Work Text:
“I don't know why you insist,” Jin Guangyao remarked. “It's not as if it was particularly efficient even when it was working.”
Lan Xichen didn't stop rummaging into his toolbox until he found the particular screwdriver he needed.
“He was da-ge's final project before he passed, I can't give up,” Lan Xichen said, carefully opening the robot's backplate. “I've been talking with someone online, I think I can really fix him.”
“It, not he,” Jin Guangyao gently corrected, because he'd never really understood Nie Mingjue's work, never seen his creations as more than elaborate machines.
But Lan Xichen had understood, especially about HU-41-Sang, that project to which Nie Mingjue had dedicated his every moment of freedom. Jin Guangyao had seen the frustration over that robot which never seemed to behave the way his creator wanted him too, and never realised that Nie Mingjue loved those unexpected reactions. Lan Xichen remembered his friend's extatic grin when he'd realised that HU-41-Sang's image recognition algorithm had changed so much that he was now able to appreciate art, to have preferences even.
Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen had started teaching HU-41-Sang to produce his own work, when Nie Mingjue...
It had been a horrible accident. Nie Mingjue had died, and HU-41-Sang's delicate circuits had been all but fried, rendering him useless. HU-41-Sang would have become nothing but a pretty doll gathering dust if Lan Xichen hadn't asked to have him, convinced he could repair him.
It had been nearly ten years, with very little progress... but still enough progress to not give up.
And now this friend of his brother had suggested a way to restart HU-41-Sang. If Wei Wuxian was right...
“I have to attend a meeting now,” Jin Guangyao announced. “Don't waste too much time on this, I'd like your help after with a few things.”
Lan Xichen hummed in answer, too focused on the delicate task before him to speak. It took a while to find the particular component that Wei Wuxian had guessed would be present, and effort to plug it onto the device he had invented to transfer HU-41-Sang's core personality.
“Don't worry, A-Sang,” Lan Xichen whispered as he fiddled with the last details. “A-Yao can say what he wants, I'm never gonna give you up. I know you can be brought back. Please, please come back.”
He turned on the switch.
And for the first time in ten years, HU-41-Sang's voice rose, coming from that device.
“It's dark here,” he said. “Why is it dark?”
“Hi, A-Sang, sorry about that,” Lan Xichen greeted him, grinning and nearly crying. “I'll take care of your sensory inputs soon, I promise.”
“Xichen-ge?”
“That's me. A-Sang, I'm so glad to have you back!”
There was a long pause. Lan XIchen was worrying when HU-41-Sang spoke again.
“Are we alone?”
“Yes. A-Sang, I have to tell you, da-ge is...”
“I know. Are we really alone?”
“Yes.”
“Good," HU-41-Sang said. "Xichen-ge, I saw Meng Yao murder da-ge, and my memory bank contains video proof.”