expectant.

“Guess you’ll have to help me carry all this back to the studio,” he teases, and drops a bag in Jiang Cheng’s lap.

On any other day, any other occasion, that gesture would not rankle as much as this.

“Don’t you have hands?” Jiang Cheng finally snaps, shoving the bag back at Wei Wuxian, and grits his teeth. “If you can’t carry all of them, then maybe you shouldn’t have learnt so many goddamn instruments in the first place!” 

There’s a moment of shocked silence.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes are wide, hurt, and there’s a moment where all that Jiang Cheng feels is satisfaction, before—

“Jiang Cheng,” Father says coldly.

Suddenly reminded of their onlookers, Jiang Cheng stiffens, going cold.

“Do you know what you’ve done wrong?” Father asks.

Jiang Cheng shrinks, not daring to look his father in the eye. “Yes.”

“I don’t think you do,” Father says. “Jiang Cheng, tell me what the motto of Jiang Enterprises is.”

“Achieving the impossible.”

Father nods slowly. 

“And as CEO of Jiang Enterprises, you will one day have to support the people around you to do their very best, to innovate, to achieve the impossible.” He closes his eyes. “If you’re going to be so unwilling to help others, if you’re going to limit their success to what they can achieve by themselves, then how will Jiang Enterprises ever grow beneath your leadership?”

The lump rises again in his throat, growing and growing, until it robs him not just of his words, but his very breath. Seeing him unable to speak for himself, Wei Wuxian steps forward to speak for him instead, eyes frantic.

“He’s just angry,” he tries vainly to convince Father. “He doesn’t mean it.”

But Father shakes his head. For once, his eyes are solely on Jiang Cheng, but there is none of the warmth or pride Jiang Cheng had always hoped for, only a devastating disappointment.

“There are some things that cannot be said even when you’re angry, because to say it shows that you still do not understand what it takes to be CEO of Jiang Enterprises,” he says damningly, and Jiang Cheng lowers his head.

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth again, but is cut off by bitter laughter.

“Oh, but what does it matter as long as Wei Ying understands, right?” Mother cuts in.

Father’s expression immediately smooths out. “My lady, that is not what I meant.”

Mother raises a single sharp eyebrow, eyes as cutting as diamonds.

“Is it not?” she challenges. “Have you forgotten who is your rightful son, your rightful heir?”

Father exhales. “I am only trying to teach him.”

Mother just laughs again, the sound unbearably bitter. 

“Jiang Fengmian, you really have some nerve!” she cries. “Teach him?! Then tell me, why do you continually promise resources to Wei Ying, mentor him, grow him, when you haven’t even given your own son a place in any of Jiang Enterprises’ subsidiaries!”

That serene expression finally gives way to irritation. Father opens his mouth, clearly about to argue, but politely closes his mouth as Mother continues so as to avoid interrupting, ever the gentleman. Yet, as Mother continues, Jiang Cheng can’t help but wish he had cut her off.

“Do you know how much face I had to lose asking my parents to take A-Cheng into Yu Semiconductors?!” she demands, jabbing a finger into husband’s chest. “I’m telling you now, Jiang Fengmian, just because you wanted to marry Cangse and gallivant around the world with her as a musical duo, just because you never wanted to marry me, just because A-Cheng is the child that I bore and not Cangse— doesn’t mean that you should dislike him, that you should scorn him like this! He is still the heir to Jiang Enterprises!”

“I am not—”

But Mother continues, undeterred.

“Do you know what people are saying about this whole thing?! They are saying that even after all these years, President Jiang still holds feelings for a certain travelling musician, regarding her son so much as his own that they have even begun to speculate that he is your—”

She stops there, seemingly unable to complete the sentence. Finally, Father snaps.

“Yu Ziyuan!”

Jiang Cheng can only sit there in shock as they begin to shout.

After several moments, he manages to come slightly to his senses. Numb, he pulls the strap of his bag over his shoulder, opens the door, and gets out of the limousine.

They do not even seem to notice him walking away.

Mother and Father had never gotten along, not before they were married, not after they married, and certainly not after they’d had Jiang Cheng and his sister. Even as a toddler, he could remember them getting into screaming matches about Jiang Enterprises, about him and his sister, about everything under the sun.

It had been an open secret that they had married for political reasons. There was no other reason for them to have met or fallen in love. From the beginning, his father had been a musician; gentle, sentimental, and kind. His mother, on the other hand, had been the gifted third daughter of distinguished business owners; calculating, cut-throat, and with an enviable flair for business. When their parents had arranged for the two to be married, it had been purely political, with the expectation that Mother would one day be the brains behind Jiang Enterprises. 

Still, as a child, Jiang Cheng had always believed that they loved each other in their own way.

Shortly after Wei Wuxian had been adopted, Father had quietly acquired Wei Records from Wen Corporation. The rival conglomerate had come into possession of Wei Records after Wei Wuxian’s parents had passed, and once he had found out, Father had been unable to let it stand. Knowing that his wife would object, he had gone about the acquisition in secret. Mother had only found out during the general meeting.

That night, dinner had been unusually silent. The shouting had only begun afterwards, after Mother and Father had retired to the master bedroom.

The three children had all laid in their beds, listening to the couple screaming the house down for hours, and hours, and hours, late into the night. It had seemed like it would never end, until Mother’s voice had eventually grown hoarse, and then broken into silence.

Finally, after hours of screaming, Jiang Cheng had heard the door slam, had heard the sharp furious footsteps coming past his bedroom.

Hopping out of bed and rushing to the door, he had opened it to see his mother striding away from the master bedroom, towards the guest bedroom at the opposite side of the manor. Even then, she had already been spending many more nights there than in the master bedroom.

“Ma?” he’d whispered.

She had stopped, and turned slowly to him. There had been tears running down her face, leaving faint trails of black, her face frighteningly gaunt in the shadows. Suddenly, she had bent down— and scooped him up against her chest. 

He had been shocked. She had never been an affectionate mother. Even as a baby, she had never quite wanted to touch him, quickly handing him off to an ahma to be taken care of.

I never wanted you, she had told him once, but I loved you the moment I saw you.

Right then, however, she had been holding him like she’d never held him before, and he’d gone stiff and quiet, not quite daring to speak or move for fear of breaking the moment. Still rocking him gently, preciously, she had gone into his room and set him on the bed, kneeling down before him to look him in the eye.

“If one day we had to leave this place,” she had asked, “what would you think of that?” 

At only five years of age, the idea had been beyond comprehension.

“But—” he’d begun, confusedly. “But why would we ever need to leave?”

“Sometimes, it’s impossible for two people to get along. I don’t think your father and I can ever be happy together.” 

That blunt answer had only deepened Jiang Cheng’s confusion, and his growing sense of distress. Despite himself, tears had begun to fall down his face.

“But why?” he’d hiccuped. “I don’t understand. Don’t you— Don’t you love each other?”

And Mother had laughed, loud, and long, and bitter. 

“No,” she had said— and Jiang Cheng’s world had fallen away.

It had always seemed like Mother knew that she wasn’t the bride that Father wanted. The fact that her son wasn’t the son he wanted either had seemed like yet another sore point for her, a hurt that only been exacerbated by Wei Wuxian’s arrival. 

From an early age, Wei Wuxian had begun to show an innate gift for music. Put an instrument in his hand, and within an hour, he would have figured out how to play a simple song. He had taken to music like a fish to water, and Father had been so very proud. 

Jiang Cheng, on the other hand, had never been particularly good at music. Instruments just never seemed to respond to his touch the way they did to Wei Wuxian’s. True, he recalled learning the piano as a child, while Wei Wuxian had steadily made his way through the violin, the flute, the guitar. But he had dropped it once Wei Wuxian had started learning the piano too, after he had blazed past Jiang Cheng’s two years of progress within two weeks. 

What was the point anyway? Wei Wuxian would always be better than him in music, so he never saw the point of even trying to compete with him. He’d known, from a young age, that if Wei Wuxian had been meant for vast stages, for colossal stadiums— then Jiang Cheng was meant only for the wings, jealously watching Wei Wuxian’s back from the shadows. He had thus thrown himself wholeheartedly into pursuits relevant to business, determined to carve out his own niche in this world.

Not that Wei Wuxian had not been effortlessly better at him in that too.

And so, four years ago, when Wei Wuxian had first announced his retreat into the world of music, Jiang Cheng had begun to hope for the first time since he had been a boy, that he would finally be able to rise up in his father’s regard.

Foolish.

It had quickly become clear to him that his own blossoming aptitude for business would never be enough for his father. Not when compared against Wei Wuxian’s artistic genius.

Why would it, when his father had never wanted to be involved in business in the first place? After all, his father’s true wish had been to travel the world, making music. 

Growing up, Jiang Cheng still recalled how his father had attended every single one of Wei Wuxian’s recitals, paid for countless hours of classes and the best teachers money could buy, gifted him with expensive instruments, expensive sound mixing software, expensive recording equipment, watching him flourish with a strange sense of vicarious relish. Every new instrument, every first song, every recital, he had sucked it all up with eager eyes, much like how Jiang Cheng imagined a father would watch a son’s first words, first steps, first day of school. Even now, he showered whatever resources available to him on Wei Wuxian, encouraging his business ventures, and supporting his musical career. 

Jiang Cheng, on the other hand, had never been the subject of that delighted gaze.

By now, he’s spent what feels like his whole life chasing Wei Wuxian. For years and years, he’s chased the numbers on Wei Wuxian’s returned examination scripts, chased the letter grades, the class rankings. After Wei Wuxian had left to begin university early, Jiang Cheng had completed senior high in two years instead of three, rushing off to join Wei Wuxian in Beijing. He’d begun university a year earlier than all his peers, but Wei Wuxian had already been two years into his degree program. He’d applied to take a double courseload, hoping to catch up to Wei Wuxian by completing his program in three years. Now, in their last year of university, he and Wei Wuxian are finally set to graduate at the same time.

Yet, just as he’d been beginning to think he’d finally caught up, he’s come to a sober realization.

Wei Wuxian has effectively been made CEO of Wei Records. Even A-Jie has been given a place in Jiang Hospitality. Meanwhile, as Jiang Cheng now realizes, he has been shunned completely from the business he was meant to inherit. He can only feel an endless bitterness at the thought, an endless despair.

Growing up, he’d always feared that he would one day be stripped of his birthright, that it would one day be taken from him and given to the preferred son, the more deserving son.

Now, without him ever noticing— that fear seems to have come to pass.

Wei Wuxian catches up with him, panting desperately, and still lugging all his bags.

“Jiang Cheng!” he cries. “Wait— Jiang Cheng!”

Jiang Cheng ignores him, striding determinedly towards the lecture building, where their chauffeur is waiting to drive him back to Tsinghua. Eventually, almost wheezing, Wei Wuxian drops his bags — instruments, recording equipment, and all — in an effort to keep up. As he manages to draw even with Jiang Cheng, he reaches out, yanking him to a halt.

“Jiang Cheng, you stop right there!” he cries desperately. “Are you looking for a fight?!”

Jiang Cheng does not look at him.

“Go back and pick up your instruments,” he says coldly. 

“No!” Wei Wuxian bursts out, frustrated. “We need to get things straight first! You— Don’t you listen to all those messed up rumors!”

“Messed-up rumors,” Jiang Cheng repeats flatly.

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian agrees stubbornly, still panting. “Those— those rumors that only dirty your mouth to say them.”

Frustration and resentment blooms inside Jiang Cheng. Clenching his jaw, he turns to leave before he can say anything he regrets, but Wei Wuxian grabs him, yanking him back into place.

“Jiang Cheng, please,” he pleads. “Let’s not hide any grievances in our hearts. We must be truthful with one another.”

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath.

“Let go,” he manages, somewhat calmly.

“No, we need to get things straight,” Wei Wuxian protests. “Jiang Cheng, you are Uncle Jiang’s own son, his own flesh and blood , and the heir to Jiang Enterprises to boot. Of course he would be stricter towards you. He’s your father. But me? I’m just the son of his two good friends. That’s why he’s more lenient with me. He’s just my goofy, doting uncle.”

Jiang Cheng shrugs his hands off, and continues to walk. Huffing out an exasperated breath, Wei Wuxian jogs after him.

“Jiang Cheng, please!” he calls. “Let’s talk about this!”

“What’s there to talk about?” Jiang Cheng bites out harshly. “He’s not being strict. He just dislikes me. He never liked my mom, and so, he’s never liked me either. Stop following me.”

Wei Wuxian does not heed him.

“Don’t listen to ridiculous rumors!” he yells, matching Jiang Cheng stride for stride. “How can there be anyone who doesn’t like their own child?! Stop running and fucking face me!”

Finally, Jiang Cheng stops, right by the bustling stretch of grass leading up towards the lecture hall. Not expecting him to actually stop, Wei Wuxian runs into his back. Jiang Cheng turns around slowly to face him.

“I am giving you a final warning,” he says through gritted teeth. “Stop following me, or I will not hold back.”

He doesn’t know why on earth he’d thought that would deter Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian has never been the sort to be cowed by threats or intimidation. No matter Jiang Cheng’s sour disposition, his biting words, his explosive rages— Wei Wuxian has never once shied away from him. Even now, he just straightens, lifting his chin.

“Then don’t hold back,” he says. “Shout at me. Hit me. Get it all off your chest! I don’t mind! As long as you feel better!” 

Finally, Jiang Cheng’s irritation overflows. He shoves Wei Wuxian as hard as he can.

“Yes!” he bellows. “Because you’re so fucking perfect, aren’t you?!” He shoves Wei Wuxian again. “You’re so sacrificing! And talented! And charismatic!”

With every sentence, he shoves Wei Wuxian, but Wei Wuxian just allows himself to be pushed— and it’s only making Jiang Cheng angrier. The students around them have begun to point and whisper. Still, he can’t bring himself to give a shit.

“You’re better than me at everything!” he shouts, voice only raising in volume. “Always giving without expecting anything in return. You’re on a different level from me, aren’t you?!” He throws his head back and laughs. “No, I’m just an angry, selfish person. I’m talentless. I’m stupid. I don’t help others unless there’s something in it for me.”

Finally, it seems Wei Wuxian can no longer keep his ever-chattering mouth shut.

“Jiang Cheng, that’s not true,” he says.

“I don’t need your fucking pity!” Jiang Cheng hollers. “You’re the better leader! You’d make a better CEO! Of course Dad has always liked you better! Of course he’s never liked me! I’m just a dark spot inside the golden aura of your fucking perfection!”

With the last sentence, Jiang Cheng grabs Wei Wuxian by the collar and shakes him. Wei Wuxian does not fight back, only shakes his head soundlessly, and god, how that martyr’s aura of his makes Jiang Cheng boil . Jiang Cheng shakes him again, harder this time.

“Fight. Back,” he grits out. 

Wei Wuxian stumbles, grabbing the front of Jiang Cheng’s shirt to steady himself. Still, his expression remains determined. “No.”

This time, Jiang Cheng shoves him so hard that he actually falls back. Unfortunately, his hands are still fisted in Jiang Cheng’s shirt, so he brings Jiang Cheng down with him. They hit the grass in a tangle of limbs. There are alarmed calls from the students around them.

“What’s happening?”

“I don’t know! A fight broke out between two students!”

Winded, Jiang Cheng struggles slowly upright, coming to straddle Wei Wuxian in the grass. Stupidly, however, Wei Wuxian is supporting him up with a hand on his shoulder, eyes concerned, and that only heightens the rage.

“Fight! Back!” he screams, bringing his fists down onto Wei Wuxian’s chest. 

Wei Wuxian’s breath whooshes out of him. He’s wincing now, panting, but he just licks his lips and says, “No. Not until you’re satisfied.”

Jiang Cheng loses it.

Letting out a wordless scream of frustration, he begins hitting Wei Wuxian’s chest with his palms.

“Fucking fight me, you bastard! Hit me! What is wrong with you?! You’ve never had a problem fighting back before now, so fucking fight me!” 

Suddenly, he is dragged off Wei Wuxian. There are two large guys in matching gym tanks and joggers standing behind him. By the fucking Buddha, gym tanks and joggers in the middle of central Beijing?! How fucking sloppy.

“Get the fuck off me,” he grits out.

“Hey, chill man,” says Gym Rat 1, the one still holding him by the back of his shirt. “Why are you hitting him?”

Wei Wuxian sits up, wincing. A muttering crowd has begun to form around them, shaking their heads at Jiang Cheng, and offering Wei Wuxian sympathetic glances.

Of course, once more, Jiang Cheng is the disagreeable one, the dislikeable one.

“Let him go,” Wei Wuxian says, still breathless. 

“But he was hitting you, man.” 

Clearly growing irritated, Wei Wuxian shrugs his shoulder away from Gym Rat 2, who has begun trying to pull him up, and stands by himself. 

“He’s my brother,” he says stubbornly, and reaches out for Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng shoves him away. 

“Brother?!” he repeats incredulously. “Ha! If you still consider me your brother, then come here and fight me!” 

He tries to grab Wei Wuxian again, but Gym Rat 1 holds him at bay. The mutters from the crowd only grow. Around him, people are reaching out sympathetically to pull Wei Wuxian away from him. There are a number also coming forward to restrain Jiang Cheng.

Of course , once more, Jiang Cheng is the bad guy.

Of course, once more, he’s the dark spot in Wei Wuxian’s golden aura of heroism.

He cannot take it for a moment longer.

“Wei Wuxian!” he howls, “Don’t you pull this martyr bullshit on me! What do you mean until I’m satisfied?! I’ll never be satisfied! I’ll never be fucking satisfied and it’s because of you!” 

“Yo man, chill for a second—”  

He lunges for Wei Wuxian again, but is again thwarted by Gym Rat 1. 

“Fucking fight me!” he screams around the man holding him back. “You coward! Bastard! Come here and hit me! Come and fucking hit me! You think you’re too good for this, don’t you?!” He throws his head back and laughs hysterically. “Well, fuck you! Yes! All hail the benevolent one, the martyred one, the victimized hero! Yes, I’m always the fucking bad guy! I’m always the unreasonable one! Yes! I’m selfish! I’m angry! I’m violent! I’m—” 

And finally, Wei Wuxian snaps.

“Oh, will you fucking can it?!” he shouts, and— and decks Jiang Cheng. 

Not expecting that Wei Wuxian would actually hit him, Jiang Cheng stumbles back and lands on the floor. He sits there for a moment in shock, as the crowd goes silent, just as shocked. 

Shoving off all the hands on his shoulders, Wei Wuxian strides forward, jabbing a finger furiously at him.

“Have you ever thought that maybe the reason why people don’t follow you is not for a lack of capability or charisma?” he demands. “The reason why people don’t follow you is because you’re always so goddamn insecure!” 

Jiang Cheng’s mouth drops open.

“How fucking dare—” he splutters, stunned. 

“No, you shut your fucking mouth, and just listen to me for once,” Wei Wuxian snaps. He fists his hands in his hair. “Jiang Cheng,” he begins, looking like he’s about to tear his own hair out both in sheer exasperation, and in a strange despair. “If you never learn to believe in yourself, if you never learn to put yourself out there— then how will anyone ever know what you’re truly capable of?!”

For a moment, he just sits there in shock, staring up at Wei Wuxian. Before he can break out of his daze to really give Wei Wuxian a piece of his mind, however, there comes the sound of pattering feet. The crowd gives way as a tall man squeezes through, followed by a crew of persons in black, all carrying boom mikes and cameras. 

“I, uh, apologize for the interruption,” the man cuts in, a little breathless, “but— by any chance, could someone tell me who was it that was shouting just now?” 

A moment of silence. Then, in unison, the crowd points to Jiang Cheng. 

The man finally looks down at him. He is— extremely good-looking, with warm brown eyes, and a benevolent smile that only widens at the sight of Jiang Cheng. Jiang Cheng has absolutely no idea what he’s done to deserve such a look of delight; disheveled, angry, and scowling as he is.

Suddenly, there’s a flurry of movement. The crowd is expertly shoved back by the crew. Boom mikes dip down towards him, and every single cameraperson turns the camera abruptly to face him, some filming from above, one woman even crouching in front of him to push the camera right in his face. The handsome man crouches down as well, eyes bright and fixed unwaveringly on Jiang Cheng.

“Ah, hello, hello!” he cries, reaching down to shake Jiang Cheng’s hand so vigorously that Jiang Cheng feels vaguely like his arm is about to be pulled out of its socket. “I am Lan Xichen, the host of the All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt! We could not help but hear you from the other side of campus—” 

“No shit,” Gym Rat 1 mutters, and Gym Rat 2 elbows him, hard. “Ow!”  

“—and were drawn here by the special quality of your voice! Please, good sir, may I know your name?” 

Jiang Cheng flinches back as the host, Lan Xichen, shoves a microphone in his face. His smile is very bright, and his teeth very white, and his face very dazzling. He’s the kind of devastatingly good-looking that’s a little hard to visually process, and so, Jiang Cheng certainly can’t be blamed for his inelegant response.

“Err,” he says, a little dumbly, “Jiang Cheng.” 

Lan Xichen straightens back up with a gasp.

“Er Jiangcheng!” he cries, and turns to beam into the cameras with all the force of ten thousand glorious suns. “Remember the name, everyone! I see a bright future ahead for this young man!” 

He turns back to Jiang Cheng.

“Mister Er, on behalf of the talent hunt team, I would like to invite you to participate in the All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt!” he announces, and then crowds in eagerly. “What do you say, Mister Er? We could make you a star!”

Jiang Cheng just stares for a good few moments. Then, absolutely bewildered, he turns and meets Wei Wuxian’s eyes through the crowd. Wei Wuxian has been shunted to the side — for the first time, Jiang Cheng realizes suddenly — and is now trying to catch Jiang Cheng’s gaze with wide, panicked eyes. 

For the first time, Jiang Cheng is the center of attention. For the first time, someone has chosen him over Wei Wuxian. For the first time in their whole lives, it is Wei Wuxian who is experiencing what it’s like to be passed over, to be second best.

Jiang Cheng turns to Lan Xichen with a vicious, slightly manic grin.

“I accept.”

Chapter Text

Once the camera crew has left, they go back to retrieve Wei Wuxian’s discarded bags. Disheveled and covered in grass, they are in no fit state to appear for their classes, and so they both get into the car, and tell the chauffeur to bring them home for a change of clothing. It is only then, on the way back to their apartment, that the satisfaction slowly begins to fade, and a terrible realization begins to dawn over Jiang Cheng.

He turns to Wei Wuxian.

“I have no idea what I just signed up for,” he admits.

Wei Wuxian turns to him in horror.

“You don’t?” he asks. “Then why did you say yes?!”

He’d been given a bunch of papers before the camera crew had departed. They are in a mess right now, stuffed carelessly into Wei Wuxian’s bags. A few sheets in his guitar case, a few sheets in his laptop bag, all scattered. The papers had not been stapled, and when they had been picking up Wei Wuxian’s discarded bags, they had not thought too much about where to put them.

Right now, they dive down in unison, pulling every last sheet out and gathering them on the seat between them. With shaking hands, they begin to read together.

A good majority of the papers seem to be— rules, numbered one to three fucking thousand. They toss those aside without even looking at them. The rest is a copy of the contract Jiang Cheng had signed in front of all the cameras. The contract doesn’t turn out to be any more enlightening then the three thousand rules, but it does contain the name of the… whatever it is Jiang Cheng had signed up for.

“Give me that,” Wei Wuxian says, snatching up Jiang Cheng’s phone, and keys All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt into the search engine. They lean over as the Baidu page loads. Once it’s done loading, Jiang Cheng nearly faints. 

The All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt is a reality TV show.  

Contestants are trained in singing and composition, before they are eventually pitted against each other in a cutthroat singing-songwriting competition. The show is currently on its fourth season, and every season so far has been a glorious catastrophe of diva feuds and contestant breakdowns, reality TV drama in all its horrifying trainwreck appeal. Even worse, the show is run by Lan Group, and the winner of the talent hunt will win a two year contract with Lan Entertainment. 

The Big Five, as they were currently known, was a group of family-owned conglomerates that had long dominated the Chinese economy. Jiang Enterprises was one. Lan Group, Nie Industries, Jin Holdings, and Wen Corporation were the other four. Because the children of each conglomerate were generally sent to the same elite schools, each generation of the Big Five leaders were usually acquainted to some extent. Still, rivalry between the conglomerates continues to be fierce.

Joining a competition, for which the reward is a contract with a major competitor— won’t his parents think that he’s defecting to the Lan Group?! Mother will be disappointed. Father will hate him. On top of that, he’s going to make a complete fool of himself! Hasn’t it long since been established that he has no musical talent whatever! Oh god. What has he done?

Wei Wuxian turns to him, grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Don’t panic,” he says.

“I’m not panicking.”

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says. “You’re holding your breath. You’re clearly panicking.”

He is holding his breath. Jiang Cheng sucks in a deep breath, and then lets it out slowly. As he focuses on his next breath, Wei Wuxian picks up the contract again, scanning quickly through it.

“There must be some way to withdraw from this,” he says.

Realizing that he’s right, Jiang Cheng picks up a page. They spend the next five minutes just rifling through the contract. As they reach the second last page, they look up at each other in numb horror.

They’ve lost the last page of the contract.

That must be the page with the contact numbers for enquiries, and presumably for withdrawals— and they’ve gone and lost it.

“Breathe, Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian yelps, grabbing him.

Realizing that he’s begun holding his breath again, he puffs his cheeks out and stubbornly holds it. Perhaps if he refuses to release it, he will die of asphyxiation and not have to be party to the utter trainwreck he’s made of his life.

A slap to the thigh tells him that Wei Wuxian must have read his unspoken thought.

“Stop being dramatic,” Wei Wuxian chides, the slap turning immediately to comforting pats. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know, and everything just happened so quickly! We can ask Uncle Jiang to make a call to Chairman Lan. Surely Chairman Lan can have them withdraw you from the show?”

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes, knocking his head against the headrest.

“Oh god,” he groans. “I’m so stupid. Dad is going to think I’m dumb and irresponsible.”

The knee-patting intensifies.

“No, he won’t,” Wei Wuxian reassures him. “We’ll ask when we next have dinner together. I’ll be there. I’ll explain what happened! You had no idea what you were signing up for, and the crew wasn’t very clear about it anyway. You just leave it to me. I’ll take care of things!”

Despite himself, Jiang Cheng begins to calm down.

They arrive at their apartment soon after that. Thanking the driver, Wei Wuxian opens the door and ushers Jiang Cheng into the lift, carelessly tossing all the papers into the trash on the way up. They pile onto the couch, and Wei Wuxian turns the TV on to fill the silence. That done, he pulls Jiang Cheng into his arms.

“Don’t worry, little brother,” he says, sing-song. “I’ll take care of everything.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” Jiang Cheng protests immediately.

Wei Wuxian laughs. 

“I know,” he admits. “But I want to take care of you. What? Is that not allowed now?” 

Jiang Cheng doesn’t reply.

Finally, Wei Wuxian lets go. The emotional turmoil of the day leaks slowly away with all the tension in Jiang Cheng’s body, leaving only guilt in its absence. 

He suddenly feels bad for getting so angry at Wei Wuxian earlier. None of this is Wei Wuxian’s fault. He’s just existing, in all his glory, in all his perfection. He’s never intended or wanted any of this to happen. And besides, even if Father has stripped Jiang Cheng of his birthright, even if Mother finds him lacking, even if literally everyone else in the whole world would pick Wei Wuxian over him in a heartbeat— 

Isn’t Wei Wuxian the one person who has always chosen Jiang Cheng first?

“I guess we’re missing our night classes today,” Jiang Cheng mutters, reaching for his laptop. “You said there was a movie you wanted to watch. What was it again? Bohemian Rugs?” 

Wei Wuxian splutters, jerking away.

“Rhapsody!” he gasps, scandalized. “It’s Bohemian Rhapsody! What kind of movie would Bohemian Rugs be?”

Rolling his eyes, Jiang Cheng begins to search for a subtitled version of the movie.

“Well, I don’t know,” he grumbles. “You made me watch home makeovers with you for weeks after we first moved in.” He pauses for a moment, frowning. “And I thought Bohemian Rhapsody was a song, not a movie.” 

Wei Wuxian laughs, settling back against Jiang Cheng’s side.

“So you do know the song, at the very least,” he teases. “I was this close to disowning you as a brother.” 

“Disown me then,” Jiang Cheng retorts. “I cook. I clean. I do the laundry. I remind you when your submissions are due, and nag you to work on them. I guess I don’t need to do any of that anymore, since you’ve disowned me.” 

Wei Wuxian sits up, gasping. “No, no, no! I take it all back!”

Jiang Cheng finally finds the right movie and clicks play. “No take backs. We’re through.” 

As the intro starts up, Wei Wuxian flops over his lap dramatically. “Nooooooo,” he laments. “Forgive me, brother! Forgive me!” 

They both burst out laughing, and Jiang Cheng slaps Wei Wuxian on the shoulder. 

“Get up and watch your damn movie!” he scolds.

But Wei Wuxian only catches his wrist, tucking it snugly around his shoulders, and smiles sweetly up at Jiang Cheng. 

“Nah,” he whispers. “I can watch it just fine from here.”

Tenderness blooms in his chest. Looking down at his brother, Jiang Cheng can only smile.

Jiang Cheng can barely remember a time that he hasn’t had Wei Wuxian by his side — despite the undone laundry and unwashed plates, the way Wei Wuxian leaves things around like some hurricane incarnate, even despite the jealousy, the frustration, and the ugly things they’ve said. They had always been Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian.

That hadn’t always been the case, of course.

Within weeks of Wei Wuxian’s arrival, it had quickly become clear that something was not quite right about Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng still remembers the way he had screamed when Jiang Yanli had led him into the crowded canteen for the first time. He still remembers how a teacher had to carry him out, and how he had wailed inconsolably the whole time. Alarmed by his meltdowns, Jiang Cheng’s father and sister had responded with much concern. At the time, it had only worsened Jiang Cheng’s jealousy. 

And so, for the first month or so, Jiang Cheng had refused to speak to Wei Wuxian at all. While Jiang Yanli guarded Wei Wuxian closely at school, Jiang Cheng had pretended not to know him. While Father escorted him from doctor to doctor, Jiang Cheng had sulked alone in his room.

Finally, the diagnosis had reached his ears in whispers. Sensory overload, the servants had whispered. ADHD. And that had come with a whole host of new problems. Father had never attended a single one of Jiang Cheng’s parent-teacher conferences, and yet for a week straight, he had showed up at school everyday to negotiate accommodations for his ward.

A month into the whole ordeal, there had been an outbreak of HFMD at school. Jiang Yanli had been unlucky enough to catch it. Quarantined in her room, she had tiredly begged Jiang Cheng to take care of Wei Wuxian in her absence, and bawling, sobbing inconsolably, Jiang Cheng had vowed to protect Wei Wuxian with his life.

In his defence, five-year-old Jiang Cheng had been convinced that his sister was on her death-bed, and that this was her dying request. 

And so, he had taken his bodyguard responsibilities extremely seriously, sitting ramrod straight beside Wei Wuxian, and escorting him solemnly from class to class. Out of sorts from Jiang Yanli’s absence, the boy had been exceedingly anxious. It had not been long till he’d had the mother of meltdowns, flopped face down on the canteen floor and screaming his lungs out.  

They had quickly been escorted into an empty music room, one Jiang Cheng had seen teachers guiding Wei Wuxian to countless times. Soundproof and isolated, the silence had rung strangely in Jiang Cheng’s ears.

“I’m sorry,” Wei Wuxian had muttered sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to make a scene.”

Jiang Cheng had tried to muster up patience, but had been left with only frustration.

“If you didn’t mean to make a scene,” he had snapped, “then why did you do that?!”

Wei Wuxian had been quiet for so long that Jiang Cheng had believed that he wouldn’t answer.

“Have you ever listened to an orchestra?” he had finally asked. “All of it blends together, but if you really focus, you’ll find that it’s like a cloth, made out of many threads. You can hear every violin, every flute, and even the quietest plucking of the harp. You can hear the breathing of the flautists, the tapping of feet over piano pedals. You can hear the creaking of chairs, every whisper, every cough, every movement. Imagine that you can’t turn that off. You want to stop hearing everything at once, but you can’t. You get up and run to the doors, but they are locked. You start banging your fists, screaming for someone to come and let you out.” 

He had laughed. 

“Except the concert hall is my own head. No one’s coming to let me out.”

Jiang Cheng had swallowed then, feeling vaguely unsettled.

“Oh,” he had said lamely. “That— That’s awful.” 

Wei Wuxian had only shrugged, and then looked back down into his lap.

“I’m sorry about your dogs too,” he adds. “There were so many of them, and so loud, barking all at once and moving all at once and crawling over me. It’s not just sounds. It’s also bright lights, movement, or touch. I didn’t mean to scream. I didn’t mean for them to be given away.”

Jiang Cheng had looked away. 

“I’m angry and can’t do anything right,” he finally admitted. “No one wants to be my friend. Only Princess, Jasmine, Coral, and Lovely did, and now they are gone.”

“Then I’ll be your friend,” Wei Wuxian had said, like it was really that simple, really that easy.

Jiang Cheng had closed his eyes. Then, rising determinedly to his feet, he’d looked down at Wei Wuxian, hands planted firmly on his hips.

“What makes it better for you?” he had asked.

“Silence,” Wei Wuxian had admitted. “Darkness. A rock to hold onto.”

And, with all the solemnity of a promise made in blood, Jiang Cheng had held out his hand.

“Then I will keep the noises away,” he had sworn. “I will be your silence, and your darkness. I will be your rock.”

From that moment onwards, they had been inseparable.

They had spent countless hours alone in that music room, never out playing with the other kids, never out amidst the lights and sounds. In the silence, music had first come into his brother’s life as a treatment, recommended by the neurologists Father had found. It had stayed on as a reverent breath, a lifelong love, a fated calling. And if music had been the religion that kept Wei Wuxian sane through those early years, then the music room had been their temple, a silent sanctuary where nothing existed but their music and their promises.

I will be your friend. 

I will be your rock. 

Jiang Cheng had grown up in that music room. Surrounded by the haunting sounds of a slow concerto, he would crawl into the velvet piano cover, sometimes dozing, sometimes just lying quietly, waiting patiently for Wei Wuxian to finish practicing. Before the jealousy and insecurities, before the comparisons, before Wei Wuxian had become the golden child, there had just been the two of them.

He remembers how that had all changed.

After a year of diligent practice, Wei Wuxian had been persuaded to perform in his first recital. He had been so afraid leading up to that performance. Jiang Cheng remembers rushing backstage to see Wei Wuxian after it was done, so proud, so very proud— only to find that someone had gotten there before him.

That night, an old and distinguished virtuoso had come out of hermitage to attend the recital. Her name was Lady Baoshan, a famed multi-instrumentalist, and the teacher of the late Cangse. Rising to her feet, she had turned and looked Father dead in the eye.

“He carries her light,” she had said. “Her gift lives on through him. I will not let that die.”

Wei Wuxian had been Lady Baoshan’s last student. For the next three years, the strict Lady Baoshan had declared him unfit to perform in public. When Wei Wuxian had next performed, after three long years, he had performed amidst an orchestra, a lone child at the head of a fifty musicians. Jiang Cheng vividly remembers the sight of Wei Wuxian, carried in bright lights and the swell of fifty instruments. It had been breathtaking, awe-inspiring. In the aftermath, Jiang Cheng had run out into an empty dressing room, caught up in some unnameable emotion, unable to speak and barely able to breathe. 

There had been a light in Father’s eyes that he had never seen before.

He had remained there, in the darkness and silence, until Wei Wuxian had found him. Silhouetted in the lights of the hallway, he had knelt, and taken Jiang Cheng’s hands in both of his.

“You have outgrown me,” Jiang Cheng had said. “You have lifted yourself from darkness and silence, but I am still stuck here.”

Wei Wuxian had stood, pulling him up, and out of the dark dressing room.

“Then I will be your voice,” he had said simply. “I will speak for you in your silence. I will be your light.”

By the time the movie ends, it is completely dark out. In his lap, Wei Wuxian is already beginning to blink, slower and slower, and is nodding off by the time the credits end and the movie fades to black. They sit there in silence for some minutes, Wei Wuxian dozing against his thigh, and Jiang Cheng with one hand draped over his shoulder.

“He still died, in the end,” Jiang Cheng finally says.

Wei Wuxian startles awake. He sits up, rubbing at his eyes.

“But he died at the top of the world, living a life that anyone would envy,” he mumbles. “He dared to dream. He dared to reach out, higher than the sky itself, to touch the very stars. And isn’t that the kind of attitude that drives success in every field? To push past the status quo, to keep pushing for the impossible, to achieve what no one has ever done before? After all, if you never put yourself out there, no one will know what you’re capable of.”

And with that, it seems like he’s done with talking for the night. Yawning widely, he rolls onto his side and tucks his face into the armrest, eyes already closed.

“Now,” he murmurs. “It’s been a long day. Goodnight.”

A moment later, he begins to snore. 

Jiang Cheng sits back against the opposite armrest, staring at Wei Wuxian’s sleeping form for a long moment. Finally, he lets out a disbelieving chuckle. 

“That’s just the way you see life, isn’t it?” he mutters. “Take a risk, put yourself out there, and it pays off every single time.”

Getting quietly off the couch, he retrieves a blanket from Wei Wuxian’s room, and returns to drape it over gently over its sleeping owner. That done, he turns to head into his own room. He pauses in the doorway. Then, with a sigh, he turns back around. 

“Just a short nap,” he whispers, and gets under the blanket. 

They sleep there, legs tangled together, until morning.

[A shaky phone video. Two young men wrestle in the grass in front of a college campus.]

Talent Hunt Crew Finds Angry Guy Shouting On College Campus, Recruits Him For Vocal Projection Abilities
1,381,082 views

MUMUsician
Ahhhhh omg 100k views?!?! Thanks guys omg.

MUMUsician
Oh crap 500k.

MUMUsician
1 MILLION LIKE WHAT. Err, time for shameless plug I guess? Please check out my other videos! I make music sometimes!

JoJoJocky
don’t you know? the guy in white is apparently a celebrity. a tabloid took your video and made it into a news article. it’s kinda gone viral on SNS.

Sigh-Pie-Cry-Pie
We all have our bad days…… What’s the point of uploading a video of someone while they are at their lowest…….

小酒鬼1216
okay i can’t be the only one thinking this but??? Angry Grape Boy is kinda hot???

jxgyt
But with that kind of horrible personality? Wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole.

boy-ah-boy
tbh it seems like a family spat gone unfortunately public. i’ve said some pretty nasty things to my brother ngl.

jxgyt
Maybe. But I like my boys soft and sweet. His brother is just my type, hehe.

小酒鬼1216
and i like them shouty and kinda angry *fans self* what can i say i like bad boysssss

xichenfucker
Wait. Isn’t that Lan Xichen????! This has to be the All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt!

lanxichenamirite
LAN XICHEN AHHHH MY BABY LOOKS GOOD AT EVERY ANGLE HOWWWWW

shakingmyhead
i swear that guy looks just like my middle school classmate lololol same temper too

shakingmyhead
hey

shakingmyhead
hey WAit a second

江兄 // Jiang-xiong

jiang-xiong!!!! is this you????
https://v.youku.com/v_show/id_X21XniJD
10:56PM

魏兄 // Wei-xiong

wei-xiong, is it jiang cheng in this video???
i messaged him but he didn’t reply….
https://v.youku.com/v_show/id_X21XniJD
11:32PM

大哥 // Da-ge

https://v.youku.com/v_show/id_X21XniJD
da-ge, i’m not imagining things right???!
it’s jiang cheng!!!!!
Seen 11:43PM

How the hell would I know
He’s your friend
Not mine
Seen 11:45PM

结拜三尊 // Sworn Triad

Huaisang sent me this video
https://v.youku.com/v_show/id_X21XniJD
Er-di
That’s you isn’t it
You look like you’ve lost weight
Are they working you too hard
Seen 11:45PM

宝贝二弟 // Second Treasure
Yes, it is me!
We’ve just begun this year’s scouting exercise!
Da-ge, I think it’s just the angle.
I’ve actually GAINED weight.
Seen 11:47PM

混账三弟 // Third Disgrace
Er-ge…
That person you recruited…
Seen 11:47PM

宝贝二弟 // Second Treasure
Ah yes!
Interesting fellow, isn’t he?
His name is Er Jiangcheng!
Seen 11:48PM

JIANG CHENG?!
Seen 11:48PM

混账三弟 // Third Disgrace
Jiang Cheng??!!
Seen 11:48PM

金家小辈 // GOLD Family (Youth edition)

Brothers…. Have you seen this?
https://v.youku.com/v_show/id_X21XniJD
The Jiang family’s only son has been scouted for a talent show….
Does that mean he’s not intending to take over Jiang Enterprises?
Seen 12:01AM

子寻 // GOLD Zixun
WHAT
Seen 12:01AM

子轩 // GOLD Zixuan
you’ve got to be kidding me
Seen 12:01AM

I do believe it may be good news for us.
If he’s not intending to take over the family business….
Seen 12:02AM

子寻 // GOLD Zixun
since WHEN has that BRAT been into music?!?
why is HE getting scouted
zixuan and I are the ones with an actual BAND
Seen 12:02AM

…. Band?
Seen 12:02AM

子轩 // GOLD Zixuan
we started one in middle school
Seen 12:02AM

I don’t know if I recall….
I did not attend middle school with you….
Seen 12:02AM

子寻 // GOLD Zixun
UGH NEVERMIND
how do WE get onto the show too?
we can’t let that BRAT show up the JIN FAMILY
Seen 12:02AM

子轩 // GOLD Zixuan
i’ll see if mother can do anything about this
Seen 12:02AM

妈妈金 // Mama Jin

ma have you seen this
https://v.youku.com/v_show/id_X21XniJD
the jiang brat has been recruited onto a talent show
Seen 12:03AM

WHAT?!
Seen 12:05AM

i know
he doesn’t even have any musical background ma
Seen 12:05AM

Does Ziyuan know about this?!
Seen 12:06AM

who?
Seen 12:06AM

ma?
Seen 12:23AM

虞紫鸢 // Yu Ziyuan

Ziyuan, have you seen this?
https://v.youku.com/v_show/id_X21XniJD
 Seen 12:11AM

He wakes in the morning, tangled in blankets, with the mother of all cricks in his neck, and Wei Wuxian’s foot in his bladder. 

Fuck, is his first groggy thought. I really need to pee.

He shoves Wei Wuxian’s leg aside, gets up, and heads immediately into the bathroom. After relieving himself, he takes a few sleepy moments to brush his teeth and splash some water on his face, before going back out into the living room. When he picks his phone off the coffee table to check the time, he can’t help but note a few anomalies. 

First of all, he has several texts from Nie Huaisang, of all people. That’s strange enough as it is. They haven’t really spoken since middle school. Last Jiang Cheng had heard, he had dropped out of high school, flown to New York to study fashion, and then opened his own fashion company or something. More pressingly, his eyes are drawn to the missed call from his mother.

His stomach immediately drops. Why on earth would Mother be calling?

Then, his eyes catch on the time. His eyes widen, phone dropping from his slackened fingers. He leaves it there on the carpet, and sprints into his room, tearing his shirt off as he goes.

“Wei Wuxian!” he shrieks. “We were supposed to be in class fifteen minutes ago!”

When he comes into his class, half an hour late, and tragically sans his morning coffee, he can’t help but wonder if he truly looks as terrible as he feels. Everyone looks up, and then immediately begin to whisper amongst themselves. What?! Have they never been late in their goddamn lives?! Fucking heavens...

As he dumps his bag on the floor, sitting moodily in the front row, his professor looks up, and raises an eyebrow playfully.

“And it looks like we have an upcoming star in our class this morning,” he teases.

Jiang Cheng jerks a little in his seat, before looking confusedly around him. Is it his imagination? It feels like everyone is looking at him? Was that— perhaps a sarcastic comment aimed at him?

“Sorry I’m late,” he mutters. “I don’t have an excuse. I overslept. I’m sorry.”

But the professor just laughs it off, shaking his head.

“Perfectly understandable,” he says. “You must have had quite the eventful day yesterday.”

Jiang Cheng huffs out a laugh. They have no idea.

The class resumes, and Jiang Cheng settles diligently into notetaking. The rest of the lecture passes uneventfully, save for a few incomprehensible jokes from the professor, light-hearted and teasing, but clearly directed at Jiang Cheng. Every single one of them flies right over Jiang Cheng’s head. As the class ends and he starts to pack up, his classmates file out from behind him, each of them— congratulating him.

What in heaven’s name is happening?  

Finally, the last of his classmates depart, leaving Jiang Cheng alone in the lecture hall with the professor.

“You know,” the professor says. “The journey is always rough when you’re trying something for the first time. Still, it often pays off in ways you don’t expect. Just do your best and have fun.”

Jiang Cheng looks behind him, but he’s clearly the only one left in the room. He turns back to the professor.

“Right,” he says. “Thanks.”

He hefts his bag and leaves. He’s beginning to think that he might have rolled over and gone back to sleep instead of getting up, and that he’s still asleep on the couch with Wei Wuxian’s foot in his bladder. He pinches himself, but does not wake up.

Bemused, he takes his phone out of his bag to text Wei Wuxian about his weird day, and immediately notices a new text.

阿姐 // A-Jie

A-Cheng???
Have you seen this???
https://v.youku.com/v_show/id_X21XniJD
You need to call Mom IMMEDIATELY
Seen 2:46PM

Confused, he clicks on the link.

The door to the recording studio bursts open, hitting the wall beside it with a deafening bang! Startled, Wei Wuxian shoots out of his chair, raising his arms in something like a fighting stance, before tripping over a wire and falling backwards on his ass.

“Fuck!” he shouts, flopping around and clutching his ass with both hands. “My fucking tailbone, Jiang Cheng! What the fuck do you want?!”

Jiang Cheng has absolutely no ears for his whinging. Jumping forward to kneel over Wei Wuxian’s prone body, he shoves his phone right into Wei Wuxian’s face.

“Have you seen this?!?” he shrieks.

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian begins helplessly, half an hour later. “You are going to wear a hole in our carpet, and then we’re going to have to replace the carpeting in the entire apartment. Please stop.”

The vacuum continues to howl hellishly in his hands as he goes over the living room for the fifth time, occasionally stopping to wring his hands, and occasionally gripping at his head, distraught and distressed.

How on earth is he going to explain this situation? His mother will be disappointed, and what’s worse, if his father didn’t hate him before, he will definitely hate him now.

“You’re catastrophizing, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says, but even he seems a little frazzled. Jiang Cheng supposes that it's not everyday that one goes massively viral on Chinese SNS.

At that reminder, Jiang Cheng lets out a whimper. He had dropped the vacuum handle with his last head-grabbing episode, and it now lies half under the couch. That won’t do. He ought to do the bedrooms next. Preferably five times. To match the five times he’d done the living room. He drops to his hands and knees, reaching determinedly for the handle. Wei Wuxian drops to his knees as well, snatching Jiang Cheng’s wrists away.

“Jiang Cheng, no!” he wails.

“Stop it, I haven’t done the bedrooms yet.”

“You don’t need to do the bedrooms! You did them yesterday! And two days before that! And two days before that!”

They struggle fruitlessly for a few moments, the vacuum continuing to howl like a herd of demons under the couch. Wei Wuxian’s fingers seem to have locked themselves like handcuffs around his wrists. Wei Wuxian can be an absolute barnacle when he wants to be, and Jiang Cheng knows this best, so, with a glare, he finally ceases his futile struggles.

“The vacuum is still turned on,” he grits out.

Wei Wuxian bounces to his feet, jabbing the power button. The demonic howls finally stop. Finally, Wei Wuxian pulls Jiang Cheng onto the couch, clasping their hands patiently over their knees.

“I promised that I would help you explain, didn’t I?” he reminds Jiang Cheng. “None of them will blame you. It all happened so quickly. You had no time to think.” 

Without the vacuum roaring in his hands like a flamethrower, Jiang Cheng feels strangely powerless, so he just nods helplessly. Wei Wuxian pats his knee.

“Now will you sit here and not try to turn on the vacuum while I deal with this?”

He nods again, and proceeds to wait listlessly as Wei Wuxian digs his phone out to make a call.

“A-Jie?” he asks, after a short moment. “Yeah, it’s me. Hey, Jie, can you do us a favor? Can you fix us up an emergency private room at Lotus Pier? Yes, it’s for that.” A pause. “I don’t know. I think tonight would be best? Madam Yu and Uncle Jiang are heading back to Wuhan at the end of this week. Yeah, you’re right. So I’ll see you later? Love you. Bye.”

He hangs up, and then makes another call.

“Uncle Jiang?”

Jiang Cheng shrinks a little.

“It’s A-Xian,” Wei Wuxian continues. “Dinner tonight? Lotus Pier? I asked A-Jie to reserve a room for us.”

The house is quiet, save for the gentle whirring of their washing machine in the next room. Even from here, he can hear the slightly tinny sound of a muffled voice coming from Wei Wuxian’s phone. Jiang Cheng cannot make out the words. 

After a moment, Wei Wuxian chuckles.

“Maybe we miss you lots and just want to see you again,” he teases, before sobering. “We need to talk about some things, as you know.”

A pause. The room is so utterly silent this time, both of them holding their breaths, that Jiang Cheng hears Father’s next words perfectly.

‘I guess we do have some things we must talk about.’

They both head quietly into their rooms to get showered and changed. After that, they give their chauffeur a ring, and head down to the lobby, not saying a word.

As they get into the car, Wei Wuxian leans right up against his side.

“It’s going to be okay,” he babbles nervously. “I’ll take care of everything. Are you alright? Feeling okay? What do you need?”

It’s frankly a little overwhelming. Jiang Cheng blinks a few times.

“Can we just sit here for awhile?” he pleads.

Wei Wuxian gets him immediately. Of anyone, Wei Wuxian would understand best what it’s like to need some quiet. Nodding, he lays his head against Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, going silent. On the other side of the darkened glass, the chauffeur turns on some quiet music.

It is a classical piece, soothing and slow. 

Wei Wuxian closes his eyes. His breathing evens out and, taking the hint, Jiang Cheng obediently synchronizes their breathing, the stress and anxiety seeping slowly from his bones.

After a moment, he closes his eyes too.

He dreams of a memory. 

Eyes closed and drifting peacefully, he floats somewhere between sleep and waking. The quiet strains of a piano wash over him like a gentle sea, cradling him soothingly with each rise and fall. Wrapped up in velvet, warm, and surrounded by the serene sounds of music, he hears the barest whispers of a familiar chuckle.

He startles awake in the car then, the remnants of a haunting melody still sitting on his tongue.

Beside him, Wei Wuxian is pressed up against his side, clearly asleep. He wakes as Jiang Cheng shifts to crack his neck.

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian murmurs. “Did I sleep? How long did I sleep for?” 

“I don’t know. I slept as well.”

Wei Wuxian sits up, rubbing blearily at his eyes. Jiang Cheng stays quiet as he stretches, still thinking about his dream.

“There was a song you used to play on the piano,” he says suddenly, “back in the music room when we were in school. What’s the name of the song?” 

Blinking, Wei Wuxian stifles a yawn. 

“I played a lot of songs in school,” he manages, with a little cat-like stretch. “What does it sound like?”

Exasperated, Jiang Cheng exhales, then vainly attempts to hum the first phrase. It comes out terrible, off-tune, shaky and uncertain. He groans. 

“Like that,” he says, frustrated, “but in tune.” 

Wei Wuxian turns slowly to him. 

“Jiang Cheng,” he says. “I have absolutely no idea what you were trying to hum.”

Jiang Cheng slumps in his seat, groaning, as Wei Wuxian chuckles.

“And you know that I hate classical music,” he continues, laying his head back down on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. “I don’t remember many of the pieces I had to play.” 

Jiang Cheng sighs. “Nevermind then.”

They fall back into a companionable silence. In the quiet, Jiang Cheng can’t help the wry smile that creeps onto his lips.

He has to admit, that particular song had been the antithesis to the complex, showy kind of pieces that Wei Wuxian had always favored. So perhaps, Jiang Cheng’s horrible humming aside, he shouldn’t be surprised that Wei Wuxian doesn’t remember. That piece had been way too simple, too somber, filled with way too much longing, too much quiet aching . Not really a Wei Wuxan song at all.

Head still laid on his shoulder, Wei Wuxian speaks without opening his eyes.

“I didn’t know you liked classical music,” he murmurs.

Jiang Cheng shrugs.

“I don’t,” he corrects. “I just liked that piece.” 

“I see.” 

A few moments pass.

“So, why do you like that one?”

“No reason,” Jiang Cheng says immediately, a little embarrassed.

Under Lady Baoshan’s tutelage, illuminated by bright lights and carried by countless orchestras, Wei Wuxian had slowly begun to overcome himself, had slowly begun to blossom. Charming, witty, and oh-so-funny, the tides had quickly turned. Who hadn’t wanted to be his friend back then? Who hadn’t fawned over him, the dearest darlingest adopted son of one of China’s richest families? Like a dragon blazing out of muddy waters, that was when Wei Wuxian had truly begun to shine, rising with all the blinding glory of the sun.

With Wei Wuxian’s rise into glory, resentment had slowly begun to creep into Jiang Cheng’s heart, turning his life into the never-ending race that he lives now. Still, there had once been a time before that: simpler times, before Wei Wuxian had become the golden child, before the jealousy and insecurities, before the endless comparisons had slowly slithered in and broken their young hearts.

Wrapped up in Wei Wuxian’s piano cover, surrounded by music and the familiar smell of resin, wood, and clean velvet— that song, he recalls, had been one of those Wei Wuxian had played during those innocent, carefree days.

“Just reminds me of when we used to hang in the music room,” is all he eventually says.

Wei Wuxian seems to sense his diversion, but does not chase it, raising an eyebrow instead.

“All the exciting songs I’ve ever played in that room,” he teases, “and you chose to remember a song that sounds so utterly boring?”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes.

“Isn’t it your fault for choosing such a boring piece to play in the first place?” he retorts.

Wei Wuxian just laughs. “It really doesn’t sound like the kind of song I’d usually choose.”

Jiang Cheng really can’t disagree with that, and so they fall back into companionable silence. In the quiet, filled only by the faint drone of the engine, a symphony swells tinny over the speakers. It rises and falls, slow, and gentle, and filled with all the somber serenity of a wave, washing over the icy shore in the winter.

In the aftermath of that achingly beautiful dream, the orchestra fills Jiang Cheng with a strange and poignant strength.

They reach Lotus Pier soon after that, and are immediately ushered into one of the private rooms. Father rises warmly to greet them both, A-Jie smiling just as warmly beside them. Only Mother remains seated, eyes on the table in front of her. As Jiang Cheng takes the seat opposite her, however, her eyes flick up, pinning him furiously to the wall behind him.

He quickly ducks his head in silent apology, and dares not look at her again.

Finally, as they all settle at the table, Father looks up with a smile. “How is everything with you two?” he asks lightly. “Are classes okay, A-Cheng? Has your client come back with comments on the track, A-Xian?”

Bewildered, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian trade discreet looks.

“Not yet, Uncle Jiang,” Wei Wuxian replies.

Father nods.

“Ah, that’s a pity,” he sighs. “I’m looking forward to the debut.”

There is a moment of confused silence. Seeming to sense it, Father finally sobers, turning to Jiang Cheng with an awkward smile. “But that’s not what we’re here to talk about, is it?”

Jiang Cheng stiffens, but nods. Father sighs.

“I’ve made some arrangements,” he continues. “If you’d like, you can begin by rotating through Jiang Electric — that’s one of our core businesses after all — and slowly make your way through all the other subsidiaries. But that’s only if you want to, of course! It’s perfectly fine if you don’t want to start just yet!”

Jiang Cheng blinks, and then turns to look at Wei Wuxian again. Wei Wuxian looks back at him, seemingly just as confused. Jiang Cheng turns back to his father.

“Sure,” he says.

There’s a moment of awkward silence. Then, as Jiang Cheng turns to look at Wei Wuxian pointedly, his adopted brother shoots upright. 

“Ah, yes!” he gasps. “Uncle Jiang, erm. How do I put this? You know that whole issue with getting scouted?”

Father tilts his head slightly.

“Getting scouted by a talent show?” Wei Wuxian continues, questioningly. “It happened yesterday, after we had dinner?”

Father’s eyes widen.

“Oh, A-Xian!” he gasps. “You were scouted by a talent show?! I told you it was only a matter of time until someone spotted you! I’m so happy for you, A-Xian! When is the show going to start? Where is the filming location? You’re going to have to find a new apartment there, aren’t you? Get a good one and bill it to the credit card I gave you. Oh, I’m so excited!”

The room goes silent.

Every single one of them stares for a moment, struck speechless. Even Wei Wuxian’s ever-blabbering mouth is just opening and closing soundlessly.

“Uncle Jiang,” he finally manages, voice a little strained. “Jiang Cheng was the one who got scouted.”

Father’s jaw drops. 

“What?!”

They continue to stare, in absolute silence, for another long moment. Then in unison, all three children turn to the Jiang matriarch.

“I thought—” Wei Wuxian begins numbly.

“The missed call from you—” Jiang Cheng continues.

Wei Wuxian turns back to Father. “You said we had some things to talk about when I called you! Wasn’t that— Wasn’t that because of the talent hunt?!”

Father turns to look at Mother as well. “You knew about this?”

Mother purses her lips.

“I was hoping to have this resolved without you ever needing to know,” she admits.

There’s another moment of shocked silence, before Father finally turns to Jiang Cheng. “I didn’t know you had any interest in music,” he says helplessly.

When no one responds, Father just blinks, clearly not over his astonishment yet.

“A-Cheng,” he finally tries, licking his lips, “are you— are you sure you want to go through with this? I just don’t think—“ 

He pauses, blinking a few more times. Jiang Cheng can’t help but fill in the rest of the sentence for him.

I just don’t think you can do this. 

It hurts more than Jiang Cheng is comfortable admitting. Beside him, Wei Wuxian gladly seizes the opportunity to bring up their request, as promised, looking profoundly relieved. 

“The thing is,” he begins quickly, “we had no clue what we were agreeing to when the whole thing went down! The hosts were far from clear what was happening and, to make matters worse, we later found out that the show is run by Lan Entertainment!”

He takes a breath, shooting Jiang Cheng a reassuring look. Seeing the grim look on Jiang Cheng’s face, he reaches out to grip Jiang Cheng’s hand under the table, turning back to Father with a honey-coated smile. 

“Uncle Jiang,” he wheedles. “You have to help us. It was my fault. I lost the last page of the contract and— and I think that’s where all the contact numbers are supposed to be! You have a direct line to Chairman Lan, don’t you? Could you give him a call and withdraw Jiang Cheng from the show? Please?”

At that, Father breathes out, sinking back in his chair. 

“Oh, of course!” he agrees hastily. “Of course I can. I still have his personal number from when we were in school together, and even if he’s changed numbers, I most certainly have his office extension.” He lets out a nervous chuckle, before turning to Jiang Cheng. “Ah, I was worried there for a bit. You’ve never— Well, you’ve never quite been one for all that attention, A-Cheng! I really don’t want you to do something that will make you feel uncomfortable just because—”

He stops there, mouth contorting like he’s swallowed something incredibly bitter.

“That argument should never have happened in front of any of you,” he finally manages. “I’m really sorry, all three of you.”

Shaking their heads frantically, Wei Wuxian and A-Jie hasten to reassure him it’s okay. Father turns to look back at Jiang Cheng, smiling kindly.

“Shall I call Chairman Lan tomorrow, then?” he asks. “Of course you don’t want to do this, right, son?”

Everyone else turns to Jiang Cheng as well.

Jiang Cheng dares not look at his mother, but the others are each wearing kind, understanding smiles, all politely waiting for him to give the answer they all expect him to give. A familiar lump rises unexpectedly in Jiang Cheng’s throat, robbing him once more of his words, his voice. Jiang Cheng just looks helplessly at the faces around him for a long moment.

Suddenly, he is unable to bear those expectant looks for a second longer.

He stands up. 

“I need some air,” he says numbly.

Pushing desperately through the doors, he ignores the startled cries from behind him. He ignores the startled muttering as he pushes blindly through the throng, and finally emerges through a set of heavy curtains. A blast of cold air hits him right in the face, like emerging from water into a winter’s day, and his eyes fly open. 

He stops dead in his tracks.

He has emerged onto a long balcony overlooking Lotus Pier’s signature lotuses. Before him, flowers seem to stretch on for eternity, broken only by patches of a dazzling night sky, reflected over still waters. The Beijing skyline glitters magnificently at him from beyond swaying blossoms, bright enough to swallow the stars.

For an endless moment, he just stands there, in the silent darkness, in the fragrant cold. His breathing begins to come easier.

Then, Wei Wuxian bursts through the curtains behind him.

“Jiang Cheng?!” he calls frantically. “Jiang Cheng, what’s wrong?”

The peace shatters. The anxiety returns. Jiang Cheng bites his lip.

“I— I don’t know,” he admits.

Blinking, Wei Wuxian approaches him slowly. Really, though, he has no reason to be looking like such a kicked puppy. As Wei Wuxian reaches out for him, Jiang Cheng grasps him in return. Before he can say anything, however, Wei Wuxian speaks first.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asks miserably.

“It’s not that!” Jiang Cheng immediately protests, and then lowers his eyes. “I just— I don’t know.” 

“Is it perhaps because you want to do this?” 

They turn around. 

Behind them, A-Jie is stepping out onto the balcony, wearing a patient smile. Dropping his eyes, Jiang Cheng is unable to meet her gaze. With slow, measured steps, she comes to stand between them, looking serenely out over the lotuses.

“Since you were a boy,” she continues, “whenever someone has told you you couldn’t do something, you’ve always felt like you had to prove them wrong.” She laughs lightly, turning to him. “Isn’t that how you’re feeling now?”

Jiang Cheng lowers his eyes.

“Yes,” he admits.

Wei Wuxian straightens, realization dawning in his eyes. 

“So you do want to do this,” he gasps.

“No!” Jiang Cheng protests immediately, and then pauses. A-Jie and Wei Wuxian are watching him, not speaking. He suddenly feels the need to justify himself. 

“Do you— Do you know just how much hassle this will be?” he demands, flustered. “The filming location is all the way in Suzhou . I’m— I’m going to have to find an apartment. I’m going to have to pack. I’m going to have to move. I’ll have to take a leave of absence from school!”

He looks up at them. 

They continue to look back at him, still not speaking.

“And I’ve just been given the opportunity to rotate through Jiang Electric!” he continues desperately. “If I choose to do this, I’m going to have to give that up. And— And Suzhou? I’ve never been there. It’ll be a whole new place. What if I don’t understand the dialect? What if I don’t like the food? What if I don’t like the people?” 

He straightens up, pointing stridently at his siblings. “Yeah!” he shouts. “What if I don’t like the people?! What if the rest of the contestants are all a bunch of intolerable divas! What if— What if—”

He draws to a halt then, mouth opening and closing, soundless. And finally, excuses laid bare, he sinks down, wrapping his arms around himself.

“What if I make a fool of myself?” he whispers.

It comes out more vulnerable than he would have liked.

After a moment of unbearable silence, he opens his eyes to see the other two looking at each other, and then back at him. Finally, A-Jie smiles sadly.

“Oh, A-Cheng,” she whispers. “You’re afraid .”

Jiang Cheng flinches.

“No,” he denies.

A pause. 

Gods, he really cannot lie to his sister.

“Maybe,” he allows. “Mostly, it’s just because— I’d have to put so many important things on hold. If I do this, I’d have to take a leave of absence and defer graduation by half a year. On top of that, it’s going to take up half a year of my time that I could have spent rotating through Jiang Electric.” 

Feeling a little more sure of his reasons now, he breathes out, straightening to look at his siblings again. Jiang Yanli raises an eyebrow.

“Jiang Electric’s base of operations is in Suzhou as well,” she points out mildly. “That means that you would have needed to defer your graduation to do the rotation anyway.”

Jiang Cheng flinches.

“The talent show and Jiang Electric are both based in Suzhou,” A-Jie continues, in that ever reasonable tone. “So if you really want to, it is possible to do the rotations and the competition at the same time.”

Jiang Cheng opens his mouth to argue, but A-Jie’s next words shoot him right down before he can even begin. 

“It would be difficult, but I’m sure you can manage,” she continues, tone still mild, but impossible to argue with. “After all, you’ve been taking a double course load this whole time without issue, while also rotating at Yu Semiconductors. A-Xian tells me you still have regular movie nights? And you have time to cook? And do the laundry for A-Xian? And fold his clothes? And vacuum the carpet obsessively?”

“I—” Jiang Cheng begins helplessly.

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian says flatly. “He stress-vacuums at least five times a week.”

A-Jie tilts her head as if to say you see? before, without even the slightest hint of mercy, she lands the final blow.

“And I doubt that the filming schedule will be that intense,” she carries on, “Don’t you need time to practice in between rounds? Don’t they need time to prepare the costumes and rehearse the staging and review the footage?”

“There’s only so much singing you can get done in a day without hurting your voice,” Wei Wuxian comments.

Jiang Cheng stands there helplessly, arguments scattered to the four winds, and facing utter defeat. The silence stretches on for a long moment.

“I’ll come with you,” Wei Wuxian says suddenly.

Jiang Cheng and his sister turn to him, equally surprised.

“I’ll take a leave of absence too,” Wei Wuxian explains. “All the apartment hunting, the packing, the moving— I’ll bear it with you. The unfamiliar food and the unfamiliar dialect? Guess what? I’ll be completely lost too! When we’re homesick, we can make lotus root soup and watch some kid movies.”

Jiang Cheng bites his lip, genuinely lost for words, as Wei Wuxian’s eyes soften. He puts a hand on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder.

“And when you’re worn and weary,” he continues, smiling, “I will carry you home.”

Those words spark a vivid flash of memory.

An afternoon spent in the school’s music room. The sky had long since gone dark, the stars out and glinting through the curtained window. That night, the practice session had stretched longer than usual. Wei Wuxian’s first performance under Lady Baoshan had been approaching, Jiang Cheng recalls suddenly, and he’d been working hard on perfecting his piece. Wrapped up in warm velvet, Jiang Cheng had eventually fallen into a deep sleep, exhausted by the late hour.

He’d eventually woken to the sensation of gentle swaying, to Wei Wuxian carrying him on his back with some difficulty, hobbling down towards the main foyer, where the chauffeur had always waited to take them home. He had been humming absently as he went.  

Humming that piece— the concerto from Jiang Cheng’s dream.

Yes. That had been the song, hadn’t it? The one Wei Wuxian had played for that fateful performance, the very last song Jiang Cheng been able to enjoy innocently, before the jealousy had set in and the comparisons had begun, the stain of envy yet to sour its sweetness. Wei Wuxian been practicing the piece that day. Late into the night. Later than he’d ever practiced before.

“What time is it?” Jiang Cheng had asked.

“Late.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time on this piece,” Jiang Cheng had observed.

Wei Wuxian had been quiet for a long moment. Finally, the silence had been interrupted by a frustrated sniffle.

“It’s the easiest movement of the entire concerto,” he had explained angrily. “Lady Baoshan said the other movements are too difficult for me, and I can’t even get this one right.”

Panicking at the sudden tears, Jiang Cheng patted at Wei Wuxian’s shoulders in clumsy, desperate comfort. 

“If you can’t do it, then just withdraw from the performance!” he had cried, distressed. “There are so many other people performing anyway. You’re only playing one piece, and there’s plenty of time before the concert. It should still be possible!”

But Wei Wuxian had laughed.

“Ugh, you don’t get it, Jiang Cheng,” he had said, and sniffed again. “Sometimes... you just have to take a leap of faith, you know? Yeah, maybe I’ll flop miserably. Maybe I’ll just wind up making an utter fool of myself in front of all those people . But if you don’t put yourself out there, if you don’t try , then how will anyone know what you’re capable of?”

He had tilted his head back then, smiling at Jiang Cheng with soft eyes.

“How will I know what I’m capable of?” he had asked, more quietly. “Jiang Cheng, if I never get over my fear of failure, if I never try, then I’ll never know if I’m capable of greater things.”

A pointed clearing of a throat brings Jiang Cheng back to the present. His siblings are still looking at him expectantly. Jiang Cheng stares back at them for a long moment, before he finally lowers his eyes.

“We can make lotus root soup,” Jiang Cheng says, and scoffs. “You’ll bear the moving with me.“ He rolls his eyes for good measure. “But we both know who’s really going to be doing all the work, don’t we?”

He looks back up at Wei Wuxian, folding his arms.

“You had better carry me home if I pass out from moving all your shit to Suzhou,” he says flatly.

His siblings just blink at him for a few seconds, before lighting up.

“Wait—” Wei Wuxian begins.

“So you’re doing it?!” A-Jie gasps, clasping her hands delightedly.

Their excitement is infectious. Jiang Cheng can’t help but smile. He looks out over the swaying lotuses, to the skyline that glitters beyond the trees. He’d wandered so far away from home, chasing this skyline, all in the hopes it would eventually grant him the things he found lacking in himself. It’s now been three years in Beijing, and he still hasn’t found those things. 

What will the skyline in Suzhou bring him? he wonders suddenly.

Will it shine just like this one? Will it call to him with the same promise of greatness, of finally, finally becoming someone worthwhile? Underneath that unfamiliar sky, could he finally dare to dream, to reach out, to grasp those stars in his very hands? Could those horizons finally bring him the things that he’s been searching for? Could it earn him a place in his father’s eyes? 

Could it return him to the way he’d once been— in that long ago time before jealousy and insecurity had taken over his young heart?

Jiang Cheng isn’t sure.

But he’s willing to find out.

He closes his eyes against those glittering lights, and breathes.

“Yeah,” he whispers, and smiles. “I guess I am.”

Chapter Text

Suzhou North is a thing of beauty in the lavender morning. The brightening sky peers shyly down at them through the glass roof, as they step out of the station and into the chilly air. Jiang Cheng hefts his bags more securely into his arms, Wei Wuxian doing the same beside them, as A-Jie follows more sedately behind, wheeling their suitcases on either side of her. A car has been left for them, so they head over to the carpark, hunting down the lot number given to them.

“Woah,” Jiang Cheng breathes, as they finally locate it. “Nice car.” 

“I’m driving!” Wei Wuxian shouts immediately.

“No way!” Jiang Cheng yelps. “I actually want to reach there alive!” 

He reaches out, grabbing Wei Wuxian around the waist as the lunatic tries to make a dash for the driver’s seat. A-Jie watches serenely as they wrestle, huffing and grunting, before Jiang Cheng finally manages to squeeze himself behind the wheel, slamming the door in Wei Wuxian’s indignant face. He retracts the roof slowly, allowing a disgruntled Wei Wuxian to toss all their bags into the back. A-Jie gets gracefully into the backseat with their luggage. 

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng orders, as Wei Wuxian climbs into the passenger side. “You’re in charge of navigation.” 

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes, but pulls out his phone. In the end, they need not have worried about apartment hunting. The contract (which they had so happily thrown away) had apparently contained a clause requiring them to lodge with the other contestants for the filming period. 

“Drive down North Tiancheng Road for 500 meters, then turn left,” comes a robotic voice.

Jiang Cheng steps down on the pedal. 

Wei Wuxian jerks backward, hitting the back of his head against the headrest. “Ow.”

“This thing is fast,” Jiang Cheng mutters, lightening up the pressure. He turns to look into the back. “A-Jie, are you al—”

“A-Cheng!” A-Jie yelps. “Red light!”

Jiang Cheng jams the brakes. Still rubbing the back of his head, Wei Wuxian is thrown forward against his seatbelt.

“ Ow,” he manages, choked.

“Fucking hell,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. “I swear that traffic light came out of nowhere.” 

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian rasps, rubbing his throat where the seatbelt has left a red mark. “This is a perfectly straight road.” 

“The lights have turned green, A-Cheng,” A-Jie interjects mildly. 

Jiang Cheng snaps back around. The lights have indeed turned green, but none of the cars are moving. He curses, honking loudly. “Why are these people taking so goddamn long to move?!” 

Wei Wuxian catches his wrist before he can honk again.

“Gods, Jiang Cheng. You’re a terrible driver.” 

Jiang Cheng snaps around to glare at him, deeply offended.

“I’m still a better driver than you!” he defends. “The last time you drove, you drove us into a lake!” 

“At least I don’t have road rage!” Wei Wuxian protests.

“You try driving with all these idiots around you! Let’s see if you have road rage then!” 

Loud honking from behind. 

“Move, Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian shouts. “The light is green!” 

Jiang Cheng steps down on the pedal. “I am moving! Stop distracting the driver!” 

“Right turn, Jiang Cheng! Right turn!” 

“I’m not in the turning lane!” 

Wei Wuxian’s voice cuts off mid-response as he slams against his side of the car. “Ow!”

“Okay, I am now. Next time, will you tell me before the turn?” 

The honking gets louder, more enraged. 

“Why are all these idiots honking?!”

“A-Cheng…” A-Jie says slowly. “You just made an illegal turn.”

“What?!” Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian shriek.

“Rerouting…” Wei Wuxian’s phone intones calmly. “Rerouting…”

“And we were supposed to turn left,” A-Jie continues, just as calmly.

Jiang Cheng sits there for a moment, dumbfounded, before he whips around to glare accusingly at Wei Wuxian. 

“You told me to turn right!” 

“I—” Wei Wuxian splutters. “You know I’m bad at remembering directions! I’m ADHD! The real question is— why didn’t you fucking see the illegal turning sign? How did you even pass your license?!”

“How did you even pass your license?!” Jiang Cheng snaps.

“Boys.” 

They both cease their squabbling immediately. A-Jie is quiet for a moment, before she sighs.

“A-Cheng. Stop the car.” 

Jiang Cheng gingerly pulls over at the next possible stop, feeling distinctly like a dog that has been caught peeing on the sofa. Wei Wuxian looks remorsefully down at his own lap, in repentant silence, as she steps out of the car.

A-Jie drives the rest of the way.

“I feel like we’ve traveled back to the Three Kingdoms^[1],” Wei Wuxian says, as they pull up in the parking area. “This place is awfully old-fashioned, isn’t it?”

A-Jie glides gracefully into the parking lot, parallel parking and all. The lodging house is a sprawling traditional estate, fronted by a spacious lobby, where they get their keys. A camera crew greets them as they heft their bags up, following them as they carry their boxes towards their rooms.

“How are you feeling now that you’re actually here?” they ask Jiang Cheng.

“Err,” he says awkwardly. “Normal? I guess?”

“Are these your bandmates?” the interviewer asks, nodding towards A-Jie and Wei Wuxian.

“No, these are my siblings.” 

“We’re here for moral support!” Wei Wuxian chimes.

The camera crew disperses after a few more questions, gone to accost the next unfortunate soul to step through the main doors. Jiang Cheng continues to follow the signs to their allocated room. Everything is very traditional, spotted with serene courtyards and sheltered walkways with beautiful sloping roofs. The sounds of trickling water follow them, along with the rustle of leaves and tranquil birdsong. 

After putting everything down, they head out to get some ingredients for dinner.

He and Wei Wuxian are at the concierge, asking for directions to the nearest grocer, when they hear a yelp. Jiang Cheng turns to see that another contestant has apparently bumped into A-Jie. Boxes and bags are strewn all over the floor, and the boy has dropped to his knees, looking stressed. A-Jie bends to help him pick up his belongings as Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng come jogging over.

“I’m so sorry!” the boy cries. “Thank you so much!”

“Are you okay?” A-Jie asks. “You seem a little frazzled.”

That only seems to frazzle him more.

“I— I just need to get this stuff to my brother’s suite, or the others will be angry with me for sure!”

“And they couldn’t have been here to help you?” A-Jie asks.

“Ah,” the boy says, and bites his lip. “They’ve— they’ve gone out to look for food.”

At the mention of food, his stomach growls loudly. The Jiang siblings look at one another as he flushes scarlet. A-Jie turns back to the boy with a kind smile.

“Why don’t we help you?” she offers. “Which room are you staying in?”

The boy pales. 

“They… They didn’t tell me.” He looks to be on the verge of tears now. “And my phone is out of battery.” 

A-Jie soothes him with a hand to the shoulder. 

“What’s your name?” she asks.

“Mo Xuanyu.”

“Xuanyu, my name is Yanli,” A-Jie offers in return. “These are my brothers, A-Xian and A-Cheng.”

Wei Wuxian waves in greeting. Jiang Cheng just nods.

“Why don’t you come with us?” A-Jie continues. “You can leave your things with the front counter and when your brothers arrive, they can pick it up. In the meantime, we’re going to get some ingredients to cook dinner, and it’s always easier cooking for more people than less. You can join us for dinner.” 

Mo Xuanyu lights up at the mention of food.

“Is that really okay?” he gasps.

“Of course it is.”

The poor boy scurries off to leave his things with the concierge, coltish and painfully sincere, as the rest of them head out into the parking lot. 

“What a family,” Wei Wuxian observes. “Mo. I don’t think I personally know anyone by that surname.”

Mo Xuanyu comes scuttling back out. He stops in front of the car, eyes widening. 

“Woah,” he says. “Nice car.”

A-Jie laughs, climbing into the driver’s seat.

“Let’s go, boys,” she chimes.

When they return to the lodging house, groceries in hand, there is a group of angry youths making a scene at the counter. Or, to be more exact— two angry youths, and one shorter man, helplessly trying to placate them. Mo Xuanyu lights up at the sight of them.

“Yao-ge!” he calls.

The short one turns around, looking relieved when he sees who it is.

“There you are, A-Yu!” 

One of the others turns around, and upon spotting Mo Xuanyu, begins to advance angrily towards them. 

“Why didn’t you wait in the room like we told you?!” Mo Xuanyu shrinks back. “And where’s all the stuff we asked you to bring?!”

A-Jie extends a hand in front of Mo Xuanyu, and the man stops, surprised. He and A-Jie meet gazes. Both pairs of eyes widen.

“Zixun?” A-Jie whispers.

“Maiden Jiang!” Jin Zixun yelps.

Mo Xuanyu jerks at that. “Jiang— Wait, then you must be—“

Sucking in a breath, A-Jie turns to look at the last young man, still at the counter, back turned and arguing with a member of staff. Jiang Cheng realizes who it must be, seemingly at the same time as Wei Wuxian. 

Mother and the similarly-tempered Madam Jin of Jin Holdings had always been close. As teenage girls, they had vowed that if they were to bear sons one day, their sons would become godbrothers. If they had daughters, their daughters would become godsisters, and if they were to have a son and a daughter, their children would of course become husband and wife.

A-Jie and Jin Zixuan, Madam Jin’s only child and the heir to Jin Holdings, were the unfortunate outcome of that vow. The two women would probably have forcefully betrothed the two, if the times had allowed it. Unfortunately for them, arranged marriages were long a thing of the past, and so, on Jin Zixuan’s eighteenth birthday, they had eagerly fixed a matchmaking appointment^[2] between the two. Jin Zixuan had been ultimately unhappy with A-Jie from the first meeting. However, Madam Jin had insisted on matchmaking them a few more times, vainly hoping he would change his mind. Under such circumstances, he had eventually snapped on the fourth or fifth meeting, and insulted A-Jie right to her face— something about her being too old, under-accomplished, and only average in looks.

Just recalling the incident, Jiang Cheng wants to defenestrate the useless peacock, preferably from the top of Jin Holdings’ sixty-storeyed headquarters. Is he blind as well as daft, that inept pea-brained excuse for a flightless bird?! A-Jie clearly was, is, and will always be the most beautiful woman he’ll ever have the fortune to lay his eyes on! A-Jie had left crying, and Wei Wuxian had come in and socked him in the face. After that, the Jin and Jiang matriarchs had given up on matchmaking the pair with great disappointment. 

That had been four years ago.

In present time, it appears that Wei Wuxian is also reliving the urge to punch the guy in the face. 

“A-Jie,” he grits out, “let’s go.” 

Scowling, they both flank A-Jie, beginning to usher her discreetly past the counter. Unfortunately, the young man at the counter turns as they brush past him.

The urge to deck him is near uncontrollable. He still has the same snooty, stuck up air about him as he’d had in middle school.

Jin Zixuan’s eyes widen upon seeing A-Jie. “M—Maiden Jiang. I didn’t think you’d be here.”

A-Jie bows her head politely. “Just here to help my brothers settle in. I’ll be heading back to Shanghai tonight.”

Jin Zixuan nods, a little awkwardly. “I see. Good luck on your studies then.”

He’s being a lot more polite than he was four years ago, but Jiang Cheng still can’t help but be irritated with him. 

“She’s working now,” he corrects Jin Zixuan.

“As a consultant,” Wei Wuxian adds snidely.

Jin Zixuan purses his lips, clearly annoyed at the two of them. “I see.”

There is a moment of tense silence, before A-Jie breaks it with a quiet cough.

“If you’d ever like to visit Shanghai, please let me know,” she offers, ending the conversation decisively. “I will make sure you are properly welcomed.” She turns around with a smile. “Xuanyu, you are welcome to drop by for dinner once you are done checking in. If not, I will bring you a bowl of soup tonight before I return to Shanghai. After all, we bought enough ingredients for four.”

They turn and head into the compound.

“Consultant?” A-Jie murmurs, amused, as the doors close behind them.

“That’s exactly what you are, A-Jie!” Wei Wuxian argues. Jiang Cheng nods vehemently.

A-Jie can only chuckle, helpless. 

“Oh, the two of you.”

They return to the apartment, where A-Jie expertly puts together the ingredients for some lotus root soup. The kitchen is small, joined to the living room with no island, a narrow basin, and barely any space for chopping and preparation. When served, however, the soup is still worthy of a three Michelin star restaurant. 

As A-Jie leaves for the night, she brings the last bowl with her.

The next day, they head down to the filming location, where they are soon acquainted with the other contestants. There are some familiar faces amongst the crowd, and some not so familiar faces. There are the Jins, of course— Mo Xuanyu waves at them, and thanks them shyly for the soup. A little more surprisingly, they recognize Wen Chao, the second son of Wen Corporation, one of their more notorious middle school classmates. Then, as the last of the contestants trickle in, Lan Xichen finally steps forward.

“Shall we begin by introducing ourselves?” He smiles. “I am Lan Xichen, the host of the All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt. My co-host has a guqin showcase this weekend, and will only arrive next week. Until then, I hope you will treat me kindly.”

“A guqin player,” Wei Wuxian whispers to Jiang Cheng, amused. “How traditional, if somewhat antiquated.”

Jiang Cheng shushes him as the other contestants introduce themselves. 

“Jin Zixuan, lead vocals,” Jin Zixuan says, and nods over his shoulder. “This is my cousin, Zixun, back-vocalist and guitarist. That’s Mo Xuanyu, on the keyboard. Together, we are The Gold Ones.”

How creative, Jiang Cheng thinks.

Every single one of them is in some shade of gold, whether orange, beige, or in Mo Xuanyu’s case, an eye-destroying neon yellow. It is immediately clear that there is one member of their color-coordinated group who has not introduced himself. The man in question coughs as everyone turns to him, and holds up his visitor’s pass.

“Jin Guangyao,” he says. “I’m their bodyguard.”

Jiang Cheng looks him up and down. He’s the smallest of them all.

“You mean babysitter?” Wei Wuxian asks. Jiang Cheng smacks him, biting back his laughter. 

Jin Guangyao coughs noncommitally as Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun seethe. A teen, all in black, with kohl-lined eyes, scoffs loudly.

“You’re not a contestant either,” he points out. “You have a visitor’s pass. Who are you?”

“I’m Wei Wuxian, and I am—”

“He’s the baby, not the babysitter,” Jiang Cheng cuts in flatly. “He’s here with me. I’m Jiang Cheng. Soloist. You are?”

“Xue Yang,” the boy answers. “Soloist.” 

Wen Chao steps forward, puffing his chest out. “And I am Wen Chao, lead vocalist!” He flexes— flexes. “We are Wen Chao and the Band.” 

Wei Wuxian raises an eyebrow.

“What a name,” he whispers to Jiang Cheng. This time, Jiang Cheng laughs.

One by one, Wen Chao’s band members introduce themselves with a general air of reluctance. It’s as if none of them actually want to be here. There’s a guitarist, a keyboardist, a drummer, and a last member who just stares silently down at his feet. When Wen Chao slaps him on the back with a click of his tongue, the guy startles. 

“W-Wen Ning,” he stutters, still staring at his feet. “B-B-Back-up vocalist.” 

Jiang Cheng boredly shifts his attention to the pair standing next to Wen Chao, one smiling, and the other glaring. The smiling one bows his head graciously. “I am Xiao Xingchen. This is Song Lan. We are Bright Moon, Distant Snow.” 

Moving on in the circle, all the female contestants seem to have gathered in a cluster. 

“I am A-Qing, a soloist!”

“Qin Su, also a soloist. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“We are The Butterfly Sisters. I am Anxin. This is my singing partner, Sisi.”

“I am Luo Qingyang, lead vocalist, but you can call me Mianmian! Our band is called Girls 21.”

It goes on like this for awhile, with each member introducing themselves. There is a male folk singer, a choir named Sons of Moling, and a band somewhat bizarrely called Mo Ziyuan and the Goons. Jiang Cheng can’t help but notice how the lead vocalist keeps glaring at Mo Xuanyu, and wonders if they are related. Mo Xuanyu is avoiding his eyes.

They soon disperse to begin their training separately. Jiang Cheng is retrieved by a portly man in a brown suit and a frankly atrocious polka-dotted tie. The man leads him into a large studio, where he introduces himself as Jiang Cheng’s trainer. Jiang Cheng is somewhat alarmed by the camera crew circling them as Wu-laoshi^[3] seats himself at the grand piano.

“We’ll start with a simple arpeggio,” the man says, enunciating each word clearly, and rolling the ‘r’ of the foreign-sounding word. “Like this— aa-aa-aa-aa... ”

Jiang Cheng vainly attempts to remember the melody, mouth open, but the long succession of notes tumble upon him like a prolonged trainwreck. That’s supposed to be simple?! He tries to look at Wei Wuxian, but his brother is lost somewhere behind the sea of cameras. Jiang Cheng turns back to his trainer, licking his lips.

“Err,” he says. “Could you— Could you play that again? Maybe a little slower?”

Wu-laoshi raises both eyebrows, looking unfairly scandalized. “Have you never heard this arpeggio?!”

“No,” Jiang Cheng says.

Wu-laoshi blinks a few times.

“Aren’t you a student at Zhongyang Conservatory?!” he demands.

“No,” Jiang Cheng says, a little more flatly.

“But you were scouted there!”

Jiang Cheng winces as it all falls into place. Oh shit.

“I just happened to be on campus,” he explains. “I study business at Tsinghua.”

Wu-laoshi’s mouth opens, and then closes. “Do you have any musical background at all?”

Jiang Cheng bites his lip.

“No.”

The trainer looks to be on the verge of fainting. He puts a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes.

“We have a lot to work on,” he sighs.

At the end of the lesson, Wu-laoshi turns his attention away from Jiang Cheng immediately.

“Stylists?” he calls, clapping his hands sharply. “Can I have a touch up on my hair and foundation? Crew, post-lesson interview outside.”

As he leaves the room for his interview. Jiang Cheng puts away his notebook slowly, feeling vaguely unsettled. Somehow, he already doesn’t like his trainer, but it’s only the first lesson so— maybe it’s just beginner’s anxiety?

“Are you okay?” Wei Wuxian asks helplessly, finally managing to squeeze through the crowd.

“I’m fine,” Jiang Cheng responds curtly.

The rest of the week doesn’t go much better. Even to himself, he sounds strained and choked, wobbling on each note, and cracking unflattering on the highs.

“You’re cracking because you’re pushing too hard through your throat. Keep your throat relaxed and open. Imagine you have an egg in your mouth! An egg! An egg! Open and round. Now again. Relax your shoulders. Don’t frown.”

Being observed during his initial failed attempts only adds an additional layer of humiliation. Wei Wuxian tries vainly to calm him in between takes, but the anxiety continues to simmer beneath his skin. Jiang Cheng is constantly watching the camera crew, jumpy, and unable to focus on his lessons. As the week draws on, he begins to realize that it isn’t just the cameras. He also finds his trainer’s instructions extremely unhelpful. Failing to get Jiang Cheng to achieve the sound he is looking for, the man begins to resort to some rather— baffling techniques.

“Try raising your eyebrows on the high notes. More quickly. Hmm, that doesn’t seem to work. Okay, shoot up onto your toes as well with the note. Not so hesitantly! You really need that boost to help you hit the note. Tilt your head back a little. Look surprised!”

Jiang Cheng has absolutely no idea any of this has to do with achieving a more relaxed throat.

“You sing too stiffly,” his trainer criticizes incessantly. “You need to sing with your whole body! You need to perform! Move around! Gesture! No, not those small little movements. Don’t be lazy. Use your arms more! Expressions! Your entire body should move with the music! Feel it with your whole self! You’re holding back. Just let it out!” 

“You’re tense all over,” Wei Wuxian notes unhappily by mid-week, massaging his shoulders between takes. “Don’t hold back. How’s the sound going to come out like that?”

“I feel ridiculous,” Jiang Cheng bites out.

It also doesn’t help that Wu-laoshi is impatient, and often condescending. After each lesson, he gives long interviews about Jiang Cheng, sighing constantly about Jiang Cheng’s lack of progress, but how he’s determined to persevere even with the most difficult of students. By Thursday, Jiang Cheng is beginning to wonder if he shouldn’t have come at all.

He manages to get his hands on a vacuum cleaner, and takes to cleaning with a vengeance. Masked by the roaring of the vacuum, he screams into a pillow as Wei Wuxian watches helplessly. Once he has gotten all the screaming out of his system, he picks the hose up, and proceeds to vacuum the entire suite.

The racing thoughts disappear slowly into the deafening roar of the machine. By the time he is calm again, he realizes too late that they’ve missed dinner. He’s forgotten to feed Wei Wuxian.

He snaps around to find Wei Wuxian digging through the kitchen cabinets.

“Well, I don’t know about you,” Wei Wuxian says lightly, as if Jiang Cheng hasn’t forgotten to feed them both, “but I’m really wanting some spicy Samyang. I’ll make a bowl for you.”

Jiang Cheng snaps out of his shock very quickly.

“Not the Samyang!” he protests, snatching the Samyang packet out of Wei Wuxian’s hands, and scowls. “You’re crazy, you know? I’ll have the tom yum. The Samyang is way too spicy.”

Wei Wuxian picks out the right packet, and turns the kettle on as Jiang Cheng collapses tiredly on the couch, rubbing at his temples. A minute later, Wei Wuxian’s confused voice issues from around the corner.

“Is the kettle supposed to fizz like that?”

Startled, Jiang Cheng takes two long steps over and pulls the plug. 

“There’s not enough water in the kettle!” he yelps. “Gods, kettles have minimum water levels, you know?” 

“Oops,” Wei Wuxian says. 

Jiang Cheng takes the kettle to the sink, sighing as he peers into it. “Did you not add any water at all? How did you expect to fill two pots with this little water?” 

He turns on the tap, waiting for the kettle to fill. After a moment, he notices Wei Wuxian standing over his shoulder, watching.

“What are you waiting for!” he snaps, “Go find a pot!” 

Wei Wuxian begins digging through the kitchen cabinets while Jiang Cheng puts the kettle back on the heating pad. He turns to find that Wei Wuxian has found two pots for them to use. Sighing, he shoves the Samyang packet at Wei Wuxian.

“What would you do without me to cook your instant noodles?” he grumbles lowly, emptying his noodles into one pot.

“Die, probably,” Wei Wuxian says, without hesitation. “Or survive without my spicy Samyang, which isn’t much of a life at all.”

They finish emptying the seasoning into the pot just as the water finishes boiling.

“Turn on the stove,” Jiang Cheng instructs. “I’ll get the kettle.”

He comes back with the kettle and pours the boiling water over the noodles, pouring less into Wei Wuxian’s pot. He knows the beast likes his soup extra spicy. They turn on the stove, and very soon, they are pouring their noodles out into bowls.

A knock comes at their door as they settle around the table.

“I’ll get it!” Wei Wuxian cries.

He runs to the door and unlocks it, opening it to reveal— 

“Huaisang-xiong?”

“Yes, it’s me,” Nie Huaisang grumbles, “your newly-arrived and clearly much-needed wardrobe manager. Now let me in.” 

Nie Huaisang shoves his way into the apartment. He is in a slim-cut red velvet jacket, paired with skinny jeans, and a pair of Gucci sneakers. Jiang Cheng looks at himself and Wei Wuxian. They are literally in their pajamas.

“I just saw the footage from this week’s training,” Nie Huaisang continues, unaffected by his own state of overdress. “I know the competition hasn’t started, but you guys know that you are being filmed right? You know that you’re going to be on national TV right?”

Wei Wuxian, now settled back over his pot of noodles, pauses mid-slurp.

“Err,” he says, with his mouth full. “Yes?” 

Nie Huaisang collapses dramatically into the armchair.

“Wei-xiong! You were in your pajamas in one scene!”

“We had to wake up at seven, Huaisang! Seven!” 

Nie Huaisang turns to Jiang Cheng. “And you! Have you worn anything but joggers and hoodies this week?” 

Jiang Cheng finishes chewing, and swallows. 

“No.” 

Nie Huaisang groans. “You’re not supposed to sound so unconcerned about that!” 

Jiang Cheng huffs amusedly. Huaisang really hasn’t changed.

Nie Huaisang stands up suddenly. “I’m going to have a look in your wardrobe.” 

He goes into the first bedroom— Wei Wuxian’s. A moment later, his voice floats out to them. 

“You have some nice outfits here, Wei-xiong. I’m assuming that these are your clothes judging by how low this shirt goes, whoo! But why are they all so— You can’t wear any of these outside of a bar, Wei-xiong.” 

Wei Wuxian does not bother to swallow his mouthful before speaking. “Why get dressed up if you aren’t going to a bar?” 

Nie Huaisang groans as he emerges from Wei Wuxian’s room, going into Jiang Cheng’s next. A moment later, his voice comes from inside, scandalized.

“Why do you have nothing but joggers,” he demands, “—and suits?! There is a whole spectrum of clothing between joggers and a three-piece suit, Jiang-xiong, and your wardrobe reflects none of that! What are you supposed to wear on a daily basis?!”

Jiang Cheng chews, and swallows. 

“Joggers,” he answers. 

A groan. Nie Huaisang comes out from his room, producing a measuring tape from his jacket pocket. 

“Stand up,” he commands. “I’m going to need some measurements.”

“Huaisang-xiong, you used to really like the seafood noodles, right?” Wei Wuxian comments, arms up, and still chewing shamelessly as Nie Huaisang measures him. “Do you want some seafood noodles?” 

Nie Huaisang’s stomach growls, loudly.

Five minutes later, they are all seated around the table, slurping up their noodles. Nie Huaisang’s jacket is draped over the back of his seat. Underneath, he is thankfully just wearing a t-shirt. 

“I have to say that I didn’t expect to see quite so many familiar faces here, Huaisang-xiong!” Wei Wuxian gossips. “The peacock duo is here, as is Ugly Wen, and now you’re here too?”

“Don’t you know, Wei-xiong? It all started because Jiang-Xiong was scouted!”

“Huh?” Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian say in unison.

Nie Huaisang sighs.

“After the video of Jiang-xiong being scouted went viral,” he explains, “the Jins caught wind of it and were determined to be scouted. You recall how they started a band in middle school?”

“Vaguely,” Jiang Cheng says.

“Anyway, Jin Guangyao, Yao-ge, is a good friend of Xichen-ge, and it seems they found through Yao-ge that the talent hunt usually scouts for candidates around the conservatories. They took the earliest flight to Beijing, had Yao-ge find out which conservatory Xichen-ge would be scouting at for the day, and sat there singing and playing music until Xichen-ge walked by.” 

Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow dubiously. “They went to all that?”

“They even paid a crew to carry amplifiers for them!” Nie Huaisang confirms. “Xichen-ge still thinks that they were doing a gig! Yao-ge can’t bear to tell him the truth.”

“And Wen Chao?” Wei Wuxian asks curiously. “Since when was he interested in music?”

“He got wind that both Jiang-xiong and Jin-xiong had been scouted, and was upset that he had not. Rumor has it he hired a private investigator to find out where Xichen-ge would be scouting, and then headed over and did the same thing as Jin-Xiong. His band is made up of a bunch of some distant relatives and— and a cousin who studies musicology , I think?”

“Musicology?” Wei Wuxian repeats, incredulously. “So his cousin is a nerd, huh?” 

Nie Huaisang shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. I have no idea what musicology is. Oh! Oh! And do you know who that Mo Ziyuan guy is?” 

Wei Wuxian leans forward. “Is he related to Mo Xuanyu?” 

“He is! They’re cousins! Apparently, Mo Xuanyu is one of Jin Guangshan’s illegitimate sons!”

Jin Guangshan’s son? It seems that Mo Xuanyu ranks unexpectedly high in the Jin Holdings hierarchy. Across the table, Nie Huaisang continues his story.

“President Jin was forced to take custody of him as a teenager when his mother died, and boy, was Mo Ziyuan’s family jealous. The Mo family is reasonably well to do, so Mo Ziyuan formed a band out of a group of servants and just followed the fancams of Xichen-ge until he ran into Xichen-ge at a mall.”

“Why are all these people so extreme?” Wei Wuxian asks helplessly. “Was he any good at least?”

Nie Huaisang shakes his head.

“At the time, my brother was with Xichen-ge. He said that Mo Ziyuan was all like Lan Xichen! I watch your show and I believe I have what it takes to be on it! Da-ge also said that the band wasn’t very good. But you know how Xichen-ge is. He’s so soft-hearted, and Mo Ziyuan was very insistent. He kind of just followed Da-ge and Xichen-ge around for awhile. It only took a few I’ve always dreamed of being on your shows! before Xichen-ge caved and took him in.”

Wei Wuxian makes a face. “I suppose we can leave it to the judges to tear them apart.”

“And the others?” Jiang Cheng prods.

“I don’t know much about the others,” Nie Huaisang admits.

They slurp their noodles in silence for a few thoughtful moments.

“And what about you?” Jiang Cheng finally asks. “What are you doing here?”

“Me?” Nie Huaisang asks, surprised.

“Yeah.”

Nie Huaisang straightens. “I’ll be designing and producing the competition costumes.”

“Oh, is that what you’ve been up to lately, Huaisang-xiong?” Wei Wuxian inquires. “Working on this talent show?”

Nie Huaisang laughs. 

“Heavens, no. I wheedled Xichen-ge to letting me be the costumer designer just for this round. I had to come, seeing as how my most memorable middle school classmates are all competing.” He shrugs. “Da-ge was not very pleased. I was supposed to be helping Nie Industries diversify into textile production.”

“Is it okay that you’re here then?” Wei Wuxian asks, concerned.

“I assigned him a bunch of reading to do before I left,” Nie Huaisang says. “Do you know that he thought Corduroy, Denim, and Oxford were different types of materials?” He sighs. “No! They are all made of cotton! They are just woven differently!”

“I did not know that either,” Wei Wuxian volunteers.

“Well, yes! But you’re not intending to go into textile production, are you?”

Nie Huaisang sighs again, more heavily this time, before turning to look at his watch. It is a very nice watch. 

“I should head to bed,” he says, standing. “I have lots of shopping to do tomorrow.”

“What are you buying?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“Clothes?” Nie Huaisang says, like it should be obvious. “For the two of you?”

He shrugs on his jacket, heading for the door. 

“Oh, but please don’t spend out of pocket for us, Huaisang-xiong!” Wei Wuxian calls after him.

“We’ll pay you back,” Jiang Cheng agrees.

Nie Huaisang stops at the door, looking back at them incredulously.

“Are you crazy?” he demands. “I’m charging it all to Lan Entertainment of course!”

He slams the door behind him.

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian sit at the table for a long moment, locked in a somewhat bewildered silence.

“He’s somehow changed so much,” Wei Wuxian observes, “and yet not at all.”

When Jiang Cheng arrives for training the next day, there are more cameras than usual, more people too, and his trainer is giving a hushed interview outside the studio. Wu-laoshi asks for his makeup and hair to be touched up one last time as Jiang Cheng takes out his notebook. Jiang Cheng hasn’t taken down anything in awhile, mostly because his trainer has just been repeating the same things he said at the beginning of the week, but he lays a pen on the table anyway. 

The class begins as per normal. Less normally, Wu-laoshi seems to be particularly agitated today, even more so than usual. The agitation only heightens as the class draws on, and Jiang Cheng can’t help the rising irritation in return.

“You need to push the note out on the high notes. Push!” Wu-laoshi cries.

Jiang Cheng tries again, desperately attempting to keep his temper in check.

“Relax! You’re too tense!” 

“Because I am pushing,” Jiang Cheng grits out.

Wu-laoshi groans. “Yes, but even when you push, you can’t really push! You push, but the air comes out like a tinkling brook, light and easy and smooth. No obstructions. Push, but don’t push! We’ve been through this, don’t you get it yet?!”

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes. 

Push, he repeats incredulously in his head, but don’t push?!

“No,” he says.

And at that, Wu-laoshi finally seems to snap, slamming his hand down on the piano.

“Will you please apply yourself a little more?!” he snaps. “I’m beginning to wonder if you even want to be here. Why on earth did you come here if you weren’t going to be serious about your training? Do you know how many people would have loved to be on this show? Do you know what a privilege this is that you’re wasting?”

“I wasn’t—” Jiang Cheng protests.

“No excuses!” Wu-laoshi cuts in sharply. “I don’t take lazy students. If you aren’t going to get your act together, then please leave and let someone more deserving take your place!”

Jiang Cheng’s jaw drops, furious beyond words. Before he can gather himself enough to respond, however, Wei Wuxian pushes past the camera crew, finally seeming to have had enough.

“He is being serious!” he defends. “He’s being so fucking serious! You’re just a bad teacher!”

This time, it is Wu-laoshi’s turn to be struck speechless. The camera crew, which had already been circling gleefully before, immediately begin to crowd more fervently, buzzing like bees around honey.

“Why, I’ve never—” Wu-laoshi splutters.

Jiang Cheng sits there watching, mouth open, as they dissolve into a shouting match. After about a minute of this, Lan Xichen comes running in, eyes wide.

“What’s going on here?” he asks, alarmed.

Wu-laoshi double-takes, apparently surprised to see him. 

“Lan-laoshi?” he questions incredulously. “You’re still here? Weren’t you leaving to watch Wangji-laoshi’s performance?”

“I was on the way out,” Lan Xichen says, and indeed, he appears to be dressed for travel. “Wu-laoshi, may I know what seems to be the problem?”

Wu-laoshi collects himself quickly, turning to glare at Wei Wuxian. 

“I was going on with the training as per usual, but the contestant’s brother seems to disagree with my teaching methods. If this young sir is so dissatisfied with the quality of my teaching, perhaps he would like to take my place instead!”

“Even I could probably do a better job than you,” Wei Wuxian snaps. “Not because I’m any good, but because you’re just exceptionally b—”

Jiang Cheng finally breaks out of his stupor, whipping around before Wei Wuxian can complete his sentence. “Wei Ying!”

Wu-laoshi turns to Lan Xichen, indignant. “Do you see?!” he splutters. “This boy is a complete disruption to my class! All week, he has been nothing but a disturbance, getting in the way of the crew, and undermining my authority!”

The anger and hurt churning that had been churning in Jiang Cheng stills suddenly, evening out to an icy calm.

“Excuse me?” he begins calmly.

“Ahh,” Wei Wuxian warbles, nervous, shoving a cameraperson aside to grip him warningly by the shoulder. “Jiang Cheng—”

But Wu-laoshi does not seem to notice the sudden change in demeanor. 

“You see! Shoving and pushing, determined to have his way, he has no respect for this show at all! How can such a disruption be allowed to be on set during filming? No! I will not have it! I refuse to teach with this irreverent hooligan in my class! He clearly knows nothing about music, and yet he insists on telling me how to do things!”

“Wu-laoshi, please calm down,” Lan Xichen soothes, before turning to Wei Wuxian, pursing his lips. “Mister Wei, I would please ask you not to interfere in Mister Er’s training any longer. Please remember that you are only an observer.”

He startles as Jiang Cheng lets out a bitter laugh.

“So you’re not just a bad teacher,” he says coldly. “You’re also a liar.”

For a moment, there is only a shocked silence.

“You—” Wu-laoshi splutters, incredulous. “I am not—”

“Wei Wuxian has not spoken against Wu-laoshi until today,” Jiang Cheng continues calmly.

“How dare you— He has been—”

“In fact,” Jiang Cheng continues, speaking effortlessly over his trainer. “He has not spoken a single word during my training all week—”

“Mister Er is out of hand! From day one, he has been—”

“He has stayed out of the way of the camera crew,” Jiang Cheng thunders even more loudly.

“Lan-laoshi!” his trainer shouts, “What really has been happening is—”

The portly man tries furiously to talk over him, but Jiang Cheng— Jiang Cheng is his mother’s fucking son, and there has never been anyone able to outshout him. He raises his voice to match the trainer, louder and louder, angrier and angrier, until his voice is ringing around the hall in a thunderous bellow. Wei Wuxian grips his arm, voice drowned out in the clash of two titanic voices, but still trying frantically to stop him as Lan Xichen watches on, mouth open. After trying to match him for almost a minute, Wu-laoshi finally backs down, panting and red-faced.

“—which is what really happened, Lan-laoshi—” Jiang Cheng continues to bellow, still furious, unable to regulate his voice down to a normal volume. “— so I would appreciate if notable others would not attempt to lie in front of my fucking face, or spin tall tales for the purpose of—”

“Mister Er,” Lan Xichen begins helplessly.

“And for the fucking record,” he explodes, “my name— isn’t— fucking Mister Er!”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. 

Jiang Cheng turns, and storms decisively off set. Wei Wuxian tries to stop him, but Jiang Cheng just shrugs him off and walks faster.

The door slams shut behind him.

After a minute of furious walking, he slows to a halt in a nearby courtyard, and settles in a pavilion overlooking some water lilies. 

Looking out over the lilies, he can’t help but be reminded of the lotuses back home. He misses home abruptly, with a fierce and desperate yearning. Not home as in the apartment he and Wei Wuxian share in Beijing. He misses Hubei. He misses Jiang manor. He misses the lotuses, the cool mist rising off the lake. He misses his parents.

I want to go home, he realizes suddenly.

“You know,” comes a voice from behind him, “there was a reason we came running at Zhongyang Conservatory that day.”

He startles, turning to see Lan Xichen stepping up into the pavillion. The man gestures gracefully towards the bench lining the pavillion.

“May I sit?” he asks.

Jiang Cheng turns to look back over the lilies.

“Whatever,” he mutters.

Lan Xichen takes a seat. They sit in silence for a long while, interrupted only by the sounds of birdsong and trickling water. Over still waters, a lone dragonfly glides unsteadily down upon a white lily, wobbling as it lands. It flutters its wings, trembling, clearly gathering itself slowly for another go. It must be on its maiden flight, Jiang Cheng realizes.

After a few moments of this, it finally lifts up into the air with an effortful push. Despite another unsteady beginning, the wind soon catches under its shimmering wings, sending it buzzing up and into the sky. They watch it together until it disappears completely into the glare of the morning sun. Then, Lan Xichen turns back to him, with a chuckle.

“You know,” he begins mirthfully. “It is quite astonishing. I’ve seen the footage. You have perfect vocal technique when you’re shouting, but not at all when you’re singing!”

Jiang Cheng’s chest clenches. He looks away bitterly. “If you’re just here to make fun of me, then please leave.”

“But I’m not making fun of you!” Lan Xichen protests. “What I’m saying is that perhaps you need to think about this in a different way. You already know how to use your voice.”

When Jiang Cheng makes a dubious noise, Lan Xichen smiles. “Ah, I don’t think you understand what we heard that day. Here, let me show you.” 

He pulls out his phone. Jiang Cheng stiffens immediately upon hearing his own voice.

“Stop it,” he snaps. “Stop that at once!”

Lan Xichen pauses the video, clearly surprised at his outburst. After a moment, Jiang Cheng sighs, feeling bad.

“Look,” he says, more quietly. “I don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me. I get it. I wasn’t supposed to be here, and it was a mistake that I got scouted in the first place. But I was trying, okay? I tried, and it didn’t work, and soon I’ll be out of your hair, so don’t you fucking worry about me just— making a mess of your show. I’ll be gone next week, alright?”

Lan Xichen is quiet for a long while. 

“If you don’t want to watch it now,” he finally says, “then just give me your number. I’ll send you the link, and you can watch it when you’re ready.”

Jiang Cheng sighs again, but takes Lan Xichen’s phone when the man presses it insistently at him, keying in his number. Retrieving his phone, Lan Xichen begins to tap away at the screen.

“It wasn’t a mistake,” he says stubbornly, not looking up. “You getting scouted wasn’t a mistake. Believe me. I was there. I heard you.” 

Jiang Cheng exhales.

“Shouting is one thing,” he manages. “Singing is another. Shouting is all I can do.”

There’s a ping from Jiang Cheng’s pocket. Lan Xichen looks up.

“Singing and shouting are not that different,” he argues, before his expression turns sheepish. “Though I’m sure I’m committing some travesty by saying that. Please don’t repeat that to your trainer. And if you ever do, please don’t say I told you that!”

He laughs. Jiang Cheng looks at him for a moment, before huffing out a laugh as well.

“This is your show, remember?” he reminds Lan Xichen. “Why should you care what that frumpy old feather-duster thinks?”

Lan Xichen laughs again, the sound half-startled, half-amused.

“Fiery,” he comments. “You’ve still got spirit left in you.”

Jiang Cheng turns back to look over the lilies.

And that’s really all I have, he thinks bitterly to himself. 

After that, they return to the filming site together. Wu-laoshi is giving a furious interview to the cameras, and Wei Wuxian is nowhere to be seen. Wu-laoshi ends the interview as Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen enter the room. 

After a moment, he huffs.

“You did not exhibit the same vocal dysfunctions while shouting that you do while singing,” he allows stiffly. “This just shows that you need to apply yourself more. I do not accept lazy singing, Mister— Mister whatever your name actually is, and I will not put up with attitude.”

Jiang Cheng bites his lip, irritated and about to argue back, but Lan Xichen grabs his wrist. Jiang Cheng subsides angrily.

“You’ve got it,” Lan Xichen tells him, staring him fiercely in the eye. “You already know how to use your voice. You just need to apply what you already know.”

Wu-laoshi huffs. “That’s one way to put it.”

He checks the time.

“We will end here for today,” he says, before continuing, more grudgingly. “But Lan-laoshi is right. You already have some instinctive grasp of vocal technique. I would suggest that you take some time to try and replicate that in your singing before our next class.

Jiang Cheng gladly retires for the day.

He returns to his room, but oddly enough, Wei Wuxian is nowhere to be found. He sits heavily on the couch. After a moment, he laughs. 

Despite the disastrous day, he’s feeling strangely better after the last half hour. He takes out his phone to call Wei Wuxian, but sees a link sent from an unsaved number. It must be from Lan Xichen. He hesitates briefly, but finally unlocks his phone, and opens the link.

[A frozen thumbnail. A blurry figure in purple sitting in the grass.]

All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt S4E1: Angry Guy Found Shouting On Campus
5,478, 281 views

He clicks play.

The video starts off with Lan Xichen, walking along a grassy stretch with a man who looks extraordinarily like him, except older and sporting a goatee. Lan Xichen walks slightly behind him, nodding deferentially, which tells Jiang Cheng that this must be someone senior. His guess is confirmed as they come across a bench, and Lan Xichen gestures politely with a murmur of: “Director, please.”

Director?  

They sit.

“Ah,” Lan Xichen sighs, smiling apologetically. “It’s not been a very fruitful day, has it? We haven’t found anyone promising.”

The director shakes his head.

“Rare gems are not precious because they are easily found, Xichen,” he murmurs. “But if there’s anyone capable of mining such a gem, it is surely you.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes soften at the praise.

“You need to catch a flight, don’t you?” he asks then, more quietly. “Perhaps we should retire for the day.”

“Perhaps,” the director allows.

Lan Xichen turns to the camera. Before he can tell them to stop filming, however, there’s a muffled, wordless yell. 

The director turns, raising an eyebrow. “What is that commotion?” 

They sit for a moment longer. Jiang Cheng winces as his own voice rings like thunder through the air, each word clear and perfectly audible despite the distance.

“Well, that boy certainly has a good pair of lungs on him,” the director muses.

A crew member passes a bottle to Lan Xichen. Lan Xichen opens it, and passes it to the director. 

“Director.” 

The director takes it. They continue to listen while the director takes a sip of water. There’s a pause in the shouting. Then, Jiang Cheng’s voice returns, even louder now. Lan Xichen raises an eyebrow. 

“Good resonance,” he comments.

“And a balanced timber,” the director adds. He startles as Lan Xichen stands suddenly. “What are you doing, Xichen?”

Lan Xichen sets his bottle down, peering into the distance.

“His projection is amazing,” he murmurs. “No strain at all, can you hear that?”

There’s a moment of silence. Then, suddenly, a shrill scream rings out, as clear as day.

“Well, FUCK YOU!”

Jiang Cheng winces. The director raises an eyebrow. But Lan Xichen just whips around to face the older man, eyes wide.

“Did you hear that?!” he demands. “Did you hear how stable the transition was?! That fuck was a more than an octave’s jump up!”

“Xichen!” the director cries, scandalized. “Language!”

But Lan Xichen is already taking off running. The crew runs after him, his white-clad back jumping around as the camera shakes. The director’s voice rings out from behind. 

“Xichen! Where on earth are you running off to?!”

“To find him! Wait here!”

“Xi! Chen!”

Numbly, Jiang Cheng stops the video. 

He sits there in silence for a moment. Suddenly, the door slams open, and Wei Wuxian comes running in. 

“Jiang Cheng!” he cries. “You’re here! Thank goodness!”

Jiang Cheng does not reply. Wei Wuxian comes to sit beside him.

“Look,” he begins immediately. “I know today was really hard— but you can’t give up now! I ran into Lan-laoshi while looking for you, and he found out that the producers had asked your trainer to stage that confrontation! Jiang Cheng, you’re not lazy, and you certainly deserve to be here! Don’t give up!”

“Who said I’m giving up?” Jiang Cheng asks quietly.

Wei Wuxian starts. 

“What—” he stutters, taken aback. “What did you say?”

Jiang Cheng stares at Lan Xichen’s frozen figure on his phone screen for a moment longer, before closing his eyes. 

“I said,” he whispers, “who said I’m giving up?”

On Monday, they begin training anew. Wei Wuxian sticks closely to Jiang Cheng’s side the whole way there, trying desperately to talk him up. When they reach the studio, however, the camera crew and his trainer are nowhere to be seen. Instead, a woman is waiting alone; pretty, somewhat petite, but with a face like a thundercloud.

“You’re here,” she says curtly, and stands. “Good. Follow me. This is a terrible place to train. It’s much too open. Good for filming, but not for training.”

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian trade looks, before following. She leads them into a tiny recording studio. Mixing equipment lines one wall, below a large window that looks into a room with two chairs and a keyboard.

“We will be training here from now on. I expect to see you here at 8AM sharp, every morning.”

“Wait,” Jiang Cheng begins, bewildered. “What happened to Wu-laoshi? You’re definitely not the trainer I had last week.”

His new trainer raises an eyebrow. 

“Lan-laoshi thought that you might require a trainer with deeper knowledge of vocal technique and pedagogy. I was called in specifically for the task.” She sticks her hand out. “Wen Qing.”

Jiang Cheng takes her hand as he processes the change slowly.

“Wen Qing,” he repeats, and tilts his head challengingly. “Related to Wen Chao by any chance?”

Wen Qing sighs, and turns to walk into the recording studio. 

“Today, I will need to assess your current vocal abilities. We shall begin without further delay.” 

Trading looks again, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian quickly make to follow her.

“No,” she snaps, without turning around. “I do not allow observers in my class. Your brother stays outside. He can watch through the glass.”

Wei Wuxian blinks, but bows his head, and sits down on one of the benches. Jiang Cheng meets his gaze, even more bewildered, before heading into the recording space. In front of him, Wen Qing has already settled down in front of the keyboard, playing a chord. 

“Now, like this: ooo- ahhhh -ooo.”

Her voice rings in his ears like thunder. He blinks a few times, reeling. The visage of a mouse, but the voice of a lion! He repeats the scale, more softly, a little cowed despite himself. She laughs dryly.

“I think you also ought to know that this studio is completely sound-proof. Even your brother can’t hear you. So don’t tuck your chin in like that. Not only do you look like a scared puppy, it’s also stopping the sound from coming out! Stand up straight. Do it again.” 

He untucks his chin, and tries again as she plays the chord. His voice cracks, badly, on the high note. He bites his lip. 

“There is no place for embarrassment in my classroom,” Wen Qing says, without looking up. “I will hear your voice do all sorts of embarrassing things by the time this is over. Now, did your previous trainer tell you not to close your throat like that?”

“He said to imagine I have an egg in my mouth,” Jiang Cheng says disgruntledly. “And to push, but also not push. I don’t know what that means.” 

She clicks her tongue.

“What kind of description is that?” she demands. “Seriously, the kind of trainers they recruit for these shows. More suited for reality TV than teaching anything useful. Take a deep breath, like you’re about to yawn, but don’t actually yawn.” 

He does so. 

“You feel your throat opening? Now try to sing a high note.”

She presses a key. Oof, that is high. He dutifully tries the note anyway.

“Do you feel something in your throat lifting now, constricting your air space?” she asks. “When you sing the highs, you need to keep your throat open, like just now. Take your time to figure it out, then do a sustained note.”

Jiang Cheng opens his mouth a few times, focusing on the sensation in his throat. Then, he tries again. The note wobbles for a moment, before he seems to find some kind of sweet spot.

Wen Qing notes down something on her clipboard.

“Correct enough, but not a hundred percent correct,” she comments. “But do you hear how much more resonant that sounds already? You need to open up the inside of your mouth to give more space for the sound to reverberate.”

“The lead singer of Queen had extra front teeth,” Jiang Cheng recalls suddenly. “So there was more room in his mouth.”

Wen Qing raises an eyebrow.

“Do you like Queen then?” She pulls back a little, belting: “Mama! I just killed a man!” 

Jiang Cheng recoils, eyes wide. 

He turns to look over his shoulder. Wei Wuxian is looking up from his phone, mouth dropping open. He’d clearly heard that even through the soundproofing. Jiang Cheng turns back to Wen Qing numbly.

“I— I watched Bohemian Rhapsody with my brother some time back,” he mutters, still in shock.

Wen Qing nods once. “Alright then, let’s finish this assessment. Maybe we can try one of their songs once you’re ready. Again: ooo- ahhh- ooo, and draw it out as long as you can. I’m going to time you.”

By the end of the training, he’s reeling. The visage of a mouse, he thinks again, but the voice of a lion. She’s also a whole lot better at breaking things down. Technically, she hasn’t even begun training proper, but he already feels like he’s improved. 

Before him, Wen Qing is still writing on her clipboard.

“You sabotage yourself by thinking too much when you sing,” she says, not looking up, “probably due to a misconception of what good technique is. That will go away with proper practice. We need to work on your ability to move between registers. You rely too much on your chest voice, and your head voice is sorely underdeveloped. You also need to work on vocal dynamics. Projection is important, but you need to figure out how to dial it back, how to do soft and quiet too.”

She puts down her clipboard, looking up.

“All-in-all, though,” she concludes, “you’re not nearly as bad as you seem to think. In fact, if you were a student at my studio, I would say you’re about ready for a first showcase.”

Jiang Cheng clutches at his notebook, unsure how to respond. 

“Good work,” Wen Qing grants. “I will see you here again tomorrow.”

Jiang Cheng bows. “Thank you for the lesson.”

He joins Wei Wuxian in the adjoined room. As they leave, they run into the back-up singer from the Wen band. The boy bows and apologizes profusely. “I didn’t know you were still having your lesson, Mister Jiang.”

“It’s fine. We’re done already.”

Bowing again, the boy heads into the recording studio, sitting down beside Wen Qing. They talk briefly, soundless through the glass, before she begins to play a scale. Turning back around, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian exit the studio. Wei Wuxian turns to him as the doors swing closed, vibrating with excitement.

“I searched her up on the internet,” he hisses. “She’s one of Lan Xichen’s Juilliard classmates! She’s been on Broadway! She has a Wikipedia page!”

“I don’t actually know what any of that means,” Jiang Cheng says. 

He turns back to look through the square window of the door. Wen Qing and the backup vocalist are still sitting together inside. 

“Did you find anything that mentioned her being Wen Corp?” he asks, more quietly.

Wei Wuxian blinks. 

“Ah, well— I don’t know, you see,” he admits. “She’s on Wikipedia. Everything is in English. I’m not sure I understand enough to check who she’s related to.”

They continue walking.

“She avoided the question when I asked her if she was,” Jiang Cheng recalls. 

Wei Wuxian seems to consider that for a moment, but ultimately, he just shrugs. “What does it matter even if she is?”

Jiang Cheng purses his lips, but eventually sighs. “You’re right.”

As they emerge out into the courtyard, Wei Wuxian plants his hands on his waist, tilting his face skyward.

“Ah,” he sighs. “It’s a nice morning.” 

Jiang Cheng looks up. 

Birds are singing. Flowers are blooming. 

“It looks like the start of a good week,” he agrees.

Chapter Text

The plastic bags rustle as they crowd into their suite, squabbling over nothing in particular. The sky has long gone dark, and it is getting late— Jiang Cheng’s training had run overtime again. Luckily, there is a pretty good restaurant in the lodging house. Jiang Cheng is too wiped to cook for himself.

“I’ll put the leftovers in the fridge,” Wei Wuxian says.

“And I’m going to shower,” Jiang Cheng responds. “Don’t wait up for me.” 

He goes into the bathroom, turns the shower on, and just stands there for a moment. Wen Qing had informed him of their timeline on their first day. 

Two and a half months of training before his debut, before the start of the competition for real. 

His first progress assessment is coming up at the end of the month, and to prepare for that, Wen Qing had given him a set of daily exercises to complete. Do them in the bathroom if you’re too embarrassed to do it in front of your brother, she had instructed. You can turn on the shower too. Just make sure you can hear yourself.

Sighing, Jiang Cheng turns the shower up to full volume, and after a moment of consideration, turns the tap on too for good measure. Last time, Wei Wuxian had been behaving suspiciously after he had come out of the bathroom. He had probably heard. 

He tries his best to stuff the floor mat under the door, and finally deems that he has done his best to soundproof the room. That done, he puts his hands on his hips, closes his eyes, and does the entire run of vocal exercises Wen Qing had set for him. It takes half an hour to complete. Then, he quickly takes a shower, and goes back out.

Wei Wuxian is on his laptop in the corner, carefully not looking at him.

“You could hear me, couldn’t you?” Jiang Cheng asks flatly.

Wei Wuxian makes a show of pulling his headphones off.

“Huh?” he says. “Oh, I’m sorry. What did you say? I just could not seem to hear you.”  

Jiang Cheng sighs. He goes into his room, hangs up his towel, and moodily gets dressed for bed. It has been a long and exhausting day, much like every other day of his training. The moment his head hits the pillow, he is fast asleep.

Training under Wen Qing is absolutely gruelling. She is bad-tempered, critical, and demands only his utmost effort.

He had loved her from their second day of training.

“There are three main elements you should be paying attention to when you’re hitting notes that are at the extremes of your range,” she had explained. “Force, depth, and openness. When you’re trying to hit low notes, you want to exert less force, and think of the sound as coming out higher in your body. But for high notes, you need to keep your throat open, use more force, and imagine your voice coming out low.”

Then, she had turned back to the keyboard.

“High notes are always the highlights in broadway,” she had continued. “Personally, I find it helps to be angry when you’re hitting the high notes. And that’s my secret: When I’m singing, I’m always angry.”

Her bad temper should have been a recipe for disaster when combined with his own apocalyptic moods, if not for the fact that he simply cannot outshout her . By the end of the second week, they had gotten into their first shouting match.

“Angrier!”

Sucking in a furious breath, he had tried again.

“Angrier!” she had screamed.

“I’m already angry!” Jiang Cheng had finally screamed back.

“You need to engage your core and push the note out! Do you just not have any core muscles at all?! Is all this—” She had jabbed at his tricep. “—only for show?!”

“I do have fucking core strength, I just don’t know what you fucking mean by push it out! I am pushing! I am pushing right now!” 

And then, alarmingly, she had stood up, and matched him . “You aren’t pushing hard enough! You think this is pushing?! It’ll only be pushing when you can finally be louder than this!” 

He had raised his voice, shocked, and furious. “You think I can’t do loud?! You think I haven’t spent my whole life shouting at my idiot brother?!” 

“You think I haven’t spent my whole life shouting at my idiot brother?!”

“You think—” 

“No! Don’t you even fucking try me, young man! You cannot outshout me! I have better projection! I have better range! And you’d better damn well believe that I have better stamina!”  

His whole life, he had never found anyone he could not outshout. After twenty-one long years, however, he’d finally met his match. It had been frankly terrifying. After a full ten minutes spent shouting at the top of his lungs, he had finally collapsed into his chair, red-faced, panting, and unable to continue for even another second— and she had still been going like a foghorn. 

He had to admit that he had been somewhat cowed after that.

“Your stamina is not as dismal as I’d thought,” she had allowed, once she had finally finished shouting to her heart’s content, and sat back down. “Regardless, you still need to work on supporting your head voice.”

Outside of individual practices, he also has music theory classes with the other contestants several times a week. The others are, frankly— a mess.

The classroom is split into four types of people: those who understand, those who are trying their best but are still confused, those who are sleeping, and finally, those who are not paying attention and are determined not to let anyone else do so either. Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan of Bright Moon, Distant Snow fit surely into the first category, Jiang Cheng falls unfortunately into the second, while Mo Xuanyu, Jin Zixun, and Ugly Wen fit solidly into the third.

Xue Yang takes up the entire fourth category by himself.

He’s just as bad as Wei Wuxian had ever been growing up, flopping all over his table, occasionally straddling his chair backwards to talk to the person behind him (an unfortunate A-Qing), and on several instances, even throwing chalk at the teacher and booing when he deems the class too boring. He is a nightmare, a complete and utter distraction.

Jiang Cheng has, however, grown up beside Wei Wuxian. He effortlessly manages to filter out all of Xue Yang’s shenanigans, along with Wei Wuxian’s relatively tame fidgeting beside him. His brother has been on his best behavior all week, but his willpower seems to be sapping in the face of Xue Yang’s chaotic energy.

It is not long until a fight breaks out.

Mid-week, the poor maiden A-Qing seems to have finally had enough, launching herself over her desk, wrestling Xue Yang to the ground, and full on throttling him. The classroom had devolved into unintelligible yelling as they had rolled around, punching, kicking, biting, and screaming. The rest of them had watched, open-mouthed, until Xiao Xingchen had stepped between them, hands raised placatingly.

“You do realize all of this is being filmed right?” he had asked helplessly.

“Filming me kicking his ass!” A-Qing had immediately shrieked, and lunged at Xue Yang again.

“Excuse me?!” Xue Yang howled. “More like filming me kicking your ass!”

As they had thrown themselves at one another once more, taking an unlucky Xiao Xingchen down with them, Song Lan had finally stepped in, yanking them both apart by the ruffs like a pair of misbehaving cats.

Xiao Xingchen had sat between them from then on.

The next morning, they arrive early to film a few interviews before class. Lost as ever, Jiang Cheng is flipping helplessly through his notes, Wei Wuxian dozing on his shoulder, when Nie Huaisang arrives with breakfast. Wei Wuxian snaps miraculously awake at the sound of rustling plastic as Nie Huaisang takes a meat bun out of the bag.

“Food?” he gasps. “Huaisang-xiong! You’re the best!”

They dig in.

Wei Wuxian had been particularly difficult to wake that morning, leaving them with no time to eat. When asked, he had only said that he’d not slept well the night before, and was still tired. Nie Huaisang had run to the lodging house’s restaurant to get breakfast while they got started on filming.

Speaking of which—

“What’s taking so long?!” Jiang Cheng demands. “They ask us to meet here at fucking seven in the morning, but we haven’t started filming after half an hour?”

Across the room, Lan Xichen is on the phone, looking vaguely stressed.

“Don’t you know, Jiang-xiong?” Nie Huaisang pipes up. “Lan Wangji, Xichen-ge’s brother and co-host, is joining us today. Unfortunately, he encountered a delay travelling here last night. The woman beside him on the train went into labor, and he insisted on escorting her to the hospital, so he only arrived in the wee hours of the morning. I think he might have overslept.”

Wei Wuxian perks up at that.

“Lan Wangji?” he repeats. “I’ve heard of him! They say he’s a guqin prodigy, considered the most promising guqin player of our generation!” 

“That’s what they say!” Nie Huaisang chimes. “Although— Wei-xiong, I had no idea you liked traditional music too. It really doesn’t seem like your thing?”

“It isn’t!” Wei Wuxian agrees, and laughs. “It’s just that Lan Wangji studied at Zhongyang conservatory as well. I’ve never met him, of course— he’s a famous recluse, but he’s a legend amongst the other students. Honestly, I don’t really get Chinese classical music, in the same way I don’t get Western classical music, but whatever floats his boat, I guess. I can still respect a fellow musician, even if classical music just makes me want to laugh at how hilariously somber it all is, or sleep from utter boredom. Seriously, what do all these pretentious people see in— eh? Huaisang-xiong? What’s wrong? You’ve gone all white.” 

Jiang Cheng follows Nie Huaisang’s line of sight to the white-clad youth behind them, standing in the doorway, and glaring daggers at Wei Wuxian. He also looks remarkably like Lan Xichen. 

That must be Lan Wangji. 

To Jiang Cheng’s surprise, however, Wei Wuxian seems to recognize him.

“You again?” he yelps. “What, last night wasn’t enough? You want to go again?”

Lan Wangji harrumphs, and then walks off to join Lan Xichen across the room. They speak for a few moments before Lan Xichen gestures at the camera crew. Nie Huaisang tugs at Wei Wuxian’s sleeve as the crew begins to buzz around.

“You said you’d never met Lan Wangji before!” he hisses.

Wei Wuxian blinks. “Wait, that was Lan Wangji?”

There’s a moment of silence.

“I woke up last night and had difficulty going back to sleep,” Wei Wuxian explains, “so I went out to buy a bottle of huangjiu ,^[1] and ran into him in the parking lot. He got really angry when he saw the bottle I was holding, and told me I was breaking one of the rules of the lodging house: no bringing alcohol into the premises.”

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes. Somehow, he can already tell where this is going.

“I mean, at first,” Wei Wuxian continues flippantly, “I thought he was just some crazy guy loitering in the parking lot because I had literally never heard of that rule, so I ignored him and continued walking. But then, that goddamn lunatic grabbed my arm, and I dropped the bottle and broke it. A perfectly good bottle of huangjiu , gone just like that! We started yelling right there in the parking lot, and must have been going for an hour until Lan Xichen rushed out to mediate. Apparently, not bringing alcohol in here was one of the rules we’d been given a copy of, but how the hell was I supposed to have known! We chucked the papers without even looking at them!”

“Then isn’t it your fault?!” Jiang Cheng demands, slapping his forehead. “You broke a rule, even if you didn’t know about it, and you have the gall to say it’s his fault for enforcing it?! And don’t announce that we threw the rules away so loudly! Do you have no sense of shame?!”

“Who in their right mind would read such a thing?” Wei Wuxian retorts. “What’s so angering about that?!” He rolls his eyes. “Anyway, according to Lan Xichen, those rules were set by Chairman Lan when the talent show first began, but he’s personally always taken a lax stance on enforcing them since he understands that guests find them overly strict.” 

He jabs Jiang Cheng in the chest. 

“So tell me, Jiang Cheng,” he complains, voice getting progressively louder. “isn’t it his fault for wrongly enforcing rules that weren’t meant to be enforced in the first place?!” 

Jiang Cheng shushes him furiously, and turns discreetly to see if they have been heard. Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen are still speaking quietly to one another, surrounded by over twenty buzzing crew members. Jiang Cheng turns back around to glare at Wei Wuxian. 

“I don’t care whose fault you think it is,” he hisses warningly. “Don’t antagonize our hosts.”

Filming begins soon after that. They sit down to wait as the camera crew interviews the Wen band— Though Wen band gives the wrong impression that anyone but Wen Chao is talking. The whole interview is shamelessly self-congratulatory, frankly unbearable. Jiang Cheng immediately tunes out. Beside him, Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes, thigh beginning to bounce. His chair creaks quietly with the motion.

Lan Wangji stiffens in front of them. He turns slowly around, lips pursed, and glares at Wei Wuxian.

“Stop that,” he commands. “Your chair is creaking.” 

Wei Wuxian raises an eyebrow, but stops. 

Sorry, he mouths.

Lan Wangji turns back to watch the interview. After a moment of stillness, Wei Wuxian exhales, and leans back in his chair. 

It creaks. Loudly.

Wen Chao stops talking. Nie Huaisang startles awake unsubtly. Even the camera crew turns to look. 

Very, very slowly, Lan Wangji turns back around, with an expression like thunder. Before he can say anything, however, Lan Xichen stands, smiling serenely. 

“Ah,” he says. “It seems like the chair you’re sitting on is a little creaky. Will someone get Mister Wei a steadier chair?” 

Lan Wangji stands up forcefully. 

“I’ll do it,” he seethes, before sweeping furiously out of the room. 

As the door closes behind him, Nie Huaisang leans over. 

“Good luck, Wei-xiong,” he whispers. “It looks like he really has it out for you now.”

“I’ll win him over,” Wei Wuxian says dismissively, leaning unapologetically back in his chair with another loud creak. “I’ll have you know that I am quite charming.”

He does not, in fact, win Lan Wangji over.

“I can’t help it,” he moans, after a whole day of blatantly baiting the man. “He’s so easy to rile up. He has the kind of serious face that just makes you want to tease him, you know what I mean?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jiang Cheng says flatly.

Meanwhile, as if the first time had broken the dam, Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing continue to have regular shouting matches. It seems that they cannot go more than three days without screaming at each other. And while both of them seem to find it refreshing, finally being able to yell at someone like this, Wei Wuxian seems to find it just as bewildering as Jiang Cheng finds his relationship with Lan Wangji.

“If you could sing as well as you shout!” Wen Qing screams as he leaves the room on Friday, “I wouldn’t need to yell at you ever again!”

“Fuck off!” Jiang Cheng roars over his shoulder.

“Work on your head voice!” Wen Qing hollers. “I swear if you come back like this next week, I’m going to make you run twenty laps around this entire compound!”

Jiang Cheng slams the door in her face.

He turns around to find Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning sitting on the couch together, eyes wide.

“Well?!” he demands. “Let’s go! And you! Wen bastard! Stop staring and go in for your lesson!”

Wen Ning startles, jumping up, and scurries into the next room.

“Are you and Wen Qing-jie okay?” Wei Wuxian asks, as the door closes behind him.

“We’re fine!” Jiang Cheng shouts, kicking the exit door open. “Wen Qing is just a bitch!”

“Practice!” Wen Qing screams, muffled through the soundproofing.

He steps through the door, and slams it shut behind him.

“Just need to practice,” he says to a bemused Wei Wuxian.

On Saturday, they drive out to fetch A-Jie from the high-speed rail station, honking, screaming, and arguing, whereupon she immediately takes over the wheel. 

“I’m never letting you drive ever again,” Jiang Cheng hisses at Wei Wuxian.

“Like you’re any better!” Wei Wuxian retorts.

They immediately descend again into schoolyard insults, stopping only when A-Jie turns around to look at them.

“Boys,” she says.

They return to the lodging house in repentant silence. A-Jie had planned to cook lunch, but had seemed reluctant to work in their cramped kitchen again, so they head down into the restaurant instead. She texts Mo Xuanyu on the way. The boy had expressed interest in watching her cook, but eventually replies that practice is running late, and that he would meet them in the kitchen when practice is over.

next time, he texts passionately, i’ll find out what jiejie does to make the soup taste so good!!!

Jiang Cheng knows from experience that the restaurant is typically closed between 2:30 PM and 6:00 PM, but strangely enough, when they enter, he spots the Wen band sitting at one of the tables. There’s only one waitress on the floor during this off-peak hour, and she seems to be setting out some cutlery. Only Wen Chao has a set. The others don’t seem to be eating, which means the kitchen is probably free. 

They head into the kitchen without greeting the band. There is only one person sitting inside. She double takes at the sight of them. 

“You—“ she begins, stunned.

“We’re so sorry to intrude,” A-Jie immediately begins. “I know you’re closed right now, but I was hoping to use your kitchen until you open for dinner. Is that okay? I’m so sorry. The kitchens in the suites are just so small, not fit for proper cooking at all!”

The young woman blinks slowly, still looking a little shell-shocked.

“You’re Jiang Yanli, aren’t you?” she finally says. “I— I watch your cooking show.”

Jiang Cheng starts. He had almost forgotten, but A-Jie had indeed run a cooking show about two years back. She had eventually ended the run after only six months, saying that she much preferred being in front of the stove than in front of the camera. Still, the show had been enormously successful amongst food critics and chefs, and had commanded a fairly large viewing during its short run. As far as Jiang Cheng knows, A-Jie is still getting fan letters begging her to continue the show. Since then, she has sat on judging panels for several popular cooking shows, so it’s not at all surprising that a young woman in the profession would recognize her.

“So,” Wei Wuxian asks sheepishly, after a moment of awkward silence, “does that mean we can use the kitchen?”

“Please,” the young woman acquiesces, with a graceful little curtsy. 

As A-Jie begins to bustle around, the woman turns her attention back to her own cooking, biting her lip as she stirs something unsurely over the stove. Finally, the waitress comes in, looking frazzled. 

“Is the soup done?” she asks frantically. “The customer is complaining again.” 

The kitchen girl bites her lip, stirring for just a moment longer, before she pours the soup out and hands the bowl off to the waitress.

“I did my best,” she says helplessly.

“I know, Song-jie,” the waitress says, just as helplessly, before sweeping back out of the kitchen.

Maiden Song sits heavily in a stool, massaging the crease between her tired brows. Before any of them can ask after her, however, the waitress comes running back in, looking distressed, and whispers something to her. She pales, and stands, rushing out into the dining area with the waitress.

Jiang Cheng trades glances with his siblings.

A moment later, they hear muffled shouting. Trading another look, a concerned one this time, they run out into the dining area.

“Jiejie!” Mo Xuanyu cries, rushing over to them. “Bad news!”

A few tables away, Jin Zixuan is having a shouting match with Wen Chao. Maiden Song stands beside them, head lowered, looking on the verge of tears.

“What happened here!” A-Jie asks, bewildered.

“When we arrived, Wen Chao was already shouting!” Mo Xuanyu explains. “He was upset that the soup was lumpy or something like that, but as if that wasn’t enough, he tried to throw the hot soup over that poor jiejie! He and Zixuan-ge started arguing after that.”

Wei Wuxian storms forward furiously.

“Hey, Ugly Wen!” he hollers. “What’s wrong with you?! You think it’s okay to throw scalding hot soup over a young woman’s face?! Why, I’ll—“

Meanwhile, A-Jie pulls Maiden Song over to her side.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Did he burn you?!” Jiang Cheng demands.

But she just shakes her head.

“Mister Jin stopped him before he could,” she whispers. “I’m fine.”

Finally, Wen Ning seems unable to bear it any longer. Stepping forward, he dips his head deferentially towards Wen Chao.

“We have… we have practice in five minutes,” he reminds him meekly. “We will be late if we don’t leave.”

“Shut up!” Wen Chao roars. “Who said you could talk?!”

Wen Ning flinches, bowing again. Wen Chao turns back towards them, looking torn for a moment, before he lets out a frustrated cry, slamming his palm down on the table. Maiden Song recoils at the loud sound. With a final thunderous glance at them all, he turns and storms off. The others Wens hurry after him. Wen Ning hesitates for a moment, turning to bow deeply to Maiden Song.

“I’m very sorry for my cousin’s behavior,” he whispers. “I’ll come back to pay for the soup later.”

With that, he turns and scurries after the others. After the Wens leave, the rest of them turn to Maiden Song.

“Are you alright?” Jin Zixuan asks, a little brusquely.

At that, she sniffs, and a single tear slips down her pale face. Jin Zixun clicks his tongue, looking away uncomfortably, as Jin Guangyao steps forward.

“Aiyo,” he murmurs, producing a tissue pack. “Please, young miss, do not cry.”

She accepts the tissue pack from him, dabbing furiously at her tears. 

“I’m fine,” she insists stubbornly.

Jin Zixuan turns to the rest of them, looking just as uncomfortable at Maiden Song’s tears as his fidgeting cousin.

“We were just passing by from practice,” he says shortly. “Xuanyu said he would be joining you for lunch. The rest of us will be heading off to eat now. We’ll take our leave.”

He nods his head in farewell. Jin Zixun and Jin Guangyao make to follow after him, but Mo Xuanyu dashes forward, clinging to Jin Guangyao’s arm.

"Stay, Yao-ge!” he pleads. “We can make enough for one more, can't we, Jiejie?"

“Of course we can,” A-Jie immediately allows. “We can make as much as you like, A-Yu.”

You’re doing it again, A-Jie, Jiang Cheng wants to tell her. You can’t go spoiling every single younger boy who starts following you around. 

But he refrains. After all, he’s been one of those younger boys, spoiled absolutely rotten by his A-Jie for many, many years.

Jin Guangyao seems visibly reluctant to leave his charges, but at Mo Xuanyu’s watery eyes, turns to look at Jin Zixuan for approval.

“You can stay if you like,” Jin Zixuan says dismissively. “Zixun and I will eat by ourselves.”

Jin Guangyao bites his lip, but turns back to Mo Xuanyu with a smile. “I’ll stay.”

Jin Zixun clicks his tongue, turning to leave with Jin Zixuan, as Mo Xuanyu cheers, throwing his arms around Jin Guangyao. Older, but a full ten centimeters shorter, the poor man almost buckles under his weight.

“A-Yu!” he cries. “Please!”

They head back into the kitchen.

“How unreasonable that boy was!” the waitress cries. “If that young master hadn’t stopped him, he would definitely have thrown the boiling soup all over you!”

“I bet the soup wasn’t even lumpy,” Mo Xuanyu mutters rebelliously.

“It definitely was,” Maiden Song says sheepishly. “They’ve only just started training me to become a cook here, so I’m really not supposed to be making a whole dish by myself without supervision. Unfortunately, the cooks have left because the kitchen has closed for the afternoon, and I was here cleaning up alone when that customer arrived.”

“I tried to explain that we were no longer taking orders for food!” the waitress adds. “But he made such a fuss, insisting that he only wanted soup and that it wasn’t difficult at all. Eventually, Maiden Song was pressured into making some soup, even though she already told him that she’s only a trainee. Can you imagine that he still had the gall to scold her after that?!”

“I tried my best, but it seems I didn’t do a very good job at all,” Maiden Song admits humbly. “I only wish I knew what I did wrong.”

“Can I see the soup?” A-Jie asks.

Maiden Song seems surprised at her request, but dutifully guides her to the pot. A-Jie leans over the soup, stirring for a few moments. 

“I know why,” she finally says. “Come here. Next time, all you need to do is this—“

Mo Xuanyu hops over to listen in as well, looking fascinated, and Wei Wuxian rushes over, draping himself over one of A-Jie’s shoulders. Jiang Cheng turns his attention to Jin Guangyao, still standing with him against the wall, as A-Jie begins her explanation.

“He’s awfully attached to you,” Jiang Cheng observes, nodding towards Mo Xuanyu.

Jin Guangyao chuckles.

“None of his other brothers have been very nice to him since he was taken in,” he explains. “It’s not surprising that he got attached to the first person to be even moderately kind to him.”

Jiang Cheng startles at that. Other brothers? 

He had long thought Jin Guangyao to be a fairly distant relative, far out in the outer branches of the family, judging from his position. But he knows for sure now that Mo Xuanyu is Jin Guangshan’s illegitimate son. If he and Jin Guangyao are brothers, then that must mean—

Seeming to guess the direction of his thoughts, Jin Guangyao laughs.

“Yes,” he says wryly. “I’m a bastard too.”

He turns back to watch A-Jie bustling around the kitchen, Mo Xuanyu following her like an overexcited puppy, and Maiden Song leaning more gracefully over her other shoulder. The corners of his lips are pulled down unhappily.

After a moment, Jiang Cheng sighs.

“It’s the twenty-first century,” he grumbles. “Who even cares whether your parents were married or not?”

Jin Guangyao is quiet for a moment, before he chuckles.

“This family, apparently,” he says lightly.

Early the next morning, they drive A-Jie back to Suzhou North station. It’s a twenty minute drive out to the Yangcheng lake from there. The sun has yet to rise, teasing around the horizon with twilight hints of dawn. A crescent moon still hangs faintly in the sky. They stand by the waterfront for a long while, just breathing in the scent of morning dew and freshwater.

“Doesn’t it remind you of the lakes back home?” Wei Wuxian whispers.

“No,” Jiang Cheng says bluntly. “There aren’t any lotuses.” 

They leave the car parked, and walk down towards the bank. There’s a long stretch of pebbles that crunch beneath their shoes as they walk out towards the still waters. This early, there is not a single soul around to disturb the peace of the moment. 

Wei Wuxian bends down, and picks up a handful of pebbles. After a moment, he throws one at Jiang Cheng. 

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng sighs.

“Wen Qing-jie said you needed to work on your shouting.”

“Actually,” Jiang Cheng corrects. “She said that my shouting is fine. I need to work on my singing.”

In response, Wei Wuxian throws another pebble. Jiang Cheng flinches away.

“Stop it,” he hisses.

Wei Wuxian chuckles, spreading his arms. “Go on then. Yell at me.” 

When Jiang Cheng just frowns, he picks out a particularly large pebble, and throws it into Jiang Cheng’s chest. “Yell at me!” 

Jiang Cheng sighs. “Wei Wuxian…” 

They stare at each other for a long moment. Then, Wei Wuxian chucks the entire handful of rocks at him. 

“Wei! Wu! Xian!” he shrieks, shielding his face with one arm, as the rocks clatter down around his feet.

“There we go! That’s the spirit!” Wei Wuxian tilts his face up to the sky. “Ahhhhhhh!”  

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes. A chuckle bubbles helplessly from him. He knows that Wei Wuxian is just trying to help in the best way he can, and thought fills him with a strange kind of warmth. They’re both lost here, aren’t they?

He tilts his head up. “Ahhhhhhhh!” 

Wei Wuxian laughs.

“You’re dumb!” he bellows at the top of his lungs. 

“You’re dumber!” Jiang Cheng hollers back. 

“You can’t drive for fuck!” 

“Says the goddamned backseat driver!”

“When are you gonna get a girlfriend?”

“When are you going to fucking grow up?” 

Wei Wuxian laughs again, slightly breathless from all the shouting. “Hey, Jiang Cheng. Try shouting a scale or something.”

“Like what?” Jiang Cheng asks flatly.

“How about this—“ He cups his hands around his mouth. “Get! Off! The! Road! You! Dumb! Fuck!”^[2] His voice cracks unflatteringly on the highest note. “Damn it.” 

Jiang Cheng snorts, but tries as well. “Get! Off! The! Road! You! Dumb! Fuck!” 

His voice wobbles on the high note. Wei Wuxian laughs. “I know you can hit that note. You went higher when you screeched my name just now.” 

“Fuck off!”

He tries again, and hits the note this time. As he turns to smirk at Wei Wuxian, Wei Wuxian grins. 

“Okay, now try this one.” Starting on a slightly higher note, he cups his hands around his mouth again, screeching out across the lake: “Who! Fuck! -ing! Taught! You! To! Drive!” 

His voice crackles alarmingly. God, he’s going to tear his goddamn throat open. Jiang Cheng can’t help but laugh helplessly, cupping his hands around his mouth, and responding with one of his own improvisations: “Who! Fuck! -ing! Taught! You! To! Sing!” 

Wei Wuxian shoves him, laughing.

“Fuck you!” He tilts his face up to the sky. “Why! Don’t! You! Go! Suck! A! Dick!”

Jiang Cheng winces at the strange yodeling scream.

They go back and forth like that for awhile, coming up with increasingly ridiculous scales. Eventually, however, Wei Wuxian backs down, panting and hoarse.

“I’m not made for singing that high,” he rasps. “My throat is sore.”

“You weren’t doing it right,” Jiang Cheng tells him. “It’s bad for your throat. Don’t do that again.”

“Fuck you,” Wei Wuxian rasps weakly.

They walk back to the car, jabbing and occasionally shoving at each other. Piling back into the apartment, they are still squabbling, still laughing. 

“Get your goddamned laptop or we’ll be late for our call with Mom and Dad!” Jiang Cheng scolds.

“Going! Going!” Wei Wuxian acquiesces, jogging into his room.

A moment later, however, his voice issues from within, sounding vaguely disconcerted. 

“Hey, Jiang Cheng?”

“What?” Jiang Cheng asks, still tidying up the living room in preparation for the call.

“I think I left my laptop in the recording studio yesterday.”

Jiang Cheng stands. 

“What?!”

He goes into Wei Wuxian’s room, and finds him overturning the entire place. 

“I’m pretty sure I left it on the couch when we left.”

He’s containing his panic pretty well, but Jiang Cheng can see the shaking in his fingers. He has all his tracks in there, Jiang Cheng knows, including the one he’s been working on for his client. Knowing him, he has absolutely none of that backed up.

“You continue looking,” Jiang Cheng tells him sharply. “I’ll run over to the recording studio and check.”

Snatching up the keys, he runs out of the door.

The building where they train during the week is quiet now, dark and silent as he walks briskly through the dim hallways. He finds the recording studio through sheer muscle memory, and is relieved to find Wei Wuxian’s laptop under one of the throw pillows. He quickly shoots off a text to his idiot brother as he leaves the room.

臭婴儿 // Big Baby ^[3]

found it
Seen 5:13PM

THANK THE HEAVENS AND EARTH
where was it?
Seen 5:13PM

on the couch
Seen 5:13PM

knew it!
Seen 5:13PM

Rolling his eyes, he looks up, only to find that he’s made a wrong turn. The darkened corridors look so unfamiliar and dim, that even turning back the way he came, he finds himself unable to find his usual recording studio.

i took a wrong turn
i’m lost
Seen 5:18PM

you found the laptop...
but you can’t find the way out??
the way that you’ve walked like
128395829 times???!
Seen 5:18PM

He ignores the unhelpful messages from his brother.

Thinking for a moment, he decides to continue walking. If he keeps on walking in one direction, he’ll eventually find the outer wall of the building, and will be able to tell which side of the building he’s on by looking out of the window.

Sure enough, after walking for some minutes, he turns around a corner to find a stretch of windows at the end of a dark corridor. Breathing a sigh of relief, he trots over and looks out.

He does not recognize what he sees.

He stands there, stumped, for a moment. He soon becomes aware of the sound of distant music. It frightens him terribly at first. He soon realizes, with some relief, that there is indeed someone practicing the piano. They probably know the way out! He heads quickly towards the sound of music. As he nears the source, he slowly realizes that the song being played is an extremely familiar one.

It is the concerto that he had dreamed of, the concerto Wei Wuxian had played in their music room in that long ago past.

Surprised, he picks up the pace slightly. He arrives at a pair of closed doors, and pushes them open to find himself at the head of a small auditorium. Down the darkened rows of seats, there is a figure sitting on the stage, dressed in white, and wreathed in the halo of the spotlights. The player is seated with his back to Jiang Cheng, bent over the black and white keys, and swaying in time, lost in the throes of that melancholic tune. 

Jiang Cheng slips silently into the last row, unwilling to interrupt the player. Just as he sits, however, the player pauses.

Jiang Cheng looks up in time to see the player bringing a long, silver flute to his lips. A clear note sings through the air, bright and airy and wavering gracefully. The notes of that silver flute seem to ebb and flow, at times low and dark, and at times tremoring and sweet, complex and affecting, entrancing. Jiang Cheng finds himself leaning forward, held strangely captive, as that poignant melody twines itself slowly over the waltz-like beat. 

The chair creaks beneath him with the motion.

Upon the stage, the player startles at the sound, whipping around with wide brown eyes.

It is Lan Xichen.

They stare at each other across the sea of empty chairs. Dressed completely in white, the stage lights set Lan Xichen brilliantly aglow, haloed and otherworldly. After a few long seconds, however, Lan Xichen stands, stepping out of the spotlight, and the moment passes. He is just Lan Xichen again, human.

“What song was that?” Jiang Cheng blurts out.

Lan Xichen blinks at the abrupt question.

“It’s the second movement of Ravel’s Piano Concerto in G major,” he replies.

Jiang Cheng feels a little sheepish suddenly, feels compelled to explain himself.

“My brother used to play this song a lot when we were children,” he says. “I only heard the piano side. I never knew there was a flute part as well.” After a moment, he adds: “You play beautifully. I— I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone play like that before.”

Lan Xichen looks taken aback. A pleased flush rises slowly over his cheekbones. Then, he smiles, the expression setting his whole face alight, and turns away to disassemble his flute.

“I played in an orchestra for four years,” he explains, beginning to put the flute pieces away. “It was the best four years of my life.”

Pieces stored carefully in velvet, he closes the lid, and zips the case up. The leather of the case is well-worn, well-loved. Jiang Cheng watches him draw gentle fingers fondly over the old leather.

“Why did you leave?” he asks.

Lan Xichen shrugs.

“Family expectations,” he says simply.

That’s what Jiang Cheng had feared. Seeing the expression on Jiang Cheng’s face, Lan Xichen chuckles. He picks up his flute case, flings the piano cover back over the piano, and descends from the stage.

“They didn’t force me,” he assures Jiang Cheng. “But I do have responsibilities to the family business. I couldn’t just abandon Lan Group.”

“Lan Group,” Jiang Cheng repeats blankly, and thinks about it for a moment. “So your family runs one of Lan Group’s subsidiaries?”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Ah,” Lan Xichen begins, a little strained. “Not exactly.”

Jiang Cheng’s mind begins to race.

“I thought Lan Group’s heir was supposed to be Lan Qiren’s nephew,” he snaps. “Lan Huan?! I think that was his name?!”

Lan Xichen laughs. 

“That’s me!” he says lightly. “Sorry, I haven’t properly introduced myself, have I? Lan Xichen is a stage name. My birth name is Lan Huan.”

Jiang Cheng’s jaw drops. He stands there numbly for a long moment. 

Lan Xichen is…?!

The man in question stops a few rows away, looking concerned.

“Mister Er, are you alright?” he asks.

“My name isn’t Er Jiangcheng,” Jiang Cheng reminds him bluntly. “It’s Jiang Cheng— surname Jiang, given name Cheng.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes widen.

“Jiang Cheng” he says blankly. “Could it be— By any chance, are you related to—“

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng says.

They stand in silence for a few moments. Finally, Lan Xichen chuckles.

“Guess you would understand my position better than anyone else,” he says quietly.

Jiang Cheng lets out a breath at that, rubbing at his temples.

“Look,” he begins. “I hate to say this but— it’s a bad idea to force yourself to do something you have no interest in. Trust me, I’ve seen what happens when that happens. Lan Xi— Lan-laoshi, you have a dream. Don’t let it go. Don’t spend the rest of your life regretting.”

Lan Xichen smiles.

"Thank you,” he says simply. “I don’t think it’s possible for me, but I am grateful for your sympathy.”

He continues speaking before Jiang Cheng can protest.

“I must confess that I haven’t played for an audience since I quit the orchestra,” he admits, looking down at his feet with a pleased blush. “It’s... nice. Even if it’s just for an audience of one, I have missed performing. Thank you for coming in today.”

They exit the auditorium. Lan Xichen seems to know his way out, so Jiang Cheng just follows him quietly for a few minutes, watching his face. His expression is soft. He has begun humming that familiar melody, absently, something wistful in his faraway gaze.

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes. 

Gods, he’s really doing this, isn’t he?

“Would you mind,” he begins, through gritted teeth, “if I came to watch you play again?”

Lan Xichen turns to him, surprised. The surprise soon gives way to open delight.

“Not at all!” he assures Jiang Cheng, beaming. “I come here to practice on Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays, and Sundays, same time and same place. You’re welcome to come whenever you have the time! You have my number, don’t you?”

Jiang Cheng waves his phone between them.

“I do,” he says. “I’ll be here.”

Returning to his suite, they set up Wei Wuxian’s laptop and finally begin their scheduled call.

“I thought you’d never find your way out of that labyrinth,” Wei Wuxian teases, as they wait for the call to connect.

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng grumbles.

The call connects just as Wei Wuxian laughs, loud and unrepentant. A grainy chuckle joins his laughter. Father peers warmly at them from the screen, Mother sitting by his side with an icier expression.

“I’m so glad to hear your laughter again,” Father says gently.

“Hey Uncle Jiang! Hey Madam Yu!” 

“Mom,” Jiang Cheng greets, more reserved. “Dad.” 

Father smiles.

“How are the both are you doing?” he asks. “Are you settling in fine? Is the food alright? Is training too strenuous, A-Cheng?”

“The lodging house is really comfy,” Wei Wuxian says, “if a little old-fashioned. The food could use a little more spice, but it’s still all good! Jiang Cheng cooks quite often anyways.”

“Training isn’t too strenuous,” Jiang Cheng adds. “But it’s definitely more intense than I expected it to be. Aside from vocal training, there’s also musical theory and composition, and I think later there might be dancing and theater.”

His expression turns slightly sheepish.

“I’m not so great with all this music stuff,” he admits. “You know I’ve never been one for it. Wei Wuxian has been helping me.”

Father smiles. 

“But are you having fun?” he asks. “Are you both having fun?” 

They turn to look at each other, surprised. Jiang Cheng immediately recalls how they’d spent close to an hour screaming vulgar scales at one another. Wei Wuxian seems to be thinking the exact same thing. 

“Pfffft…”

They both begin to laugh. After a moment, Father begins to laugh along with them.

“That’s what’s important,” he says warmly. “As long as you’re having fun.”

Mother scoffs. 

“And Jiang Electric?” she asks coldly. “Are you not intending to rotate there anymore?” 

“Ah, my lady,” Father protests. “A-Cheng is busy. It can wait until after all this.” 

“No, no, I will,” Jiang Cheng jumps in. “Part of the reason I decided to do this was because it would be in the same city as Jiang Electric’s headquarters. The training period is only two and a half months. After that, the competition will start, and my schedule will be more relaxed. I’ll be able to start the rotations then.”

“Hmph,” Mother harrumphs. “Glad to know you haven’t completely lost sight of what’s important.” 

Father sighs. 

“My lady, Jiang Cheng is still young. Let him explore while he still can.” He smiles. “Alright, then. It is getting late. We will not keep you from whatever Sunday night plans you may have.”

Wei Wuxian laughs.

“Yeah, we do have some exciting plans,” he jokes. “Exciting plans to eat some instant noodles in our pajamas, and then sleep.”

Father laughs. “Then rest well, my children.” 

“And don’t eat so much of that rubbish!” Mother interjects irately.

“Your mother is right. Call for some delivery if you must, or order room service. Use the credit card I gave you.”

Wei Wuxian laughs.

“Alright. Goodnight, Uncle Jiang, Madam Yu.” 

“Goodnight,” Jiang Cheng says.

The call ends.

They sit there for a moment, not saying anything. Then, Wei Wuxian chuckles, turning to look at Jiang Cheng with soft eyes.

“So you are having fun,” he says. “I’m glad.”

“Only because you’re here with me,” Jiang Cheng returns absently, before realizing abruptly what he had said. He stands, scowling, and heads towards the bathroom.

“Going to do your vocal exercises?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng says.

Wei Wuxian hesitates.

“You don’t always have to lock yourself in the bathroom, you know,” he says quietly.

Jiang Cheng pauses in the doorway.

“I guess you already heard my weak-ass wobbly head voice today,” he finally allows.

“You really don’t sound half-bad, you know?” Wei Wuxian tells him. “You just don’t sound like—“

He spreads his arms, leaning back, clearly mining an opera singer. Jiang Cheng snorts.

“As Wen Qing likes to say,” he says dryly. “Correct enough, but not a hundred percent correct.”

Wei Wuxian smiles. “But you’re getting there.”

Jiang Cheng considers that for a moment. They are coming to the end of his third week, but he still vividly remembers that terrible first week of training. It’s true that he still has a long way to go.

But somehow, the road no longer feels impossibly long.

“I’m getting there,” he agrees.

Chapter Text

“I know I said to be angry,” Wen Qing says at the start of the next week, “but there’s no need to pull such a long face while you’re singing, you know that?”

She pushes the door open for him, beckoning wordlessly to Wen Ning. Wen Ning immediately takes the hint, standing and heading into the recording studio, as Wei Wuxian stretches, cat-like, on the couch.

“Don’t mind him, Wen Qing-jie,” he chirps. “He’s just moody because dance classes are beginning tomorrow.”

“You’ll be grateful for them when you have to dance on stage,” Wen Qing tells him.

“I’d sooner die,” Jiang Cheng responds flatly.

Wen Qing looks at her watch.

“Alright then,” she says briskly. “Then die.”

The door slams shut between them.

How cruel.

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian head out of the building. They have an hour until group classes begin, which means that if Jiang Cheng intends to cook, he has to be quick about it. He is wracking his brain, trying to remember what ingredients they have in the fridge, when Wei Wuxian speaks.

“What do you think of the other contestants?” he asks.

“Huh?” Jiang Cheng asks.

“I’ve been sizing up the competition,” Wei Wuxian continues, unprompted. “Honestly, I don’t think very much of most of them. But I snuck a peek at the score that Wen Ning was working on just now. It was pretty good.”

“Right,” Jiang Cheng says, still preoccupied. It is possible that they do not have the right ingredients for the stir-fry he was planning, but he can still make fried rice. 

Wei Wuxian sighs. “You haven’t been watching, have you?”

“I don’t see the point,” Jiang Cheng says absently. “I’m already having trouble keeping up. I should just focus on myself.”

They return to their room, where Jiang Cheng quickly throws together some fried rice from the leftover ingredients in their fridge. He wolfs down his portion, stopping only to gulp down an extra large mug of coffee, before trotting down for his music theory lesson.

He barely makes it in time.

They slip through the door just as the teacher arrives. As Jiang Cheng takes his usual seat, he sees Wei Wuxian sidling up to Lan Wangji in his peripheral vision.

“Hey, Wangji-xiong,” he whispers, with a shit-eating grin. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Class is starting,” Lan Wangji intones.

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to the class. 

As usual, half of what is said goes right over his head, but he desperately writes down everything he catches anyway. Music theory classes are always a blurry blaze of letters and numbers and terms he doesn’t entirely understand. Keys, semitones, half steps, whole steps— his head is already beginning to spin just thinking about it.

Somewhere around the halfway mark, he begins to feel the extra large mug of coffee gathering in his bladder. He squirms for awhile, crossing his legs one way, and then the other, before finally giving up. He whips around and spots Wei Wuxian still trying to communicate with Lan Wangji, now entirely through hand gestures, while Lan Wangji pointedly continues to revise his script. Taking two long steps over, he shoves his notebook and pen at Wei Wuxian.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” he hisses. “Take notes for me.”

“Sure,” Wei Wuxian says absently, still gesturing fruitlessly at Lan Wangji. Jiang Cheng gets the feeling he’s going to come back to an empty notebook.

He hurries out of the door as quickly as he can, taking to the bathroom at a brisk pace, relieving himself at record speed, and then dashing back towards the classroom. Just as he reaches the door, however, it swings open with a bang! to the sounds of uproarious laughter from within. Lan Wangji storms out, disheveled and bright red, and vanishes around the corner. Jiang Cheng goes back into the room to find Wei Wuxian grinning smugly.

“What did you do?” he manages through gritted teeth.

“Jiang-xiong, you missed the fun!” Nie Huaisang howls, slapping his thigh.

Lan Wangji’s script lies forgotten on the bench. Jiang Cheng picks it up with a sigh, as around him, the class continues to chatter. The teacher is trying in vain to contain everyone, but this mob simply cannot be contained. Over on the other side of the classroom, Xue Yang is sitting cross-legged on his table, slapping his palms on the table and laughing. Jin Guangyao seems to be trying to persuade him to come down.

Apparently, as Mo Xuanyu gleefully tells him, Wei Wuxian had found a lingerie magazine under his chair, and managed to distract Lan Wangji enough to swap the magazine with the book he’d been writing in. Upon opening the magazine, their young host had let out an uncharacteristically loud cry, and proceeded to row with Wei Wuxian right there and then. He’d eventually stormed out, unable to win against Wei Wuxian’s silver tongue.

“Book?” Jiang Cheng repeats. “You mean his script? He was so angry that he left it behind.”

He raises the sheaf of papers.

“No, it was a notebook,” Mo Xuanyu says.

“Class!”  the teacher hollers helplessly, drowned beneath the din. “Please!”

“Everyone, shut the fuck up!” Jiang Cheng bellows.

“My ears, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian mutters, but quiets down.

The rest of the class slowly mills back into their seats, chatter dying down into silence. The teacher breathes a sigh of relief, looking harried, and puts down his notes. At that very moment, however, the clock chimes on the hour. The teacher’s face falls.

“It seems like we’re out of time,” he says, and sighs. “I’d like to remind you all that the end of month assessment is coming. This means a music theory test. For those who are struggling with the content, I would advise you to start revising. I would also like to ask that everyone please behave from now on. We still have lots of content to cover.”

In a cacophony of dragging chairs, the class stands to leave the room. Wei Wuxian trots up to Jiang Cheng’s side, still grinning, as he carefully straightens the pages of the script.

“Guess what I found out when you were gone,” Wei Wuxian whispers.

“No,” Jiang Cheng says flatly.

“Lan Zhen remembers me from Zhongyang!” Wei Wuxian continues, uncaring of Jiang Cheng’s answer. “Apparently we used to frequent the same recording studio. Lan Zhan always booked the same time slot, right after mine.” He laughs. “Do you know he still holds a grudge against me? Can you guess for what?”

Having finished straightening the papers, Jiang Cheng puts them in his bag, careful not to crumple them. He’ll have to return them to Lan Wangji with an apology. Wei Wuxian continues when it becomes apparent that Jiang Cheng will not respond.

“Not rolling up the cables neatly enough,” he answers, in response to his own question, and laughs, “and not putting everything back in the “right” drawers, apparently.”

He shakes his head.

They return to their room again. Taking heed of his teacher’s advice, Jiang Cheng opens his notebook so that he can begin preparing revision notes for the upcoming test. Meanwhile, Wei Wuxian opens his laptop with a sigh, plugging in his earphones.

“What’s the sigh for?” Jiang Cheng asks.

“My client has come back with edits,” Wei Wuxian mumbles.

It sounds from his tone of voice that there are quite some edits to be made, but Jiang Cheng can’t help but feel a little comforted. He’s always studied better with someone working alongside him. As he settles into his note-making, Wei Wuxian sits up.

“What are you doing?” he asks, sounding unfairly scandalized.

“I’m making notes?”

“For what?!” Wei Wuxian questions.

“I need to have summaries,” Jiang Cheng says, unamused. “I memorize better when everything is on one page.”

”Don’t memorize!” Wei Wuxian yelps. “Music theory isn’t like that. You just need to understand.” He sighs. “Look, I’ll help you. What if I quiz you? That always helps me when I’m studying for an exam.”

That’s something that helps Jiang Cheng too.

“That would help,” he says. “But I need to make my notes first.”

Wei Wuxian deflates, and Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow, a suspicion coming alive inside him. 

“Are you using me to procrastinate?”

Wei Wuxian straightens. “No.”

Jiang Cheng sighs. He turns back to his notebook, flipping it to today’s lesson. If anything, he can ask Wei Wuxian about the content he had missed. When he gets to the latest page, however, he freezes. 

His notes have been completed, but not in his handwriting, nor Wei Wuxian’s. The letters are extraordinarily neat, perfectly proportioned, and written in calligraphy script.

Jiang Cheng stands.

“What’s wrong?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“You’re an idiot,” Jiang Cheng seethes. He takes out his phone. He needs to return Lan Wangji’s script, ASAP, and preferably with a long apology note. Right, he has Lan Xichen’s number, doesn’t he? He can pass the script to him.

Lan Xichen.

He freezes.

It’s Tuesday. Hadn’t he promised to attend Lan Xichen’s practice today? He picks up his phone. It’s almost six.

“I have to go,” he says.

Gathering up the loose pages of Lan Wangji’s script, he sprints out of the room.

The auditorium door slams open with a bang!

“Sorry,” Jiang Cheng gasps, hands on his knees. “I’m here.”

Up on the stage, Lan Xichen turns, eyes wide. His flute shines silver in his pale hands.

He smiles.

The days play on, faster than Jiang Cheng could have anticipated. He continues to practice, continues to revise. Wei Wuxian helps, in between working on his client’s track, sitting in on his practices and giving him live feedback, quizzing him on music theory — but even then there‘s only so much he can help with.

“This music theory courses began with an assumption that you had some foundation in music,” Wei Wuxian explains helplessly at some point.

“I have no foundation,” Jiang Cheng says flatly.

To his credit, Wei Wuxian is a good teacher. His explanations are simple and intuitive, and he even links Jiang Cheng to a number of good resources. It’s just that all of it just seems to slip like sand through Jiang Cheng’s brain.

Gods, he’s just bad at this, isn’t he?

During those frustrating days, he unexpectedly finds himself a second tutor. He continues to sit in on Lan Xichen’s practices, as promised, usually sitting in the front row while working on his revision. It’s companionable, peaceful. It reminds him an awful lot of those early days he’d spent in the school music room, Wei Wuxian tinkering away at the piano, while he did his homework in silence. 

Between songs, he asks questions about things he doesn’t understand. He soon finds that Lan Xichen is just as good a teacher as Wei Wuxian, perhaps even better. He’s less of a natural genius, better at breaking things down, which Jiang Cheng appreciates. During the times Jiang Cheng is quietly revising on his own, the sweet sounds of Lan Xichen’s flute provide a peaceful backdrop.

Combined with the dryness of the content he’s revising, it is no surprise that he finds himself lulled to sleep one afternoon. He is woken by the sensation of soft velvet being draped over his body. Lan Xichen freezes as Jiang Cheng looks up at him, eyes wide and still clutching at the piano cover. They stay like that for a moment, just staring at each other.

“Sorry,” Lan Xichen says suddenly. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Is this not okay?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng blurts out. “It’s fine. It’s just— Wei Wuxian used to do that too, when I was a kid. I used to sleep in his piano cover while he practiced during lunch breaks. It’s… a good memory.”

“Oh?” Lan Xichen asks, and smiles. “Somehow, he seems like the sort who would prefer to be out playing during lunch. Hyperactive.”

Jiang Cheng shrugs, smiling back as Lan Xichen settles down in the chair next to him.

“He wasn’t always good at handling crowds,” he explains. “For a while, it was always just the two of us, alone in that soundproof music room. He would get agitated at loud noises, at bright lights, at too many sensations.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes widen.

“Wangji was like that too!” he cries. “He’s always hated crowds, hated being touched, not really talking, never really smiling. Autism, the doctors said. Even now, he’s not very good at making friends. He can be… stubborn at times. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

Jiang Cheng pulls his knees to his chest, listening quietly as Lan Xichen looks down into lap.

“It was always just the two of us,” he continues. “We had to be homeschooled because of his condition. Because of that, neither of us really had any friends growing up— until I met Nie Mingjue, of course. I was encouraged to befriend him as a fellow heir, and that’s how I ended up becoming friends with A-Yao too.” 

He laughs, eyes faraway now. 

“Boy, was that a long time ago,” he muses. “A-Yao was still working for Nie Industries at the time. Those were good days.”

Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow. How old is Jin Guangyao anyway? He had assumed that Jin Guangyao was the same age as him, if not younger.

“I thought he was still in university,” he admits, and Lan Xichen laughs. 

“He has a baby face, doesn’t he?” he asks amusedly. “Don’t be fooled. He’s around my age. He completed his degree while working at Nie Industries. I still have no idea how he did it.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes soften, his expression fond. Now that Jiang Cheng thinks about it, he’s seen Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen sitting together in the back of his group classes, usually speaking quietly, smiling softly.

“The two of them are still pretty much my only friends,” Lan Xichen says, before drooping a little. “But lately, it seems the two of them are always arguing.”

“Arguing?” Jiang Cheng repeats, and hesitates. “About what?”

Lan Xichen is quiet for a long moment, long enough that Jiang Cheng almost takes back his question, almost apologizes. Then, Lan Xichen sighs.

“Da-ge means well,” he says, “but he can be abrasive at times. He always believes that he knows what’s good for you. He’s not wrong in his views about this matter, but A-Yao is not wrong either. The situation is complex, beyond my ability to resolve.”

He seems to droop even more at that admission, and Jiang Cheng can’t help but feel sorry for him. He’s got a good heart, but...

“You can’t solve the world’s problems, you know,” he says, and hesitates on his next words. “But if you like… you can consider me one of your friends now.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes widen briefly, and then crinkle in a blinding smile. He has a nice smile, a little toothy, turning his eyes into cheerful crescent moons.

“Thank you,” Lan Xichen says warmly. “In that case, please feel free to address me by name.”

Jiang Cheng bites his lip, but at Lan Xichen’s expectant look, acquiesces. “Lan Xichen.”

Lan Xichen beams.

“And if it’s not too presumptuous,” Lan Xichen gushes, a little flustered. “Could I perhaps address you as… maybe Jiang-xiong?” 

“Sure,” Jiang Cheng grants, with some relief. He’d been getting a little sick of Mister Er and Mister Jiang. “Friend privileges: if you ever visit Wuhan after filming is over, just let me know, I’ll make sure to show you around.”

Lan Xichen laughs.

“And I would offer to show you around Suzhou,” he begins jokingly, “but you’ve already seen it.”

Jiang Cheng pauses, and then raises an eyebrow.

“I haven’t actually, you know?” he says. “Between filming and training, I doubt any of the contestants have had the time to properly see Suzhou.” 

Lan Xichen’s eyes widen, his expression aghast.

“That’s awful!” he cries. “Suzhou is truly beautiful this time of year. I’ll be sure to organize a sightseeing trip for all of you soon! The best time would probably be after the end of month assessments.”

He turns away, mumbling to himself, seeming to already be plotting the details. Jiang Cheng can’t help but chuckle, charmed.

“I’ll look forward to that,” he says quietly.

Meanwhile, as dance classes begin, he finds himself in even more of a tight spot. He still has absolutely no clue what dancing has to do with singing. He’s seen concerts. He’s seen competitions. Most of the time, the singers are just standing there. So no, he does not get why he has to be here.

“You,” the dance instructor snaps on the third day. “Yes, you, the one in the purple hoodie. Could you look a little less unhappy?”

Behind him, Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang are already snickering.

“Relax and just— feel the music, will you? You’re as stiff as cardboard. Groove a little. Like Mianmian! Look at her, she’s having so much fun!”

Towards the end of the class, the instructor always has them holler out verses as they do the choreography. That never fails to have them all gasping for breath.

“You need to keep your sound steady!” the instructor yells mid-choreography. “When you’re performing on stage, your vocals are still the highlight!”

There is only one person who keeps up seemingly without effort. He always dances at the back, quiet and unobtrusive, but the one time Jiang Cheng had come in late, he’d ended up dancing next to him for the lesson. Wen Ning’s voice hadn’t faltered for even a second.

As the date of the quiz approaches, Jiang Cheng soon gives up completely on online tutorials and long Baidu articles. Finishing his notes with some help with Wei Wuxian, he requests a copy of the slides from their instructor, sits down, and begins to memorize. He’s done within three days.

“What is…” Wei Wuxian drawls lazily, laid over the couch and swinging one leg lazily, “a 4-3 suspension?”

“A 4-3 suspension is a musical device, common in the Western classical tradition, whereby a suspension is formed through a note a fourth above the bass which resolves to a third,” Jiang Cheng parrots.

Wei Wuxian’s leg stops swinging. He sits up slowly, eyes wide.

“Damn, Jiang Cheng,” he says.

“I memorized the Baidu definition,” Jiang Cheng agrees, extremely pleased with himself. “It’s definitely more efficient than trying to understand whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean.”

Wei Wuxian’s face falls. “That’s not how—“

Studying for his music theory test out of the way, Jiang Cheng begins to hone down on his singing. Wei Wuxian soon gives up on trying to explain music theory to him, with no small amount of horror at his study methods, and returns gloomily to his editing. He still proves infinitely helpful on the vocal practice, providing live feedback as Jiang Cheng practices.

“You sounded a little tinny on the high note,” he  chirps from the couch, eyes glued to the interface of his editing software.

Jiang Cheng takes a deep breath, and tries the phrase again, holding the high note this time.

“Better, but not quite,” Wei Wuxian speaks up over him. “It sounded better when you did it yesterday.”

Jiang Cheng adjusts his jaw, scrunching his brows in concentration. The note clears into a whistle.

“That was so good, A-Cheng!” Jiang Yanli cries.

Jiang Cheng yelps, and whips around to find his sister standing in the bathroom doorway, a towel around her shoulders. He can’t help feeling a little embarrassed. He’s sung in front of Wei Wuxian a billion times by now. Wei Wuxian has heard his voice crack on countless occasions. This, however, is the first time A-Jie has heard him sing. A-Jie guesses his thoughts easily.

“You’ve gotten so good, A-Cheng,” she says softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You have that— that singer’s voice now.”

She does a round gesture with her hands in an attempt at explanation, giggling a little.

“Resonance,” Wei Wuxian pipes up. “You really do sound good.”

“I still feel like I’m missing a little something though,” Jiang Cheng muses. “Even on single notes like this, Wen Qing always sounds good. She always has this oompf, you know?”

Wei Wuxian raises an eyebrow.

“Do that note again?” he requests.

“Which one?”

Wei Wuxian presses a key, and his laptop produces a synthetic piano sound. Jiang Cheng sings the note on an ooo.

“Vibrato,” Wei Wuxian says immediately. “Wen Qing-jie usually sings with a vibrato.”

Jiang Cheng immediately tries again. Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen.

“Oh, so you can do it,” he says. “What if you… start off clear, and then add a vibrato to the end? Like— Man, I wish I brought my violin. Let me see if I can find an example on the track I’m working on.”

As he begins to scroll through his track, Jiang Cheng suddenly recalls the final wavering note of the piece Lan Xichen played during his last practice, remembers the way it had started clear and mournful, then softened, wavering sweetly. He tries again.

“Oh, damn,” Wei Wuxian gasps, looking up. “That sounds good. Can you do runs too?”

“I don’t know what that is.”

A-Jie sits down on the couch, drying her hair as Wei Wuxian clicks away on his laptop.

“Try this,” he says, and taps out a quick, jazzy little phrase on his synthetic piano.

Jiang Cheng completes it easily.

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian says, seeming vaguely excited. “What if you start breathy, go up to a belt on the third note, hold the last, and then fade out with a slow vibrato.”

Jiang Cheng processes that, and then tries again.

“That sounds really good,” A-Jie comments.

Wei Wuxian sets his laptop aside, and sits up, looking vaguely scandalized.

“What the heck, Jiang Cheng,” he says accusingly. “You have really good control.”

“Wen Qing’s really particular about phrases like this,” Jiang Cheng explains.

“So you do practice runs in class!” Wei Wuxian yelps. “You’re good at them! Why don’t you add a few into the song you’re practicing for your end of month assessment?”

“I don’t know how to make them up,” Jiang Cheng admits.

“I’ll help you!” Wei Wuxian declares, and begins to pat around him. “Now, where did I put my pen? Do you have a receipt or something I can write on?”

“I have a notebook,” Jiang Cheng says, sighing. “I also have a pen. Will you please take better care of your own things?”

As he goes to retrieve his notebook, A-Jie’s phone gives a little trill. She picks it up, reading the notification.

“We have to go, boys,” she says, standing. “A-Yu and A-Yao are at the restaurant already.”

“Let me grab my guitar!” Wei Wuxian yelps, turning to hiss at Jiang Cheng: “Bring your notebook, I’ll figure out some ways you can style your assessment piece.”

He scrambles off into his room as A-Jie shoots a quick reply to Mo Xuanyu. 

On her weekly visits, A-Jie has continued to make use of the kitchens during off-peak hours, where she has become fast friends with the starstruck Maiden Song. Mo Xuanyu has been her shadow during this time, attached to her side, gasping and cooing over everything she does. He drags Jin Guangyao with him wherever possible, and while Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian have found it difficult to click with him, what with his quiet, gracious, overly polite, and ultimately older presence, he and A-Jie seem to get along swimmingly. Sometimes, Jiang Cheng has spotted them sitting alone, speaking in quiet voices. Jiang Cheng gets the feeling that A-Jie has been counseling him about something.

They head downstairs, Wei Wuxian prattling excitedly the whole time. While A-Jie settles into her cooking, followed by her three shadows, Wei Wuxian unzips his guitar case.

“Okay,” he says, grinning. “Let’s do this.”

The month flies on by. On their last lesson of the month, Wen Qing takes him to a small auditorium. The stage is vast, and the lights are bright, making him feel strangely small in the middle of it all. 

When he closes his eyes and begins, however, the song flows smoothly out of him, with all the familiar dips and rises, all the little embellishments Wei Wuxian had made up for him. He has been practicing endlessly for weeks, and can probably sing this song in his sleep. He finds himself relaxing in the familiar rhythm of the song.

When he opens his eyes at the end, however, Wen Qing has a complicated look on her face. Jiang Cheng immediately feels self-conscious.

“Was it that bad?” he mumbles.

“No,” she says immediately. “No. In fact, it was… it was perfect.” She looks down, tapping her pen against her clipboard thoughtfully. “Too perfect.”

Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow.

“Explain,” he deadpans.

Wen Qing sighs, straightening up, and begins the chorus, clear and sweet, with a beautifully even vibrato. However, as she continues, in that same clear voice, Jiang Cheng begins to frown. She executes the run with mechanical precision, and finally, Jiang Cheng holds up a hand, unable to continue listening.

“Okay,” he says. “I get it now.”

“Perhaps it’s my fault,” Wen Qing muses. “I’ve paid so much attention to technique this whole time, I never really encouraged you to loosen up and just take joy in singing.”

“I do enjoy singing,” Jiang Cheng assures her. “I just—“ 

He breathes out forcefully, and looks around him for a chair. He finds one, drags it over, and sits down opposite her.

“Okay,” he says. “How do we fix this? I promise I don’t secretly hate singing, even though I probably sound like… like...“

“Like someone is holding a gun to your head and ordering you to sing?” Wen Qing asks flatly.

“Can’t you be a little nicer to me?” Jiang Cheng demands. “I thought teachers were supposed to be nurturing and shit.”

Ignoring him, Wen Qing slowly sets her clipboard down, tapping thoughtfully at her chin with her pen.

“You think too hard, I think,” she finally says. “You’re always focusing really hard on what you’re supposed to sound like, but you forget about the mood of the song. The song you chose is sad, but you don’t express that. Some songs are have a funky little beats like—“

She begins to groove from side to side, snapping her fingers, singing a wordless phrase.

She straightens. “I guess we’re talking about emotionality and expression here.”

“Right,” Jiang Cheng says.

She looks at her watch, jerks, and then picks up her pen and begins to scribble quickly at her clipboard.

“Anyway,” she continues briskly, “we still have a month and a half until your debut. Good technique is the foundation of expression. You’ve got that foundation now. A month is plenty of time for us to work on the rest.”

She completes the first page, pulling it off the clipboard with relish, only to grimace as she finds another page beneath it. She flips quickly through the sheets, and groans.

“Why do these shows have so much damn paperwork?!” she demands.

“This is your first time coaching on the show?” Jiang Cheng asks, surprised.

“Reality TV has never really been my thing,” Wen Qing admits. “My insistence that you be taken off camera for the duration of your training was quite unpopular with the producers, but I just don’t think that’s a good environment to learn in.”

She sighs, untying her hair, combing her hands briefly through it, and beginning to twist it quickly back up in a bun.

“Honestly,” she grumbles, “if Xichen hadn’t called in a personal favor, I wouldn’t have come. You’re quite lucky, you know? Xichen called me in specially for you. It seems he really saw something in you.”

Lan Xichen called her in for him?!

Fuck. 

Jiang Cheng buries his face in his hands. 

Fuck, Lan Xichen had really stuck his neck out for him, hadn’t he? And Jiang Cheng hasn’t even thanked him for it yet.

“But my little brother is in the show too,” Wen Qing continues, securing her bun, “although he didn’t even tell me about it until I returned to China. It’s actually been a long time since I got to spend so much time with him.” Her gaze softens. “I’ve missed it.”

“Wen Ning is your brother, right?” Jiang Cheng guesses.

“Yeah,” she confirms.

“So you are Wen Corp!” Jiang Cheng accuses.

Wen Qing sighs.

“Only in the vaguest sense of the word.” 

At Jiang Cheng’s questioning look, she continues, looking disgruntled. “A-Ning and I have long since been estranged from the main family.”

“I thought you were coaching the Wen band?” Jiang Cheng asks, surprised.

Wen Qing sighs again, looking even more disgruntled.

“I am,” she grumbles, before looking down at her watch. “Enough about that. We should end here, or I will not have enough time to assess A-Ning. We’ll have to work more on your emotional expression from now on. I trust you did okay on your music theory test?”

“The results haven’t come out yet,” Jiang Cheng says. “I still don’t really understand anything, but I memorized all the Baidu definitions and everything in my notes, so I just regurgitated those word for word in the test. I should do fine.”

Wen Qing looks appalled.

“I don’t think that’s how you’re supposed to do this,” she says, dismayed.

Her watch beeps on the hour, and she jumps. Bending over the clipboard, she begins to scribble furiously, groaning as she completes the page, only to find more beneath.

“Alright, get out, get out!” she yells crankily. “I need to finish all this goddamn paperwork!”

He books it out of the studio, nodding to Wen Ning as he exits. He knows Wen Qing’s temper well enough by now, and he knows it’s best not to provoke her when she’s grumpy. On the way out of the building, he slows suddenly.

Ah, yes. 

It’s a Saturday.

Lan Xichen should be practicing in the auditorium.

Jiang Cheng turns back, taking a familiar route to the auditorium Lan Xichen usually practices in. He can’t help but go with a slight smile. Lan Xichen’s presence is always a soothing one, his playing always sublime. Jiang Cheng has enjoyed sitting in on his practices more than he had first anticipated.

Still, as he recalls Wen Qing’s words, he can’t help but falter.

There’s so much that Lan Xichen has done for him. He’s helped Jiang Cheng in so many ways. Jiang Cheng hasn’t thanked him even once. He quickens his pace, resolving to rectify that.

“You’re here,” Lan Xichen says warmly, as he arrives in the auditorium. “How was your assessment?”

“Good, good,” Jiang Cheng says absently, “still have some things to work on, but it’s all good.”

He brushes his hair out of his face, licking at his lips as he tries to figure out how to broach the subject. God, he’s just never been good at words. Lan Xichen tilts his head.

“Is something the matter?” he asks.

Jiang Cheng lets his bag drop to the floor.

“You stuck your neck out for me,” he begins bluntly. “I probably would have quit if not for Wen Qing, and it was you who asked her to come, wasn’t it?”

Lan Xichen seems surprised, but laughs a little.

“Did Wen Qing tell you?” he asks.

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng says, and bites his lip, before blurting: “But I don’t get it. Why me?”

He winces, internally kicking himself. Wasn’t he supposed to be thanking Lan Xichen, not interrogating him?

Lan Xichen looks down.

“I first started the talent show because I wanted to introduce music to people who’d never had the chance to love music before,” he admits. “But I was eventually overwritten.”

Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow, sitting down in the front row. Lan Xichen chuckles.

“I guess it’s more economically viable and less risky to pick up contestants who’ve already been singing for years,” he explains. “This talent show is ultimately a way of finding and publicizing new talent, so that they can become steady sources of income after the competition ends.”

“It’s a good business model,” Jiang Cheng agrees.

“But not what I was really looking for when I first started,” Lan Xichen continues, and smiles. “You’re the kind of contestant I’ve wanted to recruit since we first started. Our trainers are used to training contestants who can already sing. I knew that they weren’t what you needed to grow and— I just wanted to see you succeed so badly. Forgive me if I seemed a little more invested in you than I should have been. Forgive me for foisting all these unwanted expectations and projections on you. I’m sorry.”

With that, he bows. Jiang Cheng is floored. He was supposed to be thanking Lan Xichen. How on earth did Lan Xichen end up apologizing to him? He stands up, pulling Lan Xichen upright.

“Don’t apologize,” he growls. “Don’t apologize for any of that.”

“Right,” Lan Xichen says. “I’m sorry.”

Jiang Cheng ignores the fact that Lan Xichen had just apologized to him, again. Gods, this man is impossible sometimes.

“I won’t waste your faith,” he promises fiercely. “I will do my best, go as far in this competition as I can. I will do you justice. Believe in me.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes widen. 

Then, after a moment, he smiles, eyes gentling.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I already do.”

Chapter Text

“I’m soooooorryyyyy!” Wei Wuxian wails. “Please don’t ignoooooore meeeeee!”

Lan Wangji continues to stare calmly over the water, hands folded serenely in his lap. Wei Wuxian slumps over the side of the boat, whimpering and pouting pitifully. Jiang Cheng cannot bear the undignified sight. He steps forward and slaps his brother on the shoulder, seething.

“If it was going to bother you this much,” he nags, “then you shouldn’t have pulled that stunt with the magazine!” 

Sighing, he turns to Lan Xichen apologetically. 

“I’m so sorry. I wish I could say that he isn’t usually like this, but that would be a lie.”

Lan Xichen laughs, and holds onto his hat for dear life as the boat pulls away from the dock. It’s a terribly ugly hat, wide-brimmed, made of straw, and adorned with a cloud-patterned ribbon— yet somehow, Lan Xichen is making it work. The man truly won the motherfucking genetic lottery at birth. It’s honestly a little unfair. Jiang Cheng helps him stumble onto one of the benches lining the front of the boat.

“Where’s the other hat?” Lan Xichen asks the crew member standing behind him.

“Here!” a young intern cries, producing a second identical hat.

Nie Huaisang is looking slightly nauseous, and Jiang Cheng is guessing it’s not because of motion sickness.

“Xichen-ge,” he reproaches. “Next time, if you need a hat to go with your outfit, just tell me , and I’ll purchase something that matches.”

“Nonsense,” Lan Xichen says breezily. “We’ve been wearing these hats since we were kids and they are still perfectly usable. I don’t see why we should buy new ones. Wangji!”

Beside the still-whimpering Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji finally looks up.

“Come here and put on a hat,” Lan Xichen coaxes gently. “The sun is out and blazing today. You’re going to get burned. Have you put on sunscreen? Where’s the sunscreen?”

The cabin door opens, and the Jins come stumbling out.

“Er-ge!” Jin Guangyao cries, brandishing a canister of sunscreen. “Have you put on sunscreen? With skin like yours, you’ll burn again in this weather.”

“I applied three layers!” Lan Xichen chirps.

As Lan Wangji begins to spray sunscreen over the backs of his fair hands, godawful hat now on his head, Jin Zixuan lets out a weak groan, shading his face with one hand.

“I’m not worried about burning,” he complains faintly. “I’m worried about tanning. Meng Yao, lend me your sunscreen once you’re done. I’m going back into the cabin.”

“I’m coming with you, cousin,” Jin Zixun says immediately. “It took me forever to lose the tan we got in the Bahamas.”

As they retreat into the cabin, Mo Xuanyu comes barreling out, leaping into the bench with a rapturous cry, and pressing himself over the front of the boat to touch the water. His knees begin to lift off the bench.

“A-Yu!” Jin Guangyao yelps, grabbing his shirt before he can tip into the river. “Be careful!”

Right then, the other boat draws even with them, to the sounds of raucous laughter and a cacophonous thumping. Xue Yang is jumping up and down on the wooden terrace, making the entire boat rock, as A-Qing tries desperately to stop him. After a moment, Xiao Xingchen comes hurtling out of the cabin, retching over the side of the boat, while Song Lan strokes his back. From within the cabin, Jiang Cheng can faintly hear the sounds of screaming.

“Mister Xue!” Lan Xichen shrieks, shooting to his feet. “Please stop that!”

Jiang Cheng buries his face in his hands, and prays that everyone makes it out of the trip alive.

They soon dock at a nearby market, much to the relief of everyone on the other boat. Wei Wuxian hops off the boat, and immediately scurries off to look at the stalls. It was probably too much to expect him to enjoy sitting for half an hour. The novelty of being on a boat had worn off after ten minutes. 

Lan Xichen steps off the boat a little more gracefully, holding out a hand to help Jiang Cheng off the boat. Jiang Cheng steps onto land with a vague sense of wonderment.

Around them, the market is alight in bright colors, filled with paper lanterns, fruits, flowers, and all sorts of produce. There are stalls here and there overflowing with beautiful silk shawls, little wooden toys, or other knick-knacks. After a moment, Wei Wuxian comes running back, cycling his arms and legs strangely, and swatting at the air around him.

“I’ve been bitten by mosquitoes!” he cries.

“The mosquitoes can get really bad in the summer,” Lan Xichen says apologetically. “There are more down here by the canals. I should have thought to mention it. I applied repellant before I left, but did not bring the canister with me.”

Coming off the other boat, the members of the girl group are chattering companionably, passing some little sachets around.

“Ah, Mianmian,” one of them sighs happily, “your herb pouches really are magic. Not only do they smell divine, I haven’t been bitten by a single mosquito!”

Wei Wuxian lights up, and makes a predictable bee-line for her. Just like a mosquito, Jiang Cheng thinks flatly to himself.

“Mianmian, wait up!” he cries. “Save me one too!”

She startles, frowning as she turns to him. Seeing who it is, she tilts her chin up, and raises a cool eyebrow. 

“Who are you?”

Wei Wuxian’s jaw drops.

”I’m Wei Wuxian!” he cries. “You scolded me by name in the corridor last week! You definitely know my name!”

Jiang Cheng facepalms.

Mianmian coughs delicately behind her wrist, and turns to walk away. Pouting, Wei Wuxian trots after her as she breezes off to browse the stalls.

“Don’t be like that!” he wheedles. “You’re too pretty to be frowning like that. Here, do you like loquats? I’ll buy you a loquat! Excuse me, miss! How much for a loquat?”

Laughing, the woman responds in an indecipherable dialect, pressing a loquat into Wei Wuxian’s hand.

“Err, excuse me?” Wei Wuxian says helplessly.

Mianmian snorts.

“She said: since you’re so good-looking, it’s free of charge,” she translates. “Her accent is a little thick.”

Wei Wuxian lights up.

“Aiyo,” he says, pressing his hands to his cheeks. “Miss, you can’t just say things like that! You’re so pretty that I won’t be able to stop blushing for ages now.”

“Are you like this with every girl you meet?” Mianmian demands.

The boarding plank creaks behind them. Jiang Cheng turns to see Lan Wangji stepping off the boat, a contemptuous look on his face.

“Despicable,” he huffs.

Spotting him, Wei Wuxian grins, immediately turning back to the vendor.

“Hey, miss, do you think that guy is good-looking too?” he asks, pointing at Lan Wangji.

The woman titters.

“She says that he’s even more good-looking,” Mianmian translates, amused. “You’ll flirt with anything that moves, won’t you?”

“I would!” Wei Wuxian declares, without even the slightest hint of shame. “But that’s only because life is filled with so many beautiful people and beautiful things. Like this wagon, right here.”

He bends down, stroking a hand tenderly over the worn wood.

“Look at you,” he croons. “That is one damn good pair of wheels. Oh, and those handles! Boy, I’d sure like to hold them and see if these wheels turn as smoothly as I think they will. You’re the most beautiful wagon I’ve ever seen, you know that, gorgeous?”

Finally, it seems like Mianmian can’t hold back any longer. She bursts out laughing. Unable to stand watching for another moment, Jiang Cheng stomps over, and raps his knuckles over his brother’s head.

“Have you had enough?!” he scolds.

An embroidered sachet flies into Wei Wuxian’s chest with a thwap!

“Fine, you can have one,” Mianmian says, rolling her eyes.  “Wei Wulian.” ^[1]

And with a little giggle at her own joke, she turns smugly, and flounces off. Wei Wuxian turns to Jiang Cheng as she leaves, holding the sachet out to him.

“Here,” he says, grinning. “For you.”

“For me?” Jiang Cheng repeats blankly.

“Mosquitos have always been more attracted to you than me,” Wei Wuxian reminds him. “You’ll be completely covered in bites if you don’t carry that, and I would prefer not to be subject to your whinging for the rest of the week. Here, take it.”

He presses the sachet into Jiang Cheng’s hand.

“I don’t whinge,” Jiang Cheng responds automatically, and then bites his lip. “But thanks.”

Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji draw even with them as he ties the sachet to his belt. Lan Wangji is looking at Wei Wuxian out of the corner of his eye now, a complicated expression on his face. Wei Wuxian straightens suddenly with a gasp. 

“Oh no!” he cries. “I should have asked for one for you too, Lan Zhan! You’re so fair — any bites would show up so clearly!”

“I applied repellant,” Lan Wangji says.

As Wei Wuxian begins to chatter away at the stoic Lan Wangji, Lan Xichen places a gentle hand on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder.

“Mosquitos aside,” he says sheepishly, “I hope you’ve been enjoying Suzhou so far.”

Jiang Cheng turns, and looks over the bustling market, the winding waterways, the wooden boats with their gently sloping canopies. The city is busy, but quaint, nothing like Beijing in all its lights and splendor.

”I haven’t been home in a long time,” he murmurs, “but the Jiang family manor, where I grew up, is on the outskirts of Wuhan, where it’s quiet and traditional. Over there, we have more lakes than canals, and of course, our markets aren’t quite like this— but still, this place reminds me of home.” He looks up at Lan Xichen, smiling. “Thank you for bringing us here today.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes widen for a moment, and then soften.

“You’re welcome,” he says quietly.

When everyone is done browsing they market, they meet back at the dock to begin the walk to Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji’s preferred tea house. According to Lan Xichen, it’s a traditional shophouse, extremely authentic — a real tourist spot. It is thus to Jiang Cheng’s surprise that they find what appears to be a club beside the tea house . The sound of heavy bass is audible from the outside. As they pass, Wei Wuxian closes his eyes, grooving to the beat. 

“Stop it,” Jiang Cheng deadpans, as the idiot begins to move his arms robotically against Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. Finally, they enter the teahouse and sit down.

“Ah, I’ve missed the sounds of real music,” Wei Wuxian groans.

Nie Huaisang chuckles.

“Right,” he says, amused. “You like electronic music, don’t you, Wei-xiong?”

Wei Wuxian laughs. “Well, it’s only the best genre of music, after all.”

Somewhere off to the side, someone makes a dubious noise. They turn to see Lan Wangji sipping delicately at his tea.

“What, you don’t like electronic music?” Wei Wuxian challenges. “Though I suppose a fuddy-duddy like you wouldn’t like electronic music. That’s okay. You like boring old classical music. I respect that.” 

Lan Wangji puts his cup down.

“Classical music is not boring,” he says mildly. “It is only that I am not a degenerate.” 

Wei Wuxian’s jaw drops.

“Ooooo,” goes the table. 

“Burn,” Nie Huaisang whispers.

“And electronic music isn’t real music.” 

“Oooooo!”

Almost everyone is watching the confrontation now. Wei Wuxian stands, spluttering, and jabs a finger in Lan Wangji’s chest. Jiang Cheng buries his face in his hands. One day. Could those two just not have some spectacular showdown for just one day?

“You—“ Wei Wuxian begins, and then begins to laugh, incredulous. “You. Me. Outside. Now,” he jokes. “I’ll show you who’s a degenerate.”

Lan Wangji frowns, his expression confused, but stands after a moment. Turning, he makes an elegant exit from the tea house. Wei Wuxian just stands blankly for a second, before looking up at the rest of the table. 

“He really went outside,” he says.

There is a dragging of chairs as everyone turns to look out the window. Sure enough, Lan Wangji is standing outside, staring down at the ground and looking confused.

“I’ll ask him to come back in,” Jin Guangyao says, putting a hand on Lan Xichen’s shoulder.

“No, I’ll go,” Wei Wuxian says immediately, and rolls up his sleeves, flexing exaggeratedly. “Looks like I’m going to have to teach him a good lesson.” He winks at Jiang Cheng. “On the meaning of real music.” 

And with a flip of his hair, he turns, and struts dramatically outside. 

“I am so sorry,” Jiang Cheng whispers to Lan Xichen. “When he comes back in, I’ll tell him to stop bothering your brother.”

But Lan Xichen just laughs.

“It’s fine,” he says. “Wangji looks like he’s having fun.”

Jiang Cheng turns to look out the window.

Through the window, Jiang Cheng can see the two sitting down at an empty table, taking one earphone each, and taking turns jabbing angrily at Wei Wuxian’s phone. 

“Are they—?” Jiang Cheng begins incredulously.

“—actually arguing about music?” Nie Huaisang completes in disbelief. 

They watch for a couple more moments. It is evident that they are, in fact, arguing about music. Lan Xichen chuckles, and pours himself another cup of tea, propping his cheek fondly in one hand. 

“Ah,” he says happily, “it’s so nice to see Wangji making friends.” 

Outside, Lan Wangji gives an agitated shake of his head, before pulling the phone over and tapping angrily away. Jiang Cheng turns slowly back to the table. Jin Guangyao and Nie Huaisang are suspiciously quiet now, staring down at the table.

Lan Xichen, all of them seem to be thinking, you really are too optimistic.

The next morning, Jiang Cheng comes out of his room to a curious sight. Not only is Wei Wuxian awake, he is sitting at the table, scribbling furiously on a receipt. He also has his headphones on, so Jiang Cheng waves in front of him to get his attention.

As Wei Wuxian pulls his headphones off, Jiang Cheng catches sight of his phone screen. He is listening to a traditional guqin piece.

“I thought you hated classical music?” he blurts out.

Wei Wuxian is silent for a moment.

“It appears that some pieces are alright,” he admits, quite sourly. “Lan Zhan made a playlist of Chinese classical pieces he thought I’d like, and I’m still going through them. For the record, I still think the genre is for fuddy-duddies!”

With that, he puts his headphones back on, and continues to listen angrily.

Jiang Cheng is still bewildered when they walk onto set half an hour later. The moment Wei Wuxian sees Lan Wangji, however, he marches over, catches his arm, and begins to rant . Jiang Cheng just stares. After a moment, Nie Huaisang comes jogging over.

“He was listening to dubstep over his morning tea,” he hisses. “ Dubstep, Jiang-xiong.”

Across the room, Lan Xichen is watching the two argue with a fond smile. Jiang Cheng just shakes his head. He should have trusted Lan Xichen to know his brother best. Shooting a last look at the arguing pair, he shudders, and then turns away.

Gods, Lan Xichen’s brother is so weird.

With that episode over, training begins again for real. The results of the music theory test come back on the first day. To Wei Wuxian’s horror, Jiang Cheng has scored full marks.

“But I still don’t understand anything,” he says.

Music theory turns into actual songwriting. During that first week, Jiang Cheng’s stress levels skyrocket. He hasn’t the slightest clue how to begin writing a song.

“That’s because you memorized your music theory notes without trying to understand anything!” Wei Wuxian scolds.

To his credit, however, he turns out to be a big help on Jiang Cheng’s first songwriting assignments, patiently explaining the questions and guiding him through the answers. Unfortunately, he is a lot less useful with the actual singing. As promised, Wen Qing has begun honing down on emotional expression. Each class leaves him more frustrated than the last, and when he asks Wei Wuxian for help—

“I— I don’t know,” he says, at a loss. “For me, I just focus on how the music feels. Can’t you go look up the lyrics? Feel the lyrics!”

His advice is not helpful in the least.

Meanwhile, Wei Wuxian’s client finally approves his track. Wei Wuxian’s joy lasts only until he realizes that he now needs to work on the marketing. The joy quickly turns to despair. Wei Wuxian knows nothing about marketing. Jiang Cheng knows nothing about songwriting. Miserably, they work on their individual tasks together at the dining table.

Though it would be more accurate to say that Jiang Cheng works. Wei Wuxian just whines.

“Look, it’s not that difficult,” Jiang Cheng eventually snaps after an hour. “What’s your target segment? I’ll help you brainstorm.”

“I don’t know what that means, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian groans, and flops helplessly over the table. Jiang Cheng sighs and rips out a piece of paper from his notebook, beginning to write.

“Marketing 101,” he begins brusquely. “Step one, research. Step two, categorize your customers,  and pick which categories are most viable. That’s your target segment. Step three, marketing mix. Coming up with a product, pricing, and figuring out how best to distribute and promote it to your target segment.”

He puts down his pen.

“There’s more after this, but this is where you are now,” he concludes. “You’ve got your product. What’s your target segment? We can figure out the rest from there.”

Wei Wuxian frowns. “I— I don’t know? Just— anyone who wants to listen, I guess?”

Jiang Cheng blinks.

“You don’t have a target segment,” he realizes.

“No, I just— make what my creative muse tells me to. Am I fucked?”

“No, no, we can make this work,” Jiang Cheng says, picking his pen back up. “It’s like this in some industries. Tech companies tend to start with the product too. Okay, let’s go back to step two, segmentation. What factors influence whether someone will like your music?”

“Genre preferences,” Wei Wuxian says immediately. “Lan Wangji doesn’t like electronic music. I don’t like classical. In general, people stick to genres they already like.”

Jiang Cheng writes genre under a bullet point.

“So what is the genre of your client’s piece?” he probes.

Wei Wuxian opens his laptop. The track begins to play. Immediately, Jiang Cheng is struck by how much it’s changed. Seeing his expression, Wei Wuxian chuckles.

“My client proposed several rounds of edits,” he explains. “I think she wanted something more mainstream. I was actually quite surprised! From her student portfolio, she didn’t sound very mainstream at all.”

“It’s important to pick a target segment that is economically viable. Mainstream markets are viable, simply because they are large. That was probably her consideration.” Jiang Cheng raps his pen on the paper. “Okay, step three. Let’s start with pricing. Are mainstream listeners price sensitive? How much are they willing to pay for music?”

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth, and then closes it. 

“I don’t know,” he admits.

“Neither do I,” Jiang Cheng confesses, “I don’t actually recall ever having to pay money for music, besides a subscription for streaming services. Come to think of it, how are artists usually paid? By plays?”

“I don’t know,” Wei Wuxian says.

Jiang Cheng blinks.

“Okay,” he says, picking up his pen. “Run me through how music is usually produced. I’m not talking about composition. I’m talking about afterwards. How does it usually get from the recording studio to the consumer?”

“I don’t know,” Wei Wuxian says helplessly.

Jiang Cheng stares. After a moment, he leans back in his seat, and then begins to rub his hands over his face.

“This is not a marketing problem, you know,” he says, and looks at his brother seriously. “Wei Wuxian, you don’t even know your business model.”

From then on, Wei Records settles surely into place beside the rest of his worries. Along with his own studies and his own practice, he begins to do some research. Unfortunately, the music industry turns out to be much more complex than he had originally thought, and extremely opaque to top it off. It’s difficult to get any information at all. He desperately wishes he had taken a module on the entertainment industry.

Meanwhile, he continues to stress out over his songwriting assignments. There doesn’t appear to be an end in sight, mostly because, beyond basic music theory, much of songwriting seems to come from music sense. 

Jiang Cheng has none.

And because he has been unable to write any songs, he is still singing covers during his lessons with Wen Qing. She seems sympathetic enough to his plight, admitting that she doesn’t write well either. She is less sympathetic about his apparent inability to grasp the mood of the songs he chooses.

“Jiang Cheng, do you know what kind of song this is?” she grits out.

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng says, with a sigh, readying himself for another lecture.

“It’s a love song,” Wen Qing continues.

“All songs these days are love songs,” Jiang Cheng retorts.

“Yes, so can you please sound a little more in love, a little more heartbroken?” Wen Qing demands. “You just sound like you want to beat someone up! All the time!”

“Because these love songs are all so goddamn annoying!” Jiang Cheng shouts. “What’s the point of crying if he’s broken your heart? Go and give him a good thrashing! That’s a better use of your time, isn’t it?!”

Wen Qing slams her hand down on the piano keys, finally snapping.

“You think that because you’re an angry virgin who’s never been in love!” she shouts.

Outside, Jiang Cheng can see Wei Wuxian beginning to laugh from the couch. God, she had actually shouted loud enough that he’d heard her.

“You don’t have to tell the whole world!” Jiang Cheng screams, scandalized.

He’s still seething when he enters the auditorium afterwards, dropping into his usual front and center seat with a huff. Lan Xichen turns around, startled, in the midst of flipping a page. Seeing Jiang Cheng’s scowl, he frowns, concerned, and opens his mouth.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Jiang Cheng says.

Lan Xichen snaps his mouth closed. After a moment, he nods, raises the flute to his lips, and begins to play. Jiang Cheng immediately closes his eyes, an unnameable emotion welling up within him.

It’s the flute part of that piano concerto, the one he’d dreamed before he decided to go ahead with the talent show, the one Wei Wuxian used to play in that time so long ago. It’s been awhile since he had last heard it, but it still evokes the same feelings in him.

That sense of safety.

That sense of nostalgia.

That sense of longing.

He had left home to find the things he’d found lacking in himself. Failing to find it in Beijing, he’d come here instead. It’s been a little more than a month. He hasn’t found those things yet.

But he’s getting there.

This is more than he’s dared to do in years— to dream, to reach up and believe that if he tried hard enough, he could touch the stars. He still lives his life consumed by anxiety and inadequacy, but, for once, he feels like he might actually be getting somewhere, that one day he might rise out of the darkness, out of the silence.

I can have a voice too, he reminds himself fiercely. I, too, can stand in the light.

As the movement draws to an end, he finally opens his eyes. Lan Xichen lowers his flute, eyes opening as well.

“Thank you,” Jiang Cheng murmurs.

Lan Xichen turns to him, smiling, and lowers himself to sit on the edge of the stage.

“You’re welcome,” he says, laying his flute carefully across his lap.

“How do you emote so well?” Jiang Cheng asks searchingly. “Your playing always manages to make me feel things. How do you do that?”

Lan Xichen seems to consider his answer.

“I relate the music to something I feel strongly about,” he answers, “like a memory, or a person, or sometimes just my feelings during a given period. We all experience emotions in relation to experiences in our lives. You just have to find the story inside you that will carry the music.”

“That’s probably how song-writing works too, huh?” Jiang Cheng murmurs and sighs. “I just don’t know if I have a story to tell.”

“Everyone has a story to tell,” Lan Xichen assures Jiang Cheng. “We’ve had lots of contestants write about the competition. Why did you join the competition? What were your aspirations? Why do you want to win?”

Jiang Cheng immediately thinks back to the events leading up to their first meeting, and is immensely embarrassed. Yes, he’s seen movies, read stories, heard songs that expressed similar sentiments. But the thought of admitting I joined the competition because I wanted my father to be proud of me is— mortifying.

“I guess,” he begins awkwardly, “I kinda find the thought of being emotionally vulnerable on stage frightening. Maybe— Maybe I do have a story. But I’m not sure I have the courage to tell it.”

He feels suddenly embarrassed at his confession.

“How about you?” he blurts, desperate to turn the attention away from himself. “Have you written any songs? How do you deal with that?”

“It guess it must feel much less embarrassing to write without lyrics,” Lan Xichen muses. “Others won’t really know what my music is about unless I tell them.”

“So you have written a song!” Jiang Cheng yelps. 

Lan Xichen laughs.

“I wrote a lot of songs after quitting the orchestra,” he says, and smiles. “But this one is my favorite from during that period.”

And raising his flute to his lips, he begins to play.

It’s a haunting tune, one that Lan Xichen plays with so much yearning that Jiang Cheng can barely breathe. He closes his eyes against the rush of emotions. The pressure of family expectation. The desire to please. The loneliness of a life spent isolated. Above it all, that desperate yearning to find meaning, to become one’s own person. He feels it keenly. He’s lived it too.

The song ebbs and flows, rising and falling, but throughout it all, an echoing refrain that persists poignantly. Chest tight, and his eyes still closed, Jiang Cheng begins to sing wordlessly. His own voice echoes around the auditorium, high and sweet and clear. The sorrow overflows and spills out of him in song, sorrow for himself, and sorrow also for Lan Xichen, who has shown him only kindness, and yet has suffered so much heartbreak.

Finally, the song draws to a trembling close. 

When Lan Xichen does not immediately speak, Jiang Cheng opens his eyes, only to find Lan Xichen staring at him, mouth open. Jiang Cheng suddenly feels self-conscious.

“What?!” he snaps.

Lan Xichen laughs.

“I don’t think I’ve heard you sing yet,” he says warmly, and smiles. “You sing beautifully.”

Jiang Cheng can feel his cheeks warming, and turns away with a huff, scowling fiercely. Lan Xichen laughs again.

“If you can perform like that on stage, you will surely enchant anyone who watches.”

Ugh, does this guy have no shame?! How does he just say things like that so sincerely?

“It’s because you wrote a good song,” Jiang Cheng deflects, “I could feel the emotions in it, and I could resonate with those emotions.” 

“Then perhaps if you write a song you resonate with, the emotional expression will come naturally,” Lan Xichen says simply.

Jiang Cheng thinks about that for a moment, and finally sighs.

“If only I knew how,” he replies glumly.

Lan Xichen’s expression turns slightly apologetic at that. “I wish I could help you, but unfortunately I am not allowed to assist contestants with songwriting. That would of course be an unfair advantage.”

“No, of course,” Jiang Cheng says quickly. “Please don’t feel like you need to help me.”

He’s the host, Jiang Cheng reminds himself fiercely, mentally kicking himself. Don’t go forgetting that.

“I do still wish I could help you though,” Lan Xichen says regretfully. “You are my friend after all. You have— You have been so kind to me.”

“Me?!” Jiang Cheng yelps. “You’re the one who—“

He cuts himself off with a groan. Seriously, this man is impossible sometimes. 

“If you want to help me so bad,” Jiang Cheng finally snaps, “then maybe you can help me with this: my brother is trying to revive his parents’ record label, but neither of us know how the music industry works. Can you walk me through how music gets from the studio to the consumer? What’s the difference between a record label and a music production company? Who gets the rights to songs and how does that affect anything? Oh, and how the fuck does music even get paid for?! Where does the money come from and who does it go to?!”

Lan Xichen opens his mouth, and then closes it.

“I don’t know,” he finally admits.

As Jiang Cheng sighs, however, disappointed, Lan Xichen seems to think to himself for awhile.

“These are very important questions for any artist hoping to enter the industry,” he muses, and straightens, looking determined. “I’ll put together a masterclass for all the contestants. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

To celebrate the end of their first assessment, A-Jie announces plans to bring them to a nearby restaurant for supper, her treat. Although Jiang Cheng highly doubts their food will be as good as hers, he agrees. He feels bad that she’s always cooking, and she seems so excited.

“This place has excellent reviews!” she cries upon arrival. “They are supposed to be the best dim sum spot in Suzhou!”

That brings them to where they are now, waiting outside the restaurant, with Mo Xuanyu and Jin Guangyao nowhere in sight. As Wei Wuxian and A-Jie murmur between themselves, Jiang Cheng sits down on the curb, restless. Since that practice with Lan Xichen, he has been thinking deeper on the emotional expression issue. More exactly, he’s been thinking about the admittance he’d made to Lan Xichen . Perhaps he really does have a story to tell, if only he could muster up the courage to tell it. But god, how that frightens him. It’s not something he’s been able to ask Wei Wuxian for advice on. How would that even go?

Hey, Wei Wuxian! I’m afraid of being emotionally vulnerable, and that’s why I sound like a wooden plank while singing. How do I fix that?

No. Just… no.

“A-Yu, I can understand,” A-Jie murmurs worriedly from behind, “but it is not like A-Yao to be late.”

But— 

He turns to look up at his sister, eyes wide.

Growing up, the other kids had said that when one was bullied, one’s mother would always be the one to turn to for protection and for comfort. Mother has never been that for him. She had always been too distant, too angry. No. When he had been bullied as a child, he had always run to A-Jie. If there’s anyone at all he can ask for advice on this matter, it would be A-Jie.

At that moment, a flashy golden sports car pulls up in front of him. He stands as the passenger door open, and Mo Xuanyu comes barreling out with a delighted shriek of Jiejie! Jin Guangyao steps out a moment later, a little more sedately, and turns behind him.

“Thank you again,” he murmurs. “Sorry to trouble you.”

“It’s fine,” a familiar voice sighs. “You couldn’t get a cab, and the buses have stopped. I get it.”

Jin Zixuan is sitting in the driver’s seat. His eyes widen as he catches sight of A-Jie.

“Maiden Jiang,” he greets politely, nodding his head. “It’s good to see you.”

“You as well,” A-Jie returns. “Would you like to join us, since you’re here already? There’s a carpark a five minute’s walk away. Today’s meal is on me.”

“Ah,” Jin Zixuan says, surprised. “It’s alright, thank you. I don’t want to leave my cousin alone.”

“That’s a pity,” A-Jie says. “I hope you have been well. Training sounds like it has been stressful. I heard from A-Cheng and A-Yu that there was even an exam.”

Jin Zixuan grimaces. “There was.”

Wei Wuxian has long since headed to the door, and is waiting in queue. Making a face, Jiang Cheng quickly heads over to join him while his sister and the peacock make polite small-talk. The further he stays away from that peacock, the better he’ll feel. Luckily the queue is short, and relatively fast-moving.

“Then I’ll make my leave,” Jiang Cheng hears, as they finally reach the counter. “Hope you have a good night.”

Please leave, Jiang Cheng prays desperately.

A moment later, however, a second voice joins the conversation, unfamiliar, and slurring.

“Have a good night.” A drunken chuckle. “Do you want a good night, gorgeous? Come home with me then, pretty lady! I’ll show you a good night!”

Talking to the front staff, Wei Wuxian doesn’t immediately notice, but Jiang Cheng whips right around. There’s a man leaning against the lamppost beside A-Jie now, tie loosened and the top few buttons of his shirt undone, leering. He’s waves a set of car keys at her, bright red— a Ferrari.

As if that would impress A-Jie.

A-Jie does not even look at him, continuing to look mildly ahead. After a moment, his expression blackens, and he spits at her feet. 

“Fuck you, bitch. You’re ugly anyway.”

Jiang Cheng can feel his temper flaring, but before he can stomp over to give the man a piece of his mind, Jin Zixuan comes out of the car and pushes him away from A-Jie. 

“You were the one who hit on her first,” he spits, “then you say that she’s not pretty once she turns you down? Don’t be a lowlife.” 

The guy stumbles back, and scowls at Jin Zixuan.

“Are you her boyfriend or something?” he demands. “Why do you have a problem?”

“That’s not the way you should talk to a woman,” Jin Zixuan says dangerously.

“That’s not the way you should talk to a man either,” Mo Xuanyu calls, scurrying over to A-Jie’s side and puffing himself up aggressively.

“That’s not the way to talk to anyone,” Jin Guangyao adds, walking over to stand on her other side. His smile, although pleasant, seems vaguely threatening now.

Irritated, the guy turns back to Jin Zixuan, shoving him hard. 

“What I hate most are fake gentlemen like you,” he mocks. “If you’re not her boyfriend, then back off and don’t interfere when others check out the goods.” 

He pushes himself off the lamppost and begins to saunter slowly past them, as if to walk away. As he passes A-Jie, however, he sneers, and reaches out grope her. A-Jie grips his wrist before it can even brush her, pushing it firmly down. Mo Xuanyu yells. Jin Guangyao pulls her away. Taking a step forward, Jin Zixuan grabs the man by the collar, and socks him in the face.

Commotion ensues as the front staff runs back into the restaurant. 

“Someone get out here! There’s been an incident!”

Within moments, two burly men burst out of the door. In unison, all of them point at the intoxicated man, doubled over on the pavement, all trying to explain what happened at the same time. The two men make a bee-line to the man, grabbing an arm each, and begin to haul him off.

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian run back to their sister. She looks unfairly calm, while Jiang Cheng’s mind is racing, his whole body numb.  To the side, Jin Zixuan curses through gritted teeth, taking a step back, and puts his hand behind his back.

“Are you alright?” he asks A-Jie.

“Yes,” A-Jie says. “And you, Zixuan? Are you okay?”

“Forget about that!” Wei Wuxian shrieks hysterically. “Did he touch you? Where did they put him?! I’m going to slice his motherfucking dick off and make him fucking eat it! I’m going to—“

“No, he didn’t,” A-Jie cuts in firmly. “It’s alright, A-Xian. Everything’s fine.”

At that moment, the front staff comes running up to them.

“I’m so sorry about that,” he pants. “We’ve cleared a table for you.”

“Don’t linger for too long on the street,” Jin Zixuan says firmly. “It’s dangerous at night.”

“Thank you again,” A-Jie says, before Wei Wuxian drags her into the restaurant, still fussing. Jiang Cheng quickly follows. They are guided to a private room on the second floor, by a set of large floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the canal. It’s a beautiful view. It seems the restaurant has given them one of their best tables.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Zixuan-xiong hit someone!” Mo Xuanyu’s excited voice comes from the stairwell. “I didn’t think he even knew how to throw a punch!”

“That was quite a bit of excitement for the night, wasn't it?” Jin Guangyao comments mildly.

A waitress comes in as they sit, laying out a small spread of baskets.

“We haven’t ordered anything,” Jiang Cheng informs her.

“This is complimentary!” the woman cries. “Again, we’re so sorry about what happened. I hope the young miss is okay.”

The young miss in question has stood up, and is excitedly lifting the lid off the nearest basket to fan the steam into her face. After a moment, her expression turns dubious. Jiang Cheng can’t help but sigh. It’s always like this. A-Jie will get excited about some highly-rated restaurant, dragging them along to eat, only to be critical of the quality.

As the waitress leaves, she takes her first bite, and then sits down with a sigh.

“It’s a lot better than that last restaurant,” she admits, before setting her chopsticks down, and sighing again, “but we could have done better at home!”

The next day, they have breakfast down at the restaurant before A-Jie is due to return to Shanghai. Maiden Song comes out of the kitchen to serve their dishes, laying a hand on A-Jie’s shoulder warmly.

“How was the dim sum?” she asks.

A-Jie bites her lip. “It was alright.”

“Not up to standard I suppose,” Maiden Song concludes.

“We could have made better dim sum here,” A-Jie sighs.

“You’re a three Michelin star chef, Yanli,” Maiden Song reminds her gently. “Of course you could have made better dim sum.”

“I mean you could have made better dim sum,” A-Jie corrects.

Maiden Song flushes, pleased. During their sessions in the kitchen, she has come a long way from the trainee she had been when they had first met. Her cooking has improved by leaps and bounds under A-Jie’s patient tutelage. Jiang Cheng highly suspects it will not be long until Maiden Song is promoted.

They finish their breakfast and pay the bill. In the excitement of the previous day, Jiang Cheng had completely forgotten to seek A-Jie’s advice on his expression issues. However, Wei Wuxian has an appointment to meet someone, and will not be joining them for the drive to the train station. Jiang Cheng can ask her then.

As they leave the restaurant, they run into Jin Zixuan coming in with the other Jins. Seeing A-Jie through the glass, he makes to open the door for her, but hisses, before opening it with his left hand instead. 

“What’s wrong with your hand?” A-Jie asks.

“It’s nothing,” Jin Zixuan says immediately.

Still, he doesn’t resist when she gently takes his hand, and raises it to inspect it. His knuckles are bruised and swollen from the first finger joint down the back of his hand. Jiang Cheng suddenly recalls how he’d hidden his hand behind his back the night before. He’d probably injured himself punching that man. A-Jie bites her lip, looking concerned.

“It’s just a sprain,” Jin Zixuan says grumpily.

A-Jie lets go of his hand, and clears her throat.

“It’s easy to mistake broken knuckles for sprains,” she tells him gently. “Have you seen a doctor?”

“I meant to go yesterday,” Jin Zixuan admits, “but the others don’t drive, and I can’t really drive like this.”

A-Jie pulls out her phone and checks the time.

“Do you have training today?” she asks

“It’s Sunday. We don’t train on Sundays,” Jiang Cheng informs her.

“He’s correct,” Jin Zixuan confirms.

“Then, I’ll drive you,” A-Jie says, tone brooking no argument. “Let’s go.” 

For a moment, Jin Zixuan looks like he’s going to protest, but before he can, Wei Wuxian does for him. 

“You’ll miss your train back to Shanghai!” he cries.

“It’s okay. I’ll book another ticket.” 

“I thought you had a meeting with your staff tonight?” Jiang Cheng demands.

This time, A-Jie hesitates. She unlocks her phone and quickly begins to look through the train schedule. Jin Zixuan peers over her shoulder.

“The trains for today are all full,” he observes, and steps back. “It’s alright. You don’t have to send me.” 

“I’ll drive you after lunch,” Jiang Cheng offers immediately. 

“He’ll be in a full-body cast by the time he reaches the clinic then,” Wei Wuxian quips sardonically. 

“You—“ Jiang Cheng splutters. “Shut up! Who was the one who drove us into a lake?!”

Sighing, A-Jie dials in a number, and then presses her phone to her ear. After a moment, the call seems to connect.

“Hello? It’s Yanli. Can we postpone the meeting until tomorrow night?” Jiang Cheng’s eyes widen. “Yes, I’m still in Suzhou. No, no, nothing’s the matter. Tell the staff to go home to their families for tonight. It’s a Sunday after all.”

“A-Jie!” Wei Wuxian protests, but A-Jie just holds a finger to her lips.

“Alright. I’ll see you all tomorrow. Bye.” 

Jin Zixuan’s jaw drops as she pockets her phone. 

“I’ll drive you,” she repeats. “This was an injury that you sustained because of me, so it’s only right that I should take you to the clinic.”

“Are you sure it’s okay to postpone your meeting like that?!” Jin Zixuan demands. “Won’t you get in trouble with your boss?” 

At that, A-Jie laughs. 

“I guess you could say that I’m a consultant,” she jokes. “I don’t have a boss.” 

Tossing the keys up, she catches it deftly, and turns to grins teasingly at him.

“Shall we?”

After the two depart, Wei Wuxian grabs Jiang Cheng by the collar.

“Why did you let her go alone with him?!” he cries. “What if he says something insensitive to A-Jie again?!”

“You think I wanted to let them go alone?!” Jiang Cheng demands, and groans. “But A-Jie wouldn’t appreciate it. She’s a grown woman.”

Still, he can’t help but feel restless. Although he appreciates Jin Zixuan stepping out for A-Jie, he still doesn’t like him for what he did four years ago. He doesn’t like the thought of them being alone together. However, the last thing he wants is to upset A-Jie by being too overbearing. Wei Wuxian, though seeming just as restless, checks the time again, and exhales.

“I have to go,” he says, running a hair roughly through his hair. “I’m meeting someone over coffee. If A-Jie comes back upset, give me a call, and I’ll help you hide the body.”

Somehow, he does not sound like he is joking. He is also looking at his watch again, so it means that this appointment of his must be important, and he does not wish to be late. Probably work-related, Jiang Cheng muses. Perhaps he is meeting his client.

“Hurry up and go,” Jiang Cheng says. “I’ll wait for A-Jie.”

He heads back to their suite, but eventually finds himself too restless to sit and wait. He’s too restless to work on market research for Wei Records either, or on his song-writing. Even if he tries to practice now, he suspects practice will go nowhere. He’s not in the right headspace. With a groan, he finally stands. He can wait in the restaurant with a nice, hot, calming cup of tea, he decides, and leaves the room.

As he reaches the restaurant, the waitress manning the front immediately recognizes him.

“Mister Jiang,” she greets warmly. “Looking for your brother? He’s inside.”

Surprised, Jiang Cheng peeks into the restaurant. He is surprised to find Wei Wuxian sitting inside, and with— with Lan Wangji of all people?! The two are gesticulating furiously, apparently arguing passionately about something. Jiang Cheng has a sneaking suspicion he knows what it is.

“Mister Wei has been meeting Wangji-laoshi quite often lately, hasn’t he?” she comments. “But they always seem to argue the whole time. I honestly find it quite bewildering.”

Jiang Cheng leaves, feeling just as bewildered. As he heads back up to the suite, he can’t help but think back to interactions between the two in recent weeks. Their relationship has clearly been continuing in the same vein as before, what with Wei Wuxian relentlessly teasing Lan Wangji at every opportunity, and Lan Wangji relentlessly nitpicking on Wei Wuxian in return. At the same time, something clearly has changed if they’ve been meeting to argue about music.

Who on earth meets over coffee to argue?

Those two, apparently.

Shaking his head, Jiang Cheng resolves to just take a nap until A-Jie returns.

A-Jie returns by lunch, and they head down to the restaurant to eat, before retreating into the kitchen during the after-lunch off-peak hours. As A-Jie gets a pot of soup going, Mo Xuanyu trots up to her.

“So what was wrong with Zixuan-xiong’s hand?” he asks curiously.

“I don’t know,” A-Jie says. “I stayed in the waiting room while he saw the doctor, and when I asked about it afterwards, he avoided the question.”

Her response invites no further questioning, so they drop the subject. When the soup is done, however, she scoops out an extra bowl.

“Would you do me a favor, Song-mei? she asks quietly. “Would you heat this up later, and ask someone to leave it in Zixuan’s room?”

Maiden Song blinks, surprised, and then lifts a pale wrist over her lips, chuckling.

“Should I tell the chambermaid to say it’s from you?” she asks teasingly.

A-Jie flusters, turning away.

“No,” she says quickly.

Laughing now, Maiden Song stretches some cling wrap over the top of the bowl, before putting it aside.

“What should I tell her to say if Mister Jin asks why he’s receiving the soup and who it’s from?” she asks. 

A-Jie considers that for a moment, and then bites her lip.

“Perhaps,” she begins hesitantly, “if it’s not too inconvenient, could you ask the chambermaid to deliver it when Zixuan is not in? Do you think that would be possible?”

“I’ll take care of it personally,” Maiden Song promises.

“Why don’t you want him to know the soup is from you?” Wei Wuxian asks later, as they are leaving the restaurant.

They emerge into one of the many courtyards. The sky is purpling with sunset, the evening fresh with the scent of night-blooming flowers. The faded stars hang faintly above. Around them, the sound of trickling water fills the air.

“Sometimes,” A-Jie begins quietly, “it’s easier to express yourself indirectly. I suppose I’ve never been sort to speak about my feelings. Whenever I try, I always feel like the words get stuck in my throat. I can never speak, and I always feel so inexplicably afraid to try. And so, I convey my feelings in other ways.”

She turns to them with a smile.

“For example, cooking for A-Cheng and A-Xian,” she continues. “That is an indirect way I can express my love, and you both will accept my cooking without question, so I never have to struggle for words. But with Zixuan, it’s different. He would probably come to thank me, or ask me why, and then I wouldn’t know what to say.”

She shrugs.

“So I would rather not tell him that I was the one who made the soup,” she concludes simply. “That’s just the way I express my feelings — in silence. Words just never seem to work when I need them to.”

Jiang Cheng mulls slowly over that for awhile as they make their way slowly back to their rooms.

“So it’s easier to express your feelings,” he begins thoughtfully, as they step into the living room, “if it were represented indirectly in the form of something else?”

“That’s how I find it, yes,” A-Jie confirms. “For example, lotus root soup is always something that to me represents my love for my family. I find it easier to convey my love through cooking than in actual words.” 

Jiang Cheng thinks about that. 

“Thank you, A-Jie,” he says, with new determination. “I think I know what to do now.”

Wei Wuxian and A-Jie trade baffled looks as Jiang Cheng retreats into his room, but Jiang Cheng offers no further explanation.

He has a song to write.

Chapter Text

When Jiang Cheng turns his song in at the end of Monday’s lesson, Wen Qing just looks at it expressionlessly for a few moments, before looking back up at him.

“You’re a terrible writer,” she says flatly.

“Hey!” Jiang Cheng cries.

“I’m vetoing this,” Wen Qing continues. “Please write a new one.”

“You haven’t even heard it yet,” Jiang Cheng mutters rebelliously. “It’s not that bad.”

Wen Qing looks at him blankly, and then picks up the paper, holding it out to him.

“You’re right,” she says. “I haven’t heard it yet. Would you care to read it out loud?”

Jiang Cheng blanches. 

“No, thank you,” he says quickly.

“Then I’ll read it,” Wen Qing says, straightening the paper.

“That’s not necessary—“

Wen Qing clears her throat.

“Lotus Root Soup Represents My Heart,”^[1] she begins smoothly, “by Jiang Cheng.“

“Wen Qing,” Jiang Cheng sighs.

“Lotus roots are pink,” Wen Qing continues mercilessly. “Pork ribs are tender.”

“Wen. Qing.”

“This soup represents—“

Jiang Cheng stands up, making a grab for the paper, but Wen Qing just leans back, and continues reading.

“— my family together—“

“Alright, I get it!” Jiang Cheng bellows. “I’ll write another, alright? You don’t have to read the whole thing out loud!”

And finally, Wen Qing puts the paper down.

“I’d like to remind you that the song you write will be the one you will sing for your debut,” she tells him. “Do you want to sing this song for your debut?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng admits.

And with that, he moodily returns to the drawing board. The fact that his fellow contestants mostly appear to be in the same spot is a scarce comfort. Songwriting classes are only getting rowdier and rowdier, with the rowdiness slowly spreading from the usual culprits to some of the quieter ones too. Lan Wangji has started sitting in on almost every class, sterner than their beleaguered instructor, and ten times more frightening.

“There’s just something missing,” Mianmian is groaning, slumped over the table.

“Listen!” Jin Zixun is shouting, over Jin Zixuan’s increasing irate criticism of their lyrics, and Mo Xuanyu’s outright wails of despair . “Listen, I’ve got an idea. Listen!”

“Will you shut up?!” Mo Ziyuan snaps at the loudly crying Mo Xuanyu.

Meanwhile, Lan Wangji is deep in a fierce row with, for once, not Wei Wuxian, but a contestant named Su She. The contestant has been quiet up till now, but for some reason, being asked to quiet down by Lan Wangji had led to an outpouring of past grievances. From what Jiang Cheng can hear, they had both been in the guqin performance program at Zhongyang.

Finally, Xue Yang stands, and with an angry shout, hurls his chair out of the window. It falls into the pond right outside their classroom, startling a flock of nesting ducks into flight.

“I can’t take it anymore!” he screams. “Everyone’s being too fucking loud!”

Lan Wangji makes Xue Yang stand for the rest of the class. During the break, however, Jiang Cheng spots Wei Wuxian taking Xue Yang aside for a bit.

“He almost definitely has ADHD,” he explains later. “But he’s never been diagnosed, and certainly has never had anyone to teach him how to deal with himself.” 

He sighs. 

“I’m fortunate in that regard.”

Sudden mentoring of Xue Yang aside, Wei Wuxian continues to size up Jiang Cheng’s opponents . From all of his offhand comments, it is clear that he doesn’t think much of most of them. He does admit, however, that the Jin band had turned out better than expected, and that while the Wen band seems ultimately unmotivated, they have continued to produce high quality submissions for assignments. Their songs, in particular, seem well thought-out.

“I wonder why that is,” Wei Wuxian muses.

Jiang Cheng has no answer, nor has he noticed any of the above. He’s too busy with his own songwriting attempts.

“Don’t you have a business plan to write?” he demands of Wei Wuxian.

“Don’t remind me,” Wei Wuxian groans.

Still, he continues to sit in on group classes, sneaking peeks at the songs written by the other contestants, and gossiping with Nie Huaisang whenever the fashion designer shows up to watch. It’s during one such class, giggling incorrigibly and swapping notes like schoolgirls at the back, that Lan Wangji finally loses his cool.

“There’s a class ongoing,” he seethes, snatching the paper from Wei Wuxian’s hands.

“Hey!” Wei Wuxian cries. “Give that back! It’s not like I’m the only one making noise! Look at the state of this classroom!”

The state of the classroom is, of course, one of utter chaos. The noise is so bad that even Lan Wangji has been unable to contain it for the last fifteen minutes.

“I’m so sorry,” Jiang Cheng immediately cuts in, restraining his brother as he tries to make a grab for the paper and hissing: “Wei Wuxian, stop it.”

Settling back in his seat, Wei Wuxian crosses his arms sulkily and rolls his eyes.

“Well, if you wanted a copy of my excellent calligraphy so badly—“ he begins loudly.

“Your handwriting is chicken scratch, Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang says bluntly.

“—you could have just asked!” Wei Wuxian finishes. “Here, I’ll personally write you a letter right now! Jiang Cheng, give me a piece of paper.

“No!” Jiang Cheng cries, indignant.

Wei Wuxian stands up.

“Oi! Someone give me a piece of paper!” he hollers at the top of his lungs. “Lan Zhan wants my signature!”

Now that draws the attention of the entire class, silencing them more effectively than any of Lan Wangji’s prior attempts. Even the cameras are trained on them now. Nearest to them, Su She’s choirboys begin to elbow one another, until someone eventually tears a piece of paper from his notepad.

“Thanks,” Wei Wuxian says, and begins to scribble furiously against the wall.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji grits out. “Cameras are rolling.” 

“Yeah, yeah, not like they will be using this footage anyway,” Wei Wuxian says flippantly. Okay. Done. Here, take it.”

As Wei Wuxian flaps the piece of paper at him, Lan Wangji just purses his lips. 

“Wei Ying,” he says lowly.

“What? You went to all this hassle to have it and now you won’t even take it?” Wei Wuxian gasps mockingly. “Oh, I get it. You want me to read it to you in a tender voice, right? Alright, then I’ll read it out loud, just for you, Lan Zhan. Ahem.”

If there was a single camera not previously focused on them, it is certainly pointed at them now. The whole class is watching in absolute silence.

“To my dearest darlingest Lan Zhan, Wangji-xiong, bringer of light in my dark existence,” Wei Wuxian begins, loudly and clearly. “I was wrong. I know you really wanted me to write you a handwritten letter, which is why you confiscated my letter meant for someone else.”

The class begins to snicker. Wei Wuxian grins, clearly basking in the attention.

“But even though I was wrong,” he continues, taking on a somewhat scolding tone, “you are also in the wrong. If you desire my affections so badly, you should say it directly and not use such means to garner my attention!”

He turns away as Lan Wangji tries to snatch the paper from him. His ears are bright red, the blush slowly creeping down his neck, expression scandalized. Jiang Cheng bites his lip. Fuck, he shouldn’t laugh. He really, really shouldn’t be laughing.

“How about this!” Wei Wuxian cries, snapping his fingers. “If you refrain from stealing my letters to other people in the future, after filming is done for today, I’ll take you out for drinks and some good food. So please don’t be angry anymore, and also please don’t intercept my letters—“ 

Finally, Lan Wangji manages to snatch the letter out of his hand. 

“Hey!”

“Shameless!” Lan Wangji scolds.

“So now I’m the shameless one?” Wei Wuxian taunts, grinning. “ You’re the one who keeps shamelessly watching me no matter what I do! Why do you keep looking at me? What? Am I good-looking?”

With each sentence, Lan Wangji’s face gets redder, his expression more appalled. Jiang Cheng has both hands pressed over his mouth now, but god, he’s shaking with the effort of containing his laughter. Lan Wangji literally looks like he’s about to explode. He’s so angry.

“Ah, I see,” Wei Wuxian finishes sagely. “Do you have a crush on me, Lan-laoshi?”^[2]

He winks.

Lan Wangji opens his mouth, face almost maroon with rage — and then, he freezes. He stares blankly ahead for a moment, eyes unfocused, before suddenly widening. All the blood rushes abruptly out of his face, and his expression slackens into a look of vague horror. 

Wei Wuxian blinks. 

“Eh? Lan Zhan?” he calls uncertainly. “What’s wrong? I was just kidding, you know.” 

Lan Wangji turns, and walks, slowly and stiffly, out of the room. 

“Man, that guy really can’t take a joke,” Wei Wuxian grumbles, but still looks concerned. “I’ll talk to him later, Jiang Cheng. No need to look so worried.”

“I think you just gave the poor guy a sexuality crisis,” Nie Huaisang mutters under his breath.

“Huh, what?” Wei Wuxian asks, turning around. “Did you say something, Huaisang-xiong?”

“Nothing,” Nie Huaisang says quickly.

Jiang Cheng stares at the door with wide eyes. With much horror, everything slowly begins to slide into place. 

Oh god. 

Sweet, merciful Buddha.

Lan Wangji, the poor sap— is gay for Wei Wuxian.

Lan Wangji vanishes for the next couple of days. Instead, Lan Xichen takes his place during group classes, restoring order with a smile, but all the cheerful insistence of a shepherd hound. The class falls back into place, working quietly on their pieces as the instructor collapses tiredly into his chair, looking on the verge of tears.

In the quiet, Jiang Cheng continues to work on his non-existent song. Though perhaps it would be more accurate to replace “work on” with “stare at”, because that’s all he does for the duration of the class. He stares at the paper. 

Finally, watches beep on the hour, and the instructor releases them for the day. Lan Xichen comes up to him as he slumps over his desk, groaning.

“You okay?” he asks.

“He’s just stressed over songwriting,” Wei Wuxian explains.

“I’m not getting anywhere,” Jiang Cheng mumbles into the table.

After class, they go back to their suite. Jiang Cheng sketches out the business model canvas and gives Wei Wuxian an hour-long crash course on business models. Wei Wuxian chases him back to songwriting once he’s done lecturing. He proceeds to stare despairingly at the blank paper for a few hours before he finally loses his patience. He stands with a tortured groan.

“I’m going to the gym,” he declares. “I’m not getting anywhere and I need to work all this stress off.”

“I’ll come with you,” Wei Wuxian yelps, standing as well.

They change into lighter clothes, and head down to the gym. While Jiang Cheng is no slouch, he’s been too busy in the last month, almost two months, to really work out. He suspects it’s been the same for Wei Wuxian. They haven’t been to the gym facilities at the lodging house even once. Despite the late hour, however, as they approach the gym, they realize that someone else must be there as well.

The sounds of singing drift out from the gym.

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian trade curious looks, before stepping closer to take a look. 

Inside the gym, Wen Ning is running alone on a treadmill, eyes closed, singing quietly. Melancholy, yet muted, his whispery voice quivers with suppressed emotion, emotions too mixed and too complex to be named. Even as the volume of his voice climbs, however, even as it strengthens in tone, his voice never wavers. Jiang Cheng can’t help but recall that Wen Qing had once advised him to sing on the treadmill if he wanted to properly execute a dance routine during his performance. Wen Ning had never seemed to encounter difficulties keeping up during dance classes. 

This must be why.

Still keeping up his steady jog, he begins the first first lines of the chorus, the initial whispery quality of his voice giving way to an almost sob-like quality. He sings the lows with a poignant huskiness, the highs with a strange kind of sobbing strength. The notes flow out of him with immaculate grace, but with a kind of sorrow, and a sense, almost, of injustice. Jiang Cheng hears the intake of breath from beside him, and finds himself captivated as well, listening with wide eyes as Wen Ning begins the slow climb into the climax, each word punching out of him with more force, more hurt— until it breaks, on the last note, to fury.

Then, he opens his eyes, and catches sight of them in the mirror.

His mouth opens.

His eyes widen in horror.

He trips.

“Fuc—“ Jiang Cheng hisses.

His feet fly out from under him, and he faceplants on the track with a loud thud! A moment later, is dumped mercilessly on the ground by the whirring treadmill. He lies there for a few long seconds, silent, not even groaning, not even moving, until Wei Wuxian runs forward to help him up.

“That was so good!” Wei Wuxian gasps. “Wen Ning, I never knew you could sing like that!”

“It’s— It’s no big deal,” Wen Ning stutters, looking mortified.

“Don’t put yourself down like that!” Wei Wuxian scolds. “You deserve more credit than that!”

Jiang Cheng comes forward, wordlessly turning the treadmill off as Wen Ning climbs slowly to his feet, still looking a little winded from his fall.

“Ah, well, you are Wen Qing’s little brother after all,” Wei Wuxian muses, brushing Wen Ning’s shoulder off for him. “How did you end up as Wen Chao’s back-up singer with a voice like that?!”

Wen Ning’s lips tighten. He turns his face away.

“I don’t have the stage presence and charisma to head a band,” he says emotionlessly. 

Somehow, he sounds almost as if he is repeating someone else’s words.

“What?!” Wei Wuxian screeches. “What makes you think that?!”

“And also,” Wen Ning continues. “I stutter when I’m on stage.”

“Okay, but—“ Wei Wuxian begins, and groans, rubbing his face. “Wen Ning. You are so good, like, I haven’t heard every contestant sing yet, but out of those I have heard, you are easily in the top three. Him, for example—“ Wei Wuxian jabs his thumb at Jiang Cheng. “—he’s good, but you’re even better!”

“Hey,” Jiang Cheng says flatly.

“I’ve been learning for much longer than Contestant Jiang,” Wen Ning says humbly. “At the rate he is improving, he might very well overtake me by the time we reach the end of this competition.”

“That’s not the point!” Wei Wuxian cries, throwing his hands up. “The point is, what the hell are you doing playing back-up to that talentless, overconfident asshole of a dishrag anyway? You should be the main act!”

“I am satisfied with singing backup,” Wen Ning says. “I just don’t have the stage presence and charisma to—“

“Bullshit!” Wei Wuxian interrupts. “Wen Ning, listen to me—“

“Oh my gods,” Jiang Cheng cuts in with a groan. “Will you listen to what he’s saying?!”

He turns to Wen Ning.

“I’m sorry about him. He’s never learnt to take no for an answer ever since we were kids. If he’s ever too pushy, just tell him off.”

“It’s— It’s okay, Contestant Jiang,” Wen Ning stutters. “Erm, I dare say it is a good problem. I, on the other hand, have never learnt to say no.”

He turns around, and picks a water bottle off the floor, before bowing to them.

“In any case,” he concludes hurriedly, “it is getting late. I will leave the gym to you both. Thank you for your kind words, and your encouragement.”

“You’re welcome,” Jiang Cheng returns.

With one last bow, Wen Ning turns to leave.

“What is your song about?” Wei Wuxian calls.

Wen Ning pauses.

“It’s about finding the courage to speak,” he whispers. “It’s about getting over what others think about you, and finding a you that you can be proud of. It’s about daring to dream.”

Then, clutching his bottle more tightly, he bows his head, and hurries off.

Perhaps sensing Jiang Cheng’s stress over the upcoming debut with all her preternatural sisterly intuition, A-Jie has begun visiting more often, even visiting on weekends whenever she is free. Partly, however, as Jiang Cheng is beginning to suspect, she seems to be visiting to check on Jin Zixuan’s hand.

The first weekend after the day she had driven Jin Zixuan to the clinic, they had run into Jin Zixuan in the lobby on the way in. Upon her polite questioning, Jin Zixuan had grown quite nervous, quickly assuring her that it was just a sprain. Despite his embarrassment, he had allowed her to check his hand for swelling.

“It’s a little swollen, isn’t it?” she notes.

“A little,” Jin Zixuan admits. “But not too much.”

She had gotten a work call then, retreating back out to the carpark with a brief apology to take it. Jin Zixun had waited until the glass doors had closed behind her to turn to his cousin.

“You fractured a knuckle,” he’d said bluntly.

And Jin Zixuan had sighed.

“Don’t mention it,” he’d groaned. “It’s embarrassing enough that I need to be in a cast after one punch.”

A-Jie had come in then, apologizing for the call, and the two had immediately shut up, stiffening almost comically. Smiling, A-Jie had made conversation with them until they had left for band practice. Only then, however, had she sighed, and turned to her brothers.

“He’s fractured his knuckle, hasn’t he?” she had inquired mildly.

“Yes,” both of them had said, immediately and in unison.

“How did you know?” Wei Wuxian had asked curiously.

A-Jie had sighed again.

“Sprains aren’t usually swollen after a whole week,” she‘d said gloomily.

From then on, A-Jie asks dutifully after his hand every single time she visits. During those visits, she watches the filming curiously, and joins them occasionally on their outings. As the debut draws near, much of their prior lesson time has given way to filming.

Promotional videos, Lan Xichen explains apologetically.

Filler, Wen Qing explains, less sympathetically.

And indeed, much of the filming appears to be irrelevant trips out into Suzhou. They are sent on a treasure hunt on one occasion. On another, the crew brings them out to a theme park.

“No,” Jiang Cheng had refused, digging his heels in as they had tried dragging him towards the rollercoasters. “No! I’m not getting on that thing. No!”

Lan Wangji reappears after nearly a week, joining them again on their excursions, and sternly helping to keep order. At the same time, something has changed. He seems a little less easy to rile now, somehow a little more mellow. He no longer reacts to Wei Wuxian’s teasing with fury, instead just blushing quietly, sometimes even responding calmly to Wei Wuxian’s taunts with lines that seem— almost flirtatious?!

Gods, someone is flirting with his brother, and Jiang Cheng has no idea how to process this.

As they go out on their excursions, A-Jie now in company, Mo Xuanyu and Jin Guangyao have begun sticking closely to them. Their presence, however, brings Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun by extension. As the days pass, Jiang Cheng can’t help but notice a new and uncomfortable development. With his dominant hand now trapped in a cast, there are a great many things that Jin Zixuan can no longer do: writing, for example, even pouring a cup of tea, or picking up things up with his chopsticks. A-Jie takes over those tasks with a great deal of patience.

You’re doing it again, he so badly wants to say. You can’t dote on every younger boy who starts following you around.

He’s been one of those younger boys, however, spoiled under years of her doting attention, so he doesn’t feel like he has the right to comment. Still, leaving the group one day in search of his missing sister, he can’t help but think that perhaps Jin Zixuan is different. 

Sitting on the worn curb of a nearby parking lot, A-Jie is gently rewrapping the bandages on Jin Zixuan’s hand. Their heads are bent together, the fall of her long hair shielding them from view, as she winds the bandage slowly around his knuckles.

The sight is a strangely intimate one.

He quickly retreats back to the group, not saying a word. Still, the sight stays with him. He isn’t sure what to feel.

As the date of the promised masterclass nears, Lan Xichen cancels on one of his practices for the first time.

Lan Xichen // 蓝曦臣

Something has come up
I’m sorry

Seen 15:35PM

The masterclass, Jiang Cheng knows, will be happening in three days. With some prompting, Lan Xichen confides that their last speaker has dropped out at the last minute. Professor Mu, a business professor from Fudan University, has contracted a particularly bad bout of food poisoning from eating a friend’s cooking. He is now apparently in the hospital. Lan Xichen is desperately trying to find a replacement speaker.

Tsinghua has a pretty good course on the entertainment industry
Let me find out who the professor is

Seen 15:40PM

A quick search later, Jiang Cheng is pleasantly surprised to find that he’s taken a course under the professor in question. He’d done well on the course, and had been on fairly good terms with her. He shoots off a quick email to her, and receives a reply within the day. She happens to be attending a conference in Shanghai, and is agreeable to speaking at the masterclass.

With that, the preparations for the masterclass are swiftly wrapped up, and Lan Xichen breathes a sigh of relief.

“Thanks,” he says at his next practice, “I owe you one.”

Three days pass in the blink of an eye. The masterclass turns out to be a fancier event than even Jiang Cheng had anticipated, with a buffet spread, delicate entrees, and champagne served in actual flutes. 

“Ah,” Lan Xichen says, astonished, when Jiang Cheng comments on it. “Events at the symphony orchestra were always like this. Was I too excessive in the preparations?”

Looking at his earnest expression, Jiang Cheng can’t bear to make any further comment. He shakes his head.

“But the food really is amazing today,” Nie Huaisang notes. “The catering must have been expensive, Er-ge.”

“Actually… I was told that our new sous-chef prepared the courses.”

Maiden Song.

That probably explains where A-Jie had disappeared to for the whole day. She had probably been helping Maiden Song with the preparations. Jiang Cheng takes an extra large helping of the lunch spread. As he pulls away from the buffet table, A-Jie finally appears with a tired-looking Maiden Song by her side.

“I’m not entirely sure I like the way they’ve presented the food,” she notes unhappily. “They refused to let us properly present the courses on plates. I don’t really understand the concept of these tables you have to stand to eat at either. Was it so difficult to get chairs?”

“It’s a buffet, Jiejie,” Maiden Song explains apologetically. “This is usually how catering goes.”

“At least the flutes are actual crystal,” A-Jie sighs.

Behind them, Wei Wuxian chokes, and discreetly sets down the empty flute he’d casually been attempting to spin between his fingers.

As their three speakers arrive, accompanied by a politely smiling Lan Xichen, Jiang Cheng quickly sets down his own flute and rushes over to meet them at the door.

“Professor Qi,” he greets, with a little bow. “I’m Jiang Cheng. I was the one who contacted you. Thank you so much for coming on such a short notice.”

“Why on earth are you introducing yourself, boy?!” the woman snaps. “Of course I remember you! You were the top scorer for my technology and innovation course last semester!”

Jiang Cheng vaguely remembers that.

“Only due to your comprehensive teaching,” he defers quickly.

Professor Qi sighs.

“You youngsters and your modesty,” she grumbles, before gesturing to the scowling man beside her. “Have you met Director Shi? I do believe he is one of the judges. He runs a celebrity management company as well. I’m sure you’ll learn a lot from his seminar.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Director Shi,” Jiang Cheng greets, and bows. “I’ll be sure to take plenty of notes.”

“You’ve always been such a diligent note-taker,” Professor Qi comments, and perks. “Well, the spread certainly looks inviting.”

As she wanders off towards the table, the young Director Shi in tow, she stops to snatch up a flute of champagne, chugging the whole thing in one go. Jiang Cheng turns to Lan Xichen. He smiles briefly at Jiang Cheng, still deep in conversation with the last speaker, clasping his hand around Jiang Cheng’s waist when he draws within reach.

“Ah, Jiang-xiong,^[3] this is my old professor from Julliard,” he says, in English. “Professor, this is one of our contestants, Jiang Cheng. As I’ve mentioned, he and his sister have helped greatly with the preparations for the masterclass.”

Startled at the casual contact, it takes Jiang Cheng a moment to process the foreign language. It also takes him a moment to process the fact that Lan Xichen has an accent.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he manages haltingly.

Gods, his English is rusty.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Jiang Cheng,” the professor returns politely, before turning back to Lan Xichen. “Ah, it really is such a pity that you’re no longer performing, Xichen. You were one of my most promising students.”

He seems to have no problem pronouncing the names, despite being clearly Caucasian.

“Duty calls,” Lan Xichen tells him, with a little shrug. “I’m still involved with music, but just in a different way now. That’s not a bad thing.”

The professor sighs.

“Oh, but don’t you miss the symphony? You were so close to becoming principal flautist too.”

Lan Xichen hesitates there.

“I do miss it,” he finally admits. “But I suppose you can’t have your cake and eat it.”

After a few more minutes of casual conversation, Lan Xichen’s professor leaves to enjoy the food, whereafter the masterclass begins for real.

Let it never be said that Lan Xichen is anything but thorough. The masterclass is a three day affair, covering everything from musical genres and music production, to distribution channels and marketing. Jiang Cheng forces Wei Wuxian to attend all three days, but his brother just stares blankly through each seminar, clearly lost. Jiang Cheng runs through three pens madly scribbling down notes on Wei Wuxian’s behalf.

On the last day of the masterclass, the kitchen truly breaks out the alcohol, bringing all manner of champagne, wines, and fine liquors. The contestants seem to be having a field day, excitedly toasting each other and downing drink after drink. Jiang Cheng swirls his wine around his glass, before taking a sip. Across the room from him, he sees Lan Xichen coming towards him, intercepted midway by his excited professor. As the conversation draws on, Lan Xichen’s fond smile begins to slip slowly off his face.

At that moment, someone taps Jiang Cheng on the shoulder. It’s Professor Qi, holding a glass of what looks like tequila, neat, a single thin eyebrow raised.

“I had not known you had the slightest bit of musical inclination in you, boy,” she begins bluntly. “You always seemed like the pure business sort.”

“I am,” Jiang Cheng confirms. “I’m just taking a little time to explore. It’s good to learn more about the entertainment industry. My father has spoken about diversifying into entertainment, and my brother has been trying to start up a record label.”

“Would that by any chance be the young Wei boy?” Professor Qi asks.

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng says, surprised, before catching sight of Wei Wuxian across the room, and beckoning to him as fiercely as he can without looking unseemly. Wei Wuxian shoves his empty flute at a nearby waiter, and quickly hurries over, looking concerned. Jiang Cheng discreetly shoves him forward. “This is my brother, Wei Wuxian.”

“I’ve heard of you,” Professor Qi tells him. “My friend, Qingqiu, over at Zhongyang Conservatory has only good things to say about you.”

“Professor Shen?” Wei Wuxian asks, eyes widening. At Jiang Cheng’s questioning look, he explains: “Professor Shen was the one who introduced my client to me.”

“Yingying is a dear child,” Professor Qi says fondly. “I will be looking forward to her debut under your company. I’m interested to see what you will produce in her name, Mister Wei.” She turns her attention back to Jiang Cheng. “I’m glad you’re taking an interest in entertainment. I trust I will see you in my class when you resume your studies at Tsinghua? I would love to have you in my classroom again. In the meantime, if you have any questions, or if you want to seek input relating to Yingying’s debut, feel free to shoot me an email. I will gladly look over it.”

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian trade looks.

“Is that really okay?!” Jiang Cheng blurts.

“Of course!” Professor Qi says. “Yingying is like a daughter to me, and you are one of the brighter and more hardworking students I’ve had the pleasure of teaching in recent years.”

She jerks suddenly, seeming to catch sight of someone across the room.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I do believe that is one of my ex-students. I will go and say hello to her. Mingyan!”

She scurries away, catching another woman by the shoulder. The woman is dressed in period dress. A white veil lines the wide brim of her bamboo hat, concealing her face. With some difficulty, Jiang Cheng tears his gaze from her unusual figure to grin at Wei Wuxian, freezing as he notes something concerning.

The spot where Lan Xichen had previously been standing, speaking with his professor, is now empty.

“Where did Lan Xichen go?” he demands.

Wei Wuxian blinks.

“He left some time ago,” he says. “He said he wasn’t feeling very well.”

“Right,” Jiang Cheng says, and downs the rest of his wine. “I’m feeling a little woozy too. I’m going to have a bit of a lie-down and then come back. See you in a bit.”

Ignoring Wei Wuxian’s dubious look, he foists his glass off on a waiter, and hurries out of the room.

As Jiang Cheng nears their usual auditorium, he can already hear the whispers of a mournful tune, familiar. It is the song Lan Xichen had written, the one he had played for Jiang Cheng not long ago. Jiang Cheng pushes open the doors, finding Lan Xichen standing alone on the darkened stage, a single figure lit by a lone spotlight.

He continues to play as Jiang Cheng allows the doors to click closed behind him, as he walks slowly down the aisle and slips into the first row. He plays for long minutes, eyes closed and swaying gently. His flute sings with an echoing sorrow, the sound airy and trembling. Jiang Cheng can feel it in his throat. The trills are perfectly executed, heart-wrenching. The high notes are sweet and affecting, each gasp of breath between phrases mournful.

Mid-note, however, Lan Xichen wrenches the flute away from his lips, and laughs.

“How is it that I constantly have the things I want falling into my lap,” he asks Jiang Cheng, “but I always find myself forced to turn them down?”

Jiang Cheng does not reply, but Lan Xichen does not seem to need an answer.

“When I finished high school at sixteen,” he continues emptily, “I asked for a chance to study something other than business, arguing that I had time. I had graduated two years early after all. I applied and was accepted to study flute performance at Juilliard, and went abroad to complete my degree, with the understanding that I would eventually come back after to become involved in the family business.”

He laughs self-deprecatingly.

“Little did I know that, at the end of my four year degree program, I would have fallen so deeply in love with classical performance.”

Jiang Cheng looks down into his lap as Lan Xichen looks away.

“I asked for five years to live a dream,” he confides. “I performed with the Juilliard Orchestra for nearly four years. At the urging of my colleagues, friends, and brother, I joined a blind audition for the role of principal flautist with the New York Philharmonic in that fourth year. I had not truly believed I would get it.”

He laughs again.

“I got it,” he says flatly. “If I had accepted, I would have been the youngest principal flautist ever to play with the New York Philharmonic. I was twenty-two.” He shrugs. “But I turned it down. I knew I would only have been able to play with them for a year, and I would have only fallen even more in love with performing during that year. I quit the Juilliard orchestra after that, packed up, and returned to China.”

Finally, he turns to look at Jiang Cheng.

“My professor offered me an opportunity to perform as a soloist with a traveling orchestra,” he explains. “It’s a very good orchestra, a very rare opportunity. They are only performing for one night. But my professor thinks I could use this to kickstart a serious soloist career.”

“Did you turn it down?” Jiang Cheng asks.

“I tried!” Lan Xichen cries. My professor refused to take no for an answer. He told me to think about it first. There’s still some months to go until the concert date, you see.”

Standing, Jiang Cheng plants his palms on the edge of the stage, and hauls himself up and over. He sits down on the piano chair.

“Accept it,” he says. “It’s one night. It’s not like you're playing everyday for a season.”

“It’s during the final rounds of the competition,” Lan Xichen says helplessly. “We have filming.”

“Our filming schedule has been lax so far. We’re always done by dinner, and I’m assuming it’s an evening concert?”

“It is,” Lan Xichen admits reluctantly. Finally, he sighs. “I guess I just don’t want to let myself get tempted. It’s like giving a starving child a meat bun that they are allowed to lick, but not eat. I would rather leave the meatbun alone than torment myself by licking it without actually being able to eat it.”

Jiang Cheng sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“My dad was like this too,” he finally admits. “He wanted to be a musician, but his family forced him to take over Jiang Enterprises. He tries not to show it — he’s always smiling — but he’s not happy. He still regrets it.”

He looks up at Lan Xichen.

“I don’t want to see you end up like him,” he says seriously. “You deserve to be happy. You don’t deserve to live a life of regret and unhappiness. Fuck them. They can find someone else to take over. You deserve the chance to chase your dreams, Lan Xichen. You do.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes soften, and he seats himself behind Jiang Cheng on the piano bench.

“Thank you,” he whispers, touched. “It means so much to me that I have someone to talk to about this. I’ve been keeping it inside for so long! But, I promise I’m not unhappy. I chose to do this. I’m not being forced in any way. I love my uncle, and I just want to do him proud.”

Jiang Cheng can’t help but hesitate, doubtful, but more than anyone he thinks he knows how Lan Xichen feels. He never felt forced into studying business. He had gone willingly, only wishing to do right by his parents. And so, a little reluctantly, he drops the subject.

When they walk back into the buffet hall, the party has long since gone into full swing. Wen Chao’s booming laughter is immediately audible. A-Qing and Xue Yang are arm-wrestling on the buffet table, and somehow, the petite A-Qing seems to be winning. By the front doors, A-Jie and Wei Wuxian are standing with the Jins. A-Jie has an empty glass in one hand, the beginnings of a flush creeping up her neck, the other hand tucked into the crook of Wei Wuxian’s arm.

“— that unnamed girl you have a crush on,” Jin Zixun is teasing, red-faced and clearly tipsy.

Jin Zixuan’s expression can only described with one word: horrified.

“It’s not a crush!” he yelps, “She’s like, four years older than me!” 

“Then what was that about that night when we all went drinking together and you said that—“ 

Jin Zixuan steps forward, slapping a hand over his cousin’s mouth. He sways slightly on the spot. He’s clearly had a few drinks as well.

“I just think that she’s nice!” he protests. “And— and that she has a really pretty smile. And! I respect her for her accomplishments! She’s a successful businesswoman who earns her own keep! That’s all! It’s— It’s not a crush.”

He shoots a discreet look at A-Jie, but she does not notice, too busy pretending to look at her phone. Pretending, because she’s clearly just staring at her home screen. He turns back to his cousin.

“Zixun,” he says stiffly. “I have something extremely important to tell you. Let us go over there.”

And with that, Jin Zixuan drags his cousin off to the other side of the room, probably to chew him out. Mo Xuanyu turns to A-Jie, a thoughtful look on his face. A-Jie is still staring at her home screen.

“Jiejie,” Mo Xuanyu begins. “I was wondering… what do you think of Zixuan-xiong?”

Surprised by the question, A-Jie’s eyes flicker up towards where Jin Zixuan is standing with his cousin. She seems to deem that he is appropriately out of earshot, because she proceeds honestly, if a little cautiously.

“Zixuan is a good man; smart, handsome, and a gentleman. The woman he has set his eyes on is extremely lucky. I hope she makes him happy.”

Mo Xuanyu perks.

“Does Jiejie,” he begins, and licks his lips, “like Zixuan-xiong?”

A-Jie hesitates, shooting another look towards the cousins. 

“It’s hard not to like someone like Zixuan at least a little bit,” she finally admits. “Especially when he has made up his mind to be good to you, he can be very charming. But I won’t let it affect our friendship.”

Mo Xuanyu lights up.

“So you do like him!” he cries.

“There’s no use acting on it,” A-Jie says quickly. “He has a person that he likes after all.”

“But isn’t that you, Jiejie?!” Mo Xuanyu demands. “The woman he described just now, that’s you!”

But A-Jie does not seem convinced, only shaking her head.

“I’m three years older than him, not four,” she argued, “and I’m not a businesswoman.” She sighs, before continuing more morosely: “And Zixuan most certainly doesn’t think I’m pretty. He was quite clear about that four years ago.”

She bites her lip, looking a little sad at the reminder. Jiang Cheng’s fingers tighten around his champagne flute. He so badly wants to throw it down right now, and storm over to give Jin Zixuan a good thrashing. Mo Xuanyu just frowns, and looks down into his own flute.

“It’s Jiejie,” he mumbles stubbornly. “I’m sure of it.”

They drop the subject as Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun rejoin them. A-Jie and Jin Zixuan can barely stand to look at each other. The one time they accidentally meet eyes, they look away immediately, each going red. It’s honestly embarrassing how obvious the two are.

Wei Wuxian watches, expression aghast, seemingly realizing what is happening.

“A-Jie,” he says suddenly, grabbing her arm. “I have something very important to tell you. Let’s go over there.”

What are they? Elementary school kids discussing playground crushes?! Jiang Cheng watches as Wei Wuxian drags A-Jie over to the buffet table, before looking up at Lan Xichen exasperatedly. Lan Xichen shrugs. Jiang Cheng sighs. As they begin to make their way towards the buffet table, Lan Wangji appears, catching Lan Xichen by the sleeve.

“Tianlang-laoshi is drunk again,” he hisses.

Lan Xichen straightens, looking alarmed.

“I have to go,” he tells Jiang Cheng quickly. “Tianlang-laoshi is a rowdy drunk. If we don’t stop him—“

A loud crash, and drunken laughter. There’s a shirtless man standing on a table in his suit pants, pulling a delighted Xue Yang up with him. A tray of glasses have fallen to the floor. A moment later, a waiter appears with a broom and swiftly begins to sweep up the broken shards. A-Jie and Wei Wuxian come over to him, eyeing the spectacle with raised eyebrows.

“I suppose that’s our signal to leave,” A-Jie says. “Let’s head back to the suite. I’ll make some dessert. How does yam paste sound?

“You don’t have to cook, A-Jie!” Jiang Cheng protests, alarmed. “If you have any cravings, I’m sure I can whip something up. You’ve been cooking for three days—“

He trails off as Wei Wuxian begins to gesture urgently at him.

Stress-cooking, he mouths.

Without even turning to look, A-Jie reaches behind her and smacks him on the arm.

“I am not stressed about the situation with Zixuan,” she says mildly.

Right.

A cacophonous banging sounds out from behind them. Xue Yang and Tianlang-laoshi are jumping on the table. Lan Xichen is desperately trying to persuade them to come down. Tianlang-laoshi begins to undo his belt. As they hurriedly make their way towards the exit, Mo Xuanyu comes bounding forward, expression plaintive.

“Are you leaving, Jiejie?” he asks.

“Yes,” A-Jie confirms. “We’ll be making some dessert in the suite. The kitchens are in too much of a mess right now. Would you like to join us?”

“We have band practice,” Jin Zixun interjects.

A-Jie looks up, and meets Jin Zixuan’s gaze over his cousin’s shoulder. Both of them immediately begin to blush. Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jiang Cheng thinks exasperatedly.

“I’ll bring some dessert for you later,” A-Jie tells Mo Xuanyu, flustered. “See you then.”

As she begins to make a swift escape, Jin Zixuan seems to come to his senses, calling out to her from behind.

“Wait!” he calls.

Both of them freeze. Jin Zixuan pales, looking appalled at himself. Mo Xuanyu is gesturing discreetly at him, shooting pointed looks at the back of A-Jie’s head.

“I’ve been receiving some soup in my room,” Jin Zixuan finally continues.

Mo Xuanyu nods his head encouragingly, making a gesture as if to say continue! He stops, putting his hands behind his back, as A-Jie turns slowly around.

“Hmm?” she asks pleasantly.

Jin Zixuan flushes.

“By any chance,” he begins, and swallows, “was the soup made by you?”

A-Jie hesitates.

“Hmm,” she confirms.

If happiness could truly give one wings, Jiang Cheng thinks Jin Zixuan would probably have shot up to the moon on the spot. After a moment, Jin Zixun elbows him pointedly, and he manages to gather his wits.

“Thank you,” he manages. “The soup was very good.”

“You were injured because of me,” A-Jie reasons calmly. “I felt that I should do something for you.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence, before A-Jie clears her throat.

“A-Yu,” she says mildly. “I would like to speak with you for a minute.”

Mo Xuanyu straightens, face immediately transforming into a pitiful pout, but obediently follows her out of the room. He must have told Jin Zixuan. He had not been hiding his smugness very well at all.

As the door closes behind them, Jin Zixuan walks slowly over to the nearest table, and puts his face down on it. Jin Zixun slaps his back, grinning.

“Not a crush, eh?” he teases.

Jin Zixuan groans.

“But she’s like… four years older than me,” he whimpers. “And she’s a big shot consultant and everything.”

He rubs his forehead into the table, seeming genuinely distressed about this, but jerks back upright as the doors open. A-Jie comes back in, her face bright red. Mo Xuanyu is hanging off her arm, giggling unrepentantly.

As A-Jie loudly pounds away at something in the kitchen, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian work together at the table. Wei Wuxian seems to be working on Yingying’s debut again, referring to the notes Jiang Cheng took for him during the masterclass, while Jiang Cheng works on his songwriting. Here and there, they look up, referring to each other for help on their respective tasks. Otherwise, however, they work in silence.

After about half an hour of working fruitlessly on his song, Jiang Cheng finally decides to give up on songwriting for awhile. A-Jie is still pounding away in the kitchen, but she chases him back to the table when he tries to help. Instead, he sits beside Wei Wuxian with a sigh.

“Let me help,” he says.

He sketches out a business model canvas, helping Wei Wuxian to fill the different portions in. Finally, they begin to hash out a rough plan for Yingying’s debut. 

“I know someone playing a set at a rave in a week or two,” Wei Wuxian finally says, tapping his pen against his chin. “He wouldn’t be so interested in the more mainstream version, but I know his music tastes, and he’d probably love the remixed version of the track.”

Wei Wuxian had eventually managed to convince Ning Yingying to release two versions of the track, the heavily edited version Jiang Cheng had last heard, and a version closer to the original, closer to both of their music tastes.

Together, they manage to hammer out the plan into something resembling a proposal, noting down any questions they have along the way. Finally, Jiang Cheng types the questions up, and sends them to Professor Qi. She replies almost immediately, asking to meet Wei Wuxian over coffee to talk before she leaves back to Beijing. They set a time. Finally, Wei Wuxian slumps over, arms snaking around Jiang Cheng.

“Thanks,” he mumbles into Jiang Cheng’s shoulder.

“You’re welcome,” Jiang Cheng says simply.

As Wei Wuxian tries to pull away, however, Jiang Cheng embarrassingly finds himself clinging. They sit there for a long moment, clutching at each other silently, until A-Jie putters along with a large bowl of yam paste,^[4] steaming fragrantly and topped with coconut milk and ginkgo.

“A-Cheng has been stressed about songwriting lately, hasn’t he?” A-Jie notes sympathetically, spooning him a larger portion. “Eat up.”

“I’m not great at voicing my feelings,” Jiang Cheng sighs.

“Neither am I,” A-Jie admits, and lays a hand on his forearm. “It’s a struggle. Take it slowly.”

“Ah, but A-Jie did pretty well with Jin Zixuan today, right?” Wei Wuxian teases. “You were so composed. I didn’t think you would actually admit to it!”

A-Jie flushes, hitting him lightly on the hand.

“You!” she scolds. “Are you done teasing?”

“I’m sorry, A-Jie!” Wei Wuxian wails, throwing himself into her lap. “Don’t be angry.”

She giggles, laying her hand back over Jiang Cheng’s arm and giving it a little squeeze.

“I found that sometimes it helps when someone else speaks up on your behalf,” she reflects. “I was only able to say something because A-Yu started the conversation for me. That child truly has a big mouth.” 

She perks suddenly. 

“Ah, speaking of which, I better bring him the yam paste before it gets cold. The yam always congeals on the outside once you’ve left it to stand.”

“And bringing one for Jin Zixuan too, I suppose,” Jiang Cheng can’t help but tease.

“Not you too!” A-Jie groans, before hurrying into the kitchen to get some bowls.

Wei Wuxian sets down his spoon, looking a little thoughtful.

“What if I help you?” he asks suddenly. “Maybe I can help you find the words.”

“I don’t even know what I want to write about yet,” Jiang Cheng sighs, standing to put his bowl away. “But thanks.”

“I’ll write you a melody,” Wei Wuxian insists, and begins rifling through his notes for a blank piece of paper. “You can fill the words in once you’ve figured that out.”

After a moment, Jiang Cheng sits back down.

“That could be helpful,” he admits.

“Come over here,” Wei Wuxian says, and begins to pat around him for a non-existent pen. “Let’s do this together.”

The next day, Wen Qing looks up from the paper, and hands it back to him.

“This is workable,” she finally allows. “We can practice without the words first.”

Chapter Text

The reality of the upcoming debut is only solidified as they begin taking trips out into the city to film promotional videos. Nie Huaisang goes into overdrive micromanaging his outfit for every single outing, despairing at the growing length of his hair.

“They are going to splice these clips together and play them before every single one of your performances, Jiang-xiong,” he pleads. “You absolutely cannot go in a t-shirt.”

Alongside his own filming, Jiang Cheng can’t help but notice a somewhat uncomfortable development. He’s never quite noticed how flirtatious Wei Wuxian’s teasing can be until now, and it’s magnified ten-fold for some reason whenever it comes to Lan Wangji. Honestly… he can’t help but feel bad for Lan Wangji. The guy is crushing, hard , and Wei Wuxian is completely oblivious, even as their friendship continues to deepen. He’s seen them having their talks about music in between scenes, often standing at the back where their voices can’t be picked up by the microphones. Wei Wuxian swears up and down that it’s a battle to get Lan Wangji to admit that the superior genre is electronic. Still, every flirtatious cry of “Lan Er-gege~” or “Shuai-ge~” makes him want to bash Wei Wuxian’s oblivious head into a wall.

“Stop it,” he hisses, every time he catches Wei Wuxian at it again.

“Why?” Wei Wuxian asks laughingly, eyes never leaving the back of Lan Wangji’s head. “He’s good-looking. We’re friends. What’s wrong?”

It reaches an intolerable point the next time they go out to film in Suzhou. 

As Jiang Cheng stands in the middle of the bustling market square, answering a series of increasingly embarrassing questions in the blazing hot sun, Wei Wuxian settles in the grass with a group of young women. He heckles Jiang Cheng from the shade to tittering laughter.

“Tell us what your first date was like,” the interviewer asks.

“Err, no comment,” Jiang Cheng says.

“He’s never been on a date!” Wei Wuxian hollers from the grass.

“Well, that won’t do,” the interviewer gasps, covering her smile with one hand. “Why don’t you tell us what your ideal woman is like, and I’ll try to set you up with someone!”

“Someone who is naturally beautiful, with a soft voice, graceful and dutiful, hardworking and thrifty, family-minded—“

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng roars. “Are you going to shut your mouth, or do I have to come over and shut it for you?!”

When he stomps over after the frankly humiliating interview is done, Wei Wuxian is lowering his head to allow a little girl to crown him. The petals atop his fluffy brown hair cast delicate shadows over the apples of his cheeks as he smiles down at her.

“And what does this one mean?” he asks, brushing her nose playfully with a purple flower.

She giggles, turning her chin up and away.

“That’s a purple magnolia!” a young woman cries.

“It means, to fall for your charming looks,” another woman answers, and hands a few sprigs to him, grinning cheekily.

Wei Wuxian laughs, accepting it with a melodramatic swoon.

“And what does this one mean, little lady?” he asks, twirling a single peony in front of the cheeky little girl.

This time, the girl’s mother nudges her forward encouragingly, and she finally turns to Wei Wuxian.

“It means, wishing you would return my feelings,” she whispers, and steps forward to tuck one in the top button of Wei Wuxian’s shirt, leaning up to whisper to him: “It’s my favorite flower.”

Wei Wuxian giggles along with her, looking up as Jiang Cheng slaps his shoulder. 

“Time to go,” Jiang Cheng tells him. “We’re moving to the next filming location.”

Wei Wuxian pats the little girl’s head as he stands. His eyes light up as he catches sight of Lan Wangji over Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, and he bends, whispering something into the little girl’s ear. She giggles.

As they approach Lan Xichen, standing in a whirlwind of crew members, some just running with scripts and foldable chairs, others hefting shoulder-mounted cameras, he turns around, popping his god-awful sunhat back over his head. Beside him, Nie Huaisang drapes one hand over his eyes, seemingly unable to bear the sight.

“Wangji!” he cries. “Put on a hat! We’re heading ten minutes down the river to film at the new industrial park.”

Making himself useful, Jiang Cheng tucks a stray folding chair under one arm, and with that, they begin to make their way down the canal. Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji walk slightly ahead of them, heads bent together and conferring quietly over their scripts. A young intern runs up to Jiang Cheng, taking the folding chair with a muttered apology, and running off again. It’s a busy time, a busy atmosphere.

Wei Wuxian walks with his hands behind his head, and a self-satisfied smirk on his face. That immediately puts Jiang Cheng ill at ease. He leans over.

“What have you done this time?” he whispers in Wei Wuxian’s ear.

Wei Wuxian’s grin just widens.

At that moment, a group of young girls come trotting over. They present a single flower to Lan Wangji, giggling, and then skip off. A few seconds later, they come back with another. It carries on like this for awhile, until Lan Wangji is clutching at a small handful of flowers, looking utterly bewildered. Wei Wuxian picks up his pace a little, drawing even beside him. He picks out a flower from Lan Wangji’s handful.

“Don’t you know?” he teases. “Purple magnolias mean to fall for your charming looks. Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan. It must be because you’re just too good looking that even strangers go out of their way to praise you!”

As the girls run, giggling, to tug at Wei Wuxian’s sleeves, Lan Wangji seems to realize who was behind the prank, and grows visibly flustered. Wei Wuxian sighs, making a show of tapping his chin.

“It’s just too bad that Lan Zhan is always frowning. Why don’t you smile more often, Lan Zhan!” 

He skips ahead and spins playfully around to face Lan Wangji, hands behind his back.

“Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise!” he continues. “If Lan Zhan were to smile, even once, I’m sure the world would fall to its knees.”

With a little ta-dah! he produces a purple magnolia. Lan Wangji accepts it with a blush, before looking down at the peony he’s holding against his chest, amidst the bundle of magnolias. After a moment, he seems to compose himself, picking the flower out. 

“And what does this one mean?” he asks stoically.

Wei Wuxian peers into his hand. 

“Oh, that one?” he chirps, and thinks for a moment. “It means wishing you will return my feelings or something like that.” 

Lan Wangji looks down, lashes sweeping over faintly freckled cheeks.

“I see,” he murmurs.

He pinches the stem between his fingers, and holds the flower carefully out. Wei Wuxian blinks.

“Eh? You don’t have to return the flowers!” he cries, waving his hands with a little laugh. “They are yours now!” 

Lan Wangji looks down at the peony again, and sighs. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

As he picks up his pace to catch up with Lan Xichen, waiting ahead with an indulgent smile, Jiang Cheng snaps around to glare at Wei Wuxian.

“Haven’t you had enough?!” he hisses. 

Wei Wuxian just chuckles, looking way too happy with himself.

“Enough of what?” he retorts. “I’m just playing!”

Jiang Cheng grabs him and pulls him in.

“It’s not funny!” he whispers furiously. “I mean it, Wei Wuxian. Stop teasing him.”

Even as they spend an increasing amount of time away from training, Wen Qing continues to try and get him performance-ready. She has moved their trainings from the recording studio, booking a small auditorium for him to practice on the stage. They still spend most of their time together on covers.

“Singing on ooos and ahhs are hardly challenging,” Wen Qing sighs. “The trickier part comes with words. Until you have lyrics for your song, I would prefer that we continue to work on your emotional expression.”

It only reminds Jiang Cheng of his increasingly pressing need to complete his song. To her credit, as his debut draws nearer, and he grows ever more anxious, Wen Qing has only gotten softer with him. It’s a godsend. At this late stage, he doesn’t think he can handle her usual bluster. There’s one morning where all they do is sit together in the studio, looking through songs.

“You need to find a story that you resonate with, right?” Wen Qing says. “Let’s try songs that actually have a story. Broadway is always a good start.”

By silent consensus, they rule out all the love songs, and slowly begin making their way through the others. Songs about hardship, about sorrow, about pride and insecurity — these are universal human emotions, Wen Qing tells him. These are emotions he can relate to. 

But somehow, when he climbs up onto the stage, and opens his mouth to sing —

He finds himself struck unexpectedly speechless.

Wen Qing watches him with an inscrutable look as he stands there in the lights, battling silently with himself for words. After a long minute, she sighs.

“Come down,” she says.

Numbly, he complies, fixing the microphone back onto the stand, and then collapsing into a chair, burying his face in his hands. He rubs at his hair, frustrated and disoriented, until he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“You know,” Wen Qing sighs, sitting down beside him, “sometimes, you remind me of my brother.”

Jiang Cheng thinks of Wen Ning, shy, fumbling Wen Ning, with his stutter and his wincing. It’s not a very flattering comparison.

“Please tell me what gave you that impression,” Jiang Cheng deadpans.

Seeming to pick up on his incredulity, Wen Qing chuckles.

“He has a lot of feelings pent up inside him,” she continues, “but he never dares to express it. He’s afraid to show his true self on the stage. But sometimes, the emotions build up until he can no longer hold it back. When he sings then…”

Jiang Cheng thinks suddenly of Wen Ning, singing alone on the treadmill, thinks of that sorrow, that helplessness, that anger. He thinks also of the conversation they had had in the gym. Perhaps… they are somewhat alike.

Wen Qing sighs.

“I wish he would let himself go more often,” she says, and turns to Jiang Cheng with a sad smile. “I hope you can find the courage to let yourself go too.”

She pats his hand absently, still looking vaguely troubled, before a clock chimes distantly on the hour. She seems to snap out of it then, standing, and stretching sideways. Her lower back cracks.

“That’s the end of our lesson for today,” she notes, and then pats his shoulder. “Your debut is almost here. You’ll need to start thinking of a stage name.”

As the week passes, he begins to realize that the stress of the upcoming debut is not just affecting him alone. Sisi and Anxin are sitting conspicuously on opposite sides of the classroom from one another.  A-Qing and Xue Yang are arguing like never before. Mo Ziyuan, while previously well-behaved in front of the cameras, has begun openly making snide comments at Mo Xuanyu. Hell, Jiang Cheng even sees quiet, composed Qin Su, a silent figure up till now, snap at Xue Yang for being disruptive in class. Most baffling of all, Su She has begun picking fights with Lan Wangji, and Wei Wuxian is jumping to Lan Wangji’s defense every single time.

“I never liked that guy,” Wei Wuxian hisses furiously as they leave the classroom. “He always seemed really greasy from our interactions at Zhongyang. Did you know that in first year—“

Jiang Cheng has no interest in hearing about Zhongyang Conservatory drama. He has no interest in hearing about any drama, period. Despite his wishes, however, drama continues to escalate. On Wednesday, things come to a head when good-natured, cheerful, happy-go-lucky Mo Xuanyu snaps and tells Mo Ziyuan to go fuck himself. There ensues a squabble of such epic proportions that Lan Xichen has to call security.

“And you can tell your mother to go—“ Mo Xuanyu is screaming as he’s dragged away by a security guard.

“Your mother is the one who—“ Mo Ziyuan is howling, being dragged away in the opposite direction.

Lan Xichen collapses heavily into the seat beside Jin Guangyao, wiping at his forehead with a white handkerchief.

“I’m actually considering having to separate them like kindergarten kids,” he murmurs.

Jin Guangyao pats him on the shoulder, wincing as Mo Xuanyu lets an expletive-laden howl of fury.

On Thursday, a commotion breaks out in the parking lot before class, sending the entire building — contestants, crew members, producers, and all — running out into the carpark. A catfight has broken out between Sisi and Anxin. Lan Xichen runs into the lodging house, screaming for security, while Lan Wangji tries to break the vicious fight up.

By the time security manages to tear the two apart, Lan Wangji’s right sleeve has been torn right off, and Sisi— She—

Three long, deep scratches are etched into her left cheek, and her collar is soaked in blood.

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian are on the phone with A-Jie in the lobby, incredulously relaying the day’s events to her, when the Lan brothers return from the hospital. Sisi is not with them. They run out to meet the brothers in the carpark, but Jin Guangyao gets there first.

“Is she okay?!” he demands.

“Seventeen stitches,” Lan Xichen says, expression for once severe. “There will be scarring.”

Jin Guangyao steps back, paling.

“The KTV bar^[1] will fire her,” he says numbly.

At the questioning looks, Jin Guangyao seems to compose himself.

“She works at the same KTV bar as my mother,” he explains. “I’ve known her since I was a boy.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“How are they going to get through this competition as a duo now?” Wei Wuxian wonders quietly, looking troubled.

“The Butterfly Sisters has been disbanded,” Lan Wangji answers. “They will both continue as soloists.”

A-Jie comes down the very next day.

“You know what such a tense situation calls for?” she asks sagely, an arm around each of her brothers. 

Mo Xuanyu looks up at her, eyes big and watery, clutching at Jin Guangyao’s sleeve. 

“Lotus root soup,” A-Jie answers, just as sagely.

They head into the kitchens, where Maiden Song greets them gladly. A-Jie begins to bustle around, humming faintly to herself as she assigns each of them something to do. Jiang Cheng and Mo Xuanyu are assigned to slicing and cleaning the lotus roots respectively. Jin Guangyao is assigned to chopping the pork into manageable chunks. Wei Wuxian, the culinary disaster that he is, is assigned to stove-watching duty. Maiden Song dutifully babysits.

Once he’s done, Jiang Cheng joins A-Jie at the kitchen table while the others continue to work away at their various tasks with varying levels of competence. He watches them for a moment, before laying his head on A-Jie’s shoulder. A-Jie puts her arm around him, stroking his hair gently. After a moment, she turns her head and presses a kiss to his temple.

“Your hair’s getting long,” she whispers, pinching a lock of his hair between her fingers. “Perhaps you’ll be able to tie it up now.”

“Huaisang tried,” Jiang Cheng says. “It’s just a little too short. Maybe in a week or two.”

“Just in time for your debut,” A-Jie muses.

Jiang Cheng stiffens at that. Yes, his debut really is that close, isn’t it? Seeming to sense his sense of unease, A-Jie resumes stroking his hair. Jiang Cheng closes his eyes, and breathes in her familiar scent.

“I’m scared, Jie,” he admits in a small voice.

A-Jie kisses the top of his head.

“I know,” she whispers. “But I’m here now.”

Jiang Cheng turns his face into her shoulder, and grounds himself in the smell of her, the feel of her, the ever-calming presence of her. If he and Wei Wuxian have always been each other’s rock out in a stormy sea, A-Jie has always been the beacon calling them back to shore — calling them home.

When the soup is done, Jiang Cheng has just awhile to savor it before he has to rush off for filming. They want to get a night shot of him coming out of the training building after ‘training for the whole day.’

“But I only train in the mornings,” Jiang Cheng had said, stupefied.

“Well, yes,” the producer had said, fidgeting, “but it creates more suspense if we show you going in early in the morning, and coming out late at night. It’s nearing the debut. We need to show some tension.”

And so, after A-Jie spoons out some soup for dinner, and of course some to be delivered to Jin Zixuan, Jiang Cheng goes back to the training building where he gives a brief and somewhat uncomfortable interview in the carpark.

“How are you doing with the stress of your debut?”

“Alright.”

”In settings like this, fights are bound to happen. Too many different personalities in one place, and all placed under such intense pressure. Anyone in particular you’ve had tension with in the recent week?”

“No.”

“We heard that you and your trainer had an hour-long screaming match in your recording studio last week. Your trainer has forbade us from filming your lessons. How are things going with her?”

“We’re good actually. This time, she actually had to sit down and take a breather earlier than I did. She was quite proud.”

“This time?!”

A-Jie and Wei Wuxian just sit on the curb, giggling and whispering, until he’s done. As the camera crew begins to pack up, Jiang Cheng heads disgruntledly over, wiping his face with the inside of his shirt. It comes away completely white.

“It’s not like I’m breaking out or anything,” he complains. “Why do they keep putting all this shit on me?!”

“It’s just like that with cameras,” A-Jie says sympathetically. “When I was doing my cooking show, they would stop me in the middle of cooking to put more powder on. Apparently, if you get even a little oily or sweaty, you start reflecting the set lights.”

“Boy, am I glad they aren’t putting this shit on me,” Wei Wuxian chirps happily.

They get up and head towards the main building, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian lagging behind to help the crew with some of their baggage. As A-Jie rushes forward to hold the doors open, however, the doors fly open by themselves and Jin Zixuan stumbles out, wild-eyed and disheveled. His gaze immediately centers on A-Jie.

“You—“ he splutters, jabbing his finger at her accusingly. “Previously, I was wondering why you were being so nice to me. Who would have thought that you were here scheming for petty reasons while the rest of us are already occupied with a greater battle!”

“I—“ A-Jie begins, shocked.

Jiang Cheng just stands there for a moment, mouth open, before a flurry of movement snaps him back to awareness. Behind him, the crew is starting the cameras back up, eager to capture the new drama. Jin Zixuan barely seems to register them, still fixated on A-Jie.

“Jiang-daxiaojie,” he scoffs. “Don’t think that just because you come from a rich family, an important family, you can just steal the merits of others! It’s people like you that I hate most. You already have so much, why must you take from others who have nothing?! Some people are of lowly backgrounds, but their characters are much nobler than people like you!”

There’s a crash. 

Jiang Cheng turns to see that Wei Wuxian has dropped the boxes in his arms, and is advancing forwards, an almost crazed gleam in his eyes. At that moment, the doors fly open, and Mo Xuanyu comes barreling out.

“Zixuan-xiong, this is all a misunderstanding!” he cries, panting heavily.

Jin Guangyao and Jin Zixun come running out after him, in an equal state of dishevelment.

“What misunderstanding?!” Jin Zixuan snaps. “I saw Maiden Song delivering the soup with my own eyes! She said that she made the soup!”

He turns back to A-Jie.

“Tell me, why did you lie that you made the soup?” he demands. “You’re clearly trying to steal her credit just because she’s just a kitchen girl, and you’re the highly daughter of Jiang Enterprises!”

A-Jie stands there, frozen, as Mo Xuanyu inserts himself furiously between them.

“She didn’t lie!” he shouts. “I was the one who told you that she made the soup. Do you think I’m lying?!”

“You’ve been fooled by her!” Jin Zixuan roars. “Think of it! How could a businesswoman, and the pampered daughter of a high society family make such good soup?! Of course a kitchen girl would make better soup! This kind of cutthroat, manipulative businesswoman—“

“You’ve got your whole head on upside down!” Mo Xuanyu snaps, frustrated. “What has really been happening is—“

Before he can finish however, Jin Zixun steps forward, yanking him roughly away by the collar.

“Shut up!” he bellows. “How dare you argue back?!”

“Zixun,” Jin Guangyao begins placatingly, “let him speak. This is all a mis—“

He staggers back, crashing into a wall as Jin Zixun shoves him away, hard. Mo Xuanyu cries out, immediately going to his side.

“You’ve both forgotten your place!” Jin Zixun roars. “Do you remember who you are?! Be quiet! Remember, you’re to be seen, not heard!”

Mo Xuanyu rocks back. After a moment, he narrows his eyes, and then storms back into the main building without further argument. A-Jie closes her eyes, swaying slightly in place, before she begins to walk slowly away. With a last glance at his remaining relatives, Jin Guangyao hurries after her.

“Let me help,” he whispers, guiding her gently away.

Yanking his arm from Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian spits at Jin Zixuan’s feet, before turning to follow after them. Jiang Cheng turns on Jin Zixuan disbelievingly.

“She’s not a businesswoman,” he grits out. “She’s a chef!”

“You’ve all said she’s a consultant!” Jin Zixuan shouts back. “Are you trying to cover her tracks now?!”

This paranoid little piece of shit.

“A restaurant consultant!” Jiang Cheng bellows. “She’s been on cooking shows! If you had Baidu’ed her even once , you would know this! She has a Baike page!”^[2]

He snatches his phone from his pocket, and furiously begins to Baidu A-Jie’s name, before shoving his phone into Jin Zixuan’s face. Before he can read it, however, Wei Wuxian kicks over a trash can, seeming unable to walk away after all, and comes storming back over.

“Jin Zixuan!” he hollers, and kicks the wall. “I’m going to end you!”

He grabs Jin Zixuan by the collar, raising his fist. The doors fly open again, and this time, Mo Xuanyu comes stomping through with Maiden Song in tow.

“Let’s clarify things,” he says flatly. “With everyone present. Song-jie, please explain.”

For the first time, Jiang Cheng notices the tear tracks on Maiden Song’s face.

“Yanli made the soup,” she sobs. “She asked me to deliver it, but stressed not to disclose that it was her if asked. When you insisted to know, I panicked and lied that I made it. Please don’t hold it against Yanli. She has only been kind to me. When we first met, I was only a trainee, but she was kind enough to teach me so many things, and now—“

She breaks down into tears. Mo Xuanyu pats her on the back, shooting Jin Zixuan an uncharacteristically nasty look.

“Also,” Mo Xuanyu cuts in, “Song-jie is a sous-chef , not a kitchen girl.”

Jin Zixuan’s jaw drops. As Maiden Song covers her face, letting out another overwrought sob, Mo Xuanyu escorts her back out. 

“Hey!” Jin Zixun calls helplessly after him. “How could you talk to Zixuan like that?”

The doors swing close.

Seemingly unable to contain himself any longer, Wei Wuxian steps forward, and decks Jin Zixuan in the face. Jiang Cheng quickly grabs him, Jin Zixun helping to drag him back, as he begins to swing his fists wildly. Held back by the both of them, Wei Wuxian begins to shout at the top of his lungs.

“Jin Zixuan,” he bellows. “You’re so fucking proud, aren’t you? You think you’re too good for A-Jie. You think she’s not pretty enough. You think she’s too old. Back then, you scorned her for being the home-maker type, but now you scorn her for being a cutthroat business person! So yes, you think you’re too good for her— but what the fuck have you to be proud of? You’re so proud of being a Jin, but is that really an accomplishment? Do you have any other fucking achievements other than being a Jin?!”

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng hisses. “They are filming us.”

And they are. 

Around them, the crew members are circling with cameras. Some are even attempting to dip boom microphones into the fray. Wei Wuxian unsuccessfully tries to throw Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixun off him.

“Let them film!” he howls. “Let them hear this! Jin Zixuan, for someone so proud of family, you Jins have a real terrible way of treating family! Just because Mo Xuanyu and Jin Guangyao were born of illegitimate mothers, does that mean that one should treat them like mere servants?”

“How dare you!” Jin Zixun shrieks.

“Fuck off!” Wei Wuxian shouts back. “Look at me! My father and Uncle Jiang were childhood best friends, but do you know that my grandmother was only a cook in the Jiang household?! Yet, when my father passed, I was adopted into the family! Jiang Cheng and I were raised as siblings. I am the son of a servant. If I could be adopted so wholeheartedly into the Jiang family, what’s your excuse, when Mo Xuanyu and Jin Guangyao are related by blood, when they are your brothers?!”

“How dare you make such a comparison?!” Jin Zixun shrieks. “Everyone knows Jiang Fengmian was in love with your mother! Why else would he accept you into the family?!”

“And that’s another thing!” Wei Wuxian continues to rage. “So Jin Zixuan thinks he can rag on others for looking down on those of lower social status. In the end, isn’t it you lot who are looking down on others?! Hah! Who are you to speak for those who aren’t born of high society?! Aren’t you the one excluding your own brothers on the basis of who they were born to?!”

“You—“ Jin Zixun explodes.

“Don’t argue anymore, Zixun,” Jin Zixuan snaps, cupping his red cheek with a wince. “I have a headache.”

“You’re full of shit, you know that?” Jiang Cheng snaps.

Rolling their eyes, he and Wei Wuxian finally make their exit, leaving the flurry of cameras for the Jin peacocks to deal with. 

They soon find A-Jie sitting on the curb on the other side of the building. Her tear-stained face is lit up in the blue lights of her phone screen, Jin Guangyao murmuring quietly to her as she taps away at the screen. As they draw closer, Jiang Cheng recognizes the website.

“A-Jie!” Wei Wuxian cries, distraught. “A-Jie, are you leaving?!”

Turning away, A-Jie quickly wipes her tears with her sleeve, before turning to them with a watery smile. Her face crumples after a moment. 

“I’m sorry,” she sobs. “I froze up. I wanted to defend myself so badly, but the words just wouldn’t come. I couldn’t speak. I’ve booked a train home for tonight. I need some time to process everything.”

“But you have to come back!” Wei Wuxian pleads, falling to his knees in front of her and throwing his arms around her waist. “You’ll come back, won’t you?”

“A-Jie,” Jiang Cheng whispers helplessly.

“I’m going to keep visiting,” A-Jie reassures them. “Even if Zixuan and I have fallen out, the two of you are still family, right?”

“And family sticks together,” Wei Wuxian insists, staring searchingly up at her.

“And family sticks together,” A-Jie confirms.

Jin Guangyao stands, biting his lip.

“Your ride to the station is arriving,” he murmurs helplessly to A-Jie, waving his phone.

A-Jie stands as well.

“I’ll be back,” she whispers.

And with a last backward glance, she and Jin Guangyao disappear into the night. 

Once she’s gone, Jiang Cheng drops heavily onto the curb and buries his face in his hands, feeling strangely shaken. After a moment, Wei Wuxian sits down beside him as well, drawing a hand gently down his back.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he whispers.

It’s not okay. After everything is over, Jiang Cheng returns to their room, digs their vacuum out, and begins to vacuum. The racing thoughts vanish into the roar of the machine. In its place, the melody Wei Wuxian had written for him plays over and over in his head, but still, the words do not come. He doesn’t think he could speak now, even if he wanted.

Wei Wuxian tries to stop him a few times, but he just waves him off, except for the times he stops to eat, and once to sleep for maybe three hours, before he gets up and continues. At some point, however, there comes a knock at the door. He ignores it, continuing to vacuum as Wei Wuxian drags himself off the couch, dark circles heavy under his eyes, to answer the door.

“Yes?!” he yells.

There’s a murmur.

“Jiang Cheng turn that damn thing off! I can’t hear what Xichen-ge is saying!”

Jiang Cheng turns the vacuum off at once, and turns around. Indeed, Lan Xichen is standing at the door, looking quite bemused.

“I’ve received complaints from the nearest room about incessant vacuuming noises,” he explains, before eyeing Jiang Cheng’s disheveled form. “Have you… been vacuuming for two days straight?”

Wei Wuxian throws his hands up.

“Yes!” he cries, before jabbing a finger into Lan Xichen’s chest. “It’s your turn now. You babysit. I’m going somewhere else to get some shuteye.”

He slams the door behind him.

The two of them stare at each other across the living room. After a moment, Jiang Cheng realizes that Lan Xichen is not about to say anything soon, and turns around, switching the vacuum back on. Lan Xichen stands in the doorway for a moment longer, before he goes into the kitchen, and emerges with a spare dishrag.

“So we’re cleaning now?!” he yells over the vacuum, sounding absolutely bewildered. “I’ll go wipe down the cabinets!”

And with that, he grabs a stool, gets up on it, and begins violently scrubbing at the kitchen cabinets.

Somehow, having Lan Xichen cleaning with him helps to calm him down. His mind slowly begins to settle. Words slowly return to him. Eventually, he turns off the vacuum and turns around.

“How did you decide on your stage name?” he demands. “I haven’t thought of mine. Should I just go with Jiang Cheng? Maybe J.C.? Should I come up with something completely new? What do you think?”

Lan Xichen blinks, slowly setting down the dishrag.

“I didn’t come up with my own stage name,” he admits. “You see, my family is quite traditional—“

“I’ve noticed,” Jiang Cheng interjects flatly.

“We had courtesy names,” Lan Xichen continues. “Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji are courtesy names, chosen by my uncle when we were born. When we each made our debuts, we decided to honor our uncle by using the courtesy names he had given us. Lan Huan was given by my parents. Lan Xichen was given by my uncle. I guess I find it meaningful that I get to use the names given to me by my parental figures. They are the people I most wanted to make proud when I made my debut.”

“Right,” Jiang Cheng says.

“Sorry,” Lan Xichen says suddenly. “That wasn’t very helpful, was it?”

“No, no,” Jiang Cheng says. “It was helpful.”

Come to think of it, the idea of having his stage name chosen by his parents is— appealing. He slowly begins to bundle up the vacuum hose, rolling the body back into the closet.

The front door opens, and Wei Wuxian pokes his head back in.

“He’s stopped?!” he demands of Lan Xichen, before looking to Jiang Cheng, eyes bright. “No more vacuuming?!”

He comes into the room, looking around, and then lights up as he realizes the vacuum has been put away.

“No more vacuuming!” he cries, delighted.

A-Jie is back again the next day, having apparently heard of The Great Stress-Vacuuming Episode, as Wei Wuxian has so uncreatively dubbed it. She begins fussing the moment she catches sight of him, and continues fussing all the way back to the lodging house. She only stops when they run into a wide-eyed Jin Zixuan in the parking lot.

The young man freezes, one foot out of the door. Jin Zixun runs into his back.

“Why did you—“ he begins, before catching sight of them. “Oh.”

“Maiden Jiang,” Jin Zixuan begins, taking a step forward. “I—“

He trails off as Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng place themselves in front of her, scowling. After a moment, Mo Xuanyu squeezes his way out from behind Jin Zixuan, also scowling, and plants himself between him and A-Jie.

There’s a moment of awkward silence as all three of them glare daggers at Jin Zixuan. Then, they are interrupted by the clearing of a throat. Jin Guangyao squeezes himself out of the door more delicately, smiling pleasantly at Jin Zixuan.

“Zixuan, don’t you need to get going for your check-up?” he reminds him politely.

Jin Zixuan glances back towards A-Jie.

“Maiden Jiang,” he begins again.

“If we don’t leave immediately, you will be late,” Jin Guangyao cuts in, more insistently this time.

Jin Zixuan bites his lip, and then sighs.

“Fine,” he says, defeated.

He turns, and begins to head across the carpark towards a flashy golden sports car. After a moment, Jin Zixun and Jin Guangyao follow.

“Have you forgotten whose side you’re supposed to be on?!” Jin Zixun hisses at Mo Xuanyu as he passes. “Hurry up!”

Mo Xuanyu rolls his eyes, but with a quick smile to A-Jie, leaves with them.

“I’m okay,” A-Jie assures them. “I can take care of myself.”

“We know,” they say in unison, before Wei Wuxian scowls.

“Still, I would prefer that the peacock stays as far away as possible,” he growls.

Somehow, Jin Zixuan seems hell bent on defying those wishes. He knocks at their door an hour past dinner. A-Jie answers the door to find him standing outside with a plate of what look like charred cookies.

“You!” Wei Wuxian cries, and inserts himself in front of A-Jie with a scowl. “What the fuck are you doing here?! Haven’t you done enough?!”

“Manners, A-Xian,” A-Jie interjects mildly.

“I happened to be making some cookies,” Jin Zixuan says stoically. “I decided to bake a share for your family. Maiden Jiang—“

Wei Wuxian intercepts the tray before it can make its way into A-Jie’s hands, snatching a cookie up and biting into it. There’s an audible crack.

“Ow!” Wei Wuxian yowls. “Are these cookies or stones?! Don’t take them, A-Jie! I swear I nearly broke a tooth!”

He waves A-Jie away before she can accept the cookies, shoving the tray back into Jin Zixuan’s chest.

“A-Xian!” A-Jie scolds, before looking apologetically to Jin Zixuan. “Thank you for the cookies. I assure you that we really appreciate the gesture, despite A-Xian’s rudeness.”

Looking sheepish, Jin Zixuan pulls the tray away when A-Jie tries to reach for it.

“This must be a bad batch,” he says. “I should have tasted the cookies before trying to gift them to you. Please excuse me.”

He turns and begins to hurry away, ears pink. Wei Wuxian leans out of the doorway, scowling after his retreating back.

“And don’t come back!” he yells crankily.

“A-Xian!” A-Jie yelps, scandalized.

Rolling his eyes, Wei Wuxian slams the door closed.

Jin Zixuan is back again in the morning. This time, he approaches Jiang Cheng directly after group classes, taking care to come while Wei Wuxian is out of the room. Jin Guangyao and Jin Zixun flank him like bodyguards, each wearing comically serious expressions.

“I made some soup for lunch, and happened to make too much,” Jin Zixuan says stoically. “I thought your family might appreciate some.”

He holds out a plastic container. Jiang Cheng hesitantly takes the container from him, raising an eyebrow as he looks down into it. There are strange lumps in the soup, which is a frankly alarming shade of green. From the badly sliced lotus roots, however, Jiang Cheng can guess what Jin Zixuan had been trying to make.

“There is only enough for one person,” he observes flatly.

Jin Zixuan’s ears begin to redden. Sighing, Jiang Cheng looks down into the container, swirling it slightly, and makes a face as the gelatinous contents stick to the sides.

“So maybe you still haven’t gotten the memo,” he bites out, “but A-Jie is a three Michelin star chef. At this point, I’m not sure if you’re trying to poison her or insult her with this.” 

There is a moment of silence. 

“Cooking really isn’t your strong suit, Zixuan,” Jin Guangyao offers quietly. “Maybe you should try something else.”

“You shut up and just keep quiet,” Jin Zixun snarls.

Jin Guangyao closes his mouth, staring straight ahead with silent dignity. Jin Zixuan sighs.

“Cousin, please,” he says tiredly. “Remember what we said about the way we talk to Guangyao?” He turns to Jin Guangyao. “Please go on, brother.” 

“If cooking isn’t your strong suit,” Jin Guangyao continues stiffly, “then maybe you should figure out what your strong suit is and offer that instead.”

Jin Zixun hums, expression thoughtful, if a little grudging.

“He has a point,” he admits, and lays a hand on Jin Zixuan’s shoulder. “But what is your strong suit, cousin?”

Jin Zixuan seems to consider that. Jiang Cheng glances briefly at his watch.

“It looks like I’m no longer needed here,” he notes, “so I’m just going to go.”

He gingerly hands the container back to Jin Zixuan, who purses his lips, but takes it. Jiang Cheng sighs. Somehow, he’s beginning to feel a little bad for the guy.

“But I’ll let A-Jie know that you made something for her,” he allows grudgingly.

He leaves then, and runs into A-Jie and Wei Wuxian coming back into the room. Upon seeing Jin Zixuan inside, Wei Wuxian makes a face, and quickly steers A-Jie out of the room again.

“Jin Zixuan tried cooking for you again,” Jiang Cheng tells A-Jie off-handedly.

A-Jie looks over her shoulder as they lead her away, chuckling a little as she notices the container in his hands.

“He has a good heart,” she muses fondly.

Seeming to recall their confrontation, however, the smile soon slips off her face. She heaves a sigh. Wei Wuxian grits his teeth, and glares back over his shoulder. If he closes the door a little harder than strictly necessary, neither Jiang Cheng nor A-Jie comment on it. They do, however, trade knowing looks as Wei Wuxian continues to seethe.

“Wei Ying?” comes a quiet voice. “Are you alright?”

Wei Wuxian’s scowl dissipates immediately, replaced by a delighted grin.

“Lan Zhan!” he cries.

Lan Wangji hugs a stack of papers to his chest, face just as expressionless as always as he nods his head in greeting to all of them. Wei Wuxian skips happily over to him, clinging to his sleeve.

“You weren’t around for filming,” he chirps. “I didn’t think I’d see you today.”

“I had been invited to an event by the Chinese Traditional Music Society,”^[3] he explains, before dropping his gaze, strangely shy. “There will be a Chinese orchestral performance tomorrow. Tickets have been sold out, but I managed to get a pair of tickets through a professional contact. I— thought you might enjoy the performance.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen.

“Of course,” Lan Wangji continues quickly at his silence, “I understand if you would prefer to spend more time with your sister while she’s still here.”

Wei Wuxian seems to snap out of his shock.

“No, no!” he cries. “Of course, I’ll go! What time? Is there a dress code?”

Lan Wangji lets out a nearly imperceptible breath, face relaxing a little.

“Dress however you feel most comfortable in. Let’s meet at the concierge at 7PM,” he says, before hesitating. “Though, it is a formal event. So nothing too outlandish.”

“Right,” Wei Wuxian breathes. “Of course.”

With a last nod to A-Jie and Jiang Cheng, Lan Wangji hugs his papers more securely, and hurries away. Wei Wuxian waits for him to disappear around the corner, before turning to them with a wondering smile on his face.

“I’m going to the opera!” he cries.

“I’m going to the opera,” Wei Wuxian says with numb dread the next morning.

Jiang Cheng stands in the doorway, looking helplessly at the war zone Wei Wuxian’s room has become. When he had woken up that morning, Wei Wuxian had already been up for once, and ransacking desperately through his wardrobe.

“All of the nice clothes I brought are for clubs,” he says despairingly, throwing aside a mesh shirt, “not for classical performances!”

“Since when have you cared about etiquette and dress codes?” Jiang Cheng asks helplessly.

“Lan Zhan said he got the tickets through a professional contact,” he frets, putting on a white shirt, only to pull it off with a groan as he notices the plunging neckline. “That means his professional circle must be performing. I don’t want to reflect badly on him.”

“What if you borrow one of A-Cheng’s suits!” A-Jie cries.

They hurry into Jiang Cheng’s room, and begin pulling out his suits. Wei Wuxian begins to pull on a somewhat conservative black and white suit, struggling a little to get his arms in.

“You’re broader than I am,” Jiang Cheng observes.

“I can still wear it,” Wei Wuxian mutters, and with a little twist of his shoulders, manages to slip into the jacket. “How does it look on me?”

There’s a moment of silence.

“You don’t look like you,” A-Jie admits. “This color is a little severe.”

Jiang Cheng dives into his wardrobe, pushing through the countless hangers, eventually emerging with a burgundy suit.

“This might be better,” he offers. “This is the least conservative one I have. The cutting is a little more modern too.”

Wei Wuxian shrugs off the black jacket, and begins to struggle into the purple.

“This one’s even tighter,” he observes, voice strained.

“Modern means slim-cut,” Jiang Cheng clarifies.

After a bit of a struggle, Wei Wuxian manages to get into the jacket. The fabric wrinkles unflatteringly across his chest, and his shoulders are slightly hunched up, as if constrained by the garment.

“How does it look?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“Ill-fitting,” Jiang Cheng answers honestly.

“Wear one of the more conservative cut jackets,” A-Jie instructs. “You’ll be able to fit better into one of those. You can pair it with a more brightly colored shirt.”

“Good idea!” Wei Wuxian says gratefully.

Over the few hours, Wei Wuxian tries on every single suit in Jiang Cheng’s wardrobe. The ones that suit him don’t fit him, and the ones that fit him don’t suit him. They eventually settle him in a dark blue suit, improvising with buttoning, unbuttoning, tucking, untucking, but nothing looks quite right.

By lunch, Jiang Cheng throws in the towel.

“I’m calling Huaisang for help,” he says.

Nie Huaisang comes over immediately. For the next half an hour, he fruitlessly tries the same tactics as they had while A-Jie cooks up a quick lunch; tucking and untucking, buttoning and unbuttoning, rolling and unrolling the sleeves. 

“I’m meeting Lan Zhan in five hours,” Wei Wuxian notes, panic creeping into his voice.

Before he can give in to despair, however, Nie Huaisang determinedly pulls out his measuring tape.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” he says coolly.

Nie Huaisang quickly takes Wei Wuxian’s measurements, and then rushes off while Wei Wuxian showers and tries to tame his hair.

“Do you think my hair is too messy?” he asks.

“I think it looks charming,” A-Jie offers.

“Maybe I should gel it back,” Wei Wuxian mutters.

“No gel unless you want to look like a drowned rat,” Jiang Cheng intervenes quickly. “Maybe a bit of mousse to tame the flyaways. Here, I’ll help.”

Wei Wuxian sits on the floor in front of the couch while Jiang Cheng carefully runs his mousse-covered hands through his damp locks. Finally, with half an hour left, Nie Huaisang comes rushing back in with the completed suit. Jiang Cheng barely gets a glimpse of it before Wei Wuxian is locking the bathroom door behind him.

When he comes out, however, Jiang Cheng has to double-take. The suit is perfectly fitted to the contours of Wei Wuxian’s body, highlighting his broad shoulders, and the way they taper down into a narrow waist. The body of the jacket is a conservative black, but the lapel is made of dark red chinese brocade.

A-Jie gasps into her hands as Nie Huaisang circles him, tugging his sleeves into place with a smug look.

“You look good,” Jiang Cheng tells him.

Wei Wuxian looks down at himself, a pleased flush under his high cheekbones, and grins.

 “Yeah,” he agrees breathlessly, and looks to Nie Huaisang gratefully. “Thank you, Huaisang-xiong.”

They walk him down to the lobby, A-Jie occasionally reaching to adjust his collar, or stroke his cheek with a proud smile. As they enter the lobby, Jiang Cheng immediately spots Lan Xichen’s broad back out on the tarmac. His head is bent, and he seems to be pinning something to the front of his brother’s suit.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian calls.

Lan Xichen turns at the cry, before he steps aside, smiling. Lan Wangji stands with his hands clasped shyly in front of him, clad in a light grey suit, surprisingly modern in cut, with a white peony pinned to his collar. 

Jiang Cheng hears an intake of breath from beside him as Wei Wuxian walks slowly down the stairs towards him. 

“Oh wow,” he breathes. “You look amazing, Lan Zhan.” 

Despite his stoic expression, Lan Wangji somehow seems equally dazed. His eyes follow Wei Wuxian as he comes down the stairs, not flickering away for even a moment. 

“You look…” he begins, and then lowers his eyes, flushing a little, “nice too.” 

Wei Wuxian grins.

“Thank you, I—“ he begins, before blinking “Oh! Your— your boutonniere is slanted. Here, I’ll fix it for you.” 

Taking a step in, Wei Wuxian straightens the peony, head bent, expression focused. When he looks up, however, he finally seems to realize just how closely they are standing. His eyes widen.

They stand there for a long moment, bare inches from one another, until a clatter rings out. They turn around to see A-Jie bending to pick something up.

“Don’t mind me,” she says, with an airy laugh. “I just dropped my lipstick.”

“Ah!” Lan Xichen cries then, clapping his hands. “Wangji, you should leave now, or you won’t be able to say hello to the performers before the performance!”

Lan Wangji looks back down at Wei Wuxian.

“Mm,” he says.

And with that, the two of them head off.

Excitement over, Jiang Cheng heads back to his suite, A-Jie in tow. He takes out his notebook, determined to work on his song lyrics while she slowly begins to roll out the dough for some tang yuan, expression thoughtful.

“Those two…” she murmurs.

She trails off, and does not complete her sentence, only sighing before she turns to Jiang Cheng with a smile.

“Are you feeling better, A-Cheng?” she inquires gently. “I know you’ve been stressed out about your debut. I only wish I could help you, but…”

“You being here is help enough,” Jiang Cheng responds immediately.

“I’m glad,” she says.

She sets down the rolling pin, and begins to wrap the tang yuan. After a moment, Jiang Cheng abandons his notebook, and goes to help her. The familiar pinching and rolling motions are soothing, complicated thoughts and complex emotions draining slowly away, leaving him with a serene clarity.

“I’ve been thinking,” he murmurs, “whether I should invite Mom and Dad to my debut.”

A-Jie looks up, surprised.

“Why not?” she asks.

Jiang Cheng keeps his eyes down, pinching the dough closed around a lump of ground peanuts.

“I’m afraid that I will flop,” he admits.

After a moment, A-Jie resumes her pinching motions.

“Even if I tell you that you won’t,” she says, “you will continue to worry that you will. That’s understandable. But if you flop, even if they are not physically there, your debut will be televised, so they will see it anyway. If you want them to be there, then do not worry about whether you flop or not. Ask them to come.”

Her words should be anxiety-inducing, but instead, they are strangely relieving. It’s true. Even if he doesn’t invite them, they will see anyway. It’s oddly liberating to have the choice taken out of his hands.

“I want to ask Dad to give me a stage name,” Jiang Cheng admits.

“That sounds meaningful,” A-Jie comments. “Why don’t you call home to invite Mom and Dad, and ask him about a stage name while you’re at it?”

Completing his tang yuan, Jiang Cheng sets it aside, and starts on a new one.

“I’ll do that,” he agrees.

They finish the tang yuan, and make a paste of ground walnuts to go with it. Scooping out a bowl each, they settle on the couch to wait for Wei Wuxian’s return. They are watching a movie, A-Jie with her legs curled under her, and Jiang Cheng dozing against the armrest, when he finally returns.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” he says, surprised, as he catches sight of them.

“We made some tang yuan, and I didn’t want you to burn this building down trying to heat it up,” A-Jie explains, heading into the kitchen to do just that.

Wei Wuxian picks up Jiang Cheng’s empty bowl, and brightens.

“Walnut paste?” he guesses.

“Mmhm.”

There’s a click, and the sounds of a fire whooshing to life. After a moment, A-Jie’s voice floats out to them.

“Why did nobody tell me that my little brother has a boyfriend now?” she asks mildly.

Wei Wuxian drops the bowl.

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng shouts, and picks the bowl up, checking for stains. “I just cleaned the carpet!”

But Wei Wuxian does not seem to hear him.

“What?!” he splutters. “No! Lan Zhan isn’t my— my boyfriend. He’s just a friend!”

A-Jie does not turn around.

“Oh?” she asks.

Wei Wuxian looks frantically to Jiang Cheng, but Jiang Cheng is too busy scrubbing at the carpet. Wei Wuxian turns helplessly back to A-Jie.

“I’m— I’m not gay, A-Jie,” he says. “You know this! I’ve had crushes on girls before!”

By this point, Jiang Cheng can’t bear to listen anymore. He abandons the stain with a groan, goes into the kitchen, and sets the bowl forcefully down in the sink.

“Haven’t you ever heard of something called bisexuality?!” he shouts.

And, storming past a gobsmacked Wei Wuxian, he slams his bedroom door behind him. 

The next morning, he comes out of his room to find Wei Wuxian sitting alone on the couch.

“Why the fuck are you sitting in the dark?” he grumbles sleepily, and feels along the wall for the light switch. “Where’s A-Jie? Did you send her to the station without waking me?”

The lights come on. 

Jiang Cheng turns around, and double-takes. Wei Wuxian is staring at the wall opposite him blankly. He looks like he hasn’t slept all night. Alarmed, Jiang Cheng waves a hand in front of his face.

“Hello?” he demands. “Anyone home?”

Wei Wuxian blinks once, before he turns, very slowly, to face him.

“Jiang Cheng,” he says hoarsely. “I’m bisexual.”

Jiang Cheng can get barely a word out of him after that, no matter how he coaxes and cajols, snaps and prods.

“I’m heading off for training with Wen Qing,” he finally says, setting a bowl of cereal in front of his catatonic brother. “Can you pull yourself together by the time I come back? I’m going to call Mom and Dad to invite them to the debut.”

Wei Wuxian does not answer. 

When Jiang Cheng returns two hours later, however, he does look considerably more present. He is washed up and shaven, a strange look of… acceptance? in his eyes. There’s a determined set to his shoulders as he sets up his laptop for the call. His familiar grin is back as well, even if it’s a little more muted than usual.

“Congratulations on the debut, A-Xian!” Father cries excitedly, the moment the call connects. “I heard young Ning Yingying’s single has made the top 100s charts!”

Jiang Cheng blinks. 

Ah, yes. Ning Yingying had finally made her debut under Wei Records after Wei Wuxian had sorted the launch with Professor Qi’s help. With all the recent happenings, Jiang Cheng hasn’t been following her debut. She had made the top 100s?

“It’s all thanks to Jiang Cheng’s help,” Wei Wuxian demurs, smiling at Jiang Cheng. “I was really lost with all the business stuff. Jiang Cheng spent so much time doing research and talking through the details with me. I don’t know what I would have done without him.”

“That’s so good to hear,” Father says warmly. “What are your plans for Wei Records now?”

“Well, Yingying hopes to launch an EP soon, so we are in talks for that. Professor Shen has also introduced a second client to me.”

“That’s spectacular,” Father praises, beaming, before turning his attention to Jiang Cheng. “And how are you, son? How is training going?”

“Good,” Jiang Cheng answers. “My debut performance will be on the Saturday after the next. That’s the reason I arranged this call.”

He hesitates, turning to Wei Wuxian, who grins at him encouragingly. He smiles in return.

“Mom, Dad,” he begins, and flushes a little. “Would you… like to come and watch my debut performance?”

Father’s face falls. He turns to Mother, before turning back to Jiang Cheng apologetically.

“Oh, A-Cheng,” he begins sadly. “I’m so sorry. Your mother and I will be out of China on a business trip that day.”

It feels like a bucket of cold water has been thrown over his head. Jiang Cheng sits there for a moment, shocked mute. 

Can’t you cancel it? he wants to ask, but when he opens his mouth, the words don’t come.

The words don’t come.

There is a warm hand on his back, rubbing discreetly. He barely registers the rest of the conversation, barely registers Wei Wuxian desperately filling the silence for him, guiding the conversation to a close.

“Wait,” he somehow manages to choke out, before they hang up. “I haven’t chosen a stage name yet. I was just— Dad, do you— do you have any suggestions?”

He bites his lip, closing his eyes. The hand on his back grows firmer in its stroking. When he opens his eyes, a moment later, Father looks visibly at a loss.

“You can be whoever you want to be, son,” he says, with a helpless smile.

Jiang Cheng goes silent.

He does not register the end of the call.

He sits there in silence for a long moment, before he stands, opens the closet, and turns on the vacuum. This time however, the roar of the vacuum does nothing to chase away the thoughts. They continue to echo numbly inside him.

The question that keeps repeating in the silence of his mind is why? He’s come so far. He’s done so much. Isn’t he being the son that Father had always wanted? So why is it still not enough for him to notice? Why is it still not enough for him to care?  

The answer threatens to upend him.

Perhaps in the end, it is not about the music at all. Perhaps in the end, it is simply because Jiang Cheng is Jiang Cheng and not Wei Wuxian, simply because he is not the son his father had wanted, not born of the woman he had loved. The same things that Wei Wuxian had done, that had garnered endless praise, are worthless when accomplished by Jiang Cheng. Perhaps it is because he is not the smiling, charismatic child that father had wanted, always scowling, always angry.

Too much like the woman who birthed him.

Unlikable.

Unsatisfactory.

Unwanted.

Four years ago, he had left home in search of the things he found missing in himself. Now, however, he can admit that a good part of what he had been looking for was to be wanted, to be approved of. It has been four years, and everything he has accomplished in Beijing has done nothing to earn the approval he had set out to obtain. 

Two months ago, he had left Beijing in an effort to prove his worth. Yet now, it has become apparent that nothing he can and will accomplish here will earn his father’s regard. He is beginning to wonder if anything he does will ever earn his father’s approval.

What’s the point then? he wonders emptily. What am I doing here?

He vacuums for hours, numb on the inside, the roar of the machine going on and on until eventually, it seems Wei Wuxian can stand it no longer.

“Jiang Cheng,” he murmurs, catching Jiang Cheng’s arm. “Jiang Cheng, stop.”

“Get lost,” Jiang Cheng says.

“Jiang Cheng, please,” Wei Wuxian whispers. “You’re— You’re crying.”

He is.

Resentment suddenly breaks through the despair. Jiang Cheng dashes his tears away, and shoves Wei Wuxian, hard.

“Get lost!” he shouts. “You’re the last person I want to see right now! Get out!”

His voice cracks.

Wei Wuxian backs away, eyes wide and lost. After a moment, he opens the front door quietly, and leaves the suite. Jiang Cheng turns back to his vacuuming.

After about fifteen minutes, the door opens.

“I thought I told you to get lost!” Jiang Cheng explodes.

When he does not hear him leaving, he whips around furiously, intending to give Wei Wuxian a piece of his mind. The person standing in the doorway, however, is not Wei Wuxian.

It is Lan Xichen.

The door clicks shut behind him.

In Jiang Cheng’s hands, the vacuum continues to howl. His tears suddenly feel like liquid fire on his face, and he quickly turns his face away, wiping his cheeks dry.

Lan Xichen walks slowly into the room. After a moment, he goes into the kitchen, and emerges with the same dishrag as last time. They clean together in silence for a long while, no words, only the machine roar of the vacuum. The tears just won’t seem to stop, even though he wipes them constantly away, ashamed to be seen crying. After half an hour, Lan Xichen lays a hand on his shoulder.

“Please turn that off,” he requests quietly.

Jiang Cheng complies. 

The room is so quiet without the sounds of the vacuum to fill it. He staggers over to the couch and sinks heavily into it, burying his face in his hands. After a moment, the couch creaks as Lan Xichen settles down next to him.

“I’ve never been good at words,” Jiang Cheng says then. “I’ve never been good at talking, at expressing myself honestly.”

He laughs, bitterly.

“You’d think that a person who doesn’t talk wouldn’t hate silence as much as I do,” he continues. “In the silence, my thoughts speak so loudly. Still, I can never find the voice to chatter away the silence, to chase away the spiral of my own thoughts. I do not have a voice, so I use the roar of the vacuum to drown it all out. I do not have a voice, but by turning this thing on, I can still establish my presence. I can still say: I am here. You will hear what I have to say.”

He swallows.

“But some things have to be expressed in words,” he says emptily, and chuckles. “Words that I never seem to have the capacity to speak. When I try, they choke up inside of me, and I can’t seem to say anything at all. When I try, an inexplicable fear stops me from expressing the things I want to say. I always freeze up, so afraid, so silenced. I don’t have the words to write my story. I don’t have the words to sing my song. I don’t have the words to ask my father: please— will you look at me?”

With that, it’s like a dam breaks inside him, and he begins to sob. He closes his eyes, shaking his head. Lan Xichen just sits beside him, not saying a word, comforting in his silent presence.

“I came onto the show hoping that it would help me to find my voice,” he sobs, “hoping that it would finally get my father to look at me. But even after everything I’ve done, he still doesn’t care, and I’m beginning to wonder if I should give up, if I should just be satisfied with silence, if I should just accept my lot in life, if I should just let myself be slowly forgotten. But I don’t want to be forgotten, you know? Who wants to be forgotten?”

“But I won’t forget,” Lan Xichen says fiercely.

Jiang Cheng blinks, and slowly raises his head from his hands. Lan Xichen looks back at him, unsmiling, expression serious.

“Even if you were to go silent, I will never forget your voice,” he continues. “I’ve heard it only once, but it touched me then, somewhere deep inside, and I know it’ll never leave me. You still don’t seem to understand just how special your voice is. When you sing the emotions inside of you, I think there’s not a person in this world who wouldn’t stop to listen.”

Jiang Cheng stares at him for a moment. There’s a warmth spreading slowly inside him, thawing the ice in his heart, and bringing him slowly back to himself.

“Would you name me?” he blurts out.

Lan Xichen blinks.

“My stage name,” Jiang Cheng clarifies. “Would you give one to me?”

“Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Xichen responds immediately. “That was the name that came to me when I first heard you sing. For your darkness, and your grace. For the way you sounds like poetry when you sing, like your soul is speaking through your song, even in the absence of words.”

“Jiang Wanyin,” Jiang Cheng repeats, with some wonderment. It’s a graceful name.

“Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Xichen confirms, and smiles, laying a hand on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. “I would dearly love to hear you sing again. Your voice haunts me. Please, do not give up.”

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

After Lan Xichen leaves, he takes out his notebook, and begins to write. He writes for hours, the words coming slowly at first, and then more swiftly, until they pour from him. Alone in the room, he shuts his eyes, and begins to sing.

When he is finally done, he caps his pen, and stands. It is only then that he realizes that, somewhere in his reverie, Wei Wuxian had returned. He comes out of the kitchen with tear-stained cheeks, carrying a steaming bowl of tom yum instant noodles.

“You haven’t eaten,” he explains weakly, setting the bowl down on the table.

The soup looks slightly congealed, the noodles breaking apart — the noodles have been severely over-cooked. Wei Wuxian winces as Jiang Cheng stands abruptly, walking past him without saying anything. He startles, however, as Jiang Cheng returns with a second pair of chopsticks.

“Family eats together,” Jiang Cheng says, and holds out the chopsticks.

“Right,” Wei Wuxian chokes, taking them from him. “Family eats together.”

Without further conversation, they sit down at the table, and begin to eat.

Chapter Text

When the sun rises above the horizon, the morning light breaking gently over Suzhou, Jiang Cheng is already in the auditorium with Wen Qing. The week since he had submitted his lyrics has been busy. Wen Qing had approved the song with little fanfare, little comment, and had extended their lesson time even earlier to get more practice time in. While he and Wei Wuxian had initially needed to touch up the melody to better suit the lyrics, the song had been quickly completed. All that’s left to do is record the backing track.

Wei Wuxian proves helpful once more in that.

Songwriting classes have ceased in light of the coming debut, giving all contestants more time to get ready. As a result, he and Wei Wuxian spend most of their days in the recording studio, initially recording, then editing, sitting together with an earphone each.

“Can we go louder here?” Jiang Cheng asks. “This line is supposed to be angry.”

“Got it,” Wei Wuxian says, clicking away at the editing software. “Where do you want the climax to happen?”

“Once at the end of the first chorus?” Jiang Cheng answers. “Then again during the second chorus, even stronger for the bridge, and it keeps getting louder until the end.”

“Okay, got it,” Wei Wuxian says, and continues to click.

Debut aside, however, Jiang Cheng soon becomes aware of a surprising something. 

Despite the events of the previous week, there has been no change between Wei Wuxian and his apparent crush. They continue to have their arguments over coffee. Wei Wuxian continues to tease and prod. But there have been no further developments.

“You like him,” Jiang Cheng broaches one day, alone with his brother in the music room.

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian admits.

“But you haven’t told him,” Jiang Cheng points out.

“No,” Wei Wuxian confirms.

He says nothing more, and after a moment, Jiang Cheng rubs at his face, heaving a sigh.

“Just tell him,” he grumbles. “He clearly fancies you.”

Wei Wuxian chuckles.

“Yeah, but I don’t just fancy him,” he mutters.

“Huh?"

Wei Wuxian continues to click away at his laptop for so long that Jiang Cheng almost thinks that he will not answer. Then he huffs, gaze fixed pointedly on his computer screen.

“I want to spend the rest of my life making music with him,” he explains, still turned away. “I want to grow old with him, Jiang Cheng. I want to wake up by his side, every single day, until the day I die.”

He laughs, the sound self-deprecating.

“I’ve been oblivious to myself this whole time,” he continues, “and when I finally realized what I was feeling, I was already in too deep. I don’t even know if I can crawl my way back out now.”

Finally, he turns to meet Jiang Cheng’s eye.

“I love him, Jiang Cheng,” he says. “I’m in love with him.”

To say that had not shaken him would be a lie. There had always been crushes, superficial little things, but Wei Wuxian had always confessed quickly, been rejected quickly, moved on quickly with just a laugh and a shrug. There has never been a third person. There has only been the two of them. In all their twenty-one years of life, he has never heard anything as serious as that confession come out of his mouth — Jiang Cheng, I’m in love with him.

And the thing is — he’s pretty sure Lan Wangji fancies Wei Wuxian in at least a superficial way. But putting Wei Wuxian’s heart in his hand, and asking him to make a gamble on the depth of Lan Wangji’s feelings? Wei Wuxian has always loved quickly, lost quickly, skipped on quickly. Yet somehow, Jiang Cheng just knows—

Lan Wangji is different.

He does not know what will happen if Lan Wangji does not feel the same. He does not know what will happen if Lan Wangji says no. Given that Wei Wuxian’s feelings run so deep, he can’t say for sure that telling Lan Wangji is the best way to go.

And so, he says nothing. 

Wei Wuxian says nothing.

They carry on.

Jiang Cheng continues to run into his fellow contestants, whether at meals, around the practice rooms, or even just in the corridors. Everyone is quiet; serious for once. Even Xue Yang, the one time Jiang Cheng had seen him, had his earphones in over his food.

Meanwhile, the crew is going into overdrive as well: the Lan brothers frantically memorizing their scripts, and Nie Huaisang bustling around, taking measurements and barking out orders in English. A small army of assistants seem to have materialized around him, running like headless chickens with measuring tapes and a seemingly endless supply of pins. At the eye of the storm, Nie Huaisang himself seems a little more frazzled than usual. It all comes to a head at the final costume fitting, as he checks over the fit for everyone’s costumes.

“Have you put on weight?” he asks the moment he sees Jin Zixun.

“Of course not!” Jin Zixun yelps, scandalized, and yet still trying to even out the deep wrinkles in his jacket.

Nie Huaisang steps forward, jerking the lapels sharply into place across Jin Zixun’s broad chest.

“It doesn’t fit,” he observes.

“Of course it does!” Jin Zixuan growls, and sucks his stomach in, managing to button the jacket with some difficulty. “See?!”

Nie Huaisang takes a deep breath.

“It doesn’t fit,” he repeats.

“What’s your problem?!” Jin Zixun snaps. “You were the one who supervised the measurements and I certainly haven’t gained weight, so maybe you measured it wrongly!”

Finally, Nie Huaisang seems to snap.

“That’s impossible!” he snarls. “How dare you!”

Jin Zixun opens his mouth to argue, but wisely shuts up as Nie Huaisang jabs a pair of fabric scissors at him.

“You were sucking in when my employee measured you, weren’t you?!” he demands, and groans, gripping at his hair. “Of all the— This isn’t the time to be vain, Zixun! If the garment had turned out too big, we could always alter it, but now it’s too small! We need to remake the whole thing!”

He turns around.

“Who the fuck fitted him for the toile?!”^[1] he shouts in English.

Jiang Cheng winces as the other tailors come running. The one who had originally been trying to fit Jin Zixun raises her hand slowly, looking on the verge of tears. Nie Huaisang beckons her over sharply, turning to Jin Zixun to take the garment off him. Then, to Jiang Cheng’s surprise, he just takes a deep breath, and begins to quietly explain something to her in English, pointing at various parts of the garment.

Jin Zixuan puts a hand on his cousin’s back as they draw away from the pair, Mo Xuanyu and Jin Guangyao crowding closer.

“It’s alright, cousin,” Jin Zixuan murmurs. “I’ve already said you look fine. Relax and let them take a proper measurement, alright?”

“Sorry,” Jin Zixun says miserably.

“It’s okay. We can work on getting more in shape after the debut.”

Jiang Cheng winces, heading to the other side of the room with Wei Wuxian. He’s definitely not in the best shape of his life either, what with the intense training and filming schedule, and working overtime to prepare for the debut. He hates to say it, but he kinda relates with Jin Zixun on this one.

Nie Huaisang comes to join them after he’s done, collapsing into a chair and draping a magazine over his face while the assistant measures Jin Zixun again.

“Are you alright, Huaisang-xiong?” Wei Wuxian asks, concerned.

“I’m fine,” Nie Huaisang groans under the magazine. “Just a little stressed, as is everyone else.”

“I’ve never seen you quite this stressed,” Jiang Cheng observes.

Finally, Nie Huaisang plucks the magazine of his face, and sighs.

“Da-ge is coming for the debut to support Xichen-ge,” he admits, and then chuckles wryly. “He’s probably also here to secretly check up on Yao-ge and I.”

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian trade looks. 

No wonder Nie Huaisang is stressed. Back in middle school, nothing had quite motivated him to study as the threat of his brother’s ire.

“Good luck,” Jiang Cheng tells him, patting him on the thigh.

By the end of the week, the frantic flurry of activity dies down. The bulk of the preparations are over. The costumes are done. The scripts are memorized. The stage is set. Soon, the invited guests begin to arrive for the debut, A-Jie the first of them all.

“Jiejie!” Mo Xuanyu cries, running out into the carpark. “You came!”

“Even if A-Cheng weren’t performing,” A-Jie says fondly, tweaking his nose, “I had to come after you sent me such a fervent invite.”

Full-dress rehearsals soon begin. They are not allowed to view the performances of other contestants, apparently for ‘better authenticity of contestant responses’ when they film on the debut day.

Backstage, Nie Huaisang puts the finishing touches on his outfit, while Jiang Cheng peers out of the wings. The lights are on and the stage is set, but there is no one in the audience. Jiang Cheng had asked his siblings not to attend.

I want you to hear it for the first time when it’s perfect, he had explained stubbornly. Not when they are still trying to get the lights and the staging right.

Nie Huaisang finishes adjusting the fall of elaborate pleating running down the front of his black turtleneck, and buttons up the burgundy jacket. Then, the make-up artist steps in to dust something shiny over his cheekbones, before stepping back.

He meets eyes with Wen Qing, standing slightly back from it all.

“Do you think I’m ready?” he asks quietly.

Wen Qing looks at him, her eyes strangely bright in the gloom of the wings, and swallows. After a moment, she nods.

“Go get them, tiger,” she whispers, smiling.

Feeling strangely choked up, Jiang Cheng nods in return, before he gestures to Lan Xichen, signaling that he is ready to begin. Lan Xichen nods, before speaking into his microphone.

“He’s ready. Action.”

The week feels strangely calm.

It feels almost like a dream, all of them walking around as if in a daze, not speaking, barely looking at each other. Mianmian’s girl group, when he had encountered them sitting in the lounge, had been uncharacteristically devoid of chatter. When Mo Ziyuan and Mo Xuanyu had bumped shoulders going into the restaurant mid-week, they had mumbled an absent apology, and went their separate ways. Even Wen Chao’s loud boasting had stopped on day two, after his blustering had been met with dead silence from the room.

It just doesn’t feel real that the debut could be so near.

Still, one day blends into another, and soon, the week is over. They take a break from rehearsals on the day before the debut, and seeing the lifeless state of them all, Lan Xichen declares an impromptu trip out into Suzhou again.

That is, unexpectedly, enough to break the group into some semblance of their usual liveliness. The chatter, the squabbling, the chaos creeps slowly back as they gather in the parking lot, filing into the chartered bus like children like a school trip. The mood is fully restored when Xue Yang tries to stick his head out of the window halfway through the bus ride to yell at a honking driver.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” A-Qing shrieks, reaching over the back of his chair to grab him. “Do you want to be beheaded by a car?!”

“I’m the one who’ll be beheading that car!” Xue Yang howls.

Two seats down, Jin Guangyao jumps out of his seat. He and A-Qing vainly attempt to wrestle Xue Yang back into the bus; one step forward, one step back, and making no real progress. The disruption is eventually resolved under Nie Mingjue’s decisive hand. There is simply no arguing with a six foot three giant when he’s made a decision to keep you in your seat.

Nie Mingjue sits beside Xue Yang for the rest of the ride.

When they pile out of the bus near the market, they are all laughing and hollering again. This time, it appears that Lan Xichen has planned some kind of food trail. He cheerfully heads the entourage, standing at the front and occasionally calling for stragglers to keep up, while Lan Wangji brings up the rear. With Nie Mingjue around, he, Jin Guangyao, and Lan Xichen seem stuck together like magnets. And like a chain of magnets, Mo Xuanyu trails happily after Jin Guangyao, A-Jie flocking habitually with them. Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian are inevitably pulled along after, with Nie Huaisang tagging along.

Behind them, Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun follow at a slight distance. Jiang Cheng does not miss the forlorn looks he is throwing at A-Jie, and from the nasty looks Wei Wuxian is sending back at him, neither does Wei Wuxian. They crowd closer to A-Jie, guarding her back, and scowling pointedly back at Jin Zixuan.

After about fifteen minutes, the magnet chain is forcefully broken as Mo Xuanyu drags Jin Guangyao bodily over to them. Older, but a full ten centimeters shorter, there’s not much Jin Guangyao can do but attempt to look dignified while being all but carried.

“Meng Yao!” Nie Mingjue growls, sounding inordinately frustrated. “What the fuck are you doing now?! Get over—“

Lan Xichen lays a gentle hand on his arm, and he quiets immediately, expression softening as he turns to Lan Xichen.

“A- Yu,” Jin Guangyao hisses.

“I don’t like the way he talks to you,” Mo Xuanyu says angrily.

“Da-ge is just like that,” Jin Guangyao assures him tiredly. “He has an abrasive personality. Don’t take it to heart.”

“He’s not just like that,” Mo Xuanyu disagrees. “If he can treat Lan-laoshi so tenderly, like a precious pearl on the palm of his hand, why can’t he talk to you properly?”

Jin Guangyao exhales forcefully.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says dismissively.

As they enter the first stop on their food trail, a dumpling restaurant, they unfortunately find themselves shown to the same table. Mo Xuanyu manages to discreetly shove himself in front of Jin Guangyao, sitting down in the middle of him and Lan Xichen, and conveniently creating more distance between him and Nie Mingjue.

Nie Mingjue looks up from the menu.

“Well?” he begins coldly. “Why are you sitting all the way over there?”

“Da-ge,” Lan Xichen murmurs.

Nie Mingjue sighs, but drops it. Nie Huaisang gingerly sits down next to his own brother. As Lan Wangji appears, Wei Wuxian lets out a delighted cry, and pulls him into the seat beside him. Jiang Cheng takes the seat opposite Lan Xichen, leaning over to look at the menu Lan Xichen is holding.

They progress like this down the canal, stopping at various places for tea, street food, desserts, and more. At the end of the trail, however, the contestants finally manage to heckle Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji into bringing them to a bar. When Lan Xichen waffles, unable to decide between the many bars in the area (I’ve not been to any of them!), Nie Mingjue puts his foot down and picks one that he’s been to.

The bar is two streets down from the canal, cosy and dim in the rapidly darkening day. They settle down at a long table, and order their drinks enthusiastically. After the long week they’ve had, they deserve it. Jiang Cheng peruses the menu eagerly.

“You like whisky?” Nie Mingjue rumbles quietly, from beside him.

Jiang Cheng looks up, surprised to be so suddenly addressed.

“Yes,” he admits. “I like Japanese whisky.”

Nie Mingjue sits up.

“Da-ge likes Japanese whisky too,” Lan Xichen says, with a laugh.

“Try this one,” Nie Mingjue says, pointing. “I like this one.”

When Jiang Cheng looks up from the menu, Lan Xichen is watching him, eyes crinkled in a smile.

The drinks soon arrive. They sit there drinking, with the exception of the Lan brothers, getting rowdier and rowdier as the night progresses. Wei Wuxian’s laughter is only getting louder. When Jiang Cheng looks over, he sees his brother leaning into Lan Wangji’s side to whisper something into his ear, rocking back with laughter as Lan Wangji lets out one of his classic short responses. Wei Wuxian leans back in after a moment, absently putting his hand on Lan Wangji’s forearm. Jiang Cheng doesn’t know if he realizes how obvious he’s being.

Meanwhile, A-Jie leans into his side, smiling up at him when he looks down at her. He smiles back as she slots her hand into the crook of his arm. 

“Would you like another drink, ma’am?” the server asks, gesturing to her empty glass.

“No, thank you,” she replies.

The server takes her glass, with a little bow, and leaves. Jiang Cheng looks at his sister more carefully. She’s a little flushed, but is calm, in control. She’s always had a good sense of her own limits.

The same cannot be said for those on the other side of the table. Xue Yang and A-Qing are arm wrestling again, as Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan watch on, bemused. Mianmian and her girls are shrieking over something at the end of the table, laughing over someone’s phone. Two seats down from Jiang Cheng, Wen Chao stands with a loud cheer, and raises his glass in a toast.

His arm knocks Wen Ning’s drink over with such force that it skids a little, something sweet-smelling splashing over onto the Jin’s side of the table. Jin Zixun stands up, yanking Jin Zixuan away before his shirt can be stained.

“Zixuan, did you get wet?” he demands.

“I’m so sorry!” Wen Ning gasps.

Jin Zixun waves him off, turning to Jin Guangyao.

“What are you doing?!” he snaps. “Hurry up and clean it up!”

Drawing a few tissues from a nearby tissue box, Jin Guangyao stands, and leans over. To Jiang Cheng’s surprise, however, Nie Mingjue’s face immediately grows dark. He’d been getting progressively mellower with each drink, but he stands now, with a thunderous scowl, and snatches the tissues from Jin Guangyao.

“What are you doing?!” he demands.

Jin Guangyao purses his lips.

“Someone asked me to clean,” he says, with stony dignity. “I am cleaning.” 

That only seems to make Nie Mingjue angrier.

“Can you not think for yourself?!” he explodes. “Gods, you’re literally the dumbest smart person I know.” 

He throws the tissues at Jin Zixun. 

“Clean it up yourself, you spoiled brat!” he snaps. “Do you not have hands?!”

Jin Zixun rocks back, mouth dropping open in shock.

“Mingjue!” Jin Guangyao snaps, and then sighs, turning to Jin Zixun. “It’s okay. I’ll clean it up.”

Scoffing, Nie Mingjue downs his whisky, and slams his glass down.

“Fine,” he says tightly. “If you don’t have any self-respect left, then I’m not going to fight your battles for you.” 

He storms outside, slamming the door shut with a bang. The door rattles in its frame.

There’s a moment of shocked silence, before Jin Guangyao exhales harshly. He snatches up the tissues that Nie Mingjue had left behind, and mops up as much of the spill as he can, Wen Ning standing and quickly helping with the rest. Then, Jin Guangyao heads for the door.

“No, stay,” he says, when Lan Xichen stands. “I’ll talk to Da-ge.”

He goes outside. The door slams behind him, not quite as violently as when Nie Mingjue had left, but a slam all the same. The other side of the table soon go back to their laughing, shrieking, arm-wrestling. Jiang Cheng’s side of the table remains quiet for a while longer.

A server comes over, setting down a shot of vodka in front of Lan Wangji.

They just stare for a moment.

“Excuse me?!” Lan Xichen calls bewilderedly after the server’s retreating back. “My brother didn’t order this!”

“I ordered it!” Wei Wuxian chimes, and leans cheekily into Lan Wangji’s side. “Come on, Lan Zhan. You haven’t had a single sip all night! Won’t you drink with me?”

Lan Wangji picks up the shot glass— and downs it all at once.

Wei Wuxian’s jaw drops.

Then, expression never changing, Lan Wangji lays his head down on the table, and closes his eyes. He does not move again.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian whispers, tapping his shoulder. “Lan Zhan, are you okay?”

Lan Wangji does not reply.

“I think he’s passed out,” Jiang Cheng says.

Wei Wuxian turns to Lan Xichen, eyes wide and contrite.

“I am so sorry,” he says. “I did not know that he’d drink all of it, and I certainly did not know that this would happen.”

“It’s alright,” Lan Xichen says, looking surprised as well. “Even I did not know this would happen.”

He stands.

“I suppose I will bring my brother back. Please enjoy the rest of your night!”

Wei Wuxian stands.

“No, no, no,” he insists. “This is my fault. I’ll bring him back.”

“We can all leave together,” Jiang Cheng says, finishing his drink. “I shouldn’t drink too much. I don’t want my throat to be dry during the debut tomorrow. A-Jie, do you want to stay with Xuanyu?”

“I will head back with you,” A-Jie decides, and stands.

Hauling Lan Wangji between them, Lan Xichen and Wei Wuxian head out of the bar, Jiang Cheng and A-Jie holding the door open for them. They settle Lan Wangji on the curb, propped up against Wei Wuxian, while Lan Xichen books a ride back to the lodging house.

Lan Wangji wakes up as they are waiting for a driver to connect.

“Are you okay?” Wei Wuxian asks. “Nauseous? Do you have a headache? Do you need to throw up?”

“No,” Lan Wangji says steadily.

For a moment, Jiang Cheng almost believes that he’s sobered up. But then, he tucks his arms around Wei Wuxian’s waist, and nuzzles his cheek affectionately against Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. 

Gods, is he drunk. 

Wei Wuxian, on the other hand, looks like Chinese New Year came early and left him with a truckload of red packets.^[2] His face melts into the most disgustingly smitten expression Jiang Cheng has ever seen, and he immediately begins to fuss and coo.

“Do you have everything with you?” he asks gently. “Check your pockets, sweetheart. Do you have your wallet? Where are your keys?”

Not lifting his face off Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, Lan Wangji begins to feel around in his back pockets.

“Mm,” he says, and produces his wallet.

“Where’s your phone?”

There is only rustling for a good half a minute. Finally, Wei Wuxian speaks up.

“He left his phone at the bar. I’ll go get it.”

When he tries to get up, however, Lan Wangji lets out a quiet whine, tightening his hold.

“Oh, baby,” Wei Wuxian shushes. “It’s okay.”

He presses his lips to Lan Wangji’s forehead, rocking them forward and backward, humming a little. Feeling a little awkward, Jiang Cheng clears his throat.

“I’ll go get it,” he offers.

“I’ll go too,” A-Jie and Lan Xichen volunteer at the same time.

They stand up, heading back towards the bar. As Jiang Cheng passes the entwined couple, he leans down.

“Your feelings are showing,” he whispers.

Wei Wuxian startles, and straightens into a more appropriate embrace. The rest of them turn around the corner.

“I’m so sorry,” Jiang Cheng immediately says to Lan Xichen. “Wei Wuxian is always touchy when he’s been drinking.”

“It’s fine,” Lan Xichen assures him.

As they turn around the next corner and arrive at the bar’s entrance, someone bursts out of an alley two buildings down. A taller someone bursts out after them, catching them by the elbow. As their irate voices ring out, Jiang Cheng recognizes the voices. 

Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao are arguing a short distance away from the bar.

“I let you go because I respected your wish to be with family,” Nie Mingjue shouts. “But clearly family isn’t treating you right! Look at you!”

“What about me?” Jin Guangyao asks coldly. “Do you look down on me now, Director Nie?”

“I expected you’d get a position in Jin Guangshan’s advisory committee,” Nie Mingjue spits, “not be stuck as a glorified nanny for his spoiled brats! And still you refuse to leave him.”

Jin Guangyao sighs, clearly irritated.

“Am I a bonded slave you can command back whenever you wish?” he questions.

“No,” Nie Mingjue says. “You’re my friend.”

Jin Guangyao closes his eyes.

Lan Xichen tugs at Jiang Cheng. Shooting a meaningful look at A-Jie, they head into the bar, where Lan Xichen quickly finds Lan Wangji’s phone on his seat. They leave just as Jin Guangyao storms back in, slamming the door shut behind him. He does not even appear to notice Lan Xichen.

Outside, Nie Mingjue is nowhere in sight.

“What was—“ Jiang Cheng begins in a hiss.

“Don’t ask,” Lan Xichen and A-Jie say in unison, and then look to each other in surprise.

Of course, Jiang Cheng remembers suddenly. Jin Guangyao had probably confided in A-Jie about his problems with Director Nie and the other Jins. They quickly find their way back to the main road, where Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are still sitting on the curb, in a less suggestive position than before.

“The driver is almost here,” Lan Xichen announces.

A short drive later, they finally put Lan Wangji to bed.

“I’ll stay with him,” Wei Wuxian whispers, “at least until he’s sobered up.”

“Then I will retire for tonight,” A-Jie decides.

Leaving Wei Wuxian to watch lovingly by Lan Wangji’s bedside, Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng retreat to a nearby courtyard. The moon is full and hanging high in the sky. The tranquil sounds of crickets and falling water fill the night.

“I’ve never gone out partying,” Lan Xichen confesses suddenly, “or even had more than a glass of wine at an event. Our family has always had low alcohol tolerance. Wangji is no exception.”

“No shit,” Jiang Cheng agrees, and Lan Xichen laughs.

“But to be honest,” he continues, “I’ve always wanted to go a little crazy and explore! Being homeschooled for so long, I never really had that chance. In university, I was so serious about practicing that I always turned down opportunities to go out with other students. Maybe that’s why I didn’t make any overseas friends. But I’m afraid to drink in front of too many people. What if I get drunk and make a fool of myself?”

“Then let’s go get a bottle some time,” Jiang Cheng says immediately. “We'll drink in the auditorium, just you and I.”

Lan Xichen gasps, scandalized, but also seemingly delighted.

“After your debut,” he agrees, flushing. “It’ll be our private celebration.”

In the blink of an eye, he wakes to find that the day of the debut performances has come.

He’s in a daze for most of it, sitting stock still in the waiting room while Nie Huaisang obsessively straightens the pleats over his neck, and the make-up artist dusts glitter on his cheekbones. There’s a television screen in the waiting room broadcasting the debut. There are also two camera persons, filming their reactions to the performances.

Jiang Cheng catches himself appearing on that screen a few times. It’s a strange, almost out of body experience. He barely recognizes himself with his hair tied back, cheekbones sharp, eyes lined. He looks like he’s been carved from marble and stone, not flesh and blood.

“Oh, I’m on the screen,” he hears Mo Xuanyu say once, when the Jins appear.

The camera person freezes, a complicated expression coming onto her face. Jin Guangyao turns to Mo Xuanyu.

“A-Yu!” he hisses, aghast. “This is a live broadcast! They can’t edit that out!”

The performances pass in a blur. After the first few performances, the camera crew begin leaving Jiang Cheng alone, realizing that after half an hour of stillness, his expressions are probably not going to be changing anytime soon. He finally snaps out of it, however, when the backstage manager steps into the waiting room at the beginning of the Wen band’s performance.

“The Gold Ones,” she reads off her itinerary. “You’re up next. Contestant Jiang, please get ready. You will go after them.”

The Jins pale.

“Jiayou,”^[3] A-Jie whispers to Mo Xuanyu, stroking his cheek as he passes.

Jin Zixuan looks forlornly at her, before tapping Mo Xuanyu on the shoulder.

“Xuanyu,” he hisses, meaningfully.

Mo Xuanyu startles out of his daze.

“Right,” he says, and turns to A-Jie. “Jiejie, you’ll watch us, won’t you? Please?”

“Of course,” A-Jie indulges.

As the Jins file out of the room, applause swells over the television. Jiang Cheng looks up to see that the Wens have taken the stage, and are adjusting their microphones. A moment later, the drummer draws a nervous breath, and begins to hammer away at the cymbals.

Wei Wuxian winces as Wen Chao and Wen Ning begin to sing, Wen Chao coming in slightly off-beat. Wen Ning immediately readjusts to harmonize with him. Although the tempo is fast, the melody is familiar, and it takes Jiang Cheng a while to realize why.

It’s the song they’d heard Wen Ning sing in the gym.

“Wen Ning sang it better,” Wei Wuxian mutters.

It’s not a biased opinion.

In Wen Ning’s dulcet tones, every word had been filled with lyricism and emotional complexity. The melody had carried so gracefully, and harbored so much grief and anger. In Wen Chao’s too-loud voice, the song sounds boasting, arrogant, and one-dimensional. Jiang Cheng can hear the ghost of the song it was supposed to be behind the enthusiastic clanging of cymbals and the artless banging of piano keys. They’ve taken Wen Ning’s ballad and turned it into some lifeless pop anthem.

“It’s a good song,” Wei Wuxian notes unhappily, “but the execution is terrible.”

“At least it’s catchy,” A-Jie manages, clearly fishing for something nice to say. “Though I do think the lyrics would have gone better if it had been a ballad.”

On screen, the audience claps and cheers as the song draws to a close. Wen Chao blows a kiss with an exaggerated wink, and in the front row, a young woman screams his name, giggling shrilly. It’s his girlfriend, Wang Lingjiao. A bar hostess and small-time nude model, their relationship had been quite the scandal amongst the upper rungs of Chinese elite families when the news had broken. In the times he’s seen her at banquets and conferences, Jiang Cheng has never had a good impression of her.

The judges give their comments. Their verdict is similar to Wei Wuxian’s — good song, terrible execution. One of the judges praises the lyrics extensively, conveying frustration that the mood of the song had not matched the mood of the lyrics. Wen Chao seems to shrug her criticism off, however, with a discreet roll of his eyes.

As the Wen band file off the stage, Jin Zixuan, Jin Zixun, and Mo Xuanyu take the spotlight next. Shaking, visibly nervous, Jin Zixuan fumbles with the microphone for a few moments, before seemingly giving up on the stand, and yanking the microphone out from the clamp.

“This was not the song we originally wrote for debut,” he begins frankly. “This is a song I wrote more recently, about a girl that I’ve slowly… developed feelings for. I hope that she’s watching, and if she’s watching, I hope she may find it in herself to give me another chance. Everyone, this is You Are The Reason.”

Jiang Cheng turns excitedly to A-Jie as Mo Xuanyu begins the opening of the song, fingers soft on the piano keys. To his surprise, however, A-Jie is looking down into her lap, fingers clenched in her skirt. She looks like she’s holding back tears— and not in happiness, like Jiang Cheng had expected.

“A-Jie,” he begins.

A-Jie puts her finger to her lips, shaking her head.

“Don’t interrupt the performance,” she murmurs.

Before he can argue, the backstage manager steps into the waiting room.

“Contestant Jiang,” she calls. “You’re up next. Please come with me.”

It’s like being plunged underwater.

He stands, numbly. 

Beside him, he sees Wei Wuxian rise as well, attempting to follow. Jiang Cheng shakes his head, waving him down.

“Wait here,” he says. 

“Are you sure?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“You won’t be able to watch the performance properly from the wings.”

Wei Wuxian looks a little unhappy, but sits down anyway. Jiang Cheng throws him a last look over his shoulder. Then, the waiting room door closes behind him, and everything goes suddenly quiet. 

The backstage manager beckons him down a long, dark corridor, shrouded in dark red velvet. As they make their way down that long corridor, the sounds of the crowd, of the piano, of Jin Zixuan’s sweet singing voice becomes progressively louder.

Then, as they turn the corner, Jiang Cheng catches his first sight of the crowd.

The entire auditorium is filled from front to end, top to bottom. Even the mezzanine is packed, every single seat occupied. There must be hundreds of people watching, cheering, clapping, and hollering. In the front row, he sees the guests. He recognizes Nie Mingjue, sitting next to Jin Guangshan, Wen Ruohan, and their wives. Beside them— is the bearded man who’d been with Lan Xichen, the day Jiang Cheng had been recruited. Jiang Cheng hadn’t recognized him in the video, not with that goatee. On his Baike page, he had always looked young. Now, however, it finally occurs to him. That must be Lan Qiren.

Sitting side by side, the CEOs of China’s Big Five conglomerates are all in attendance today.

All, save one.

Suddenly, Jiang Cheng feels his throat closing up, feels the tears prickling at his eyes.

It’s not fair.

Someone helps him to put his earpiece in. Jiang Cheng stands there, choked up with emotion, as the crew member begin to brief him one final time: Where he should stand, how to adjust the microphone stand, what to do if his earpiece comes loose— it all washes uselessly over Jiang Cheng as he stares numbly out into the crowd.

“Jiang Cheng, breathe,” he hears someone hiss.

Wen Qing has appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and is holding him by the shoulders.

“Are you alright?” she demands.

Jiang Cheng opens his mouth, but finds himself unable to speak. 

His eyes widen. 

His breath comes quick.

He begins to panic.

The thought occurs to him too late: I should have asked Wei Wuxian and A-Jie to come .

In front of him, he sees the Jins exiting the stage from the opposite side of the wings. Then suddenly, Lan Xichen bursts into the wings from the stage, fumbling with something as he steps into Jiang Cheng’s space. He clumsily tries to pin it to Jiang Cheng’s lapel, fingers seemingly shaking a little.

“I remember you saying that lotuses always remind you of home,” he explains nervously. “I know your parents couldn’t make it today, so I got this for you. I hope, in some way, you can carry it with you, and feel like your family is here with you.”

Jiang Cheng looks down.

The boutonnière is made of delicate ferns and budding sprigs, arranged around a single lotus pod. Jiang Cheng bites his lip, closing his eyes, as emotion threatens to overwhelm him.

Lan Xichen startles.

“If it’s not okay,” he begins frantically, “then you don’t have to wear it! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive. Please don’t be upset. I—“

Jiang Cheng steps forward into his chest. 

Lan Xichen quiets at once. 

Around him, there is what sounds like a collective intake of breath. Face pressed against Lan Xichen’s shoulder, Jiang Cheng exhales shakily, the sound almost a sob, and turns his face into the crook of Lan Xichen’s neck. After a moment, Lan Xichen begins to stroke his back.

“It appears that Contestant Jiang is having an emotional moment,” the producer whispers to the camera. “Let’s give him some time.” 

Shrouded in darkness, and grounded by the firm warmth of Lan Xichen’s arms, he slowly begins to calm down. Slowly, his mind begins to clear. Slowly, the knot in his chest and in his throat begins to dissolve. Slowly, the panic ebbs away, and is replaced with a strange sense of clarity, a strange sense of determination.

He opens his eyes, and pulls back.

“Thank you,” he whispers to Lan Xichen.

Then, he sweeps out onto the stage, to loud applause. 

The bright lights of the spotlight shine down on him, blinding him. In the blazing lights, he cannot see the audience beyond the haze of white. With the earpiece in, their cheers sound a little muted, as if underwater. If he wanted, he could convincingly pretend that his parents are sitting in the front row—

That his father is sitting in the front row. 

But, he knows that it’s not true. 

Grief wells up inside him, along with a helpless sense of anger, along with hurt, and a quiet conviction . The microphone is already at the perfect level. He leans in and speaks directly into it.

“This is Speechless,” he whispers.

Amidst applause, the music begins. He closes his eyes, and begins to sing.

“Here comes a wave meant to wash me away,” he begins huskily, “a tide that is taking me under.”

His first line is met with surprised cheering from the audience. Ignoring them, he grips onto the microphone with both hands, holding determinedly to the feelings inside him.

“Broken again, left with nothing to say—“ 

He draws a shaking breath. 

“My voice drowned out in the thunder…”

He looks up into the space the audience should be, in that blaze of lights. His voice trembles in his own ears. But it isn’t nerves. No.

“But I,” he continues, locking his jaw. “I cannot start to crumble.”

The crowd cheers again, and he feels an icy determination gathering inside him.

“So come on and try!” he snarls, beckoning sharply towards him. “Try and shut me and cut me down!”

The violins swell, and as the music quiets before the storm, the anger finally rises, roaring forward like a tidal wave. Clutching the microphone, he steps forward against the stand.

“I won’t be silenced!“

The audience screams as his voice punches out into the silence.

“You can’t keep me quiet! Won’t tremble when you try it—“

The cheering intensifies to a roar. He sucks in a breath, pressing his earpiece more securely in, and focuses on the music, letting it carry the emotions in him.

“Let the storm in!” he roars, “I cannot be broken— no, I won’t live unspoken. Cause I know that I won’t go speechless!”

His voice bursts from him now— unfettered, pushing through a barrier that he hadn’t even noticed until it was broken. Without it, he doesn’t need to try, doesn’t even need to think. Without his conscious command, his voice trembles with anger, breaks with grief, hardens with defiance. The music carries the emotions within him, rising like a wave as it surges towards the climax.

The helplessness.

The insecurity.

The fear.

All of it is swept away as the music swells, rushing onward in a flurry of frenzied violins. In its wake, the heartbreak, the grief, feels all the more clean, all the more sharp. 

He clenches momentarily at his chest, letting out a quiet noise. Then, defiance fills him. Seized by sudden emotion, he rips the microphone from the stand, striding fiercely forward as the climax hits.

“Try to lock me in this cage— I won’t just lay me down and die!”

The audience screams as he stops the edge of the stage, screaming his challenge out into the crowd. The spotlights take a moment to catch up with him. During rehearsals, he had always remained in the same spot, and now, it seems the backstage crew are working in overdrive to keep pace with him. In the moment before he is blinded again, however, he briefly catches sight of the audience, meets the wide eyes of the guests at the front— his parents not in attendance.

He clenches his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. Bending over, he belts furiously into the microphone.

“Cause I’ll breathe, when they try to suffocate me— don’t you underestimate me!”

His voice comes out in a hoarse scream, his grief and anger spilling out for everyone to see. Now that he’s unchained them, however, his emotions refuse to be chained again. Yet, somehow, he cannot seem to bring himself to care.

Let them see, something in him says. Let them judge. I don’t give a damn!

“Cause I know that I won’t go speechless—“ he belts. “All I know is I won’t go speechless— speechless!”

The music drops off.

In the quiet, the opening riff of the song plays slowly on a lone piano.

The song ends.

The spotlights dim, and Jiang Cheng draws in a shocked breath as his eyes finally adjust to the brightness. The entire audience is on its feet, clapping, cheering. He takes a small step back, unsure how to respond, still feeling a little disoriented from coming so suddenly back to reality from the headspace of his song.

As he blinks dazedly, looking over the crowd, he finally meets eyes with the row of judges sitting just off the stage. 

There are four judges: Director Shi, who had spoken at the masterclass, Tianlang-laoshi, who had gotten drunk at the after party, and the veiled woman he’d seen talking to Professor Qi.

The fourth and final judge clears her throat, drawing Jiang Cheng’s attention to her. He does not recognize her name or her face — her name tent reads Ling Wen.

“When Wen Qing forbade the producers from filming your training,” she begins, “it was an extremely unpopular decision. But she held her ground against her critics, and stood by her decision. It now appears that she was right to do what she did.”

“Your level of technical competence is amazing,” the veiled judge comments quietly. “You’ve come a far way from that first disastrous week of training.”

“The lyrics were heartfelt,” Ling Wen continues. “The writing was superb.”

“I didn’t expect that from you,” Tianlang-laoshi adds. “I didn’t expect soul . I look forward to hearing more from you, young man. I think you’ll go far in this competition.”

“Keep up the good work,” Director Shi agrees.

Jiang Cheng draws in a shuddering breath. Overwhelmed by sudden emotion, he bows low.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

When he enters the waiting room afterwards, he is immediately pulled into a hug by a howling Wei Wuxian.

“You killed it!” he bellows. “Goddamn, Jiang Cheng! You really killed it!”

“That was amazing, A-Cheng,” A-Jie agrees, rushing forward to squeeze them both in her arms. When Jiang Cheng turns his head, smiling, to press a kiss to her head, he catches sight of Wen Qing standing behind them, eyes red and swollen.

“Are you crying?!” Jiang Cheng demands.

“I’m not!” she denies.

Her voice breaks. She turns away abruptly. It looks like she’s discreetly trying to dry her eyes with her sleeve.

“I have allergies,” she mutters stubbornly. “All this velvet is storing a lot of dust.”

Jiang Cheng groans, and drags her into the group hug.

Afterwards, the crew begins to interview them one by one about their performances. Jiang Cheng’s interview concludes, as usual, with very little fanfare.

(“What do you think about your performance today?”

“It went alright, I guess.”

“You really surprised everyone out there. How are you feeling about the audience and judges’ response?”

“Alright, I guess.”)

They leave him alone very quickly after that.

As he collapses tiredly onto the sofa with a groan, he catches sight of the Jins entering the room. The interviewer is talking to Jin Zixuan, but he is clearly distracted, looking around, as if for someone. It quickly becomes apparent who. When he spots A-Jie, he abandons the interviewer mid-question, and rushes over.

“Maiden Jiang,” he begins urgently, “there’s something I needed to say to you. About that day— words cannot express how sorry I am. But since then, I’ve come to a realization, and it’s that—“

Initially startled by his unexpected approach, A-Jie’s face shutters. She closes her eyes, expression pained.

“It was a misunderstanding,” she grants, “one that I have already forgiven you for. Please, Zixuan, don’t feel like you have to force anything between us.”

Jin Zixuan mouth falls open, expression confused for a moment, before it clouds over with hurt. 

“Force?” he asks. “I’m— I’m not trying to force you to do anything! Are you that unwilling to be in my presence?!”

“That’s not it,” A-Jie whispers.

But Jin Zixuan is already stepping back, expression going cold. He averts his eyes.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says coldly to the wall. “Anyway, it’s— it’s not like I was the one that invited you here. I can assure you, I’m not trying to force you to be here.”

A-Jie swallows, dropping her gaze.

“I know,” she whispers, before turning away. “A-Cheng, A-Xian, let’s go.”

Stepping forward into their path, Mo Xuanyu shoots a nasty look at Jin Zixuan.

“Zixuan-xiong will walk you three back, of course,” he says hastily. “It’s getting late.”

“It’s seven pm,” Wei Wuxian points out, unamused.

“What A-Yu means is that it’s getting dark,” Jin Guangyao cuts in, stepping forward as well. “Zixuan-xiong, you’ll be walking Maiden Jiang back, won’t you?”

He elbows Jin Zixun.

“Yeah!” Jin Zixun adds, jumping a little. “You should— you should really walk her back! It’s only polite! As a man! Be the man!”

The cameras that had been filming the Jins’ interview are now filming this complete and utter trainwreck . Jiang Cheng watches in disbelief, unsure what his face is doing, but sure that it’s not pretty. Wei Wuxian looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm. With admirable patience, A-Jie only sighs, before she lays a hand on Mo Xuanyu’s shoulder.

“It’s alright,” she says quietly. “What I mean is that I do not want Zixuan to force himself to be in my presence. All these ugly incidents are in the past. I do not wish for Zixuan to feel compelled to make up for them. Furthermore, if Zixuan’s new interest were to see us together, she might get the wrong idea. That’s why we should keep a distance from now on.”

Then, with a little bow of her head, she tries to side-step Mo Xuanyu.

“Wait—“ Jin Zixuan blurts out, grabbing her elbow.

Wei Wuxian shoves him away.

“Stop it!” he cries. “Can’t you see that she doesn’t want to be around you!”

A-Jie bites her lip, ducks her head, and heads wordlessly for the door.

“Do you really not want to be around me, Maiden Jiang?” Jin Zixuan shouts desperately at her retreating back. “If you don’t want to be around me, then tell me to my face! I don’t want to hear it from him. I want to hear it from you!”

“Zixuan-xiong,” Jiang Cheng hisses, grabbing his shoulder. “Be sensible. You can talk to A-Jie when the cameras aren’t rolling, okay?”

But Jin Zixuan just shrugs his hand off.

“Maiden Jiang!” he calls desperately. “Answer me!”

Finally, A-Jie stops. 

When she turns around, there are tears on her cheeks, her brows drawn together miserably.

“What do you want me to say, Zixuan?” she asks helplessly. “Can you not already guess the way that I feel?”

“A-Jie,” Wei Wuxian immediately begins, rushing forward. “You don’t have to say anything to him. You don’t owe him an explanation. Let’s go.”

But A-Jie shrugs him off, shaking her head.

“No, A-Xian,” she says, and straightens determinedly. “Some things need to be said.”

“A-Jie,” he starts again, but is waved off.

“Zixuan, I have always liked and admired you,” A-Jie begins matter-of-factly. “When we met four years ago, I was satisfied with the match. I was very satisfied, and I was blind enough, foolish enough to think you were too. It was only after you exploded at me that I realized you’d been forced all along. I should have learnt my lesson. Forgive me for getting carried away again these past two months, and failing to notice that, once more, you’ve been forcing yourself. Zixuan, if you feel guilty about what happened four years ago, know that I forgive you. You don’t have to force yourself. You don’t have to—“

Her face crumples, and she sobs, turning her face into her hand. Jiang Cheng rushes forward, shielding her figure from the cameras with his body.

“A-Jie,” he begins lowly. “You don’t have to explain yourself. Let’s go.”

“No,” she says firmly, and straightens, wiping away her tears. “Let me finish.”

And, nudging Jiang Cheng aside, she turns to look Jin Zixuan in the eye.

“Zixuan,” she says tremblingly, “the person you see when you look at me is a person I am ashamed to be seen as: petty, small-minded, and selfish. I know you’re ashamed to have misunderstood me, but let’s not make the same mistakes as before. Do not force yourself to make amends. I also ask that you give me some space. You must know the way I feel, and if I had not known before, your performance today has made it very clear that you do not feel the same. That’s why, it’s best that we not see each other again.”

She bows her head again, and turns away.

“Let’s go, A-Jie,” Wei Wuxian whispers furiously, rushing forward to tuck her arm in his. “Let’s go.”

Jiang Cheng flanks her other side, turning around to shoot a final glare at Jin Zixuan. The man in question just stares for a moment, mouth open, before he finally seems to snap out of his shock. 

“That’s not it!” Jin Zixuan blurts out, staggering forward, reaching out with one hand. “Maiden Jiang, I’m not forcing myself at all!”

“Let’s go,” A-Jie whispers.

Wei Wuxian kicks the door open. 

“Get lost!” he roars, as Jin Zixuan darts forward. “Haven’t you done enough?!”

Jin Zixuan stops awkwardly behind them, face going white, then red, then white again in quick succession.

“Maiden Jiang!” he finally bellows. “It was I who asked Xuanyu to invite you! That day, I didn’t shout at you because I think that you’re that kind of small-minded person! Maiden Jiang, the reason why I was so upset that day— is because the only person I want to receive soup from is you! I wrote that song for you! The girl I dedicated that performance to is you!”

There is a moment of stunned silence. 

In the doorway, A-Jie turns slowly around. Her eyes are wide, expression shocked. 

All the blood rushes back into Jin Zixuan’s face, as he seemingly realizes what he had just confessed. Then, with an embarrassed wail, he sprints off, vanishing out of a door on the other side of the room. Judging from the sign over the door, that’s the fire exit.

They stand there, for a moment, in utter silence. Mo Xuanyu spins around, tugging at A-Jie’s sleeve.

“Go after him, Jiejie!” he cries.

That finally seems to break A-Jie out of her reverie. Shaking her head, as if to clear her thoughts, she starts determinedly across the room.

“A-Jie,” Wei Wuxian begins helplessly, reaching out to stop her.

Jiang Cheng grabs him.

“Let her go,” he murmurs.

Across the room, the fire exit door clicks quietly closed behind A-Jie’s back.

The two come back in after about fifteen minutes, holding hands. A-Jie nudges him off towards the waiting camera crew, before sitting down between Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian.

The interview resumes.

“Can you tell us a bit more about the song you wrote?” they ask. “You mentioned that this was not the song you had originally written for the debut, and that this was a relatively last minute change. Why the change?”

When Jin Zixuan does not immediately respond, Jin Zixun clears his throat, elbowing his cousin pointedly in the ribs.

“Ah,” Jin Zixuan begins. “I— I wrote it because— I was trying to win a girl over.”

A-Jie giggles.

“And?” the interviewer prods. “Were you successful?”

Jin Zixuan’s mouth opens, and then closes.

“Yeah,” he breathes, looking as if he still dares not believe it himself.

After that, they gather in the parking lot, where a chartered bus is waiting to take them out into Suzhou. It is, without a doubt, the rowdiest trip of Jiang Cheng’s life. He holds onto the overhead handle for dear life, looking pointedly out of the window, as the bus rocks and shrill cackles fill the space.

Lan Xichen is clutching the handle on the back of the seat in front of him.

“Well,” he manages weakly. “They certainly sound happy.”

Xue Yang and A-Qing are jumping up and down in the last row, letting out little gremlin shrieks, and for once, Mo Xuanyu has joined them. After a moment, Wei Wuxian stands as well, an excited gleam in his eyes. Jiang Cheng reaches over the back of his seat, and grabs him.

“Do not,” he begins, with gritted teeth, “join them.”

They head to the same bar as last time. This time, the group feels free to down shot after shot, without worry of a hangover the next morning. A-Jie sits, smiling faintly, against Jin Zixuan’s side. Jin Zixuan looks simultaneously like he’s about to burst into tears, and burst a vein from how casually he puts his arm around her. Meanwhile, Wei Wuxian is visibly drunk, and plastered all over Lan Wangji.

“Tonight,” he says, with a little slurred giggle, “it’s your turn to get me home!”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji says.

Across the table from one another, Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen meet eyes, meaningfully. 

They stay for about an hour. During that time, Jiang Cheng nurses a single glass of scotch, letting Lan Xichen have a sip. Judging from the scrunched up expression, Lan Xichen does not like the burn. After an hour, they bid their farewells.

“Watch out for yourself,” Lan Xichen tells Lan Wangji kindly. “Don’t drink too much. If you get too drunk, call me and I’ll come get you.”

Meanwhile, Jiang Cheng rounds on his sister’s new boyfriend.

“You better get her home safely,” he hisses viciously. “No hands. No touching. No kissing. This is your first test.”

“A-Cheng,” A-Jie says mildly, “I can hear you perfectly from here.”

And with a final warning glance, Jiang Cheng scrams.

Lan Xichen books a ride, and they stop by a grocery store on the way to the pick-up point, where they spend some time staring at the liquor aisle. It is right then that Jiang Cheng realizes he has no idea what Lan Xichen would enjoy. From his reaction to the scotch, he would not react well to shots of any kind.

“Light or full-bodied?” he asks.

Lan Xichen startles at the abrupt question.

“Light,” he decides.

“Sweet or sour?”

Lan Xichen chuckles.

“How about a little bit of both?”

Jiang Cheng picks out a bottle of vodka, a carton of lemonade, and a carton of grapefruit juice. Then, as they head towards the checkout counter, he bends, and hefts a bag of ice onto his shoulder.

Lan Xichen yelps.

“Let me help you,” he insists, running forward with outstretched hands.

“No need,” Jiang Cheng says. “We’re at the counter.”

They pay for the items, and head around the corner to the pick-up point.

“There’s a mini-fridge in the dressing room of the auditorium,” Lan Xichen says as they get into the car. “We can carry it out front and plug it into the power source center-stage.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jiang Cheng agrees.

A short drive later, they reach the lodging house. They carry their precious cargo down to the training building, taking a by-now familiar route down darkened hallways to their usual auditorium. Lan Xichen begins to chuckle merrily as they make their way down the labyrinthine hallways, dissolving into childish giggling as Jiang Cheng sends a questioning look over his shoulder. Jiang Cheng can’t help but snort out a laugh in return.

“What?” he asks.

“I never even drank while I was in New York!” Lan Xichen declares delightedly. “Uncle would be so mad if he knew.”

“Aren’t you like, twenty-four?”

“That’s not the point!”

Finally reaching the auditorium, they climb up onto the stage, and head into the back to get the minifridge. There’s a power socket right in the middle of the stage, just as Lan Xichen said, probably where the microphone stand is usually set up. They plug in the fridge, throw in the ice and juice cartons, then Jiang Cheng gets the plastic cups out, and begins mixing.

“What are you making?” Lan Xichen asks, leaning over his shoulder excitedly.

“I don’t know,” Jiang Cheng says.

“You don’t know?”

“You said you wanted something sweet, sour, and light.”

“So you’re just improvising?!” Lan Xichen gasps. “You don’t have to follow a recipe?!”

Jiang Cheng shoots him a bewildered look.

“It’s not rocket science, you know?” he quips. “We’re mixing drinks. It’d be different if we were baking.” He holds out one of the cups. “Cheers.”

They tap their plastic cups together, and then sip their drinks. Jiang Cheng smacks his lips consideringly.

“I guess it’s not bad,” he allows.

Lan Xichen chokes on his drink.

“This is not bad?” he asks. “What’s good then?”

“I—“ Jiang Cheng splutters, and feels himself flushing, hard. “Just drink it!””

Lan Xichen laughs, but obediently drinks. He empties about half of the plastic cup, then sets it down, humming contentedly. A moment later, he flops down, putting his face against Jiang Cheng’s knee.

“Oh my gooooood,” he drawls, grabbing Jiang Cheng’s hand. “Feel my face, Jiang-xiong! It’s so hooooot!”

His face is warm.

He’s clearly drunk.

On half a cup, Jiang Cheng thinks despairingly. 

Still flopped over Jiang Cheng’s thigh, Lan Xichen begins to giggle. Jiang Cheng can’t help but chuckle a little in return, downing the rest of his glass, and pouring himself a shot of vodka. If he doesn’t catch up soon, Lan Xichen is going to be very, very embarrassed in the morning.

“I’ll—“ Lan Xichen hiccups, “drink with you.”

Raising his glass, he attempts to down it all. Jiang Cheng only just manages to stop him.

“Lan Xichen!” he cries, laughing helplessly. “No!”

He confiscates Lan Xichen’s cup, returning it only after he’s about three cups in. Reunited at last with his beverage, Lan Xichen sips happily away at his drink. Jiang Cheng sighs, charmed despite himself, and pours himself another shot of vodka. He’s going to need to work hard if he wants to catch up.

Chasing Lan Xichen’s high, it’s not long at all until the room is spinning around him. Lan Xichen has long since sprawled out on the stage, eyes closed, long limbs spread out like a starfish. He is moving them slowly side to side, as if he’s doing jumping jacks. Setting his drink down, Jiang Cheng lies down next to him. Lan Xichen opens his eyes at the rustle of Jiang Cheng’s clothing.

“Oh!” he says, sitting up suddenly.

He begins to crawl determinedly away, kicking Jiang Cheng’s hand off when he attempts to grab Lan Xichen by the ankle, absolutely bewildered, and also a little concerned.

“Lan Xichen?” he calls. “Where are you going? Don’t fall off the stage.”

“We should play music,” Lan Xichen insists stubbornly from somewhere above Jiang Cheng’s head. “I’m going to connect my phone to the speakers.”

A clatter, and a few clicks later, music is blasting from the overhead speakers, filling the room with some pop hit. Lan Xichen staggers over to the grand piano, and collapses over it, drunkenly attempting to play along.

“No,” he mutters to himself, clumsy fingers clattering out discordant keys, “that’s an aaaah, aaaah, or is it an aaaaaaah?”

Failing that, he finally begins just mashing his hands all over the keys, warbling loudly. In his drunkenness, Jiang Cheng can’t even stand— he’s laughing so damn hard. He throws his back as the chorus hits, and begins to sing along as well. Lan Xichen laughs. After a moment, he effortlessly begins to harmonize.

Then, as the song ends, and the opening riff of the next begins, funky and high-energy, Lan Xichen jumps up, gasping.

“I love this song!” he cries, and stumbles excitedly over. As Lan Xichen reaches down, yanking Jiang Cheng onto his feet, Jiang Cheng abruptly realizes which song it is.

“Ohhhh—“ he belts, as loud as he can, “I wanna dance with somebody!“

Lan Xichen begins to whirl him around, laughing. They dance around the stage, singing loudly into one another’s faces, voices breaking unflattering on the highs, but laughing through it all. Finally, breaths coming in gasps, Jiang Cheng can’t even attempt to belt the highs anymore. They collapse in a heap, panting, in the middle of the stage.

After a moment, they meet eyes. Jiang Cheng doesn’t know who snickers first, but soon, they are laughing, supporting themselves on one another’s shoulders between heaving breaths.

Finally, they pull apart from each other. But in that moment, leaned together close, and looking up into Lan Xichen’s laughing crescent eyes, Jiang Cheng begins to feel— strange.

Lan Xichen quiets after a moment, panting. He looks right into Jiang Cheng’s eyes.

“I wanna do something… bad,” he whispers.

Jiang Cheng’s heart skips a beat. He puts a hand over his chest, confused, but quickly collects himself.

“Like what?” he asks breathlessly.

Lan Xichen giggles.

“Wanna,” he says, “ break rules!”

Jiang Cheng chuckles, the strange feeling dissipating a little in his chest.

“Yeah?” he asks.

Lan Xichen begins to rock forward and back, eyes bright, expression earnest.

“Can we?” he pleads.

“Of course,” Jiang Cheng indulges.

Lan Xichen giggles like a child, rubbing his hands excitedly together. Gods, he’s so endearing like this.

“What rules are we gonna break?” he asks Jiang Cheng seriously.

“We’ll know when we know,” Jiang Cheng says, climbing slowly to his feet, and dusting his pants off. “Last one out of here is a rotten egg!”

Jiang Cheng bolts off the stage, grabbing the bottle of vodka as he goes. Lan Xichen squeals, half in delight, half in indignation.

“That’s cheating!” he shrieks. “Cheating!”

They drunkenly chase each other, climbing up and over the seats, laughing and tripping inelegantly on their own feet. They emerge out of the building and stumble towards the lodging house. As they duck into an empty courtyard, however, Jiang Cheng begins to sneak more quietly down the hall, not wishing to be caught dead drunk and reeking of alcohol. Lan Xichen follows his lead, tip-toeing up to his side, eyes wide and delighted.

“Are we sneaking out?” he gasps. “Are we breaking curfew?”

“There’s a curfew?”

“It was in the rules that came with the contract,” Lan Xichen explains sagely. “Everyone should be in the lodging house between nine pm and five am.”^[4]

Jiang Cheng raises both eyebrows. Nine pm?! If that’s the curfew, then he’s lost count of the number of times he’s broken it. 

He checks the time. It is almost midnight. 

Right then, although he had originally no intention of leaving, he makes up his mind.

“Fuck that,” he says. “We’re breaking curfew!”

They exit the lodging house, tip-toeing, with Lan Xichen snickering away behind him. Lan Xichen clutches onto the back of his shirt as they walk quietly past the guard, busy on his phone and not bothering to give them a second glance. Truthfully, Jiang Cheng has strolled out much later without being stopped, but he can’t help wanting to feed into Lan Xichen’s little moment of rebellion.

Disappearing safely around the corner, they begin to snicker, then chortle, before breaking into full-on laughter. The streets are empty at the late hour, the area quiet, but lit with warm lights that reflect off the still waters. They run along the canal together, laughing, trailing their fingers along the metal bars of the railing. When the railing abruptly ends, Jiang Cheng stops.

There is a small dock with steps leading down into the water, probably for boats to stop at. A chain is draped across the break in the rail, and a sign cautions them not to go down the steps. Jiang Cheng grabs onto Lan Xichen’s sleeve, pointing it out to him.

“Oh look,” he says gleefully. “A sign.”

“I see it too,” Lan Xichen informs him.

“Now look what I’m going to do,” Jiang Cheng says, and clambers down the stairs. Kicking his shoes off, he sits, and dips his legs in the water. “Fuck you all. Fuck rules.”

With a last backward glance down the empty paths, Lan Xichen giggles and follows suit, kicking his shoes off, and sitting by the waterside. He sits there with his legs in the water for a while. 

“Wow,” he breathes. “I’m a rebel now.” 

Jiang Cheng laughs. After a moment, he holds up the bottle of vodka he’d been clutching. 

They sit by the water for a long, long time, sipping slowly from the bottle. Lan Xichen shudders, making an involuntary face with every sip, but keeps on drinking nevertheless. After a few more drinks, Jiang Cheng tips his head back, looking up at the moon, singing quietly at times, high and sweet, or else humming some meandering, made-up tunes. Here and there, they talk about easy things, about the moon, the stars, the rustling of the breeze. 

As the night draws on, however, it begins to get a little chilly. Somewhere, somehow, they find themselves pressed side to side. Jiang Cheng can’t help but remember then, how it had felt to be held by Lan Xichen: his warmth, his breadth, that comforting darkness when he’d buried his face in Lan Xichen’s neck, completely enfolded in his arms. After a moment, he turns his body, pressing his cheek against Lan Xichen’s shoulder, and clutching at the waist of his shirt. Lan Xichen turns his face then, looking down at him. 

His eyes are dark, so dark against his snowy white skin. Jiang Cheng can almost count his lashes. He can see the faint freckles underlying Lan Xichen’s glass-like skin. That’s how close they are. If he wanted to, he could lean in and kiss him.

I want to, Jiang Cheng realizes suddenly.

The realization shakes him.

“Thank you,” Lan Xichen says suddenly.

“F-For what?” Jiang Cheng whispers.

“For doing this with me,” Lan Xichen says seriously. “For being my friend.”

Jiang Cheng has to close his eyes at that, moved by an unnameable emotion.

“Lan Xichen, I—“

Lan Xichen presses a finger against his lips.

“Please,” he urges, “just Xichen is fine, Jiang-xiong.”

“Then call me by my name,” Jiang Cheng murmurs.

Lan Xichen’s eyes widen. 

“Wanyin,” he blurts out.

Jiang Cheng is surprised at first, but after a moment, he realizes that it feels right. This is the name that Lan Xichen gave him. It feels right that he should be the first to use it. It feels… shockingly intimate. 

“Xichen-ge,” he whispers.

Lan Xichen draws a breath. Jiang Cheng bites his lip, before turning his face into Lan Xichen’s shoulder.

“Lan Huan.” 

Lan Xichen embraces him suddenly, holding him tight against his chest. He’s trembling a little, likely from the alcohol, and the cold. Jiang Cheng is trembling too, holding him with shaking arms, burying his face in Lan Xichen’s chest with a shaky exhale. They sit there for a long while, just breathing against each other, until there’s a loud honk.

They look up to see a middle-aged woman on a bicycle, glaring down at them over the railing.

“Damn lovebirds!” she curses. “Can’t you see the sign?! You aren’t supposed to be sitting down there!”

She honks again for good measure, and then begins to ride off down the path.

They snap out of it, smiling at each other, before they begin to put their shoes on, getting ready to head back. Side by side, they amble slowly back to the lodging house, occasionally looking at each other, and chuckling good-naturedly.

“Guess it was too dark to tell that we’re both men,” Lan Xichen muses.

Jiang Cheng looks at him. He’s looking up the moon, a faint smile on his face.

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng murmurs.

They waltz back in through the front doors of the lodging house, the guard not even looking up from his phone, and down the darkened hallways. This late, the lights have been turned down dim, likely to conserve electricity. Reaching a crossroads, they pause, turning to look at each other again. 

In the darkness, Lan Xichen’s eyes gleam in the moonlight slanting in through a nearby window. The silvery light falls over his cheekbones, his lashes, his skin, setting him all pale and aglow. Framed in thick, lowered lashes, his half-lidded eyes are so dark, so lovely.

Jiang Cheng is struck hard by an urge then, an intense longing. He has to avert his eyes, stunned and at a loss. But if the urge hadn’t been clear before, in the fleeting moments it had passed as they had laughed and danced and run down the empty streets together, then it’s crystal clear right now.

Drawing in a shaky breath, he looks back at Lan Xichen.

Jiang Cheng wants to be held by him again, wants to put his face against Lan Xichen’s, close, so close— wants to kiss his skin, wants to kiss his lips, wants to lie by his side, and watch him until he drops slowly off to sleep. He wants.

He wants.

“Sweet dreams,” Lan Xichen whispers. “Wanyin.”

Then, with a final, tender smile, he turns and vanishes down the dark corridor.

Jiang Cheng returns to the suite, where he finds Wei Wuxian sitting on the couch.

“You’re still awake,” Jiang Cheng says, surprised.

“Lan Zhan accidentally drank some alcohol,” Wei Wuxian explains, with a fond chuckle. “I brought him back and put him in bed, but he woke up drunk, and I didn’t want him to be alone like that. I stayed with him until he went back to sleep. I only just got back.”

There’s an opened can of beer on the coffee table, set on a makeshift coaster of newspapers. Mostly sober now, Jiang Cheng gets a can of beer out of the fridge, and sits with him on the couch. They sit there in silence for a long moment, taking periodic sips of their beer, before Wei Wuxian speaks again.

“Were you with Xichen-ge?” he asks. 

At Jiang Cheng’s surprised look, Wei Wuxian chuckles. 

“You two left together, but when I got back with Lan Zhan, neither of you could be found,” he explains. “I assumed you two had to be together. Unless…”

“I was with Xichen-ge,” Jiang Cheng confirms.

Wei WuxIan raises an eyebrow. 

“So it’s Xichen-ge now, huh?” he notes.

Jiang Cheng does not say anything to that. After a moment, Wei Wuxian tilts his head, still watching Jiang Cheng.

“Did,” he begins, licking his lips, “something happen? While you two were together?”

Drawing in a breath, Jiang Cheng struggles with himself, jaw clicking, and then unclicking.

“I wanted to kiss him,” he manages, after a difficult moment.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen, and then soften.

“Oh, Jiang Cheng,” he whispers pityingly. “You like him.”

Jiang Cheng lets out a forceful exhale.

“I don’t get it,” he says angrily. “I— I think girls are pretty. I’ve always thought so.” 

Wei Wuxian chuckles.

“In your words,” he teases gently, “there’s such a thing as bisexuality, you know?”

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes.

“But I’ve never felt like this for a woman,” he whispers. “I’ve never felt like this for anyone.”

Somehow, when he opens his eyes again, Wei Wuxian looks even sadder than before. 

“You love him, Jiang Cheng,” he says, sadly.

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes, as if he could hide from those words, but in his heart, he knows that it’s true. He recalls Wei Wuxian’s words now: stumbling into his feelings blind, and only realizing the depth of them too late, already in far too deep to crawl back out again. This is not a crush. This can’t be what a crush feels like.

I want to wake up by his side, Wei Wuxian had said, every single day, until the day I die.

“What are you going to do now?” Wei Wuxian whispers.

Jiang Cheng swallows. 

Their friendship had already been pushing the boundaries of professionalism, he knows, especially as they had gotten closer and closer at the end. He already doesn’t want to think what their backstage embrace, what Lan Xichen’s special gesture to him (now lying pressed and drying under a dictionary), had looked like to outsiders. This— This is way over the line.

And so—

“Nothing,” he says emptily.

Wei Wuxian turns to look back ahead. After a moment, he laughs, the sound void of mirth.

“I guess that makes the two of us.”

‘All-Stars Talent Hunt’ Recap: Riveting Debut Makes Waves Amongst Viewers

They’ve done it again!

Once more, the ‘All-Stars Talent Hunt’ has succeeded in capturing the hearts and minds of viewers all across China. Currently in its fourth season, the talent hunt has consistently managed to place itself in the sweet spot between musical ingenuity, contestant drama, and  personal storylines, earning itself a spot amidst China’s most-watched and most-anticipated television shows. Now, after a two-month long training period, the contestants have finally made their debut.

The night was scattered with performances both brilliant, disappointing, or somewhere in between. Bright Moon, Distant Snow carved out a distinctive place for themselves early in the night, with an interesting pairing of classical Chinese instruments and modern composition style. Girls 21 distinguished themselves with a fast-paced dance choreography, carried by the bubblegum charisma of its lead singer, Luo Mianmian. A hitherto invisible figure, soloist Qin Su, surprised the audience with the powerful, operatic quality of her voice.

Meanwhile, Wen Chao and the Band, prominently led by the second son of Wen Corporation CEO Wen Ruohan, was more notable for the mixed response they drew. While viewers generally agreed on the quality of the lyrics and melody, balladic covers of the song quickly sprang up overnight. Most agreed that the poignant lyrics would have been best matched to a slower and more balladic tone. In the background, Mo Ziyuan and the Goons, and the choir group Sons of Moling gave mediocre showings. The others faded into the backdrop.

However, amidst the wash of performances, two performances earned their place amongst the season’s most memorable, drawing audiences from all walks of life, and pushing the debut episode to one of the ‘most watched’ in All-Stars Talent Hunt history.

The Gold Ones captivate with heartfelt love confession

The fraught relationship between the lead singer of The Gold Ones, Jin Zixuan, and celebrity chef Jiang Yanli has been the talk of the town for two months. Their ups and downs, and the riveting history of their acquaintance, captivated audiences with a classic story of failed engagement, turned to passionate love. Following an unfortunate blow-up that left Jiang Yanli in tears and Jin Zixuan with a blackeye, You Are The Reason presented itself as both poignant apology, and heartfelt confession.

[A video of the debut performance. In the thumbnail, Jin Zixuan, Jin Zixun, and Mo Xuanyu stand in the spotlight, clearly mid-song.]

Jiang Wanyin captures hearts with struggles for family recognition

The undeniable star of the night, the initial recruitment of the young Jiang Wanyin went viral over Chinese SNS long before the show began airing. Dubbed simply as Angry Guy, Jiang Wanyin’s disastrous first week of training, rife with voice cracks and trembling falsettos, had ended in a showdown of epic proportions between trainer and trainee, and a subsequent change in vocal coach. Decorated Broadway star, Wen Qing, had immediately made the unprecedented decision to forbid filming of her pupil’s practice sessions, a decision unheard of in the history of television. 

The social media sphere had been set a-chatter. Many speculated that it had to be a Lan Entertainment cover up. Indeed, Jiang Wanyin had seemed initially like someone who had fallen through the cracks of their recruitment system— neither a student of the prestigious Zhongyang Conservatory, as the recruitment team had assumed, nor a singer at all. Ornery and blunt, never revealing much of himself, Jiang Wanyin had done little to endear himself to viewers during interviews, which most believed to be the best. Once the competitions began, he would surely be the first to go.

They were wrong.

That night, Jiang Wanyin rose like a dragon, the undeniable dark horse of the season. In the immediate moments before his performance, he tugged at the heartstrings of the audience with an uncharacteristic moment of vulnerability. Unlike the other contestants, his parents had not been in attendance that night. His ensuing performance had been a maelstrom of emotion, capturing the hearts of both the audience and the judges. Jiang Wanyin’s performance has been widely shared on Chinese SNS since. Trending for three nights after the debut, it has been shared almost 730,000 times.

[A video of the debut performance. In the thumbnail, Jiang Cheng is belting into the microphone, bent over, at the edge of the stage. It is impossible to tell if his expression is one of rage, or one of heartbreak.]

小酒鬼1216
wow. Angry Grape Boy was so good.

jxgyt
I didn’t really like him at first, but after the entire season? You’ve got to respect him for how far he’s come.

小酒鬼1216
and he’s hot. there’s that. seeing him in that ponytail for the first time was an Experience.

jxgyt
….

His brother is still more my type.

xichenfucker
But for real. I wasn’t expecting that from Angry Guy. Genuinely can’t wait for the competition to start, and somehow, I get the feeling… Angry Guy’s the guy to look out for.

shakingmyhead

Ah, Jiang-xiong.

You really pulled through, didn’t you?

The competition ahead is going to be tough, but I believe in you!

Jiayou.^[5]

You deserve this win.

Chapter Text

The competition season begins with little fanfare. It is almost surprising how much has changed, with so little to show for it — like the world has flipped completely on its axis, and yet, inexplicably, continues to turn.

In the aftermath of their fraught debut, the whirlwind of activity dies suddenly, leaving a strange vacuum in its wake. Jiang Cheng begins his rotations at Jiang Electric that same week. He can’t help but be thankful for the distraction, for the well-needed space he needs to process his feelings away from it all, away from the lodging house — away from Lan Xichen .

On the first day of his rotation, he takes the bus down to the industrial park, past the lake, looking out the window over calm waters. It's a cloudy morning, grey clouds hanging low in the sky as he steps off the bus and enters the large concrete building that is home to Jiang Electric.

A woman in a burgundy suit waits at the entrance, lips painted a deep red. She looks up at Jiang Cheng's approach, raising a penciled brow, before sticking out her hand.

"The madam's son, I suppose," she says. "You look like her. I am Jin Zhu, the general manager of Jiang Electric."

"Pleased to meet you," Jiang Cheng returns, shaking her hand.

"Mm," she acknowledges, and turns around to press the button for the lift. "We've prepared a table for you in my office. Follow me."

The lifts arrive, and Jin Zhu steps inside, heels clicking smartly against the polished marble. As she turns to press the button for the top floor, however, Jiang Cheng follows her quickly into the lift, stopping her wrist with a gentle touch.

Her eyebrows raise sharply.

"Actually," he begins, "I would like to start in the factory, if that's okay with you."

Jin Zhu pauses, and then looks, slowly, up at him.

"The factory," she repeats.

"I started in the factories of Yu Semiconductors too," Jiang Cheng says, a little defensively. "Is that not okay?

Jin Zhu blinks once, expression inscrutable, before tilting her head a little.

"It’s fine," she says.

With that, Jiang Cheng rolls up his sleeves, and gets to work in the manufacturing plant. The supervisor’s office sits on a steel mezzanine overlooking the factory on one side, and the loading docks on the other. Looking down over the hubhub from the mezzanine is like watching a well-oiled machine, the movement of vehicles, workers, and machinery flowing like perfectly synchronized cogs of a ticking clock. He recognizes the logo of Yu Semiconductors on the trucks that come, bringing in small batches of component parts, and the Jiang Electric logo on those that whisk the finished products out of the building. 

It is a thing of wonder to behold.

Down in the loading docks, the warehouse workers are friendly, although their mandarin carries a heavy hint of a Suzhounese accent. While Jiang Cheng only understands about half of what is being said at any given time, the workers are always quick to repeat themselves, often with enthusiastic hand gestures to supplement their words.

“Apologies!” one of them exclaims. “Our mandarin is not very good!”

But they are open with their hearts, laughing and joking and clapping him jovially on the back as they work together. Jiang Cheng cannot help but smile along.

During his breaks, he can never quite restrain himself from taking quick peeks at his phone. Aside from the myriad of texts from Wei Wuxian — often pictures of his lunch, random shots of his day, or internet memes — he has begun to receive text messages from Lan Xichen with increasing frequency.

蓝曦臣 // Lan Xichen

Have you eaten!
Seen 2:13PM

not yet
i'm still at the warehouse
i wanted to help the afternoon shift workers finish today's deliveries first
Seen 2:14PM

Oh...
Well, please eat!
Work can wait until you’ve eaten!
And drink more water too!
Seen 2:14PM

He has to turn his back to the men, so that they will not see him smiling and tease him about it. Tucking a stray strand behind his ear, he bites his lip, before typing out his reply.

i will
thank you xichen
for always looking after me
Seen 2:14PM

✽\(✿´ ꒳ ` )-✽
Seen 2:14PM

His kaomojis are unfairly cute.

Whenever he has time to spare, Jiang Cheng finds himself initiating conversations as well, usually just to ask what Lan Xichen is up to, if he’s eaten. Sometimes, in the absence of things to say, he finds himself opening his chat history with Lan Xichen just to scroll through the texts they had exchanged. Sometimes, in the quiet moments before sleep, he finds himself just staring at his screen, waiting hopefully for Lan Xichen to begin a conversation.

Is it possible to miss someone, even having spoken to them that very day, even knowing they are in the same building as oneself?

Does Lan Xichen miss Jiang Cheng as much as Jiang Cheng misses him?

His heart quickens as his phone vibrates under his pillow. Pulling it out, he eagerly opens his chat with Lan Xichen.

蓝曦臣 // Lan Xichen

Wanyin?
Are you still there?
Seen 11:58PM

i am
what’s up
Seen 11:58PM

Ah!
I just wanted to say…
Goodnight! Sweet dreams!
You’ve got a long day tomorrow so…
Get some rest!
( つ ⛦◜▿◝) つ┉♡
Seen 11:58PM

Jiang Cheng turns over, tugging his blanket over his head to hide his reddening face.

Ugh.

In the late afternoons after his shift at the factory, Jiang Cheng returns back to the lodging house to prepare for his first performance of the competition season. After Ning Yingying’s first single had hit top 100s, she had engaged Wei Wuxian to write her an EP. Wei Wuxian’s professor had recommended him a second client soon after, another ex-student, named Ming Fan. Professor Qi and several of Wei Wuxian’s school friends had called to express enthusiastic congratulations.

Father had also called.

“We recorded your debut to watch when we came home,” Mother had said stonily. “You did… well. Why didn’t you tell us you could sing?”

“That’s a recent thing, Ma,” Jiang Cheng had said, embarrassed.

He and Wei Wuxian had thereafter retreated to their assigned music room to work on their respective tasks— Jiang Cheng to review the list of songs for the first round, and Wei Wuxian to write his own for his clients.

The songwriting component of the competition is only set to begin with the fight for top five. For now, however, he has a choice between five songs to cover each round. The first round's list includes songs in a range of styles, and while one of them is definitely a more powerful song, similar in style to Speechless, Jiang Cheng finds his eye drawn instead by one of the quieter, sweeter songs.

A love song, to Wen Qing’s surprise. 

“I thought you hated love songs?” Wen Qing asks suspiciously.

“Hate is a strong word,” Jiang Cheng says.

“What happened to ‘love songs are annoying’?” Wen Qing prods.

“Maybe I’ve changed my mind.”

To that, Wen Qing narrows her eyes. But his vocal coach’s disbelief is the least of his concerns at the moment, so Jiang Cheng just rolls his eyes.

“Is this song okay?” he asks.

“What’s not okay about it?” Wen Qing challenges, raising an eyebrow.

“It doesn’t have the power that Speechless had,” Jiang Cheng explains. “I don’t want my performance this time to seem— I don’t know, anticlimactic?” 

“If your performance is heart-felt, it will show a different, softer side of you,” Wen Qing says. “I think that’s a good thing.”

“But is it enough?” Jiang Cheng prods. “It doesn't showcase the full range of what I’m capable of.”

Wen Qing looks down at the lyrics again, tapping the end of her pen against her bottom lip.

“If you can pull off the poignancy, it would demonstrate your emotional range,” she comments, a little absently. “If you’re that worried about it, you can raise the key after the bridge and belt the last chorus, but I would personally advise against it. The first two lines right after the bridge are supposed to be quiet and breathy, and the rest loud and powerful. If you belt the last chorus, it erases that moment of vulnerability which, in my opinion, is the highlight of the song.”

She sets down her pen, and looks up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“The beginning of the competition is probably going to be a little slow,” she finally says. “You shouldn’t have to worry for at least the first few rounds. Since you have this opportunity, you should start slow. Don’t show your hand too early or you’ll find it increasingly hard to impress the judges as the weeks go by.”

“I just don’t want to get complacent,” Jiang Cheng mutters.

Wen Qing sighs, waving her hand dismissively. She doesn’t seem nearly as concerned as Jiang Cheng is about this first round, more interested in gossip judging by her next question.

“Look at you,” she muses. “What happened to our angry virgin who’s never been in love?”

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng snaps automatically, and then looks down, adjusting his sleeve with a scowl. He can, unfortunately, feel his face beginning to heat.

There's a moment of silence, before Wen Qing sighs again.

“Has something changed?” she asks.

Jiang Cheng continues to adjust his sleeve, evening out the folded hem around his elbow. He doesn’t reply, and a moment later, Wen Qing sighs— again.

“You and Xichen seem to have gotten close,” she comments.

Jiang Cheng can feel his face heating further.

“What makes you say that?” he manages to grit out.

“I was there when you hugged him backstage, remember?” Wen Qing says, unimpressed, and then pauses. “A-Ning said the two of you left the bar together the night of your debut. Did something happen?” She pauses again. “Did you two…”

She trails off, and Jiang Cheng immediately understands her implication.

“No! That's not—” he splutters. “We just had a drink together— Nothing happ—”

Abruptly, however, he remembers that night— the laughter, the smiles, chasing each other up and over the seats in the auditorium, and running down the canal together laughing— remembers the moment by the river, pressed flank-to-flank, when he’d turned his face and found Lan Xichen looking at him too, eyes so dark, so lovely, remembers wanting to kiss him.

“Nothing… happened…” he finishes, voice weaker than he would have liked.

Wen Qing gives him a look, before she sighs.

“Just be careful, alright?” she grumbles. “You two have a professional relationship and… first loves are always hard.”

After that mortifying conversation, he goes back to his assigned music room to pour over his marked up lyrics. Wei Wuxian pours over a blank sheet alongside him. He soon realizes that while Wei Wuxian is inordinately gifted with composition, arrangement, and musical direction, he apparently shows little to no flair for lyrics.

“There’s a reason I always do instrumentals, okay?” Wei Wuxian eventually groans, flopping over on the carpet, and draping the blank paper over his face. “There’s a reason why Ning Yingying wrote her own lyrics for the single, and I touched none of it!”

Jiang Cheng sighs, pulling the sheet music on Wei Wuxian’s side of the table over. It appears that he’s already written the melody. The lyrics just seem to be less forthcoming.

“Did she at least tell you what she wanted to convey in her EP?” he asks.

“She had written the lyrics for some songs, so I composed a melody around her lyrics,” Wei Wuxian mutters into the paper over his face, “but she wants me to help her write some of the other songs.”

He sighs so hard that the paper lifts off his face with the force of it, beginning to slide down his neck. Without opening his eyes, he pulls the paper back over his face.

“What I’m more worried about is Ming Fan’s debut,” he grumbles. “Ming Fan is a lot less sure what he wants. He’s given me less instructions. On top of that, his preferences run much more mainstream. This is… a little out of my usual style.”

“It’s just one single, right?” Jiang Cheng pokes.

“He wants to debut with an album,” Wei Wuxian groans.

Jiang Cheng leans over the table, adding the sheet music he’s holding on top of Wei Wuxian’s covered face.

“Good luck,” he says.

All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt Returns With Contestants Both Promising And Unpromising

The All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt is back with its highly anticipated fourth season! The first three seasons have earned the All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt a well-deserved place amongst China’s most-watched idol elimination shows, boasting a star-studded judging panel, and one of the highest production budgets for a Chinese reality TV series.

Indeed, the talent hunt is backed by a laundry list of industry big-names, with renowned singer, Liu Mingyan, and critically acclaimed lyricist, Ling Wen serving as singing and song-writing mentors. Indie composer, Tianlang-Jun, offers his perspective as an multi-instrumentalist, with Director Shi Wudu of 15° Entertainment finishing the power team as music production mentor. Today, Entertainment Weekly sat down with the show's prodigious judging panel to get an insider’s peek at the upcoming competitors.

Interviewer: First things first, thank you for taking time out of your busy day to be here with us today! 

Liu Mingyan: The pleasure is ours.

Interviewer: Viewers have managed to catch their first glimpse of the new contestants during their debut on Saturday. Since then, there’s been much hubhub on social media about  the performances, but we wanted to get an expert perspective on the matter. So please, do tell us! Which of Saturday's performances did you find most memorable?

Ling Wen: I would say that The Gold Ones and soloist, Jiang Wanyin, were the most memorable acts for me, and I think that my fellow judges are generally in agreement.

THE A-TIER

The Gold Ones

Interviewer: The Gold Ones have definitely created quite the stir on social media! The romance between its lead vocalist and Jiang Wanyin’s sister, celebrity chef Jiang Yanli, seems to have a lot of viewers invested. It certainly also helps that the band members are all so easy on the eyes!

Director Shi: The Gold Ones have a very compelling story going for them, and that works in their favor. It endears them to the fans, and serves to give their lyrics more of a punch— as my colleague Ling Wen would probably agree.

Ling Wen: I do agree. Their songs are catchy, and the lyrics are well-done. The heartfelt execution of the song was also a pleasant surprise.

Liu Mingyan: Jin Zixuan has a pleasant singing voice, and the band’s harmonies are very well-practiced. It’s clear that they’ve been playing together for some time, unlike some of the other bands.

Interviewer: I seem to sense a “but” here.

Liu Mingyan: But they certainly don’t have the sort of raw power that their next closest competitor has. If they hope to hold out against him in later rounds, they are going to have to challenge themselves vocally between now and the final rounds.

Interviewer: This seems like a good opportunity to pivot a little. What does the judging panel have to say about Jiang Wanyin?

Jiang Wanyin

Ling Wen: Well, he certainly is technically competent.

Liu Mingyan: Wen Qing is a formidable vocalist and an excellent coach. She has produced many outstanding students in her time. I admit that when she first took Jiang Wanyin in, I was unsure if she would be able to turn things around for him, but it’s clear now that she’s succeeded in adding yet another star to her already star-studded student list.

Interviewer: What do the judges have to say about Jiang Wanyin’s recruitment and his first few weeks of training?

Director Shi: It was an unmitigated disaster. [Interviewer laughs.] No, but that has actually worked in his favour! People love an underdog.

Interviewer: He has come across as curt and stand-offish throughout the season, but that moment when he broke down backstage… I think that was what turned things around for many viewers. Not that he doesn’t still have his fair share of social media skeptics, of course! Some netizens have a theory going that his performance was faked by the producers to cover up his mistaken recruitment. They have been zooming in on him, slowing down his performance to try and prove that he’s lip syncing.

Ling Wen [dryly]: Believe me, he wasn’t lip syncing.

Interviewer: Other netizens think he had an unfair advantage, being allowed to train off-camera. Does the judging panel think he had an unfair advantage?

Director Shi: Perhaps, but his long absence from the cameras has definitely got its cons as well. He’s had less chances to endear himself to viewers— as this whole episode with the netizens seems to prove.

Ling Wen: Perhaps that will be his next challenge. He could stand to be more like The Gold Ones in this aspect.

Interviewer: This seems like an opportune time to ask: aside from Jiang Wanyin and The Gold Ones, are there really no other performers you would put into the A Tier?

Tianlang-Jun: I happen to think that Bright Moon, Distant Snow gave a remarkable showing. Certainly, their performance was memorable for me.

Bright Moon, Distant Snow

Ling Wen: Song-laoshi and Xiao-laoshi have certainly made names for themselves as traditional musicians. It’s no surprise that Xichen-laoshi would have offered them a place on the show, especially as a classical instrumentalist himself. I’m more surprised that they accepted his offer.

Interviewer: They’ve received a rather lukewarm reception from mainstream viewers.

Director Shi: I think it’s a question of marketability. They are traditional musicians after all, which is not a very mainstream genre.

Interviewer: Do you have suggestions for how they may make themselves more marketable?

Liu Mingyan: Perhaps we are biased, but Ling Wen-laoshi and I both think they could stand to have more vocals in their arrangements. Despite being extremely strong instrumentalists, their trainer has noted that neither are particularly strong singers. I personally find that a little concerning.

Interviewer: Would you say that they belong in the B Tier instead then?

Ling Wen [scoffing]: They are definitely not in the same tier as their next closest competitors. I may be biased by their lack of lyrics, but I’m not that biased.

Interviewer: Who would the judging panel place as their next closest competitors?

Ling Wen: I would say it's a toss-up between Girls 21 and Wen Chao and the Band for me.

THE B-TIER

Girls 21

Interviewer: Let's start with Girls 21 then. What did you think was memorable about their performance?

Director Shi: I believe they've become quite popular with young female audiences over the weekend, and I can understand why. They have strong cohesion, especially when it comes to dancing.

Ling Wen: Luo Qingyang stands out as a particularly strong contestant for me. Her stage presence and enthusiasm definitely makes her memorable.

Interviewer: The judges seem to have good things to say about Girls 21 so far. So why did you place them in the B Tier?

Ling Wen: The band relies too strongly on Luo Qingyang. She is pretty much single-handedly holding the band together by virtue of drawing everyone's attention away from her less talented bandmates.

Liu Mingyan: Their simple yet catchy tunes help mask their shaky vocal delivery. Luo Qingyang is the most consistent vocalist of them all, but even then, she's no match for Jiang Wanyin, or even Jin Zixuan. You can hear her getting breathy on the high notes. In comparison, soloist Qin Su supports her high notes very well. Her transitions from high to low are remarkably steady.

Ling Wen: Contestant Qin! How did I forget to mention Contestant Qin!

Interviewer: Now that you mention it, I did find myself quite captivated by that sweet, almost operatic quality of her voice.

Director Shi: She's a good vocalist, but somehow she's not very memorable. Until she was mentioned, I had also all but forgotten about her.

Ling Wen: Qin Su is a rather odd example of someone who is good yet unmemorable. I am still unsure if it's better to be unmemorable, or to be memorable by virtue of being not good.

Interviewer: Somehow, I get the feeling that I know who you will talk about next.

Wen Chao and the Band

Ling Wen: I found this act particularly frustrating because they could have been good. They really could have been good. The lyrics were soulful. I just don't know why they decided on a musical arrangement that ended up so… contradictory to the lyrics.

Tianlang-Jun: The lead vocalist has a rather one-dimensional style of singing. It isn't just an issue of arrangement. It's also an issue of execution.

Liu Mingyan: He's improved over the course of the training period, but his vocals are still leagues behind his competitors. Luo Qingyang has the excuse that she's often dancing while she sings. Contestant Wen is frequently off-tempo just standing.

Director Shi: He is also stubborn and does not take feedback seriously. He's too arrogant. I personally feel that Contestant Xue suffers from the same issue.

Xue Yang

Ling Wen: To his credit, he does have a rather unique style and has interesting experimentation in his backing track. But that strength also becomes his weakness. His compositions have the tendency to be directionless, too experimental— the arrangement hasn’t come together yet, and neither has the lyrics.

Director Shi: And what's worse, he doesn't seem interested in pulling it together.

Liu Mingyan: Now, I don’t think that’s very fair. I don’t think he’s unwilling to pull it together, but rather that he isn’t sure how.

Tianlang-Jun: He cares about his music. He’s just rather disorganized.

Ling Wen: But that's even more troubling, isn't it? Because now, it isn't simply a matter of snapping out of his stubbornness anymore.

Interviewer: I noticed that out of the contestants, two had very punk rock-inspired styles. Xue Yang was one, and A-Qing was the other.

A-Qing

Liu Mingyan: Both A-Qing and Contestant Xue have relatively strong vocals, but musical arrangement is the key issue for both of them. It’s interesting, but they somehow seem to face opposite problems in their arrangement.

Ling Wen: Xue Yang is too experimental, but A-Qing is too conservative. Her debut performance was a lot more put together than Xue Yang’s, but somehow, it feels unadventurous— boring.

Director Shi: Contestant Qing does tend to take feedback to heart, however. According to her trainer, she’s been working hard to incorporate our feedback into her Round 1 piece. She just seems a little unsure of how best to improve.

Interviewer: I suppose we will have to wait and see what she comes up with for the first round. For now, though, what would you say about the rest of the competitors?

[The judges share a look.] 

Director Shi: Underperforming.

THE C-TIER

Ling Wen: I was unpleasantly surprised by the quality of the other performances. It’s one thing to not be good, but it’s another thing to be downright bad.

Liu Mingyan: There was that one middle-aged contestant who was pretty good though, wasn't she? The one with the scar on her face. She sang an oldie.

Director Shi: She's good, but not very marketable. We tend to have a much younger audience.

Tianlang-Jun: She’s on the wrong show.

Liu Mingyan: Xichen-laoshi does try to introduce some musical variety into the show, but still, our younger and more mainstream contestants tend to get more votes from audience members when we do open votes.

Tianlang-Jun: There was also another contestant. The indie singer? Shi Yuandao? He’s a good guitarist. I was surprised.

Liu Mingyan: Well… his playing is definitely stronger than his vocals.

Director Shi: I think it’s another issue of marketability here.

Tianlang-Jun [sighing]: He really is on the wrong show.

Interviewer: We definitely have quite the range of participants this time, so it’s been great to get such an in-depth round up from the judges. That said, we are running out of airtime here. Any last comments for the audience?

Liu Mingyan: Watch us live on Channel 5 this Saturday!

Interviewer: Many thanks again to the judges. We certainly will!

Entertainment Weekly, 10 June

Before they know it, the competition is upon them. A-Jie arrives the day before the competition, and they spend the after-lunch hours in the kitchen as they are wont to do, in the company of Maiden Song, Mo Xuanyu, and Jin Guangyao. In light of A-Jie and Jin Zixuan’s new, burgeoning relationship, the peacock cousins had attempted to join them, but it had been a squeeze, and Jin Zixuan had been an absolute trainwreck in the kitchen. A string of badly chopped vegetables, dropped bowls, and burnt meat had led to him being assigned to hold the pot. He had then proceeded to trail A-Jie like an eager puppy, still holding the pot, until A-Jie had gently chased him and Zixun out to sit outside and wait.

“He is very sweet,” Maiden Song comments, giggling behind a raised hand.

“He is,” A-Jie sighs. “But suffice to say that he didn’t win my heart through his cooking.”

They had eaten together in the dining hall after that, before A-Jie had excused herself to spend the evening with her new boyfriend. Without their sister, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian had sat there for a long moment, feeling strangely lost and forlorn— a feeling that Jin Zixun seemed to share. Jin Zixun had presented a lonely figure without his cousin, sitting awkwardly between Mo Xuanyu and Jin Guangyao while they spoke and laughed with Maiden Song. Eventually, Maiden Song had gone back into the kitchen to begin preparing for dinner, so the three Jins had gone off, leaving Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng behind. 

“This reminds me of that Disney movie we watched together,” Wei Wuxian says suddenly.

“Which one?” Jiang Cheng asks, a little warily.

Clearing his throat, Wei Wuxian affects an expression of deep melancholy.

“I can see what’s happening,” he begins.

“What?” Jiang Cheng asks.

“And they don’t have a clue,” Wei Wuxian continues, and Jiang Cheng immediately recalls the song that he is reciting.

“No,” he says.

“They’ll fall in love, and here’s the bottom line.”

Jiang Cheng stands up, punching Wei Wuxian hard in the arm.

“Our trio’s down to two— Ow!” Wei Wuxian yelps, as Jiang Cheng punches him again. “Ow— Jiang Cheng, ow!”

Jiang Cheng chases him out of the dining hall, slapping at his back and shoulders. As they turn the corner towards their rooms, still running, they begin to laugh.

They go back to the music room after that, Wei Wuxian to continue working on his songs, and Jiang Cheng to practice again before his performance the next day. After all the excitement of the day, he needs this moment to settle back into the quiet headspace of his song. At some point, Wei Wuxian pushes his papers away with a groan, staggers into the corner, and flops down onto the carpet, pulling the piano cover over his head dramatically. Jiang Cheng ignores him, used to his antics by now, and continues to practice.

By the time he is done, the sun has set and evening has turned into night. It’s only then that he realizes that Wei Wuxian hasn’t moved in a while. He turns around, concerned, but eases as he notes the slow rise and fall of Wei Wuxian’s body, the quiet grunts and low snores issuing from under the piano cover.

He bends down, picking up one of the stray sheets on the floor, and snorts a little at Wei Wuxian's attempts at lyrics. Then, he collects the rest of them, arranging them neatly, watching his brother sleeping in the piano cover, the way Jiang Cheng once had in that long ago time. His heart swells as he kneels by Wei Wuxian’s side.

Under his new and budding feelings for Lan Xichen, under the bustle of his rotations, the momentum of the coming competition, there is a set of dormant feelings that he still has to contend with, swept hastily into a corner where he does not have to acknowledge. He can admit now that a large part of what had been driving him in this competition had been the hope that it would somehow change the way he existed in his father’s eyes. He can now admit that his hope had been misplaced.

He does not know what drives him now, but he knows there’s something about this new status quo that he wants to hold on to. Spending long hours in the music room, falling asleep in the soft velvet of the piano cover— it feels somehow like they have been taken back in time, to that time before everything. These past few afternoons spent in the quiet of their music room have filled him with a strange peace.

“Oi,” he murmurs, shaking Wei Wuxian gently awake. “Get up.”

Wei Wuxian lets out a long, put-upon whine, pushing him sleepily away with one hand. Jiang Cheng clicks his tongue in irritation, and shakes his brother again with renewed vigor.

“Wake up!” he nags. “You have a bed. Don’t sleep here.”

After another round of prodding, Wei Wuxian wakes up just enough to stand and accept the arm that is offered to him. He closes his eyes, still half-asleep, and lets Jiang Cheng guide him from the training building, across the empty car park, towards the lodging house.

Under the cover of starlight, Jiang Cheng looks up into the night sky.

Three months ago in Beijing, he had looked up at this same sky, and he had made a decision. He’d left Beijing in search of the things he found missing in himself, hoping to find something that could return him to the way he’d once been, in that long-ago time before insecurity had come to rule his life.

He still hasn’t found those things but— there are things he still wants to achieve here, things that he still wants to hold on to.

One of them is this new status quo with his brother, and the other...

He is overcome abruptly with a longing so strong that it feels almost like drowning. He realizes then that it’s been more than a week since he’d last seen Lan Xichen in the flesh, and while that had mostly been by design in the aftermath of his new and frightening feelings, he misses Lan Xichen now with shocking intensity.

Once he’s done tucking his half-asleep brother into bed, he takes out his phone and shoots Lan Xichen a quick message.

蓝曦臣 // Lan Xichen

are you awake?
12:01AM

He goes out into the living room, opening a can of soda as he sits down on the couch. His phone beeps as he takes his first sip. He eagerly checks his messages.

Yes
Seen 12:02AM

Jiang Cheng stares at his phone for a long moment, before leaning back against the sofa cushions, covering his eyes with one hand.

What is he doing? What is he trying to do? Is he really going to tell Lan Xichen that he wants to see him? Is he really going to ask to meet this late at night? He knows Lan Xichen sleeps early.

Just say goodnight, he tells himself. You texted him first. You can’t leave him on read.

As he begins to type, he sees the notification appear in the top bar.

Lan Xichen is also typing.

He immediately deletes the beginnings of his text, and stops to wait. Immediately, however, Lan Xichen stops typing as well. He waits for a few more seconds, biting nervously at his lip, before he grits his teeth and begins to type his goodnight again. Lan Xichen begins typing just as his finger hovers over the send button.

He quickly stops himself from hitting send.

Are you still at the training building?
I was hungry and got takeaway
But there's too much to finish
Seen 12:03AM

Jiang Cheng’s breath leaves him in whoosh. His fingers tremble as he types his response.

I just ended training
I’m starving
I’ll meet you at the carpark outside the training building
Seen 12:03PM

Okay I’m coming over
Seen 12:03PM

Tipping his head back, Jiang Cheng downs the rest of his soda in a few gulps before he gets up, crushing the can in one hand and throwing it in the kitchen bin. He opens the door, and takes down the corridor at a run, wiping at the liquid that had spilled from the sides of his mouth in his hurry.

His heart is hammering in his chest.

When he reaches the carpark outside the training building, Lan Xichen is not there yet, so he sits on the curb in the light of a nearby vending machine. After second thought, however, he stands up and buys two cans of the green tea he knows Lan Xichen favors. Jiang Cheng has seen him drinking it during practice sessions.

“Wanyin,” he hears Lan Xichen’s voice call out, just as he’s bending to retrieve the cans from the vending machine.

He straightens, turning around, just in time to get a face full of Lan Xichen’s woolen sweater. It takes him a second to realize that he’s being hugged. Before his brain can finish processing that, however, Lan Xichen is pulling back.

His breath mists slightly in the chilly night air as he reaches down to take a plastic container out of a reusable bag.

The bag has bunnies on it.

“I got,” Lan Xichen begins, still panting, “I got dim sum. I don’t know if you like… if you like dim sum, but…”

He doubles over, hands on his knees, panting too hard to continue. Jiang Cheng wonders how far he had run to get here.

“I like dim sum,” Jiang Cheng assures him, taking the bag. “Thank you.”

They sit on the curb. Judging by the label on the container, Lan Xichen had gotten the dimsum from the store next to the lodging house. The food there isn’t half bad. As Jiang Cheng takes the lid off the container, the smell of fresh meat buns waft up towards him, and his stomach immediately growls.

Lan Xichen’s stomach growls as well.

There’s a moment of silence, before Lan Xichen buries his face in his hands, looking strangely embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” he squeaks.

“I thought you already ate?!” Jiang Cheng demands, worried.

“I—” Lan Xichen begins. “I didn’t realize I was hungry until I ran here.” He raises both hands frantically, shaking his head as Jiang Cheng tries to shove the container back at him. “Oh, no! That’s for you! You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”

He hasn’t.

“We can share,” Jiang Cheng decides.

They take a meat bun each, beginning to eat with relish. Although Jiang Cheng had so eagerly declared that he was ‘starving’ over the phone, he hadn’t actually realized how hungry he was until food had been offered to him. The buns are still hot, almost pipingly so. They eat in silence for a long moment, and when Jiang Cheng is done, their hands touch as they both reach for another bun at the same time.

Lan Xichen blushes. After a moment, he turns to Jiang Cheng with a guilty look on his face.

“I lied,” he confesses. “I didn’t order take-away. I was looking for a reason to see you so I just… lied that I had, and after you said you were hungry, I ran next door in a panic to get food.”

It’s lucky that Jiang Cheng had finished his bun, because if he hadn’t, he would probably have choked on it. Lan Xichen is getting progressively redder, and Jiang Cheng can feel himself flushing with him.

“Are you mad?” Lan Xichen finally asks in a small voice.

“That would be hypocritical,” Jiang Cheng croaks, and clears his throat, looking down at his knees. “I didn’t even feel all that hungry until I got here. I guess I was looking for a reason to see you too.”

“Oh,” Lan Xichen says, expression growing flustered. “Well… you don’t need to come up with a reason to see me. We’re friends, right? I always want to see you.”

Jiang Cheng’s heart skips a beat.

Friends, he tells himself sharply. We’re friends.

They reach into the container, each taking out another meat bun. Lan Xichen turns to Jiang Cheng as he takes a bite.

“Are you ready for the competition tomorrow?” he asks.

Still chewing, Jiang Cheng just nods.

“Which song did you choose?” Lan Xichen asks.

Jiang Cheng thinks on it for a moment, before he finishes chewing, and swallows.

“I want to keep it a secret until tomorrow,” he finally says, before turning to Lan Xichen. “You’ll watch me, won’t you? I… I want to show a different side to me during tomorrow’s performance, and I want you to see it. Please watch me.”

“I will,” Lan Xichen promises, and smiles. “I know you’ll be amazing, Wanyin. You always are.”

Jiang Cheng looks up at him hesitantly, looking for the slightest hint of guile, but there’s nothing but honesty in his eyes. A warmth fills Jiang Cheng’s chest.

He looks down at his knees.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “I needed to hear that.”

The anxiety begins to return the morning of the competition. It’s not a paralyzing feeling, just a mild restlessness, but it’s still enough to have Jiang Cheng bouncing his leg agitatedly as he’s fitted into his costume, drawing a sigh from Nie Huaisang, and later to pace relentlessly backstage as he waits for the order of the performances to be announced.

Finally, Wen Qing catches his arm, seemingly unable to watch on.

“You’ll be fine,” she hisses. “Do you want the camera crew to broadcast you like this?”

He turns to find a camera being trained on him by a young cameraperson, who looks to be holding back a laugh. A young woman carefully dips a boom microphone down towards him.

“I see that you are here today with your supportive siblings,” she observes. “Can you tell us how you’re feeling ahead of your performance, Contestant Jiang? Are you nervous?”

“I am not,” Jiang Cheng says, affronted. “I am… I am exercising.”

Wei Wuxian begins to laugh as Jiang Cheng shoots him a glare. A-Jie also looks to be concealing a laugh behind a raised hand.

So much for supportive siblings... 

They are interrupted from further conversation as Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji appear on the screen, mounted on the wall of the waiting room. They emerge onto the stage to loud applause from the live audience.

”Hello everyone!” Lan Xichen greets with a sunny smile. “My name is Lan Xichen, and I’ll be your host for tonight, along with my brother Lan Wangji here. Now, today marks the first round of the All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt, and I am so excited for the performances tonight. How about you, Wangji?”

Lan Wangji raises his microphone to his lips.

“Mm,” he intones.

The audience begins to laugh, as does Wei Wuxian— uproariously, as if it’s all some kind of big joke. Wincing, Jiang Cheng leans over and punches him in the shoulder, which prompts him to contain his laughter a little.

“And I’m sure everyone is just as excited as we are!” Lan Xichen continues, holding up a manila envelope, seemingly unperturbed by his co-host’s non-answer. “In this envelope, we have the list of songs that the different contestants have chosen, as well as the line-up for tonight. But before we get to that, let’s please have a round of applause for our lovely judges. Every single one of them are industry leaders in their own right, and we are very fortunate to have them here to mentor our contestants over the next few months.”

The audience breaks out into applause again as the camera pans over the panel of judges. Jiang Cheng recognizes them, of course. They are the same four judges who had appeared at his debut.

“The honor is ours,” the veiled judge demurs politely.

Jiang Cheng can’t help but wonder curiously if she ever takes the damned thing off.

“With that, I don’t think we can stand to wait any longer, can we, Wangji?” He waits just long enough to receive a response (“Mm.”) before continuing. “So without further ado, here is the line-up for tonight.”

On the screen, the shot of the stage fades to white, before black text begins to appear on the screen. Jiang Cheng sits up, leaning closer to search for his name. The performances are lined up so that contestants covering the same song are lined up one after another. His heart skips a beat as he sees that the first song on the list is his. Up first is Mo Ziyuan and the Goons, then Bright Moon Distant Snow, followed by Wen Chao and the Band, before— 

Ah, he thinks, as he finally spots his name.

He’s going fourth.

The text cross fades into another shot of Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji on the stage. Jiang Cheng tunes out a little this time as he continues to muse over the song choices of his competitors. He doesn’t know much about Mo Ziyuan’s song preferences, nor Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan’s, but he definitely is surprised at Wen Chao’s choice in song. From their debut, he didn’t think Wen Chao’s personality would suit the song they’ll both be singing.

As Mo Ziyuan and his band leave the waiting room for the stage, a crew member begins handing out hardcopies of the line-up, which Jiang Cheng gratefully accepts. He’d been too lost in thought to catch the order of performances that would come after him. He is somewhat amused to see that A-Qing and Xueyang are set to perform the same song, a song with a little more attitude, which is no surprise at all considering their similar taste in music. Despite that, however, the two seem determined to be dramatic about it, grimacing and blowing raspberries at each other from across the room. Mianmian, on the other hand, is proving to be a much better sport, skipping over to wish Qin Su good luck for the song they’ve both chosen.

His attention is drawn back to the screen at the sound of applause. 

“—so please welcome, Mo Ziyuan and the Goons!”

Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji stride quickly off stage as the camera pans out on a wide shot of the band. The lingering remnants of Jiang Cheng’s residual anxiety dies to disbelief as the band takes to the stage in a clatter of off-beat cymbals. There’s a shot of Ling Wen flinching, visibly, as Wen Qing snorts from beside Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng turns to her.

"What is happening?" he hisses.

On his other side, Wei Wuxian is covering his ears.

The camera pans across Lan Xichen's slack-jawed expression after that, an expression so openly taken aback that Jiang Cheng quickly rearranges his own face. He doesn’t want his own expression to be caught by the cameras.

Unsurprisingly, the judges have nothing good to say about the performance. Judging from the way she’s rubbing at her temples, it even looks like Ling Wen might be suffering from a tension headache. Bright Moon, Distant Snow is a breath of fresh air in comparison.

Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan make an interesting duo. The song, familiar to Jiang Cheng now as the back of his own hand, has been arranged to suit their respective instruments. While Xiao Xingchen plucks delicately at the strings of his guzheng, Song Lan’s fingers move deftly over the openings of his bamboo flute. The judges seem almost relieved after the cacophony that was the previous performance, nodding along approvingly.

Tianlang-laoshi is the first to speak once the last notes of their song have faded into applause.

“Your playing was exquisite, as always,” he says. “Well-done.”

“The instrumentals were well-arranged, as was the harmony,” Ling Wen agrees.

“Though I do worry that the vocals come across as a little… flat,” Liu Mingyan muses, before perking. “Not in terms of pitch, of course! You were both perfectly in tune, but… well, it didn’t feel like there was any climax for the vocals, which does give the kind of ethereal air you two seemed to be aiming for. But in light of feedback from your coach that neither of you are very strong singers, it does strike me as a little concerning.”

Xiao Xingchen bends his head slightly to speak into his microphone.

“It is true that we are a little newer to singing than to our instruments,” he admits, “but we are working hard on it. We are confident that we will improve with time.”

“Bright Moon Distant Snow will definitely be safe for the first few rounds,” Director Shi says matter-of-factly. “From a marketability perspective, however, I echo my fellow judges. You will need better vocals to get through the later rounds.”

“We will keep your feedback in mind,” Xiao Xingchen promises.

The duo leave the stage to more applause. Wen Chao and his band come out to replace them, and Jiang Cheng leans forward in interest as they begin their performance. With a (fortunately on-beat) clatter of drums, the band begins their strangely upbeat and poppy rendition of the song. Ling Wen flinches again, and frowns. It seems her tension headache has returned from the way she begins to massage her temples once more.

Honestly, the cover is not terrible. The instrumentals are well arranged, and Wen Chao doesn’t actually do half-bad. He’s on tune, and Wen Ning makes for incredibly steady harmony, but the poignancy that had so drawn Jiang Cheng to the song has been lost completely.

Ling Wen is the first judge to speak, and the first judge to comment on exactly that.

“As with your debut song, the execution is at complete odds with the lyrics,” she says, expression stony. “I begin to wonder why you even chose this song.”

Liu Mingyan clears her throat.

“The arrangement supports your interpretation,” she begins, a little more diplomatically. “In terms of arrangement, the cover was well done, so I think you are in a safe enough place for now. But I would definitely prod your main vocalist to work on his vocals over the early rounds. Contestant Wen, your team has done an excellent job in arranging the instrumentals to cover for your weaknesses, but I can hear that underneath the accompaniment, you aren’t breathing correctly. That is the first fundamental of singing. You need to work on that.”

“You should do well to listen to the feedback of my fellow judges,” Director Shi agrees bluntly, before continuing, after a pause. “If there is one thing really worthy of praise, then it is the arrangement, but otherwise, no.”

Tianlang-laoshi declines to even comment.

“Thank you,” Wen Chao begins, with a wide grin and a bit of a swagger. “I agree with the judges, of course. I think our band did excellently.”

Ling Wen’s eyebrows shoot up at that.

“It’s very difficult being the main vocalist and leader of a band,” Wen Chao continues, “but with your praise, I am heartened. I will continue guiding my bandmates to greater heights.”

At that, Wen Ning exhales, a noise unfortunately caught and amplified by the microphone in front of him. Director Shi seems to zero in on that.

“Back-up vocals, is there something you would like to say?”

Wen Ning startles, and then bows his head.

“N-No, sir,” he stammers.

A crew member comes to call Jiang Cheng up onto stage as the judges wrap up their feedback. Having watched the performances of his competitors, however, Jiang Cheng's nerves have vanished completely. He reaches the wings just in time to hear Lan Xichen introducing him. The crew member behind him prompts him forward with a gentle push to his back.

Jiayou, Lan Xichen mouths as he passes, out of view of the cameras.

Jiang Cheng has a brief moment to regret that Lan Xichen won't be watching from the audience, before the stage lights come on, causing him to wince and squint disgruntledly up towards the spotlights. The lighting gentles a little after that, as a camera glides across the stage, borne on a thin metal rail. No doubt, it will be broadcasting his performance to those sitting at the back.

Where Lan Xichen will be watching, he realizes.

Director Shi holds up an okay sign, which seems to signal the start of the performance, because the opening notes of a piano begin to play. 

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes. 

His mind quietens, and in his head, the space before him morphs into an empty auditorium, just as the last notes of the piano fade.

He raises the microphone.

“How much further can we go?” he begins quietly. “Want to stay for one more day.”

He breathes out.

“With you by my side, I'm no longer afraid.”

There’s a smattering of applause from the audience, prompting him to push his in-ear monitor more securely in.

“A day, a week, three months together,” he continues, and smiles wryly. “Doesn’t it feel like forever? Both of us under this same roof…”

The camera slides up the rail towards him, and as the violins hasten into the chorus, he finally opens his eyes, and looks right into it.

“But in this warm room with you, I’ve slowly begun to realize—” His heart tightens, and he closes his eyes again. “Our time together is limited, and I’m not ready to say goodbye.”

The camera pulls back. The whir of it threatens to pull him from his quiet headspace, but he perseveres, determinedly replacing the image of it in his head with the shadow of a gently smiling person. The image draws a smile from him in return.

“In this warm room together,” he recalls tenderly. “You’ve laughed with me so sweetly.”

Those precious memories come back to him one at a time — laughing, dancing, and singing boldly into one another’s faces; skipping, running, and trailing their fingers over metal railings; his hopes and dreams, spoken into the quiet space between them; his fears and tears, held inside his body with a warm embrace.

“Those moments,” he whispers, “will stay with me forever.”^[1]

When he's done, the judges seem surprised by his choice of song, but after trading a few silent looks, they begin to smile.

"I have to admit," Ling Wen says wryly, "you didn't seem like you'd be able to pull this off, but you did. You really showed us a different side of you today, one that most would perhaps not expect."

"The execution was on point," Liu Mingyan continues. "You nailed it. You hit both the technical and emotional highlights of the song."

"You have a firm grasp on the emotional core of these lyrics," Ling Wen agrees. "That was something that was missing in some of the other performances, something that I had been itching to see. You've satisfied that itch quite thoroughly now, so thank you."

"More than making a cover your own, you first have to serve the song," Tianlang-laoshi muses. "If you lose the heart of the song, even if you succeed in making it your own, your performance will lose the power to etch itself into the hearts of its listeners."

"Coming from a producer's perspective," Director Shi, "you've also made a number of fantastic choices during your performance today. During your debut performance, you looked into the audience as you sang, but this time, you've chosen to look into the camera instead. In a large venue as large as this one, the majority of your viewers will be too far away to see you, and will thus be watching the screens behind you. By looking into the camera, it will look as if you are staring right into their eyes. That's a surefire way to make your audience feel the intensity of your performance. The other contestants will do well to learn this too."

There's a moment of silence, before Lan Xichen steps forward, having apparently emerged from the wings with his brother sometime during the discussion. He clears his throat.

"Would Contestant Jiang like to say anything in response to the judges' commentary?" he prompts. "Perhaps a word of thanks?"

"Right," Jiang Cheng says. "Thanks."

There's a moment of silence.

"I will remember your advice," Jiang Cheng tries again.

After another long moment, Ling Wen sighs, massaging the bridge of her nose with two long, spidery fingers.

"Lyrical as a lark in song," she mutters. "Reticent as a rock out of it."

Jiang Cheng bows, flustered, as the audience begins to laugh.

"Don't squint so obviously when the spotlights come on next time," Wen Qing says immediately, when he resumes his seat beside her.

"Is that really all you have to say to me?" Jiang Cheng grouses. "No good job, or keep up the good work?"

"By now, you should be well-aware of your own standing in this competition without me having to tell you," Wen Qing says flatly. "Sit down and stop fishing for compliments."

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes, but sits down, though he is unable to resist sticking his tongue out at Wen Qing as he does so.

He had been too nervous during the debut to pay proper attention to the other performances, but this time, his mind is clear. He is deeply entertained by Girls 21’s high energy dance routine, and pleasantly surprised by the gentle and operatic quality of Qin Su’s voice. Meanwhile, the Jin band hits the first week with an incredibly sappy song about love and spending a lifetime together. Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng are unable to watch the performance without gagging and making faces at each other throughout it all.

"A-Cheng, were you any better on stage just now?" A-Jie points out mildly.

That successfully shuts Jiang Cheng up.

At the end of the performances, Mo Ziyuan and the Goons, Anxin from the disbanded Butterfly Sisters, and Sons of Moling, are called onto the stage. They are up for elimination, and Jiang Cheng is not surprised. The judges had been wincing throughout all three performances.

As they stand on the stage, shuffling their feet or picking at their sleeves nervously under the spotlights, the judges remain quiet for a long, long moment, before finally, Ling Wen sighs.

"I don't even know what to say at this point," she says. "Mo Ziyuan and the Goons, your lead vocalist can't even hold a tune. Sons of Moling, your members are all singing on slightly different tempos. The harmonies were off. What's the point of a choir if you don't have cohesion?"

"Anxin is straining on the high notes," Liu Mingyan picks up, a little more quietly, as if that would soften the blow of the criticism she is about to give. "When you were a part of the Butterfly sisters, you seemed to have been singing the lower part. Your singing partner covered for the notes you could not reach. But now, as a soloist, your lack of control and vocal range becomes very apparent."

There's a moment of silence.

"You will be assigned a song," Director Shi finally says. "Tomorrow, the three of you will sing off against each other. The one who does the poorest will be eliminated.”

As they leave the auditorium afterwards, Wen Qing snorts, turning to meet Jiang Cheng's eye. 

"Didn't I tell you that you needn't worry for the first half of the competition?" she asks dryly.

Jiang Cheng doesn't say anything. During the debut, he'd performed relatively late in the program, and had not been in the right state of mind to absorb other performances. He'd been a lot calmer this time. Having watched the other performances now, he can see that the first few weeks are going to be a complete walkover while the weaker contestants are eliminated. It's almost anticlimactic after the intensity of the debut.

Wen Qing pats him on the shoulder.

"I'd advise you to take a longer-term view of the competition," she finally says. "Take the first few weeks easy. Sing easier songs and don't burn your throat out too quickly. Trust me, no matter how good you are, singing vocally intensive songs every day, every week, for three whole months is going to take its toll on you. There's no way you'll be at your best at the end of the season. So take this opportunity to showcase the full extent of your range. Not your vocal range. Your emotional range.”

She pauses.

“And get started on writing your songs for the later rounds,” she finishes, after a moment of thought.

"The song-writing component of the competition begins with the top five," Jiang Cheng protests weakly.

Wen Qing laughs.  

"Do you really think you'll have to worry about making the top five?" she asks, through her incredulous laughter. "The battle for the top three is what you should be focusing on! If you start now, you'll have three months to come up with something amazing. Don't look at me like that. You should be well aware of your standing now! You really need to set your sights higher!"

And with that, she heads off with a little flick of her high ponytail.

Lan Xichen comes out of the auditorium doors moments later, looking around as if for someone. Jiang Cheng immediately goes to him, catching him by the arms.

"Did you watch my performance?" he asks breathlessly.

"Of course!" Lan Xichen cries at once. "I— You were amazing, Wanyin. I felt as if I could barely breathe." 

Jiang Cheng doesn't even know how to respond, so he just grins.

"I have to meet with the producers but—" Lan Xichen begins.

"I'll see you at the elimination round tomorrow," Jiang Cheng says.

Lan Xichen nods, and then smiles. He gives Jiang Cheng's forearms a squeeze before he vanishes off into the crowd. Raising an eyebrow, Wei Wuxian sidles up to Jiang Cheng's side as he continues to stare off after Lan Xichen.

"Careful," he murmurs. "Your feelings are showing."

Jiang Cheng startles.

"What feelings?" he snaps, before he turns, and flounces off.

Chapter Text

The elimination round the next day falls on a Monday. 

The new selection of songs are released that same morning. Over breakfast before his shift at Jiang Electric, Jiang Cheng quietly reviews the list, and finds himself immediately drawn to another one of the love songs. Wei Wuxian can’t seem to hold back his laughter when Jiang Cheng plays the song for him.

“Oh my gods,” he manages through his laughter. “Oh, Jiang Cheng, you’re so basic!”

“What does basic mean?” Jiang Cheng snaps. “And what’s wrong with that! I was… I was just drawn to the lyrics!"

Wei Wuxian’s laughter finally dies down to a chuckle.

“There’s nothing wrong with being basic,” he assures Jiang Cheng. “It’s the kind of music that a lot of people like, palatable and easy to digest. I mean, look at me. Here I am, struggling with Ning Yingying’s and Ming Fan’s songs because my music style is too eccentric, while you’re off trending on Weibo after yesterday’s performance!”

“I’m,” Jiang Cheng begins, “ trending.”

“Yeah, on Weibo. Look,” Wei Wuxian says, digging his phone out of his pocket. “Here. You have a Super Topic now. Someone created it last night, and your name is trending on the top searched list in the last twenty-four hours.”

“Let me see that,” Jiang Cheng snaps, snatching Wei Wuxian’s phone.

橙宝宝3217
◈ Jiang Wanyin Supertopic wahhhh!! jiang wanyin was so good last night!!! i really didn’t expect him to pick that song. he doesn’t seem like the sentimental sort, but his performance really proved me wrong!

xichenfucker
He’s a boulder with a soft gooey center!!

jiangwanyinamirite
Jiang Wanyin: Secret Romantic????

xiaochengzi
◈ Jiang Wanyin Supertopic Wait guys, remember that interview they did with him out by the canal? His brother said that he doesn’t have a girlfriend! Does that mean he has a secret crush on someone?

小酒鬼1216
oh my god, i almost forgot about that but you’re RIGHT. he could totally pull a jin zixuan with that performance though. just tell the girl “I DEDICATED THAT SONG TO YOU” and i bet she’d say yes.

jxgxt
Okay guys, but I have a Theory. I think he’s crushing on someone he met through the competition!! He didn’t seem like he was thinking about anyone in particular when he was answering questions about his love life during that interview, but it seems like things have changed since then. And did anyone else notice that he changed the lyrics from “a day, a month, a year together” to “a day, a month, THREE MONTHS” together? That’s the duration of the training period!

Jiang Cheng’s heart skips a beat, then begins to hammer in his chest. His fingers feel abruptly sweaty against the screen as he swipes downwards, continuing to read.

xiaochengzi
Oh wow. You are RIGHT. I rewatched his performance and he DID change the lyrics. That’s so sneaky of him! Who do you think it is?!

小酒鬼1216
I bet it’s Mianmian. Who isn’t at least a little bit in love with her? She can dance, sing, and she’s so pretty and nice!

jxgxt
I personally think it’s Qin Su. His brother said that his type was the demure and family-minded type. He specifically said “graceful and dutiful, with a soft voice” and Mianmian really isn’t that type.

xiaochengzi
He hasn’t really reacted strangely when he’s interacted with them on camera though. He seems very professional with them. Maybe someone else from Girls21, if not then maybe a crew member.

A few other users quickly chime in with their theories. It seems like this particular post is one of the more discussed posts in the Super Topic, but his heartbeat slows as they just continue to speculate about the other female contestants. No one has mentioned Lan Xichen at all, which he can’t help but be relieved about.

小酒鬼1216
I think we will definitely get more clues about his crush when we reach the songwriting section. Speechless was so good but I’m definitely looking forward to hearing him write and perform a love song!!

Finally, he manages to pull himself away from the comments section, scoffing a little as he pushes the phone back at Wei Wuxian.

"Ridiculous," he mutters. After a moment, however, he sighs, before continuing more unsurely. “Speaking of which, I... actually need to learn how to compose songs now.”

“That would be wise,” Wei Wuxian agrees easily.

There’s a moment of silence, before Jiang Cheng closes his eyes.

“By that I mean," he grits out, "how the fuck do I even begin learning?

“Oh!” Wei Wuxian exclaims, surprised. “Oh, right. Are you— are you asking me for advice?”

Jiang Cheng opens his eyes, pinning him with an unamused look.

“Right, of course,” Wei Wuxian says, and then taps a finger against his chin, seemingly thinking about it. “Well, to write songs, you need to know what kind of music you want to write, right? So what kind of music do you listen to?”

“I just listen to whatever you play on the speakers,” Jiang Cheng says shortly.

Wei Wuxian nods, looking at Jiang Cheng expectantly.

“... And?” he prods after a moment, when Jiang Cheng doesn’t continue. “What about when I’m not playing any music?”

“Then I don’t listen to anything,” Jiang Cheng says.

Wei Wuxian’s eyebrows shoot up.

“And do you,” he begins, “do you… like the music I play?”

Jiang Cheng thinks about it.

“It’s alright,” he finally says. “It’s music.”

Wei Wuxian just looks at him for a long moment. Then, with a slow inhale, he puts a hand over his eyes, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. After a count of three, he exhales, before looking back up at Jiang Cheng.

“Jiang Cheng,” he finally says. “You can’t write music if you don’t even fucking listen to it.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Listen to more music,” he concludes. “Just… listen to the radio, for fuck’s sake, if you don’t know where to start. When you have a better idea of what kind of music you like, then we can talk about writing something.”

And so, upon Wei Wuxian's instruction, Jiang Cheng downloads a radio app, and begins listening to the radio on his lengthy commute to Jiang Electric.

Down in the loading docks, the workers are more than happy to let him play music over the unused speakers. It takes him cycling through a few channels before he finds one that he likes. Two songs in, it had played the song he’d covered for the competition, a happening that had delighted him greatly. He’d been unable to stop himself from singing along to the chorus.

“You can sing!” the men had exclaimed.

“I have a teacher,” he’d admitted, embarrassed.

“How long have you been learning?!” 

“Three months.”

“Wow! That’s a short time! And you sound so good!”

“I’m participating in a singing competition,” he had explained. “The training is pretty intensive.”

“Wow!” the men had cried.

He’d stuck to that channel for the rest of the day.

That night, after wincing through the three performances, the judges dismiss the contestants from the stage, and begin to confer on the result. They discuss furiously for a long, long time, so long that Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji eventually come down from the stage. Without a live audience, the contestants have been allowed to sit in the front rows. While Lan Wangji goes to stand silently by Wei Wuxian, Lan Xichen sits down beside Jiang Cheng. 

"What's taking so long?" Jiang Cheng mutters, and Lan Xichen sighs.

"It’s a tough choice," he says. "It's difficult to pick who to eliminate."

"Why?" Jiang Cheng asks, unimpressed. "They were all terrible."

Somehow, they had all managed to perform even worse than their initial performances. It had been enough to strike even Jiang Cheng speechless. 

Beside him, Lan Xichen winces.

"Exactly," he murmurs.

After another five minutes of furious discussion, the producers are eventually called over, and after that, Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji are called over as well. Jiang Cheng can't help but wonder what exactly is going on, but the reason for the commotion eventually becomes clear.

The judges have decided to eliminate all three competitors. 

Lan Xichen's smile, as he announces the results, is beginning to look a little strained. However, Jiang Cheng can understand the reason for the decision. If it had been him on the panel, he would probably have decided the same.

With that, the elimination round is wrapped up. As Jiang Wanyin leaves the venue, Lan Xichen catches up with him again, sighing.

"This will shift the timeline of the competition forward a little," he says, "but I agree with their decision. Perhaps I was a bit too soft during recruitment."

Jiang Cheng looks at him, and then clears his throat.

"Well, you recruited me," he grouses, "and I turned out fine, didn't I?"

Lan Xichen blinks, looking faintly surprised, before he smiles. 

"Yes," he says quietly. "You did."

Preparing for the next round is much less stressful than preparing for the first. He takes his lyrics with him to work, turning the melody over and over in his head as he carries boxes to and fro. Sometimes he hums, sometimes he sings along. The songs on the radio are beginning to sound familiar to him too. The hottest ones are always playing, sometimes even multiple times a day. It’s not long before he is able to sing along to them.

"Does it sound better if I end soft, or loud?" he had asked the men one time.

"Do you think I should drag this last note out for dramatic effect?" he had asked another time. "Or should I stick with the original?"

The men are always keen to offer their views, yelling over one another in heavily accented mandarin. They aren't very helpful, since they spend most of the time disagreeing loudly with one another with no real consensus, but it makes Jiang Cheng laugh.

The operations manager, on the other hand, is a quiet man, who comes alive under Jiang Cheng's many questions about Jiang Electric. In the early afternoons, after a morning spent in the docks, he goes up into the office to observe the operations team. Manager Ling has been running the factory, coordinating the flow of goods in and out of it for eight years, and it shows. The man is curious to hear about Jiang Cheng's time at Yu Semiconductors too, so when Jiang Cheng is not busy moving boxes, he's often up in the office, chatting with him.

Near the end of the week, he heads back late after a long shift at Jiang Electric, only to find Wei Wuxian mysteriously missing. He's not in his bedroom, in the living room, or in the bathroom, so after a preliminary scan of their rooms, Jiang Cheng shoots him a quick message.

臭婴儿 // Big Baby

where are you?
what should I cook for dinner?
3:46PM

While he waits for a reply, he looks in the kitchen cabinets, mentally noting down the ingredients they have on hand. It's not too long before Wei Wuxian texts him back.

i forgot to mention!
i'm having dinner with lan zhan
go ahead and cook for yourself
Seen 3:51PM

Jiang Cheng snorts at that. It doesn’t make sense to cook for one. As he begins to look through his options for delivery, however, he can't help but note that it’s a Tuesday.

Lan Xichen will be practicing at the auditorium today.

He checks the time again. He has more than enough time to whip something up, so he quickly starts on dinner, and gets some egg tarts going as well. It's not long before he's packing all of them up into containers, and heading off towards the auditorium.

When he gets there, however, the auditorium is empty.

Lan Xichen is not there.

He leaves the training building and sits on the curb by the vending machine. Setting the containers down, he takes out his phone and shoots Lan Xichen a text message.

蓝曦臣 // Lan Xichen

you're not practicing today?
5:47PM

Lan Xichen replies almost immediately.

No, I'm not
Are you there now?
Were you looking for me?
Seen 5:47PM

i made too much for dinner
have you eaten?
Seen 5:47PM

I haven't! 
(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)
Seen 5:47PM

i'm outside the training building
Seen 5:47PM

He puts away his phone, and gets up to put some coins into the vending machine. He gets a beer for himself, and green tea for Lan Xichen. Lan Xichen arrives just as he's sitting back down on the curb, taking the containers out of their various bags.

"I'm starving," Lan Xichen says gladly. "I've been stuck in a meeting with the producers since lunch."

"Eat," Jiang Cheng says, getting out a pair of chopsticks for him.

Lan Xichen sits down on the curb beside Jiang Cheng. After a moment, they both dig in.

"Long meeting?" Jiang Cheng asks.

"Yes," Lan Xichen says, and sighs. "Because they eliminated three contestants all at once, our schedule is ahead by two weeks. The producers are trying to think of something we can do to fill up those two weeks, but personally, I think it'd be better to end the season early than make up filler episodes that weren't there in our previous seasons."

He sighs again, shaking his head, before turning to look at Jiang Cheng with a smile.

"And what about you?" he asks. "How's work at Jiang Electric?"

"It's been great," Jiang Cheng says. "I've been learning a lot."

"Yeah?" Lan Xichen asks.

"Yeah," Jiang Cheng confirms. "Jiang Electric is a leader in lean manufacturing,^[1] and has one of the shortest lead times in the industry. From start to finish, it only takes us three days to manufacture a product, and it's all down to inventory management. The factory and loading docks is where the magic happens, where new material is coming in and stock is leaving the premises. We've studied Jiang Enterprises many times through case studies in school, but unlike my classmates, I'm now getting a chance to see it in the flesh."

He can't help the pride that warms his chest at that.

"Because we rely on small, frequent, and timely receipt of materials," he continues, "we depend heavily on our suppliers. Yu Semiconductors is Jiang Electric's biggest and longest-term supplier. When I was working there, I asked for the chance to observe the factories there too, and now I'm getting the chance to see how it all fits together. Not everyone gets this opportunity, so I'm making the best of my time to learn."

He turns to Lan Xichen, and catches the other man smiling at him, expression fond. Realizing how long he'd been talking, he can't help but feel slightly self-conscious. 

“What?” he asks, embarrassed.

Lan Xichen just laughs.

“Nothing," he says. "It’s just— I've never heard you sound so excited about anything else."

Jiang Cheng bites his lip, self-consciousness growing as he realizes that he'd just— gone on a long monologue about something Lan Xichen probably has zero interest in.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "You're probably not interested in hearing any of this."

"I'm always interested in what you have to say, Wanyin," Lan Xichen says immediately. "Business is… very far out of left field for me. I know I'm eventually going to have to do all this someday. I can't say it sounds like something I'd enjoy, but hearing how passionate you are about it…"

He trails off, and then lowers his eyes, smiling a little.

"Perhaps I could learn to love it too," he finishes quietly. "I hope that I can grow to love it like you do, Wanyin. I really do."

"There are many functions in business," Jiang Cheng tells him. "This is just the operations side, which… is sometimes seen as a more low-level aspect of business. Maybe you'll enjoy the higher-level aspects, like strategy. My mother wanted me up in the office doing strategy at Yu Semiconductors, but I asked to start in the factory instead. She wasn't too pleased about that… said that I shouldn't be wasting time doing grunt work."

The reminder hurts more than he'd expected, and he can't help but lower his head. Suddenly, the work he'd been doing at Jiang Electric seems trivial and worthless. Suddenly, the weight of his mother's disappointment seems to hang over him like a pendulum, too much to bear.

Seeming to sense his mood, Lan Xichen reaches over, laying a hand on Jiang Cheng's knee.

"You said it yourself, didn't you?" he asks softly. "This is where the magic happens."

Jiang Cheng feels the uncertainty, the self-consciousness ebb a little.

"Yeah," he says, a little more confidently. "It is!"

Lan Xichen smiles.

"And how are the people?" he asks. "Are they nice?"

Jiang Cheng smiles.

"They found out about the talent hunt," he says. "I walked in yesterday and they were watching the first round on the office television.”

Xiao Laoban! the men had cried.^[2] Look! You’re famous!  

Despite himself, Jiang Cheng can feel his smile pulling into a grin. He shakes his head with a little chuckle, and Lan Xichen smiles along with him.

"And do you have enough time to practice?" Lan Xichen asks. "Do you have enough time to rest?"

"I've been practicing a little while I work," Jiang Cheng says, before he adds, more jokingly, "I have a whole team of vocal coaches now. They aren't the most helpful, though. They always have different opinions."

He smiles, remembering the argument that had started amongst them the day before.

"They're a rowdy bunch, the lot of them," he says fondly, "always bantering and yelling. I'm just..."

He trails off, suddenly feeling a little somber.

"Just what?" Lan Xichen prompts patiently.

With a sigh, Jiang Cheng raises his can to his lips.

"Just a little sad," he finally admits. "My rotation in the factory will finish this week, and I'll be heading on to the other departments after that. I'm excited to see more, to learn more, but I’ll miss them for sure."

"But you can still visit them down in the docks from time to time, can't you?" Lan Xichen asks.

"Yeah," Jiang Cheng says.

"This company is your birthright," Lan Xichen continues. "These people will always be under your care."

Jiang Cheng looks down at the can in his hand, drawing his thumb through the condensation.

"Working amongst them has certainly fostered a greater sense of responsibility in me," he muses quietly. "I'll be responsible for their livelihoods one day, responsible for the livelihoods of so many. I want to do right by all of them."

"And I'm sure you will, Wanyin," Lan Xichen says.

With that, he fishes the lid out of the bag Jiang Cheng had brought, and snaps it back over his container. He had apparently finished eating while Jiang Cheng had been talking, and Jiang Cheng feels abruptly embarrassed.

"Sorry," he says. "I'll stop talking your ear off now. This is embarrassing— I haven't even started eating yet!"

Lan Xichen chuckles as Jiang Cheng raises his container and begins to quickly shovel rice into his mouth.

"On the contrary," Lan Xichen begins, a little apologetically, "I think I'm the one who should be embarrassed. I've been keeping you talking to the point that you haven't had time to eat!"

Rolling his eyes, Jiang Cheng swallows his mouthful of food.

"Alright, alright, you sweet talker," he groans. "Stop trying to turn it around."

As Lan Xichen laughs, Jiang Cheng grabs the container of the egg tarts, and shoves it at him.

"Here," he mumbles, "try these."

He picks up his food, and continues to shovel down his food as Lan Xichen opens the container curiously. After a moment, he picks up an egg tart, and takes a bite out of it. 

His eyes widen, and then close as he lets out a happy moan.

"These must be," he begins, with relish, "some the best egg tarts I've ever had in Suzhou."

He turns to Jiang Cheng.

"Where did you buy these?" he asks eagerly. "Did you have to travel far to get them?"

"I made them," Jiang Cheng says.

Lan Xichen's jaw drops. He looks slowly back at the half-eaten egg tart in his hand, and then looks at Jiang Cheng again.

"From scratch?" he asks, incredulous. "Even the crust?"

"I don't like the ready-made frozen ones," Jiang Cheng admits. "The texture is better and the pastry fresher if you make the crust yourself. My sister taught me. It's not difficult."

Lan Xichen just gapes at him, open-mouthed, for a moment longer, before he groans again.

"I'm so embarrassed!" he cries. "I can't believe you went to all that trouble!"

"It's no trouble," Jiang Cheng insists, bewildered. "I told you, it's not that difficult, and besides, I enjoy cooking."

But Lan Xichen is looking thoughtful now, tapping a finger against his chin.

"I'll find some way to repay you," he muses.

Jiang Cheng snorts.

"You're impossible," he says fondly, before continuing to eat. "But I'll look forward to it."

The weekend comes and goes without much fanfare. The song that Jiang Cheng had chosen is well-received by the judges and audience. The Gold Ones had picked the same song as him this time, and had also received good feedback from the judges. 

And so, up for elimination this time is a young indie singer, whose name Jiang Cheng had missed — and Sisi. The gashes on her face have mostly healed by now, but as predicted, they've left a scar. Jin Guangyao gets out of his seat and goes to her the moment she returns to the backstage waiting room.

"I just didn't think you'd be up for elimination so early," he says unhappily. "And you've gotten a scar out of this whole thing too… Will you— Will you go back to the KTV bar after this?"

Sisi is quiet for a moment, before she sighs.

"Will they have me back looking like this?" she asks wryly.

At Jin Guangyao's stricken expression, however, she smiles, and reaches out to pat his cheek.

"Don't you think it's about time I retired from the KTV bar, Yao'er?" she asks quietly. "Aren't I getting a little too old for hostessing? I'm not young anymore."

"You’re not old either," Jin Guangyao says unhappily.

Sisi just sighs again.

"Whatever will be, Yao'er," she murmurs, "will be."

Sisi is eliminated the next day.

In light of the conversation he'd heard the day before, Jiang Cheng can't help but feel a little unhappy. Perhaps Jiang Electric will have a place for her to work? He's not sure, but it feels unfair that it should end this way. Jin Guangyao stands as soon as the results are announced, beginning to make his way towards her as she comes down from the stage. Jiang Cheng follows.

When they get to her, however, she's elated, practically skipping with it.

"I got a job offer last night!" she shrieks excitedly. "I've been hired as a singer at a hotel lounge! That's ten times better than being a hostess at a KTV bar! I think the manager is an old friend of Tianlang-laoshi's. He was the one who approached me with the news."

"I'm so glad," Jin Guangyao says, sounding stunned, but relieved.

"Goodbye, Suzhou!" Sisi cries, walking off with a spring in her step. "I'm going home to Beijing!"

Meanwhile, as Wei Wuxian catches up with them, Jiang Cheng turns to see Mianmian running up to the indie singer. He's carrying his guitar on his back as he leaves the auditorium.

"Shi Yuandao!" she cries. "Wait!"

"Qingyang," he greets calmly.

She draws to a halt in front of him, breathing a little heavily from her sprint.

"Congratulations on your win," she breathes. "You did— You did so well."

"I'm so thankful for the chance I've been given here," he says humbly. "Training with everyone has really brought my skills to the next level. I've grown so much during my time here." His smile turns a little bittersweet. "Even so, I think my time here is limited."

"Don't say that!" Mianmian cries. "You're so talented! I know you can make it!"

He puts a hand on her shoulder, smiling. When he next speaks, his voice is too quiet for Jiang Cheng to make out, but Mianmian bites her lip, nodding. They speak quietly for a while longer, before Shi Yuandao finally leaves to rest for the evening. After he leaves, Mianmian sighs, looking down at her feet.

Wei Wuxian sidles up to her.

"Mianmian is thinking of Yuandao~" he sings.^[3]

Mianmian’s bandmates immediately begin to titter and laugh. With a groan, Mianmian swats at Wei Wuxian. Then, with a flick of her long hair, she flounces off.

Before he knows it, the second round of the competition has ended, and the third has begun. 

Preparing for the third round takes up relatively little of Jiang Cheng’s time. Instead, he finds himself spending long hours revisiting his music theory notes in a continued attempt to conjure some sort of nascent songwriting ability into existence. His notes on keys and chord progressions prove particularly helpful as he works on composing a simple tune, the things he once memorized finally seeming to slide into place with practice and practical use.

Wei Wuxian often accompanies him during his study sessions in the music room, tapping at the piano keys while he develops his tracks for his clients. Here and there, he comes over to look at Jiang Cheng's notes, massaging Jiang Cheng's shoulders restlessly to occupy his hands, or else just rolling around on the carpet, groaning and making other tortured noises.

Used by now to the antics of an art-blocked Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng just continues revising quietly.

At the end of his two weeks in the factory, Jiang Cheng had been called into Jin Zhu's office first thing that Monday morning to discuss the progression of the rest of his rotations.

"I say we should start with the marketing department," Jiang Cheng had said then, "I’ll rotate through HR, accounts, public relations, and marketing after that, before starting rotations with product development in two weeks. How’s that?"

Jin Zhu closes her eyes.

"And where will you be for the remaining seven weeks of your rotation?" she asks mildly.

"... Product development?" Jiang Cheng tries.

"Nice try," Jin Zhu says. "But the schedule you have proposed is unworkable."

Jiang Cheng sighs. 

Well, it was worth a shot. 

After a moment, Jin Zhu lets out an amused huff.

"You're the hands-on type, aren't you?" she notes wryly. "Can you sit for one day without wanting to get up and be where the action is?"

"I like being on the ground," Jiang Cheng defends. "What's wrong with that?"

Jin Zhu snorts, and begins to straighten the papers in front of her.

"Nothing's wrong," she says. "You just remind me of your mother."

Jiang Cheng stares at her for a long moment.

"My mother," he finally says, "who wanted me up in the group office doing strategy."

Setting the papers aside, Jin Zhu finally turns to look at him.

"Jiang Enterprises didn't always run on a lean production system, you know," she begins. "Who do you think spearheaded that change? Who do you think reworked our work flows, tier by tier, company by company, from the bottom to the top? You've worked at Yu Semiconductors. Have you not noticed how similarly Jiang Electric is run?"

She pauses for a moment to let that sink in.

"You're more like your mother than you realize," she says. "And in my book, that's a good thing."

With some chagrin, he begins his rotations at HR that week.

The schedule he and Jin Zhu had eventually settled on had definitely been more balanced. According to the schedule, he will spend a week in each of the four main departments, before eventually ending with product development.

"Product development consists of two departments," Jin Zhu had explained. "Software, and hardware. You will spend a week in each, and may choose to spend the remaining three weeks of your rotations in whichever department you wish."

It's a fair compromise. Jiang Cheng can admit that this is an objectively better schedule than the one he'd proposed. It will definitely give him much more in the way of learning opportunities. 

Still, he's allowed to be unenthusiastic about the prospect of spending an entire week in HR.

臭婴儿 // Big Baby

accounts sounds even more boring than HR
and you're going to spend the whole of next week in accounts??!
Seen 10:33AM

accounts is fine
it's just balancing the books
I can do that
I get accounts
I don't get HR
Seen 10:34AM

Prepared to spend a week approving leave applications, he's pleasantly surprised when he's immediately pulled into a training and development meeting upon stepping into the office. For the first half an hour, a young woman presents a detailed analysis of productivity rates and core competencies of staff. For the next half an hour after that, another employee presents their research on the most recent developments in the field of software and hardware engineering, before rounding up with a list of important skills and competencies to be learnt.

It proves to be an unexpectedly enlightening experience.

In the aftermath of the meeting, he's assigned to shadow Yi-xiong, the young man who'd done the second presentation, helping him look for and shortlist possible corporate training programs for their staff. On several occasions, that had involved walking over into other departments and chatting with colleagues there.

"After a while, you tend to make friends in other departments," Yi-xiong had told him. "We have a lot of common leisure spaces in the office, like a gym, a lounge, and of course the pantry and canteen. We try to organize frequent gatherings to encourage mingling."

The rest of the week passes in relatively interesting pursuits. He gets to listen in on executives making new policies. He also gets to walk around quite a bit, meeting and talking to people from other departments.

It’s not a bad way to spend the week.

When the weekend comes, however, he's not too surprised when Shi Yuandao comes up for elimination again. He has a style of singing that's quieter— dreamy, just a little melancholic, and broken up frequently by long guitar solos. It's a kind of music that's almost trance-like, but that Jiang Cheng finds a little strange nevertheless. He doesn't quite understand why the other contestant has chosen to substitute quite so many verses with guitar solos. The instrumentals overpower the vocals.

"Your playing is soulful, as always," Tianlang-laoshi praises.

"But I would encourage you to adopt a more marketable style if you wish to go further in the competition," Director Shi continues bluntly.

"I understand from your coach that you are a guitarist first and foremost," Liu Mingyan prods, more diplomatically. "But this is a singing competition at the end of the day. The judging rubrics are not quite suited to this kind of music style."

Under the spotlights, Shi Yuandao lowers his eyes. After a moment, he bows.

"Thank you for your feedback," he says.

As he retreats back into the wings, Wei Wuxian sighs.

"He doesn't seem like the sort to compromise on his musical ideals," he notes.

"Well, he'll be eliminated if he doesn't," Jiang Cheng says.

"Not all music styles are marketable ," Wei Wuxian says, miming quotation marks. "Some genres are less popular than others, but that shouldn’t necessitate a drive to make everyone produce mainstream music."

Their conversation is interrupted as, on screen, the judges quiet discussion seems to end.

"Can contestants Xue Yang and A-Qing please come onstage?"

There's a moment's pause, before the two contestants stand, and make their way out of the waiting room. Wei Wuxian sighs, leaning back in his seat as the two of them stand under the spotlights, waiting for the judges' verdict. A-Qing has her chin raised, gazing somewhere past the judges to the wall behind. Xue Yang is looking down at his hands, picking nervously at his nails.

"First off," Liu Mingyan begins, "I think the both of you showed good effort in trying to arrange your own backing tracks for your cover. That definitely gave you good potential to stand out from your competitors."

"Both of you sang well," Tianlang-laoshi continues. "We've noted before that the two of you are relatively strong singers."

"The problem is the arrangement," Director Shi says bluntly. "Because the two of you decided to do a more rock-inspired cover of your songs, it became necessary for you to arrange the backing track to suit your style. It's quite coincidental that you both have opposite problems. A-Qing, your track was a little unadventurous. You seemed anxious to change too much of the original track, which led to your cover being a little— lost in limbo. I definitely think you could have changed the tempo. A little faster. Maybe a little more drums."

"Xue Yang's cover, on the other hand," Ling Wen continues, "was a little too wild. The drums and electric guitar were too intense. That, combined with the quickened tempo, made the whole cover seem a little chaotic. This has been a recurring problem with your covers, Contestant Xue. Contestant Qing, the issue that Director Shi has highlighted is also recurring."

Line Wen pauses for a moment, before she sighs.

"That means that one of you will be up for elimination today," she finishes.

"A-Qing, you may return to the waiting room," Director Shi says. "You're safe, but I hope that you will take our feedback into account for the next round."

A-Qing exhales, closing her eyes momentarily, before she bows.

"I will," she promises.

She disappears back into the wings, leaving Xue Yang standing alone under the spotlights. After a moment, he puts his hands behind his back, and raises his head to look at the judges.

"In past weeks, we've received comments from the crew," Director Shi says, "you always submit your scores late in the week, leaving them with little time to produce your backing tracks."

Xue Yang swallows, throat bobbing with the motion.

"I didn't mean to cause inconvenience," he says hoarsely. "I'm sorry."

After a moment, Liu Mingyan seems to soften.

"Are you experiencing difficulty pulling your scores together in time?" she asks gently.

Xue Yang’s jaw tenses. He nods jerkily.

"I'm—" he begins, "I'm new to this. Prior to the competition, I've never done any musical arrangement."

Liu Mingyan smiles.

"Some of my fellow judges have been of the opinion that you don't take feedback seriously," she says. "But I'm of a different mind. I think you take feedback very seriously. You just don't know how to apply it." She pauses to think for a moment. "I think you need to decide where the climax of your song is," she finally says. "Toning down the rest of the song will go a long way to making your covers sound less chaotic."

"You often sound like you're straining to be heard throughout the entire song," Director Shi agrees. "Toning down the backing track will fix that."

"You can also consult your coach more often with regards to your arrangement," Tianlang-laoshi adds. "Your coach can give you advice to help you pull it all together. Who is your coach?"

"Wu-laoshi," Xue Yang answers.

Jiang Cheng immediately winces.

"Oof," Wei Wuxian breathes.

"Who's that?" A-Jie whispers, but before either of them can answer, Ling Wen is speaking again.

"You and Contestant A-Qing have a similar punk rock kind of style," Ling Wen muses. "And at the same time, you have complementary strengths and weaknesses…"

She trails off thoughtfully.

"Maybe the two of you should learn from each other going forward," she finally concludes. "But first, you need to get past tomorrow's elimination round."

With that, the judges wrap up their feedback.

As Jiang Cheng leaves the waiting room, Mianmian squeezes past him, running ahead to speak with Shi Yuandao. Meanwhile, off to the side, he sees Xue Yang catching up to A-Qing before she can leave. They speak in low voices for a moment, before they go off to a corner to talk. 

Jiang Cheng can't help his surprise at that, remembering how they had brawled early in their training, remembering how they had always sniped at each other from then on. 

"I didn’t think he would put his pride aside and actually ask her for help," he notes quietly to Wei Wuxian.

"Xue Yang isn’t lazy," Wei Wuxian says. "Contrary to what people seem to believe, he does care a lot about his music. He’s ambitious, you know? I'm more surprised that A-Qing is willing to help. I thought she hated him."

"And here I thought they reminded me of you two," A-Jie says, laughing quietly, "always sniping and bantering."

"They have sibling energy," Jin Guangyao agrees cheerfully.

Jiang Cheng thinks about that for a moment.

Huh.

As they separate to head off for their own rooms for the night, there's a moment of confusion as A-Jie begins to follow Jin Zixuan to his room.

"A-Jie?" Wei Wuxian calls, confused. "Our rooms are the other way."

There's an awkward pause.

Oh, Jiang Cheng realizes.

"I'll sleep in A-Xuan's room tonight," A-Jie finally says.

Wei Wuxian's mouth drops open.

After a short moment, Jiang Cheng snaps out of his own shock. Clearing his throat, he grabs Wei Wuxian's arm, and begins to drag him off.

"Alright then," he says gruffly. "See you at breakfast."

Wei Wuxian staggers after him, mouth still open. Jiang Cheng can't say that he's faring much better. Truthfully, he's still reeling. Halfway to their rooms, Wei Wuxian finally seems to snap out of his stupor.

"What are you doing?!" he cries, yanking his arm out of Jiang Cheng's grip. "We need to go back!"

Jiang Cheng grabs him as he turns around.

"And do what?" he hisses.

"We need to give that peacock a stern talking to!" Wei Wuxian exclaims, furious. "He'd better be sending her to a hotel or something."

"If A-Jie wants to, then we shouldn’t harass the peacock about it," Jiang Cheng says.

"But—" Wei Wuxian begins helplessly.

"But what?" Jiang Cheng snaps. "A-Jie is a grown woman. Let her make her own choices about her relationship."

Wei Wuxian still seems unhappy.

“Isn’t it worse if you make a huge public scene about it?” Jiang Cheng asks, in a low voice.

At that, Wei Wuxian finally seems to subside. With a bitten-off groan, he turns and continues down the hallways towards their rooms.

The next day arrives quickly, bringing the elimination round to a close.

Xue Yang’s cover had really come together in the last day, a vast improvement from the song he'd covered the day before. And although it's still far from polished, it's definitely impressive given that he'd only had a day to work on it.

The judges seem equally impressed by the change.

"You really took our feedback to heart," Liu Mingyan says warmly. "I'm eager to see how your style will develop going forward."

At that, Xue Yang looks visibly relieved.

"I owe it all to—" he begins, before stopping, looking suddenly like he's bitten into something incredibly sour. "A-Qing," he finishes disgruntledly. "She sat with me for most of yesterday, helping me with the arrangement."

"You're welcome," A-Qing mutters from the other side of the waiting room.

“The improvement is noticeable,” Tianlang-laoshi assures him. “Good work.”

When Xue Yang leaves the stage, it’s with a slight spring in his step. He goes straight to A-Qing, lightly punching her shoulder with barely contained energy. She rolls her eyes and sticks out her tongue at him.

“Told you it would work,” she mutters.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you,” he says, and sits down beside her.

Meanwhile, Shi Yuandao finishes adjusting his microphone up on the stage, before flashing an okay sign to the crew.

The lights dim, and he closes his eyes.

Today, he has plugged his electric guitar into a nearby amplifier, one microphone at his lips, and another at his fingers. As per the rules of the sing-off, he is singing the same song as Xue Yang, but their covers are as different as night and day. Where Xue Yang’s rendition had been high-energy, with strong drums and loud guitar riffs, Shi Yuandao’s cover is slow and calm.

Eyes closed, fingers dancing slowly over the strings, he looks completely at peace. He does not sing. He does not speak. He just hums quietly along, the sound harmonizing subtly with the sounds of his guitar. Shi Yuandao has converted all of the verses into long guitar solos. When he had sung the choruses, the vocals had been understated, light and dreamy, instead carried mostly by the instrumentals.

When he is done, there is a short moment before everyone begins to clap. Blinking out of his own stupor, Jiang Cheng begins to clap as well, feeling vaguely like coming out of a dream.

“That was enjoyable,” Wei Wuxian comments.

“But he’s done the opposite of what the judges advised him to do,” Jiang Cheng replies. “He’s going to get eliminated.”

Wei Wuxian exhales.

“I think he knows that,” he murmurs. “This is his exit performance.”

Up on the stage, the judges look at each other for a moment, before turning to Shi Yuandao. Ling Wen makes a gesture, which seems to signal Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji to step forward.

“Ah,” Lan Xichen begins. “Before the judges give their comments, would you like to say anything, Contestant Shi?”

Shi Yuandao nods his head, cupping a hand under the body of his guitar as he stands.

“I want to thank Xichen-laoshi for giving me the opportunity to be on this show,” he begins. “I also want to thank the judges and my coach for giving me the opportunity to learn and grow with you.”

He smiles.

“I come from a rural province,” he admits. “I am a farmer’s son. I never had the chance for formal training growing up, but I found refuge in music as a child. These few months of training have been my first time taking formal lessons. Perhaps the judges and audience would not have noticed, watching only my performances these few weeks, but Xichen-laoshi was there when I was first scouted. If you watch that episode, I’m sure you’ll be able to see how much I’ve improved during these three months of training.”

Lan Xichen nods.

“Indeed, you have improved by leaps and bounds,” he agrees.

“And that’s why I must thank you for scouting me,” Shi Yuandao says again. “Thank you for giving me a chance when I was still an unpolished gem. I’m still far from where I want to be, but I’m nearer now than I was at the beginning of all this.”

“Xichen-laoshi has always had a keen eye,” Ling Wen says. “Contestant Shi, I hope you will continue to develop your style after leaving our show.”

“This stage may not be the right place for you, but you will find a broader sky to shine in,” Tianlang Laoshi adds. “I’m sure of it.”

“The indie music scene is always growing,” Director Shi agrees.

“You will surely find a place there,” Liu Mingyan finishes.

Shi Yuandao shows little surprise as Lan Xichen announces his elimination. He smiles, bowing as the judges, contestants, and crew gives him a hearty ovation, before coming down from the stage.

As Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji wrap up the elimination round, Shi Yuandao finally draws even with everyone in the front row, expression serene.

“Yuandao,” Mianmian begins, standing to meet him.

But Shi Yuandao just puts a finger to his lips.

After a moment, he smiles at the rest of them, nodding his head slightly, before he takes her by the elbow, and leads her out into the corridor outside. Jiang Cheng hears the sound of a muffled sob before the door closes behind them.

He winces.

“It’s always hard to say goodbye,” A-Jie whispers, expression sympathetic.

It is.

Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji don’t take too long to wrap up the night’s performances. As the contestants begin to leave the auditorium, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian lag behind a little, hoping to speak to the two hosts before they retire for the night.

“That was a difficult elimination,” Jiang Cheng mutters, when Lan Xichen finally comes down from the stage. “Shi Yuandao did well.”

“I’m sure the eliminations are only going to get more difficult,” A-Jie sighs, before adding, matter-of-factly. “I watch a lot of cooking elimination shows.”

“The eliminations are always difficult,” Lan Xichen agrees.

Behind them, Jiang Cheng catches Xue Yang and A-Qing trading a look from where they’ve been loitering near the exit, before approaching them.

“Xichen-laoshi, may we speak with you?” A-Qing asks.

Lan Xichen blinks, surprised. He trades a look with his brother, but after a moment, smiles at the two contestants, and nods.

“I’ll see you soon,” Lan Xichen murmurs to Jiang Cheng, before following the two to a quieter location. Likewise, Lan Wangji glances briefly at Wei Wuxian, before he joins them.

Jiang Cheng looks at Wei Wuxian, who just shrugs. With a last backward glance at the four figures, standing closely together, they turn and head back towards their rooms for the night.

The next day, as Jiang Cheng prepares to head out to Jiang Electric after having breakfast, Wei Wuxian calls him over. There’s been an announcement made on social media.

"I think you should see this," he says.

Jiang Cheng leans over to read off his phone. It's a PR statement from the All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt.

Soloists Xue Yang and A-Qing to form punk rock duo

The All-Star Lan Talent Hunt is pleased to announce that soloists Xue Yang and A-Qing will henceforth be competing as a punk rock duo, The Unlucky. Crew members sat down with the new duo to understand the considerations behind their merge, as well as their choice of name.

Interviewer: Thank you for being here with us today! Contestant Xue and Contestant Qing, you have chosen a rather unique name for the band. What's the story behind the name?

Xue Yang: For the record, I was really set on Corpse Poison, but A-Qing said that it doesn't make any sense.

A-Qing: Well, it doesn't! What do those words even mean when put together?! 

Xue Yang: It just sounds cool, alright! Doesn’t it sound like the name of a rock band?! 

A-Qing: But it doesn't. Make. Sense!

Interviewer [diplomatically]: So it seems that you two were initially in disagreement. How did you later come to agree on The Unlucky?

Xue Yang: We came up with The Unlucky because isn’t it so fucking unlucky that we got stuck with one another?!

A-Qing: For once, we were actually in agreement. 

Xue Yang: In fact, we wanted to go by The Fucking Unlucky at first, but the producers said the television channel wouldn’t broadcast if we did, so we were asked to tone it down. 

A-Qing: And that’s how we settled on The Unlucky.

Interviewer [laughing]: I see. Well, it seems like you're not entirely happy to be performing together, so why did you decide to become a duo?

Xue Yang: Look, I wouldn't have done it if I had a choice. The judges said we would work well together. I would normally have disagreed, but I was on the verge of elimination so I thought— what do I have to lose, right? So I gave it a go, and to my misfortune, it appears that we actually do work well together.

Interviewer: That actually seems rather lucky to me, instead of unlucky.

A-Qing: What's unlucky is that it had to be him! Of all people!

Xue Yang: Also what kind of a name is The Lucky? We're a punk rock band!

Interviewer: Okay, okay, I get it. Your decision to become a duo will probably throw you two into the spotlight for a bit. Anything you want to say to your new potential fans?

[The duo trades a look.] 

A-Qing: We are both new to musical arrangement, but we still want to commit to producing our own backing tracks. We don’t want to just do carbon-copies, we want to own our covers wholly, and we want to continue developing our own style. 

Xue Yang: But of course, we definitely have a ways to go. We're still going through a phase of experimentation and exploration right now, but we're setting our sights high. We want to make it to the top five, to the songwriting component, and when we do, we want to give everyone a performance that no one will forget.

A-Qing: So please watch and support us! We will do our best!

Interviewer: Thank you for your time. To those watching, please tune into Channel 5 on Saturday to watch us live! See you then!

June 27 2022

Jiang Cheng sits there, stunned, for a long moment. Finally, Wei Wuxian locks his phone, and places it face-down on the dining table.

"It looks like things are beginning to gear up now," he says seriously.

Jiang Cheng nods slowly. Indeed, the stakes are getting higher and higher with each round, and the rest of the contestants are preparing themselves accordingly. Jiang Cheng needs to start preparing as well. More than that— 

"The song-writing component will begin soon," he murmurs distractedly. "There are only seven competitors left. In two weeks, we will have to begin producing our own songs."

Time is running out.

"I need to develop my own style as well," he says. "I don't know what it will be yet but…"

He clenches his fist slowly against the table.

"I too want to give a performance no one will forget," he whispers.

Chapter Text

With a frustrated sigh, Jiang Cheng rewinds the video he’s watching for what feels like the hundredth time. He watches long deft fingers dancing across the piano keys, the voice coming out tinny from his phone speakers. He takes a deep breath, but his frustration continues to mount as he rewinds the video one more time.

He’s been revising his rusty piano skills using online piano classes, but he is making much slower progress than he would like. Somehow, he remembers being better at this when he was a kid, but all of that has been lost over the years.

After a few minutes, the door swings open with a bang.

“Hey,” Wei Wuxian says, lifting a plastic bag. “I brought dinner, seeing as you’ve probably forgotten that you need to eat.”

He sets the bag down on the table behind Jiang Cheng. Closing his eyes, Jiang Cheng has to take a deep breath. He knows Wei Wuxian is just teasing, but the reminder that it’s way past dinner, that he hasn’t had time to cook as usual, just makes the tide of anger in him swirl ever higher. Wei Wuxian seems to notice, because he quiets.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Fine,” Jiang Cheng bites out.

After a moment, Wei Wuxian comes closer.

“Still stuck?” he asks. “Where are you stuck? Show me. Maybe I can help.”

“I doubt so,” Jiang Cheng mutters, but points at the bar where he’s stuck.

“Oh, it’s not that hard!” Wei Wuxian says, which only irritates Jiang Cheng further. He sits down beside Jiang Cheng. “Here, let me show you.”

He cracks his knuckles, then sets his fingers on the keys.

“Okay, so the tempo goes like this— one, two, one and two, one…”

Counting rhythmically, he finishes the riff perfectly.

“Like that,” he says, taking his fingers off the keys.

Jiang Cheng exhales.

“Well, I tried that,” he says, a little tightly. “And I can’t do it.”

“Right,” Wei Wuxian says. “Err, why don’t you show me where you’re stuck?”

Jiang Cheng exhales again, more forcefully, but positions his fingers over the piano, playing the chords amidst the first two notes of the melody, before reaching for the next note— and missing, not nearly quick enough.

“It’s too slow,” he grits out.

“Can you try playing a little faster?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Can you try— 

“I’m trying,” Jiang Cheng manages.

“Try again,” Wei Wuxian says, sounding vaguely crossed now.

Taking a deep breath, Jiang Cheng tries again. The first two notes are fine, but the third— 

“It’s too far away,” he snaps. “I can’t reach it. My fingers aren’t long enough.”

“That’s not possible, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says. “Our hands are the same size.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t do it!” Jiang Cheng yells.

“You don’t have to shout at me!” Wei Wuxian snaps. “I’m just trying to help!”

“You’re not helping!” Jiang Cheng shouts.

There’s a moment of silence. Wei Wuxian’s jaw is working, his hands clenching and unclenching. There is anger in his eyes, but also— hurt. Closing his eyes, Jiang Cheng stands up, storming out of the room before Wei Wuxian can say anything.

The door slams loudly shut behind him.

It’s dark outside, the moon and stars already out and shining as he jabs at the buttons of the vending machine. There’s a clatter as his can of green tea is dispensed. He takes the cold drink out, sitting on the curb and drinking slowly as he watches the charcoal clouds float across the pitch sky. After sitting by himself for a while, he finally goes back to the music room.

Lan Xichen is sitting outside the door, and Jiang Cheng finds himself slowing to a halt.

“Xichen,” he greets, surprised.

Lan Xichen stands.

“I was practicing in the auditorium when your brother came looking for me,” he explains, and smiles sympathetically. “He said that you argued.”

Jiang Cheng does not respond.

“Can I come in?” Lan Xichen asks.

After a moment, Jiang Cheng just shrugs, holding the door wordlessly open. Lan Xichen follows him into the room as he takes a seat at the piano again. He just sits there silently for a long moment, but doesn’t make any move to play.

“Are you okay?” Lan Xichen finally asks.

Jiang Cheng clenches his jaw, hard, but after a moment, forces himself to unclench enough to speak.

“I was hoping to play my own accompaniment for the next round,” he says, and chuckles bitterly. “I’m always singing to the backing track provided by the crew. In previous rounds, that’s been okay but— I need to develop my own style. I need to make the covers more fully my own. But I’ve never been good at instruments— at music. I’m trying to learn, but I just can’t do it!”

The last part comes out in a shout.

He grinds his teeth again, clenching his fist so tightly that his nails cut into his palm. After a moment, however, he breathes out, and closes his eyes.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I didn’t mean to shout.”

Lan Xichen’s chair creaks quietly. A moment later, a warm body presses up against Jiang Cheng’s back, warm hands covering his own, and caging him in against the piano. Jiang Cheng freezes, eyes flying open at the intimate contact.

“Close your eyes,” Lan Xichen says quietly.

Still too shocked to protest, Jiang Cheng obeys.

“Breathe with me,” Lan Xichen murmurs.

Jiang Cheng does so, breathing in with the swell of the chest against his back, breathing out with the gentle exhale by his neck. He’s still tense, however, nervous at how close they are. Seemingly sensing that, Lan Xichen slides an arm around his chest, laying a palm flat on his abdomen. Jiang Cheng inhales sharply.

After a moment, he forcibly relaxes himself, leaning back into Lan Xichen’s embrace.

“There we go,” Lan Xichen murmurs.

He stands there for a few moments longer, pressed up against Jiang Cheng’s back, before he exhales, stepping back.

“Alright,” he says, putting his hands over Jiang Cheng’s on the keyboard. “Where are you stuck? Show me.”

“Third line from the end, last bar,” Jiang Cheng says, a little reluctantly. “I can’t… I can’t play it fast enough.  I keep missing the third note.”

He demonstrates.

“Pivot on your thumb after the second note, instead of jumping,” Lan Xichen says. “You’re watching your other hand, and that’s why you’re missing. Let’s break it down. I’ll play the chords, you play the melody. Follow my pace.”

They play it once, very slowly.

“There we go,” Lan Xichen says. “Again, a little faster now.”

They pick up the pace slightly, playing it a second time, even faster, before finally playing it at the right speed.

“Okay, now do both hands.”

Jiang Cheng brings his other hand up, breathes in, and tries again.

This time, he succeeds.

“You can do it,” Lan Xichen tells him then. “You can learn.”

Jiang Cheng sits there in silence for a moment, a little surprised, but filled also with some unnameable emotion.

“You were just frustrated,” Lan Xichen says quietly, before tipping Jiang Cheng’s chin up with his fingertips. Jiang Cheng freezes again, eyes widening as he looks up into Lan Xichen’s dark eyes. After a moment, Lan Xichen smiles.

“You look tired too,” he observes.

He lets go of Jiang Cheng’s chin, rubbing his shoulders briefly. After a moment, Jiang Cheng sighs.

“I was testy with Wei Wuxian,” he admits, with regret. “Being overshadowed by him is an old sore point of mine, but— that’s my problem, not his. He was just trying to help.”

Lan Xichen gives his shoulders a final squeeze, before letting go.

“You should stop for tonight,” he says firmly. “You haven’t eaten yet, have you? The food on the table is getting cold. You should eat, and then sleep.”

“Ah,” Jiang Cheng gasps, turning around.

There are two containers on the table.

When he returns to their rooms, Wei Wuxian is sitting on the couch in the dark, elbows on his knees, with a can of beer on the coffee table. Jiang Cheng approaches him wordlessly, setting the plastic bag of food in front of him.

“You haven’t eaten,” he says shortly.

“No,” Wei Wuxian admits.

They put their food in the microwave, before pouring the noodles out onto plates to eat.

“I’m not a good teacher,” Wei Wuxian whispers.

“I was being testy with you,” Jiang Cheng murmurs. “You— know I’ve always been sensitive about the music thing.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t try to teach you,” Wei Wuxian says suddenly. “I texted Wen Qing, and she’s actually a certified piano instructor. It’s difficult to advance using only online tutorials. If you want to progress further, Wen Qing can help, and I— I'll be moral support.”

Jiang Cheng is quiet for a moment. After a moment, he exhales.

Thank you, he doesn’t say.

But as he picks up a pork rib from his own plate, and puts it on Wei Wuxian’s, he thinks that perhaps Wei Wuxian hears anyway.

Starting the next day, he begins piano lessons in the evenings after his daily shift at Jiang Electric. At the same time, he's begun rotations in accounts — and just in time for the end of quarter peak too. He settles into his assigned tasks without much difficulty. From his time in operations, he has a pretty good idea of the goods that are coming in and out. Mid-week, however, the storerooms are seemingly spilling over with documents, so he gets up and begins to help move boxes to the shredding room without being asked.

"Jiang-xiong, what are you doing?!" hisses one of the staff. "Go back and sit down! I'll deal with the boxes. You shouldn't have to be doing this."

The pile of boxes is taller than the man himself.

"Liang-xiong," Jiang Cheng begins dryly. "I've been moving boxes down in the loading docks for two weeks. I think I can get these to the shredding room with less aches than you can."

And so, somewhat nervously, the young man lets Jiang Cheng help with the heavy-lifting. 

The older staff in accounts have been a little flighty around Jiang Cheng so far. Seeing him joking around and yelling with the workers down in the docks had been enough to thaw the ice in operations. In HR, Yi-xiong had been there to ease the way. Here in accounts, however…

Jiang Cheng can't help but sigh.

At least Liang-xiong is close to him in age.

As he puts down the last of the boxes inside the room, he nearly runs into someone else on the way out.

"Oi! Watch it!" comes a young woman's voice. The young woman in question is carrying a pile of boxes too tall for her to look past. She runs into the doorway with a yowl, before edging blindly into the room.

"Do you need help?" Jiang Cheng asks, flattening himself against the wall to avoid getting in her way. Panting and dabbing at her forehead, the woman straightens up. She's young, and very slight in frame.

"You'll do!" she cries, and begins dragging him out of the room with her. "Come with me! My name is Xiao San, but everyone calls me San. What's your name?"

As it turns out, accounts isn't the only department with a backlog of documents to be shredded. Jiang Cheng spends the next half an hour moving boxes down from R&D. San, he learns, is a twenty-three year old menace of a software engineer. She is loud and unapologetic, making loud siren noises as she guides him through the department.

"Watch out! Table!" she shouts, nudging him out of the way.

He turns accordingly, not quite able to see past his hip from the stack of boxes in his arms. Meanwhile, she strides ahead, opening a door for him.

"Move, people, move!" she hollers, sending a curious gaggle of interns scattering.

"Do you terrorize your department like this everyday?" Jiang Cheng asks, a little breathlessly, as she jabs at the button for the lift.

They step into the lift.

"I'm not terrorizing anyone!" she denies.

Jiang Cheng makes a disbelieving sound as she loudly clears his path down to the shredding room.

"Box on right!" she calls out.

Jiang Cheng dodges left, and immediately trips over something large and pointy. With a bit of a fumble, he manages to secure his grip on his first box, but the box stacked on it topples off and hits the floor.

"San!" he hisses.

"Fuck, I meant my right," San says, "your left. Sorry."

Jiang Cheng sets the remaining box down on a nearby table, and bends down to help pick up the scattered documents. With a sigh, he begins to flip through one of the documents curiously.

It appears to be… a project report.

He picks up another paper, looking through it as well. They are all reports, all for various technologies that had, for some reason, been shelved.

"What happened?" he asks. "Why were these projects discontinued?"

San spares the paper in his hands a glance.

"These are what's left of an old policy," she explains off-handedly, still arranging the rest of the scattered papers. "Five years ago, Director Jiang and Madam Yu were invited to visit Google's office in Silicon Valley. Director Jiang was intrigued by Google’s 20% Project, which gives employees the freedom to spend 20% of paid hours working on personal projects. The madam was strongly opposed to the idea, but at Director Jiang's insistence, it was eventually rolled out."

"But it was abandoned?" Jiang Cheng probes.

San shrugs.

"Ultimately," she begins, “many of us were unable to explain how our personal projects could be transformed into products that people would actually be willing to pay for. Eventually, the madam put her foot down and ended the project after just two years."

Having gathered up the rest of the documents, she stands.

"Now, come on," she says. "Let’s go. We need to bring these to the shredding room.”

“No, wait!" Jiang Cheng cries. "These could still be useful!”

San groans as Jiang Cheng continues to leaf through the pages, still crouched down on the ground. 

“Jiang Cheng, come on! We still have to get back to— eek! Madam Jin Zhu!”

"What is happening here?" comes Jin Zhu's low, measured voice, as San ducks instinctively behind Jiang Cheng in fright.

As Jiang Cheng looks slowly up at the older woman, she raises a penciled eyebrow, and Jiang Cheng tips his chin up in response, refusing to be cowed.

“I am looking at these papers," he says stonily.

"In the middle of the corridor?" Jin Zhu asks mildly.

Jiang Cheng just scowls. After a moment, Jin Zhu seems to capitulate.

"Take them back to your desk," she says.

"Ah! But Madam!" San cries, stepping forward. "These are the reports you asked us to shred!" 

"If he wishes to retain them,” Jin Zhu says, “then he may retain them. I have reserved a table for him up in the top-floor office. You may store them there until you are done with them.”

With that, she turns around, and walks off, heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.

Hefting his box more securely under one arm, Jiang Cheng continues to read as he walks over to his assigned desk, and sets the box down. Despite his best efforts, he’s confused by the complicated, jargon-filled language.

San comes up behind him, groaning as she sets down another stack of files on his desk.

“I asked you to help so I wouldn’t have to carry those last few boxes,” she complains, “but I wound up having to carry all the boxes back up here instead!”

“You were the one who offered to help me carry them,” Jiang Cheng reminds her, before turning around. “This is your name on the report, isn’t it?”

She leans over.

“What!" she cries. "You don’t know my full name?! I told you my name already! It’s Xiao San!”

“That was a rhetorical question,” Jiang Cheng groans. “I know it’s your name, so explain to me what this part means.”

She briefly scans the section he’s pointing at.

“Right,” she says. “So this part explains how I got my custom algorithm to outperform the pre-trained models I was using in the first stage of development, which is by adding some additional convolution layers and—”

Jiang Cheng stands there for a moment as she launches into a droning explanation of… whatever the hell she’s explaining. The words make sense to him separately, but not together. After a few seconds, he closes his eyes, raising a hand.

“Alright, alright,” he cuts her off. “I don’t need to know the details of how you accomplished… whatever it was you did. Can you tell me what you made, and— can you please explain it like you're speaking to a child? And not a particularly bright one at that?”

She opens her mouth, and then, after a moment, closes it again. Finally, she just reaches up to rub at her temples with a sigh.

“Look,” she says, sounding tired now. “Why is this even relevant? I already got yelled at one time by Madam Yu when I presented the idea. She hated it, said it wasn’t marketable as a product. Do we have to go over this again?”

Jiang Cheng quietens as San averts her gaze.

“We’re friends now, right?” he finally says. “I don’t care if it’s marketable. It says here that you spent six months on the project. I’m just curious to know what you made.”

San hesitates, looking up at him through her lashes, her expression suspicious. She just looks at him for a long moment. Jiang Cheng doesn’t know what she sees, but eventually, she seems to ease. Uncrossing her arms, she grabs him by the elbow, and begins to drag him out of the room.

“It’s easier to show you,” she says, opening the door, and ducking sideways into the fire escape. “Let’s take the stairs. It’s nearer to my desk than taking the lift.”

Their footsteps echo loudly around the stairwell as San drags him down the stairs with her at a fast trot. She seems incapable of anything slower than a brisk walk.

“It was actually a joint project,” she begins to explain. “I did the software part, but I teamed up with Liu-xiong from hardware to work on the actual product. He’s great.”

The software department is one floor down. She still hasn’t told him what the damn thing is, but before he can complain about it, he’s being dragged out of the fire escape and to a nearby table. There are papers piled all over the desk and on the floor of the cubicle. San has to move a stack of them aside to get to her stationary drawer, but she eventually pulls out a pair of thick rimmed sunglasses. It has a little bit of machinery attached to one side of it, a long wire trailing from that side, which she plugs into her computer, opening up some kind of program.

“Okay,” she finally says. “Put it on.”

Bewildered, Jiang Cheng takes the glasses from her, but puts it on as she clicks her tongue impatiently. The first thing he notices is the weight. It’s certainly a little weightier than the average pair of glasses, but not enough to feel uncomfortable.

“Look at the desk,” she says.

He turns to look again at the messy desk, but this time, he takes a step back as two red boxes appear in his vision, enclosing two items.

Keys, the first box is labeled.

Phone, the other is labeled.

He turns his head slowly from side to side. The boxes twitch a little, but remain centered on the ring of keys, left strewn on one corner of the desk, and the handphone on the other end.

“What the fuck,” he finally says.

The boxes disappear as he turns to look at San, leaving his field of vision clear again.

“It can only recognize those two things though,” San says, tone critical, before she reaches out, pulling a piece of paper to lie half over her phone. “And if the item is not fully visible, the software fails to recognize it.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t turn around to test it.

“That doesn’t matter,” he says. “This is amazing. Can you— Can it be used to scan barcodes or QR codes instead?"

“That’s a way easier task than recognizing unlabeled items,” San scoffs. "It doesn't have that functionality yet, but that can be programmed without too much complication."

“— then it can be easily modified to be of use in the warehouses!” Jiang Cheng says, with growing excitement. “We’re using paper and handheld scanners right now, but wearable technology like this has been picking up steam in logistics overseas.^[1] It’s just— you have no idea how busy it gets down in the loading docks sometimes. When that happens, the handheld scanners get really unwieldy, but this—”

Taking the glasses off, he turns it over in his hands, trying to figure out how the red boxes were projected, but is unable to figure it out. It looks like Liu-xiong from hardware had just welded the machinery somewhat clumsily to a normal pair of glasses. The product can definitely be refined, but as a proof of concept, this is more than sufficient.

When he looks back up at her, San’s eyes have gone wide, a pleased flush spreading across her face. After a moment, however, she seems to pull herself back together, putting a scowl back on her face and crossing her arms.

“Well,” she begins haughtily. “How was I supposed to know that! I just thought it would be cool to make something to sort through all my junk, and Liu-xiong was on board! I had no idea I’d eventually be asked to submit some kind of product proposal, and then Madam Yu herself turned up? I thought Jin Zhu was frightening, but Madam Yu was a billion times worse. I was so frightened during the presentation that I just… rambled through most of it . I could tell she was already ticked off because of that, then she asked if I had bigger plans for the glasses. I hadn’t actually thought that far, but I said I thought it could be used in the entertainment industry and—”

San stops suddenly. After a moment, she swallows.

“And she got mad,” she finishes. “Really mad.”

Her eyes are shining a little now, and Jiang Cheng decides right then and there that he hates seeing her like that, that she shouldn’t ever have to look like that again.

“San,” he finally blurts out. “Look, I don’t know how to say this but— my mom is very touchy about suggestions that  Jiang Enterprises should branch out into entertainment. I don’t want to go into it, but that has nothing to do with you. You put six months of your time into this, and wound up making something really amazing. Whatever she said doesn’t change that.”

He holds the glasses out to her. San blinks a few times, seemingly blinking back tears, but eventually reaches out to take the glasses from him. She turns it over in her hands, pensive, before she chuckles.

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “I think I needed to hear that.”

Quicker than he had anticipated, the end of the week arrives. With Wen Qing’s help, Jiang Cheng had managed to put together a simple accompaniment for his song, and while he doesn’t quite receive praise for it, he certainly receives encouragement .

“It’s certainly a change seeing you at the piano for once,” Tianlang-laoshi says warmly. “Keep up the good work.”

Much to his surprise, Bright Moon Distant Snow is called onto the stage at the end of the round, along with Girls 21 and The Unlucky. The three groups are up for elimination. Mianmian had been lacking her usual energy all week, and it had shown on the stage— something the judges are quick to note.

“Luo Qingyang has always pulled the rest of the band up,” Ling Wen says, not looking up from her notes, "but this week, her heart doesn’t seem to be in it. Get your head in the game, and as for the rest of you— this is really your time to come through. You can’t always rely on your lead vocalist to make it through the round.”

The members of the band bow.

"We will do better tomorrow," one of the girls promises.

"Please do," Ling Wen says, before waving her hand in dismissal. 

As Mianmian and her teammates head into the wings, Ling Wen turns her attention to the two duos still on the stage. 

"As for the four of you," Ling Wen begins, a little more regretfully, "it was definitely a tough choice. The Unlucky has shown incredible growth since the last round, and Bright Moon Distant Snow played well as always. But aside from Girls 21, the rest of the contestants have all performed particularly well this round."

Jiang Cheng can’t help but privately agree with her assessment. The Wen band had chosen a Broadway-style song this week that had better suited Wen Chao’s self-aggrandizing style of singing. The arrangement had been exceptional and Jiang Cheng again suspects Wen Ning's hand in it. Meanwhile, Jiang Cheng hates to admit it, but the new relationship has been good for both his sister and her new boyfriend. A-Jie is practically glowing, and Jin Zixuan’s sincerity and joy shows clearly on stage.

"Contestant Xue and Contestant Qing are definitely better together than apart," Ling Wen continues, "but it's clear that you are new to performing together. There is something missing in your dynamic right now, and you are going to have to find it and fix it before tomorrow."

She turns to the last two contestants on stage.

"Contestant Xiao and Contestant Song, on the other hand," she continues, "have been performing together for so long that they've grown comfortable in their current genre and dynamic. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but you are far enough into the competition now that you must offer something new to stand out. You can’t offer the same thing week after week. If you had perhaps paced yourselves, holding back from your full capacity at the beginning—" She pauses, shaking her head. "Anyway, that’s in the past now."

Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji take the stage to wrap up the performances, drawing the filming to a close. As they head out of the waiting room, however, Jiang Cheng can't help but recall Wen Qing’s advice to him at the beginning of the first round— start slow, preserve his voice, and avoid showing his hand too early. He hadn’t really understood what she meant by “showing his hand” then, but now… 

He probably needs to thank her for her good advice. 

“Despite scorning the whole reality TV part,” Jiang Cheng murmurs to himself, amused, “Wen Qing is pretty good at strategizing for competitions.”

Wei Wuxian blinks, and then raises an eyebrow.

“Wen Qing has produced a number of students who have sung at a competitive level,” he says. “It’s not surprising that she’s good at this.”

“What?!” Jiang Cheng blurts, surprised, and Wei Wuxian sighs.

“You really don’t Baidu the people you meet, do you?” he says, and then pokes Jiang Cheng in the side. “You should really ask her for more advice."

The next day, Wei Wuxian drags Jiang Cheng out of their room early in the morning, wanting to encourage Mianmian at rehearsals before the elimination round. Jiang Cheng hadn’t even known Wei Wuxian was capable of waking up that early. With bleary eyes, he follows Wei Wuxian to the performance hall, where he is surprised to find A-Jie and the Jin Band already waiting.

“We’re here to wish Xue Yang and A-Qing good luck for tonight, of course!” Mo Xuanyu cries.

“He’s here to wish them well,” Jin Zixuan corrects. “The rest of us got dragged along.”

“That’s not entirely correct, A-Xuan,” A-Jie interjects, with a little chuckle. “I am going to take this chance to encourage Qingyang-meimei as well.”

As Xue Yang and A-Qing come strolling into the hall with matching ice-blended rainbow-sprinkled caffeine monstrosities, Mo Xuanyu brightens, running off to talk to them. Jiang Cheng waits with A-Jie while Wei Wuxian goes as well. Xue Yang and A-Qing appear to be bantering and sniping at each other. When A-Qing sticks her tongue out at Xue Yang, however, Xue Yang reaches out and tries to catch it. A-Qing lets out a disgusted shriek.

“Ew!” she screams. “Gross!”

She shoves him, before running off.

“You’re gross!” Xue Yang yells.

Leaving Mo Xuanyu and Wei Wuxian standing by the doors, he tosses his empty coffee cup into a nearby bin, misses, then shrugs and chases her back to the stage. The stage crew are already milling around the front of the hall, testing the lights and sound system. As Xue Yang and A-Qing are waved over by a crew member, Mo Xuanyu picks up Xue Yang’s empty cup and puts it in the bin. Qin Su is standing with the members of Girls 21 in the front row, apparently there to cheer them on as well.

“Yanli-jiejie,” Mianmian greets, perking up as Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian approach with A-Jie in tow.

“Qingyang-meimei,” A-Jie returns with a smile.

“Good luck for the elimination round!” Wei Wuxian yells. “I know you’re going to kill it!”

“I definitely can’t let my girls down again,” Mianmian says gloomily.

“What’s more important is that you do yourself proud,” A-Jie reminds her gently, and Mianmian smiles, reaching out to clutch at A-Jie's hands.

They speak quietly for a few minutes before the crew call Mianmian and her team over to get their microphones fitted. Jiang Cheng looks around, spotting the Jins where they’ve settled in the fourth row. As A-Jie squeezes through to sit in the empty seat beside Jin Zixuan, Wei Wuxian leans over to prod Mo Xuanyu.

“Since when were you friends with Xue Yang and A-Qing?” he asks.

“I sat next to them during music theory classes!” Mo Xuanyu cries. “Did you not notice? Question is— since when were you friendly with Xue Yang?”

“ADHD solidarity,” Wei Wuxian answers, with a shrug.

“I’m glad that the both of you are making friends,” A-Jie says warmly.

As the others begin to chatter amongst themselves, Jiang Cheng leans back in his seat, watching Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao speaking at the base of the stage. After a few moments, Jin Guangyao leaves Lan Xichen to his work with a friendly clap to his shoulder. Lan Xichen smiles, before turning to gesture at the stage crew, seemingly directing them to reposition the cameras.

Up on the stage, Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan are still setting up, stopping in their playing here and there to allow the crew to adjust their microphones, or leaning over to speak to each other in low voices. As Xue Yang and A-Qing climb the stairs to the stage, they call out to the older two in excited greeting. Xiao Xingchen smiles, reaching out to pat A-Qing on the head affectionately. Jiang Cheng abruptly remembers how he had sat between the two during classes, often intervening to temper their arguments, or to call Xue Yang to order. He can’t help but sober a little at that.

It must be hard to compete against people you’ve spent so much time with, knowing that at the end of the day, only one party will be continuing.

After speaking to the two adults for a while, Xue Yang and A-Qing are eventually called over by a crew member. They stand on one side of the stage, referring to the same sheet of paper as Nie Huaisang tests the fit of Xue Yang’s jacket, one of his female assistants doing the same with A-Qing’s dress. Here and there, the duo pauses in their singing to argue and grumble, jabbing at the paper as they do so. The crew is playing their backing track in the background, stopping and starting as they test the sound system. Meanwhile, Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan have resumed their practice center-stage. It’s an interesting experience. The three groups will be playing the same song, in accordance with the rules of the elimination round. Yet somehow, they bring such vastly different interpretations to the table.

Jin Guangyao sits down beside Jiang Cheng as down below, Lan Xichen pauses where he’d been beckoning the cameras forward. He leans down to the height of the director, a short and stout man. After a moment, Lan Xichen nods, and then starts apologetically gesturing for the people to move back instead.

Unnoticed in the hub hub, there’s an eerie moment when the playing of the two duos blend into the same verse, a haunting mix of rock and classical instrumentals.

The moment ends as quickly as it had started, all four contestants looking up, and turning to stare at each other across the stage.

“They're good together,” Jin Guangyao murmurs, and Jiang Cheng nods, continuing to watch for a moment longer. On the stage, the two duos have finally managed to tear their eyes away from each other. They continue to rehearse independently, but something in their demeanors seem almost… unsettled.

Jiang Cheng leaves for Jiang Electric immediately after that. 

His first day in public relations is incredibly hectic. The entire department is running themselves ragged, busy preparing for the end of quarter press conference that is apparently happening that evening. Despite originally being assigned to shadow one of the team leads, Qi-jie is so busy, so frazzled that instead of sticking to her side, Jiang Cheng soon finds himself running back and forth, helping to ferry papers to the photocopy machine and back, even taking a cab to the printers at one point to pick up posters.

He stays late into the afternoon, way past the end of his shift, and ends up having to cab back to the lodging house, heading for the auditorium at a run. By the time he enters the auditorium, coming in via the back entrance, the stage is fully set up, and the performances have already begun. He quickly spots Wei Wuxian sitting near the back, and quietly joins him.

“No matter who wins this round,” Wei Wuxian whispers, when Jiang Cheng sits down, still panting, “I think it’s going to be painful.”

Jiang Cheng agrees, but he just puts a finger to his lips, not wanting to disrupt the ongoing performance.

Up on the stage, Mianmian’s enthusiasm seems to have come back with a vengeance. She’s smiling and skipping, jumping and laughing, winking cheekily at the judges through the chorus. It’s a marked difference from her somewhat gloomy performance the day before. At the same time, however, there’s something off about her. It takes a moment before Jiang Cheng realizes what it is.

Her smiles and laughter don’t reach her eyes. There’s a bit of tension in the muscles surrounding her mouth, and her smiles weaken in the moments where she steps back into the background, letting her teammates take the front. 

Despite that, however, it seems to be enough to save Girls 21 for the round.

“Lead vocalist is still off her game,” Ling Wen comments, making a note on the paper in front of her. After a moment, she sets her pen down, and looks back up. “But you’re safe.”

“Bright Moon, Distant Snow, and The Unlucky,” Director Shi calls. “Please come onstage.”

It takes a moment before the four of them file quietly onto the stage. They stand there together for a long moment, lined up side by side, as Ling Wen lowers her eyes, rearranging her notes briefly.

“Before anything else,” she says, not looking up at them yet, “I want to say that both groups have performed a notch above their usual today, and that’s something the judges have noticed and that we appreciate.”

“The Unlucky really pushed themselves vocally this round,” Liu Mingyan notes. “The harmonies were well done, and you hit all the important vocal highlights of the song.”

“Bright Moon Distant Snow has put extra effort into the arrangement,” Tianlang-jun adds. “We heard from the crew that you two stayed up last night recording parts of the backing track. What you’ve come up with is impressive considering that you only had a day to work on it.”

“For Bright Moon Distant Snow, we definitely think that there’s room for improvement in your vocals,” Ling Wen says, “but for this round— you’re safe.”

It takes a moment before her words seem to register. Xiao Xingchen sags visibly. Beside him, however, Xue Yang and A-Qing look a little shell-shocked, expressions lost. Jiang Cheng’s chest clenches despite himself. 

After a moment, Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji come out of the wings and onto the stage.

“Is there anything you would like to say to the audience and judges?” Lan Xichen asks kindly.

Xue Yang and A-Qing trade looks, before finally, A-Qing reaches out to take the microphone from him.

“For the record,” A-Qing begins, turning to Xue Yang, “this is entirely your fault.”

“My fault?!” Xue Yang yelps indignantly. “Why is it always my fault?!”

“Everything is your fault,” A-Qing says, a little childishly. “Always.”

Everyone chuckles a little at their banter, but the sound is half-hearted, dying quickly back into silence. In the silence, the two performers turn to look at each other again. Then, after a moment, A-Qing swallows visibly, before turning to look back out over the empty seats.

“I guess you could say that I’m a little unlucky,” she says. “My parents passed when I was a baby, so I grew up in foster care. It wasn’t great, but I eventually found refuge in music— punk rock, in particular. After finishing the gaokao,^[2] I took some time off to audition for this competition. Unexpectedly, I got in.”

“I flunked out of school way before gaokao,” Xue Yang informs everyone. 

Everyone chuckles a little again, but like before, the laughter dies quickly. Xue Yang looks down at his hands in the solemn silence, seemingly composing himself, seemingly searching for words.

“So perhaps you could say that I’m pretty unlucky as well,” he finally continues. “I also grew up in foster care, not because my parents died, but because they didn’t want me.”

He rolls his eyes again.

“So a big fuck you to my mom and dad,” he spits, “wherever they are. The only constant I had in my life was music, and that’s how I knew— this was what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to make music. I wanted people to hear what I had to say. That was my dream.”

He falls silent, biting his lip, looking uncharacteristically caught up in emotion.

“But coming here, we did get to make music,” A-Qing says suddenly, turning to him, and managing a smile . “We got to live our dreams, even if only for a short time. In that sense, I guess you could say that we’re lucky— really lucky.”

“I think,” Xue Yang says slowly, “getting to be on this show must be the luckiest thing that has ever happened to me.”

A-Qing looks away, eyes beginning to gleam with wetness. After a moment, she punches Xue Yang lightly in the arm.

“Thanks for doing this with me,” she whispers. “I’m lucky to be here.”

Off to the side, Xiao Xingchen is watching them, eyes bright with unshed tears, while Song Lan lowers his eyes. There’s an air of solemnity amongst the contestants, judges, and crew, as the two youths bow.

“Thank you to the team for accepting us onto the show,” Xue Yang says.

“Thank you to Xiao-laoshi and Song-laoshi for keeping us in line during training,” A-Qing continues, turning to smile at the other duo on stage. “If not for you two, I think I would have killed this guy right at the beginning.”

There are more chuckles at that. Even Song Lan’s lips are quirking up a little, his expression bittersweet, but Xiao Xingchen’s head is lowered, the angle of the spotlights throwing his face into shadow. Finally, Xue Yang and A-Qing turn to look at each other.

“And thank you, I guess,” Xue Yang finishes, a little more grudgingly. “But also, fuck you.”

“Fuck you too,” A-Qing returns immediately, before she smiles. “And thank you.”

The judges nod as the two turn back to them expectantly.

“Alright,” Ling Wen says, looking faintly melancholic. “If that’s all, then—” 

“We’ll take them into our band,” Xiao Xingchen blurts out suddenly. “The two of them can join us. We can become a quartet.”

There’s a moment of shocked silence.

“Xingchen?” Song Lan whispers.

After a moment, Xiao Xingchen raises his head slowly. There are tears streaked over his cheeks, glistening starkly in the spotlight, but his expression is determined.

“You heard it too, right?” Xiao Xingchen asks Song Lan fiercely. “That moment this morning when we played together? I’ve… I’ve never heard anything like it before, but we work well together. We work.”

The judges look at each other, before turning to look questioningly at the contestants on stage.

“You played together during rehearsals?” Director Shi asks.

“When we were both on stage,” A-Qing admits.

Tianlang-laoshi seems immediately intrigued.

“Xiao Xingchen is of a mind to take you two into his team,” he says to Xue Yang and A-Qing. “But are the two of you agreeable to that?”

“This is unprecedented!” Ling Wen bursts out furiously. “We’ve allowed teams to merge during training and even between competition rounds. That’s how The Unlucky came to be, but we’ve never had a team attempt to save another from elimination by absorbing it before.”

“I am not at all inclined to allow this,” Director Shi agrees stoically. “It sets a bad precedent. Teams should not be allowed to save others from elimination by absorbing them, not without very good reason.”

“These two duos would make an interesting team,” Tianlang-laoshi comments. “I have to admit that I’m curious to see what would come out of this union.”

“It sets a bad precedent,” Director Shi says again.

“Perhaps we can have the two teams perform together to demonstrate their compatibility,” Liu Mingyan suggests. “If what they say is true and they do work well together, then that could serve as good reason to allow the merge.”

“I’m still inclined to say no,” Director Shi says.

“If they don’t work well together, they will just be eliminated in the next round,” Tianlang-laoshi reminds them.

“I agree with Director Shi that it sets a bad precedent,” Ling Wen says.

There’s a moment of silence.

“We seem to be at a stalemate,” Director Shi finally says. “Ling Wen and I are opposed to the merger, but Liu-laoshi and Tianlang-laoshi appear to be for it.”

Lan Xichen quickly steps forward with a placating smile.

“Shall we call for a short break while the judges and producers discuss?” he asks pleasantly. “Contestants, please take a seat.”

The four on stage turn to look at each other. Then, with a final bow to the judges and audience, they come down from the stage. The director and producers join Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji at the judges’ table, speaking in low agitated voices. Meanwhile, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian immediately stand, making their way to the front, where the other contestants are all sitting.

“We broke the system,” Xue Yang says flatly, as they draw even with him.

“I apologize to everyone for the trouble,” Xiao Xingchen murmurs, bowing to the rest of the contestants.

“We could do it though!” A-Qing declares. “We’d make a good team!”

“We have to wait for the judges to decide,” Song Lan says firmly.

It takes about half an hour of fierce discussion before the judges and producers seem to come to a consensus.

“We will review footage of the rehearsal and make our decision in the next three days,” Director Shi announces.

After the announcement is made, the contestants slowly disperse. On A-Jie and Maiden Song’s excited invitation, Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian, and the Jins follow the two women out to a restaurant, this time one that comes heavily recommended by Maiden Song. For once, the food is actually received well by A-Jie.

“I wouldn’t invite you to just any restaurant,” Maiden Song tells her laughingly.

“I trust your taste,” A-Jie says laughingly, before she leans over, dotingly putting a dumpling into Jin Zixuan’s bowl.

“Have more soup, A-Li,” Jin Zixuan immediately says in return, scooping some soup into her bowl. “It’s cold in here. The soup will keep you warm.”

A-Jie smiles.

“Do I need the soup to keep me warm?” she asks teasingly.

After a moment, seemingly taking the hint, Jin Zixuan puts an arm around her, and A-Jie laughs again. They turn to each other, smiling, like two comets caught in each other’s orbit. Jiang Cheng can’t help but watch, feeling a strange sense of longing.

Beside him, Wei Wuxian is oddly quiet as well.

When the meal is finished, they head back to the lodging house. A-Jie retires to Jin Zixuan’s suite, as has become custom, and in the resulting silence, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian return slowly to their own rooms. They sit on the couch, turning the television on to fill the silence. Wei Wuxian has his phone out, however, and after some twenty minutes or so, he stands up.

“I’m going for a walk,” he says.

He leaves, and doesn’t come back for a long, long time. Jiang Cheng takes a can of beer out of the fridge, finishing it slowly, before he finally gets up and goes looking for his missing brother.

He doesn’t have to walk far. A short walk out of their block, he finds Wei Wuxian sitting in one of the pavilions.

He has company.

Lan Wangji is seated at the stone table, head bowed, fingers moving gracefully across the lacquered wood of his guqin. Wei Wuxian is leaning against his back, watching the moon while he plays.

It’s too far for Jiang Cheng to hear the music, but it somehow seems far too intimate a scene for Jiang Cheng to intrude upon, so he returns awkwardly to their rooms and gets into bed. Alone under the sheets, however, he can’t help but recall how A-Jie had laughed with Jin Zixuan’s arm around her. He can’t help but recall Wei Wuxian, expression serene, leaning back against Lan Wangji as he’d played.

In that silence, he finds himself thinking, achingly, of Lan Xichen. He remembers the times they’d spent in that auditorium together, he remembers laughing, chasing each other over seats— he remembers that night by the river, tucked against Lan Xichen’s side in the cold. 

He wants that again.

蓝曦臣 // Lan Xichen

still awake?
12:13AM

It takes awhile before he receives a reply.

Yes
12:18PM

Jiang Cheng bites his lip.

I want to see you.
12:18PM

Lan Xichen doesn’t reply immediately.

After several minutes of silence, Jiang Cheng can’t help but worry. That was incredibly forward, and more than a little demanding. He shouldn’t have asked.

Ding.

I’m still in a meeting with the producers
We’re discussing the elimination round
12:26PM

Jiang Cheng stares at his screen for a moment, trying to parse the tone of Lan Xichen’s reply. Before too long, however, Lan Xichen sends him a follow-up message.

But I want to see you too
12:27PM

Jiang Cheng is filled, abruptly, with a deep, aching longing. He takes a breath before typing out his reply with trembling fingers.

tomorrow then?
12:28PM

It’s awhile before he receives a reply.

Tomorrow
12:31PM

Chapter Text

The next day, Jiang Cheng heads to office as usual, still feeling a little out of sorts. He had checked his phone upon first waking, but Lan Xichen hadn’t replied to make further plans, so after stopping by the pantry for some coffee, he settles down at his desk, and tries to work.

Since his conversation with San, he's been staying a little past his shift each day, looking through the shelved proposals. Things had been too hectic the day before for him to get anything done, but with the press conference over with, things seem to have settled down. A good number of his colleagues are on sick leave. Qi-jie herself is nursing some hot ginger tea, speaking with a noticeable croak as she offers him lozenges. He declines, of course.

It’s a slow day in public relations, all in all, so he straightens his stack of proposals, and gets back to reading. Speaking with San had left him a little unsettled, reminded somehow of Wei Wuxian, only knowing how to create, but not how to market those creations. Deep down, he also can't help the feeling that the disagreements between his parents had bled over into evaluation of the proposals.

At that thought, he lets out a quiet sigh. These proposals represent months upon months of work, work that had maybe been dismissed a little too easily. He's been trying to sort the useful and the potentially useful out of the pile, but there's quite a bit of jargon in the documents, and today, distracted as he is, he can barely make any progress. More often than he’d like to admit, he finds himself checking his phone, looking for a reply from Lan Xichen.

No reply comes.

In the end, he spends most of his first two hours reading and re-reading the last few messages he and Lan Xichen had exchanged. At times, he finds himself typing out various apologies for his behavior, but eventually ends up deleting all of them. Had he been too demanding? Had he made Lan Xichen uncomfortable?

Finally, closer to lunchtime, he gives up on the proposals altogether, letting the head of department know that he’s completed his work, before heading down to the loading docks for the day.

The warehouse workers are as delighted to see him as he is to see them.

“Xiao Laoban!” they cry. “Are you staying for the day?!”

"I am," he confirms.

Jiang Cheng can’t help but feel slightly more at ease, surrounded by the familiar ribbing and laughter of the men. The physical labor definitely helps to take his mind off things, so he unbuttons his cuffs, rolls up his sleeves, and gets to work.

For a while, he loses himself in the bustle of it, grinning as the men chatter. Approaching lunch time, however, a shipment of goods draws a good portion of the men out to the gates. 

They take an exceptionally long amount of time to return.

“Where have those lot gone?” Uncle Four grumbles, ten minutes in. “What’s taking so long?”

“Maybe they’re in the toilet,” one of the other workers suggests.

“Lao-wang had mala noodles for breakfast,”^[1] says another worker immediately. “So it’s plausible. You know how his spice tolerance goes.”

There’s a round of uproarious laughter, before the rest of the workers suddenly reappear.

“Xiao Laoban!” they cry. “We found this fellow wandering around outside the building, looking lost, and when we approached him, he told us that he’s looking for you!”

Hefting a box up into his arms, Jiang Cheng pauses as he registers their words.

“Looking for me?” he asks.

He turns around, and immediately notices the person standing behind them, loaded down with plastic bags and looking a little sheepish.

It's Lan Xichen.

“Ah,” Lan Xichen begins weakly. “I probably should have called ahead.”

He holds up one of the plastic bags with a smile.

“I brought lunch!” he exclaims, before looking down at the rest of his bags, and raising them as well. “I brought food for your colleagues too!”

His eyes sweep down over Jiang Cheng, stopping at his bare forearms. Jiang Cheng is suddenly made conscious of his untidy appearance. He’s in a dress shirt and pants, seeing as he was supposed to be up in accounts today, not down here moving boxes. As a result, his clothes are rumpled and more than a little sweat-stained, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and the top few buttons of his shirt undone.

He quickly finds somewhere to set down the box he’s holding, bending over to set the box down amongst a stack of other boxes. When he straightens, turning back around, Lan Xichen’s eyes rise quickly to his face. Lan Xichen reddens, clearing his throat awkwardly.

They soon head up to the canteen to eat. Lan Xichen still seems unable to meet his eye, so after a moment, Jiang Cheng quickly but discreetly brushes a hand down over the seat of his pants to make sure he hasn’t popped a seam somewhere.

He hasn’t popped a seam.

Before he can think too much about Lan Xichen’s strange behavior, however, they arrive at the canteen. The other workers file out of the lift with them, murmuring excitedly at the food that Lan Xichen has brought them.

“Here, let me help,” Uncle Four offers, reaching out to take some of the bags from Lan Xichen. “You can call me Uncle Four.”

“So you’re Uncle Four!” Lan Xichen exclaims, with a laugh. “Wanyin— I mean Jiang Cheng, has told me about all of you! I’m glad to finally meet you.”

The workers seem delighted at that.

“Your boy is very charming,” one of them mutters to Jiang Cheng.

He’s not my boy, Jiang Cheng wants to protest, but then he is being ushered into a chair. In the end, he just sighs, and begins to help Lan Xichen unpack the food. Halfway through the meal, he hears the quiet click of heels behind him.

“And who is this?”

It’s Jin Zhu, immaculate as always in red lipstick and a burgundy pencil skirt, blinking slowly and expressionlessly.

“This is my good friend, Lan Xichen,” Jiang Cheng says, after a moment. “He came to bring us lunch today.”

“Lan,” Jin Zhu repeats starchly. “Related to the Lans of Lan Group, by any chance?”

Lan Xichen jerks.

“Ah,” he says, licking his lips nervously. “Yes. Is that— Is that not okay?”

Jiang Cheng glares warningly at Jin Zhu from over Lan Xichen’s shoulder. In response, Jin Zhu just raises a penciled eyebrow.

“Any guest of the young master is a guest of ours,” she finally says, nodding briefly at Lan Xichen, before she moves off in the direction of the coffee machine.

As they resume their meal, Lan Xichen patiently entertains all the curious questions from the men, laughing and smiling, charming everyone effortlessly. Before too long, however, the men excuse themselves back to work, leaving Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen alone together.

“I need to apologize again for not calling ahead,” Lan Xichen says then. “I was acting on impulse. I hope I haven’t caused any inconvenience.”

“It’s okay,” Jiang Cheng says, and then looks down, picking at his sleeve. “On my part, I’m sorry if I sounded demanding or— anything else, last night. I was in a strange mood. I hope I wasn't bothering you. Oh, and thank you for buying lunch!"

“It’s not a bother,” Lan Xichen says firmly. “I owe you for the egg tarts, and besides, I always want to see you, Wanyin.”

Ah.

Jiang Cheng has to turn away briefly, occupying his hands by putting the lids back on the empty containers and packing them back into the plastic bags. Lan Xichen immediately begins to help. They work in silence for a minute. When Jiang Cheng finally feels like he’s able to breathe again, able to speak again, he clears his throat, and stands.

“Since you’re here, let me at least show you around,” he says.

They take the lift back down to the loading docks, where Jiang Cheng spends some time briefly explaining the work flows, before leading Lan Xichen up onto the mezzanine. There, leaning against the railing and looking out over the floor, he can’t help but fall silent. Watching the shipments come in and out, watching the clockwork movement of workers and machinery— it always fills him with such a sense of pride, of awe, of peace.

One day, this will all be his.

“You really love this,” Lan Xichen says suddenly, and when Jiang Cheng turns to him, surprised, he offers a small smile. “It’s not just duty for you. You want to do this.”

Jiang Cheng looks down over the floor below them.

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

After a moment, Lan Xichen turns to look down as well, before he sighs.

"Sometimes I worry," he admits. "I worry that I'm no good at this business thing, that I'll hate it when I eventually take over the company." 

Jiang Cheng turns to observe him for a moment.

"Is this because I showed you around the factory?" he asks, and chuckles dryly at the sheepish look that comes onto Lan Xichen's face. "There are many functions in business, not just operations. Business isn't just numbers and work flows. It also requires soft skills, people skills, leadership skills. You're great at bringing people together. That’s how the show got started, isn’t it? The producers and directors and coaches all respect you. You don't have to be good at all aspects of business, just some of it."

He steps back, away from the railing, and beckons to Lan Xichen as he begins to head back for the lift lobby.

"Come," he says. "I'll show you around the upstairs offices."

It's lunch hour. The halls are filled with employees either going out or returning from lunch. The ones who recognize Jiang Cheng greet him as they pass, nodding at Lan Xichen with curious eyes.

"Most CEOs don’t get very involved in the daily running of the organization," Jiang Cheng continues. "They're usually just responsible for forging partnerships, serving as the public face of the company, and making decisions relating to corporate strategy."

Lan Xichen’s face falls at the last one. “I don’t know how—” 

“My dad doesn’t either," Jiang Cheng says quickly. "He does all the negotiating, the partnerships— the people stuff. My mom takes care of the more technical aspects. You'd probably fulfill a similar role to my dad in the future. You just need someone like my mom to help you. You don’t have to do everything yourself, you know. You can delegate your work out."

He gestures generally towards everyone around him.

"That's what all these people are for," he says. "They have the expertise to do the stuff you don't know how to do. All you have to do is listen to them, and help them pull it together. You can delegate as much as you like. In fact, some CEOs delegate all their work out to other people, and then spend all their time—” 

He quickly cuts himself off there, before lowering his voice. 

“Jin Guangshan’s wife is the real CEO," he mutters. "Jin Holdings’ business partners know to contact her if they want an answer. He doesn’t even bother to answer calls from the board!”

After a round trip around the rest of the floors, Jiang Cheng finally escorts his guest back out of the building. They stand at the entrance for a while.

“So—” Jiang Cheng begins.

“Can—” Lan Xichen starts at the same time.

They both stop.

“You first,” Jiang Cheng says, after a moment.

“I have to go back now,” Lan Xichen says. “I have another meeting with the producers about…” He pauses, making a general gesture. “... the last round of eliminations, but can I… maybe…”

Jiang Cheng holds his breath.

“... maybe come visit again?" Lan Xichen asks, and smiles shyly. "I want to learn more about this world.”

“Of course!” Jiang Cheng breathes, relieved. “Next time, give me a ring and I’ll come fetch you from the entrance.”

Lan Xichen's smile widens, before he finally bids his goodbyes.

Afterwards, Jiang Cheng goes down to the docks to talk to the warehouse workers briefly, before heading happily back up to the office. With his mind clear, he should be able to concentrate on the shelved proposals now. As he heads back to public relations, however, he comes across Jin Zhu speaking to the head of department outside the office.

“You’re still here?” Manager Wu asks, sounding surprised. “Most of the department is out on sick leave today! If you don’t have anything to do, you should go home and rest."

“There’s some other stuff I have to take care of,” Jiang Cheng says.

Manager Wu chuckles, before turning back to Jin Zhu.

“He works too hard,” she says fondly. “It was busy enough last week, what with the quarterly earnings release, but I heard from accounts that he was still staying past his shift every single day, sorting through R&D proposals or something.”

Jin Zhu raises an eyebrow at Jiang Cheng.

“You still aren’t done with the proposals?” she asks.

“It’s complicated,” Jiang Cheng says defensively. “Some projects definitely look useful for streamlining processes in other departments, but it’s difficult to tell. I’m not an engineer, and even if I were, I wouldn’t know exactly what the needs are in other departments.”

Jin Zhu seems to consider it for a moment.

“Set up a cross-functional team then,” she finally says. “If you can get buy-in from all the heads of department, you can get the team started on those proposals once you’re done with your rotations.” She turns to Manager Wu. “How does that sound to you, Manager Wu?”

“Well, you have my vote,” Manager Wu says, sounding intrigued. “We’ve been trying to get software to build us some speech recognition tech for ages! That kind of tech would be so helpful for transcribing press conferences, but they always seem too busy with product development to build things for internal use. Oh! Could you get software to develop some machine translation tech too? That would be so helpful…”

“Err,” Jiang Cheng says, a little awkwardly, as Manager Wu trails off into pensive muttering. “I’m not sure about getting them to start new projects, but I’ll keep an eye out for speech recognition and machine translation projects amongst the proposals.”

At that, Jin Zhu smiles.

“Our Xiao Laoban is nothing but efficient,” she says fondly.

When Jiang Cheng gets back to the lodging house, Wei Wuxian immediately stands, coming around the coffee table to shove his phone in Jiang Cheng’s face.

“Did you see the news?” he asks excitedly.

Jiang Cheng leans back a little to read the headline on the screen.

Bright Moon Distant Snow and The Unlucky to form musical quartet

The All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt is pleased to announce that two musical duos, Bright Moon Distant Snow and The Unlucky, will henceforth be competing as Yi Quartet. Crew members sat down with the contestants and judging panel to understand—

He immediately looks up at Wei Wuxian, eyes wide. His brother’s expression is one of barely restrained delight, his eyes shining as he nods. After a moment, Jiang Cheng lets out a quiet laugh, unable to keep from smiling as well.

“Good for them,” he says. “I’m glad.”

“I can’t wait to see what they will come up with,” Wei Wuxian admits. “The two duos are coming from vastly different genres. There’s a big possibility that they will be unable to pull it together, but if they do… it might very well be something we’ve never heard before.”

“Xichen spent a lot of time in meetings with the judges and producers,” Jiang Cheng says. “I didn’t ask if they had asked the four of them to play together as part of the deliberations, but this decision was very well thought-through.”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” Wei Wuxian says thoughtfully, before perking up. “Are you heading for the music room today? I need to work on my tracks.”

Jiang Cheng puts down his bag.

“Yeah,” he says.

Humming along with the notes, Jiang Cheng plays the relevant chords, pausing momentarily to note them down, before continuing. Having completed the piece he was working on with Wen Qing’s help, he’s confident that he will be able to play the accompaniment for his next performance. Now, with his extra time, he’s beginning to prepare a song for the coming rounds. His notebook is already covered in sentence fragments and notations for the beginnings of a melody.

Finally, he sighs, rotating his neck with a crack, before standing up to stretch.

“Hey, help me take a look at this,” he says, picking up the score, and turning around. “Do you think—”

He stops mid-sentence.

Wei Wuxian is asleep, belly-down and wrapped up in the piano cover, arms still outstretched towards his laptop. His cheek is squished up against his own bicep, a tiny line of wetness trailing down from the side of his mouth. Watching him, Jiang Cheng is struck by a sudden sense of fond nostalgia. 

After a moment, he bends down to pick up Wei Wuxian’s laptop. He seems to have started working on the backing tracks for his clients, so Jiang Cheng carefully saves his work, before packing the laptop away. Then, slinging their bags over one shoulder, he slides a hand carefully under Wei Wuxian’s chest, and hoists his brother up onto his back.

The stars are out in the night sky when he emerges from the training building. He looks up at them as he carries Wei Wuxian through the empty car park. As he does, he can’t help but think back to a night just like this, all those years ago, carried on Wei Wuxian’s back after a late-night practice session. Jiang Cheng can’t help the wry smile that comes to his lips.

He had left home four years ago to find the things he’d found lacking in himself. Failing to find it in Beijing, he had come here instead, hoping that in some way,. it would help him to prove to his father, to prove to the world that he was someone worthwhile. He had hoped that, in some way, that it would restore him to the way he’d once been— before the comparisons, before jealousy and insecurity had taken root in his young heart.

Wei Wuxian shifts on his back, and Jiang Cheng turns his head to see him rubbing at his eyes, the other arm still around Jiang Cheng’s neck.

“What are you thinking so loudly about?” Wei Wuxian mutters.

“I didn't say anything," Jiang Cheng points out, and Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes.

"Well, yes," he says, "but you've got your thinking face on."

Jiang Cheng lets out an amused huff at that.

"I was just remembering something you once told me," he says.

"What did I tell you?" Wei Wuxian asks.

“What, you don’t remember what you say?” Jiang Cheng prods, half-teasing.

“I say a lot of things!” Wei Wuxian protests.

Jiang Cheng lets out another amused huff, before finally giving in.

"You said," he says, "that if I don't try, no one would ever know what I'm capable of."

"Wise words," Wei Wuxian says sagely. "But…"

He leans forward, poking Jiang Cheng's cheek with one finger.

"Perhaps the most important thing is not showing other people what you're capable of," he says. "Maybe what's most important — is showing yourself what you're capable of."

Jiang Cheng doesn't say anything.

“I love you, Jiang Cheng," Wei Wuxian murmurs, pressing his cheek to Jiang Cheng's shoulder, and closing his eyes. "I want you to love you too.” 

They walk back to the lodging house like that, Wei Wuxian resting on his back, with his arms draped around Jiang Cheng’s shoulders. After a moment, Jiang Cheng looks up towards the stars. With not a cloud in the sky, they look so close to the earth, like if he just reached up — he could touch them.

The next round soon arrives, and with it, Yi Quartet's first performance as a group. They deliver a haunting performance that blows the audience, contestants, and judges away, leaving Jiang Cheng unable to do anything but clap in the aftermath. Wei Wuxian is on his feet with excitement, and so is Tianlang-laoshi.

"Some parts of the cover felt unpolished," Ling Wen grants, "but considering you've only been playing together for a week, I think I speak for the other judges when I say we're deeply excited to see how you'll grow in the coming weeks."

"Your chemistry is undeniable," Liu Mingyan praises, "and your sound unique."

"We can't wait!" Tianlang-laoshi agrees excitedly. "Please continue to work hard!"

Girls 21 is up for elimination again, this time with Qin Su in tow.

"Wahhhh!" Mianmian cries in the aftermath, running forward to clutch at Qin Su's arm. "Going up against Qin Su-jiejie? We’re not going to make it!"

Qin Su laughs, turning to give Mianmian's forearm a squeeze.

"Believe in yourself, meimei," she murmurs, quiet as always.

Mianmian leans her head briefly against Qin Su's shoulder, before she straightens.

"Jiejie," she says. "Tomorrow will be the last time we’ll be performing on the same stage. In previous rounds... I didn’t really appreciate the time we all had left together…"

She swallows, looking morose for a moment, before picking herself back up again.

"That’s why we should treasure every moment left together!" she cries. "Let's all go out together for a final drink, shall we? I'll treat you, jiejie! Who else wants to come? But I’m only treating Qin Su-jiejie! The rest of you have to pay your own bill!"

"Count me in!" Wei Wuxian calls, looking excited at the prospect of drinks.

"If we're all going, we can use the bus!" Lan Xichen chirps. "I'll let the driver know!"

They head out to the same bar as the last time. The bar is pretty crowded for a Sunday night, filled with young people seemingly out to get wasted. Jiang Cheng suddenly remembers that there is a club next door, which might explain the crowd. Luckily, it seems like Lan Xichen had the foresight to call ahead, because they are led to a corner where there are enough tables for all of them.

“What should I have?” Lan Xichen asks, leaning over to show Jiang Cheng the menu.

“You’re drinking?” Jiang Cheng asks, surprised.

“Mm,” Lan Xichen hums.

“Well,” Jiang Cheng says, scanning the menu briefly. “Do you want something sweet or sour? Light? Or something a bit heavier on the tongue?”

Eventually, Lan Xichen goes with the drink he suggests. As they wait for their drinks to arrive, Jiang Cheng finds his attention caught by the conversation going on down the table from them.

“It was definitely unexpected,” Xiao Xingchen is saying to one of the members of Girls 21, “but we do work well as a team. While Zichen and I have been arranging music for a long, long time, our vocals have definitely been lagging behind the rest of our competitors. In comparison, A-Yang and A-Qing have much stronger vocals.”

“But we’re shit at musical arrangement!” Xue Yang calls over his shoulder, and raises his shot glass in a toast. 

That draws some laughter from the girls. A few of them even raise their glasses in apparent agreement.

“We’re pretty bad at it too,” Mianmian adds. “We try to change up the backing tracks a little, instead of using the standard one, but every round has been a struggle.”

“Oh, Xue Yang and I were struggling so bad before this,” A-Qing agrees. “Did you hear the difference in the quality of our backing track between this round and the last round? That’s all down to Xiao-laoshi and Song-laoshi! They’re old hats at this. I guess that’s what eight years of experience in the industry brings you.”

Xiao Xingchen smiles.

“I think you two underestimate yourself,” he says, a little chidingly. “Zichen and I may be more established, but we’ve grown comfortable where we are. We have become conservative in our writing choices, but the two of you? You bring so much creativity and ambition to the team. You’ve really pushed us in directions we had never previously considered.”

“But that’s also because you and Song-laoshi are so open-minded!” A-Qing cries, before turning back to Mianmian. “Xue Yang and I were going let’s try this and let’s try that all week— all week. And no matter how preposterous the suggestion was, Song-laoshi and Xiao-laoshi would just look at each other, shrug a little, and then try it out.”

“Before the merge, you guys played for completely different genres,” one of the girls comments. “I was surprised and a little skeptical when you asked to become a quartet, but you four were so frightening onstage! We’re all so frightened now!”

Song Lan frowns a little at that.

“Frightened?” he asks, sounding concerned.

“Because if Qin Su-jiejie doesn’t kick us out this round,” Mianmian begins, and then stands, pointing indignantly at all of them, “then you guys are going to kick us out in the next round!”

As the table erupts in laughter, Lan Xichen turns to look at Jiang Cheng, smiling.

“It’s nice to see them all getting along,” he whispers.

Their drinks soon arrive, and Jiang Cheng settles down to nurse his glass of whiskey. It’s not half an hour, however, before Lan Xichen stands, excusing himself with a gentle smile. When he does not head to the bathroom, heading out of the bar instead, Jiang Cheng trades look with Wei Wuxian, before standing as well.

“I’ll go check on him,” he says quietly.

When he goes outside, Lan Xichen is standing against the railing, looking out over the canal. Jiang Cheng sits down on the pavement, letting his legs dangle down towards the water with his arms folded on the railing. When Lan Xichen looks at him, he pats the spot beside him, and Lan Xichen sits down as well.

“I overestimated my tolerance,” Lan Xichen confesses.

“You look fine to me,” Jiang Cheng says.

“I’m a little tipsy,” Lan Xichen admits. “I’m not sure I want to be around the others while I'm like this.”

Jiang Cheng looks at him for a moment, searching, before he stands, and brushes his pants off.

“Alright then,” he says simply. “Let’s go back to the lodging house.”

“I’d love to continue drinking,” Lan Xichen says quickly, guiltily. “I just—”

“We can get some beers and continue drinking at the lodging house,” Jiang Cheng says. “Come on, I’ll book a ride back."

When they arrive back at the lodging house, they head towards the auditorium. As they cross the empty carpark outside the training building, however, Lan Xichen raises his head to look at the stars, breathing in the fresh night air. Jiang Cheng makes a split-second decision. He sits down on the asphalt, setting the beers down, before lying back. After a moment, he pats the spot beside him, and Lan Xichen settles down as well.

“The last time we drank,” Lan Xichen whispers, lying back on the ground, “we drank in the auditorium, but perhaps here is better.”

“Hmm?” Jiang Cheng hums questioningly.

“From here, we can see the stars,” Lan Xichen says.

After a moment, Jiang Cheng turns onto his side, looking at Lan Xichen’s profile. His lashes are dark and long against his pale skin, eyes gleaming in the starlight.

“I’ve been so busy with my rotations lately,” Jiang Cheng whispers. “I haven’t had time to continue sitting in on your practices. I miss the sound of your playing.”

“I haven’t been practicing lately,” Lan Xichen admits.

That surprises Jiang Cheng. He raises his head, propping himself up onto one below to look down at Lan Xichen. Lan Xichen continues to look up into the night sky, expression serene.

“Why not?” Jiang Cheng asks carefully. “You love music.”

“I’ve been in a bit of a slump,” Lan Xichen says.

There is only silence for a long moment. When Lan Xichen does not elaborate, Jiang Cheng raises a questioning eyebrow. Lan Xichen smiles.

“I feel like I’m at a crossroads now,” he says quietly, still looking up into the night sky. “It feels as if all my life, I’ve been walking on the same straight road, only to realize recently that the road isn’t as straight as I once thought. Somehow, somewhere, I’ve reached a fork in the path. It branches out into so many other paths, and now... I’m paralyzed.”

“Because you don’t like where the path you’re supposed to take goes?” Jiang Cheng guesses.

“No,” Lan Xichen says.

Jiang Cheng is surprised at the strange certainty in that answer. 

“No?” he asks. 

“No,” Lan Xichen confirms, before he smiles again. “There’s a new path that I’ve only just noticed, and it takes me where I’m supposed to go.”

“Do you want to take that path?” Jiang Cheng asks.

“Yes,” Lan Xichen says, unhesitantly, with not an ounce of doubt. 

Jiang Cheng processes that for a moment.

“Then why don’t you take it?” he asks.

Here, Lan Xichen finally hesitates.

“Because the road is difficult and unknown,” he admits in a small voice, “and I’m scared that I won’t be able to make it through.”

“If you don’t try,” Jiang Cheng whispers, “how will you know what you’re capable of?”

Finally, Lan Xichen turns his head. His eyes are dark and lovely in the night, lit from beneath by the light of the nearby vending machine.

“Take a leap of faith,” Jiang Cheng says. “Who knew I would make it this far in the competition? I certainly didn’t think I would. Chase the path you most want to take. Don’t regret your choices later on in life.” He swallows. “I don’t want to see you become like my father.”

Lan Xichen closes his eyes. After a moment, however, he begins to smile.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

Somehow, Jiang Cheng can’t help but feel embarrassed at the sincerity in his voice.

“Ugh, this again?” he mumbles. “What are you thanking me for this time?”

“For inspiring me to be braver than I am,” Lan Xichen says.

Oh, for heaven’s sake.

Before Jiang Cheng can say anything in response, however, Lan Xichen’s phone begins to ring. Still smiling, Lan Xichen reaches into his pocket and pulls it out. His smile fades away as he notices the caller ID.

Lan Wangji is calling.

They look briefly at each other, before Lan Xichen worriedly picks up the call.

“Wangji?” he asks carefully.

“Xichen-geeeeeeee!” comes the tinny wail from the other side. “Xichen-ge! Come to the front gate and tell security to let us in!”

It’s Wei Wuxian.

“Why isn’t security letting you in?” Lan Xichen asks.

“I don’t know!” Wei Wuxian wails. “I think it’s because— ack! Lan Zhan, no! That’s my kidney— Lan Zhan— Lan Zhan, stop—” 

The call ends abruptly.

After a moment, Jiang Cheng just sighs, rubbing tiredly at the bridge of his nose.

“Let’s go get them,” he grouses.

They get up and head to the front gate, where Wei Wuxian is standing in front of a literal entourage of black cars, lined up one after another on the narrow winding road leading into the estate. Wei Wuxian is standing on the other side of the gate, gesturing frantically as he speaks to the security guard. His eyes are bloodshot. He looks intoxicated, and the security guard looks very unimpressed.

“What’s happening here?” Lan Xichen asks faintly.

“Xichen-ge!” Wei Wuxian wails. “Tell him to let us in!”

“He doesn’t have a pass,” the security guard says.

“I lost it at the bar!” Wei Wuxian cries. 

“Why are there so many cars?” Jiang Cheng demands.

Wei Wuxian stops, blinking a little. After a moment, he hiccups, before looking back over the long line of cars.

“Each car only seats four,” he finally says. “We needed to book seven to fit us all.”

“You all came back together?!” Lan Xichen demands.

“Of course we did!” Wei Wuxian cries.

“Then why didn’t you take the bus?” Lan Xichen asks helplessly. “We went out in one, remember? I asked the driver to wait near the bar.”