Chapter Text
"So that is what Sandbox is meant to be," says the greying, bright-eyed woman. "A nest for start-up owners to grow, with all the facilities they need. Thank you so much for your question, Mr Wu." She glances at the door as it opens again, and a young man takes a seat in the second row.
Several seats away, a man in a purple flannel grabs the mic. "Hey. My name is Jiang Cheng; I'm a developer; my question is for Mr Lan."
“Go on.”
“I read what people have written in the comments about you in the article posted this morning. You started your company in America with family money, right? So why are you at a Sandbox event? You didn't start here." The woman next to him smacks him on the arm.
“A-Cheng,” she hisses. “You were not supposed to ask that!”
The man seated beside Mr Lan cracks a smile.
"I did not start with Sandbox, no. But Ms Sanren, would you like to reiterate for Mr Jiang why Sandbox was created?"
Baoshan Sanren smiles. "Of course. As per Mr Lan's request, I'll explain again. Playgrounds are full of sandboxes – so when children fall, they don't hurt themselves and can just get up again. So we do that for start-ups." She smiles.
“And since I, as you correctly said, started my company with family money – money I received from selling my family house in China – I did not need to start at Sandbox. If I did, I would be taking away the opportunity for someone who needs it more than I. And as for the comments – I no longer take the time to read them. Enough people hate me for me to do nothing else. As a CEO, I do not have the time I assume you do.”
Jiang Cheng’s eye twitches, but he muffles a thank you into the mic.
"Any more questions?" Mr Lan says, looking ever more uninterested than he did before.
“I have one,” the young man in the second row stands up. His eyes are determined, though somewhat unreadable, as he raises the mic. "My name is Lan Wangji."
Mr Lan freezes. The man seated next to him, a very stunned Mr Nie, stares with wide eyes.
"My question is for Mr Lan," Lan Wangji says, his voice steady. "You've made many decisions in your life. But, have you ever made a selfish choice?"
“I never should have married you!”
“If you were wiser, you would never say that again.”
12-year-old Lan Zhan closes his book. “They are fighting again, aren’t they.”
"It will pass," his kind-faced brother says, turning in his chair to face him. "Are you okay? Would you like to come sit with me?"
“I am okay. I am used to it,” Lan Zhan says.
Lan Xichen takes off his glasses, wiping them clean. He smiles once more.
“I’m done listening to you,” he hears his father yell, and his smile falls.
"I should never have married you," his mother cries. "Never! You ruined my life!"
“You are being hysterical.”
"I had – I had dreams," His mother says, and there's a thump as if she's fallen on the floor. Lan Zhan jumps up, but Lan Xichen holds his shoulder.
“A-Zhan,” Lan Xichen says. “You know this fight. This one will not stop with you intervening. Please sit down.”
Lan Zhan frowns but says not a word. Instead, he looks at his brother's face. He only recently turned 18, but he now looks so much older. He turns back to his homework.
“Get up. You’re being pathetic.”
“Stop it!”
“You act like you ever stood a chance.”
Lan Xichen takes a deep breath. He forces a smile on his face and turns to his brother, grabbing his wallet. “A-Zhan, are you in the mood for ice cream?”
“It used to be a boiler room. The rent is as cheap as it gets. But it’s twenty thousand for the deposit. How much did you get from the bank?”
Nie Mingjue looks around the room, the peeling wallpaper, the leaking roof. “Ten thousand. My parents’ accounts were frozen.”
“And your brother?”
"He's thirteen. He can't live here; he's with his auntie.”
“She can’t support you?”
“She isn’t my aunt. He’s my half-brother, so only he is her blood.”
“But to leave a 17-year-old out on the street…How cold can she be?”
As his real-estate agent walks him down the stairs of the creaky old building, all Nie Mingjue can think about is how cold the world actually turned out to be. "I'll try and find you something else; I wish I could help. But it's looking a bit – hey, what is that?"
He pulls out the huge placard from Nie Mingjue's bag. Nie Mingjue sighs. “It’s a prize. For an investment competition.”
"Hundred thousand? You won so much money – why didn't you say anything? We can get a much bigger -"
"Virtual money," Nie Mingjue says and points to the note under the check. "It was an investment competition. I invested fake money.”
"Oh," he frowns. "But – but, you clearly have some talent, huh? Why don't you start a bank account and invest real money? With your talent, you could really -"
“I can’t start a bank account,” Nie Mingjue scowls. “I’m seventeen.”
“Still – your parents can start -”
“They’re dead.” Nie Mingjue snaps.
The man sighs. “I’m sorry. Look, I’ll try to find another place, but I can’t help you any more than this.”
“I understand,” he says, already walking away.
“Is the ice cream good?” Lan Xichen smiles.
Lan Zhan nods. “I like it.”
"Good," Lan Xichen turns when he hears scuffling. There's a young man behind them, who looks only about as old as him. He looks at Lan Zhan carefully, watching him eat his ice cream at the counter. Finally, the young man takes a solemn look inside his wallet.
“Hey, boy,” auntie says. “You want anything?”
“I don’t,” he says gruffly and turns away.
Lan Xichen frowns, but he looks back at his brother, slowly eating his ice cream. “Come on,” he says, his mind still preoccupied with the teenager. He had a couple of bags with him but was wearing only a school uniform. A runaway, maybe? "When you finish your ice cream, I'll go get you a book from Uncle's shop."
Lan Zhan perks up significantly. Lan Xichen smiles.
Nie Mingjue’s stomach growls as he walks away from the ice cream stall. The boy there looked about the same age as Huaisang – Huaisang, who was sitting alone in his aunt’s house, the aunt who said she could barely afford his schooling, let alone his lodging.
He passes by a café, an office, and another one before he’s in front of a shop full of TVs, all with the same announcement.
“Youngest winner of the Mathematical Olympiad in China! Only thirteen years old, this little genius makes his parents so proud!”
Nie Mingjue looks at the sweet-faced, chubby 13-year-old squeezed between his siblings and parents, cheering, happy, holding his medal. A man who looks like his father gives him a massive hug before standing for the photo, and even the severe-looking woman, possibly his mother, cracks a smile.
There’s a pit in his stomach.
He hasn’t eaten since breakfast, but his wallet is growing thinner, and he can’t afford to eat outside until he gets a place to live.
Maybe he can try the hostel again? He thinks. But, no, they kicked him out already. The bench is better. At least he can lay down his jacket to sleep. If he can make it before sundown, he can stay before the park closes.
The rain falls heavy, ruining his chance.
As he runs around looking for a place to hide, he looks everywhere – electrical poles, post offices, offices gates, to see if there’s a job that provides lodging. Nothing.
He uses his prize placard to cover his head and runs, runs until someone grabs his shoulder.
He yanks himself back, sure it’s a creep, but he’s surprised at what he sees. It’s a young man, a teenager, wrapped in a raincoat.
It's the same teenager from the ice cream shop. The older one – with the glasses and the sweater, held out an umbrella for him.
“Come with me!” he says, handing him the umbrella. Nie Mingjue feels he may not have another choice.
“This is my uncle’s old shop,” Lan Xichen says, “he only uses it to store stuff, and he only comes here about once a year.” He leads him to what looks like an old office with a desk and a lamp, but on the floor, there’s a sleeping bag.
“I set it up and cleaned a bit. You're a student, right? You can use the desk to study. We always have leftover food at home; I'll bring you some every day. The lamp still works; it flickers a little, though."
“Why are you doing this?” Nie Mingue says. “You don’t even know me.”
"I don't…." Lan Xichen smiles. "But no one is using it anyway. Here," He picks up the newspaper on the floor. "There's dinner. My mom is an excellent cook, you know, and there's milk and bread also; you can have it before school."
“I can’t pay you." Nie Mingjue says. "My parents are dead. I have no money, and I'm not even old enough to start an account."
"You can have mine if you want." Lan Xichen pulls out his backpack and an envelope full of documents. "I barely know how to use mine; you can handle it as a favour.”
"Are you an idiot? You can't just give me your bank information – this has your card and your password. Are you insane?"
Lan Xichen shrugs. “It’s only got some birthday and New Year’s money in it.”
"I could run away with it; what would you do then?” Nie Mingjue asks incredulously.
“Then I would be the idiot,” Lan Xichen smiles. “For trusting a good boy like you.”
“Enough!” Lan Yue yells, throwing a glass at the wall. “Enough!”
Lan Xichen can’t keep up as Lan Zhan runs out of the room, so he promptly follows.
“Mama!” Lan Zhan cries, running down the stairs.
"Enough," she holds her face in her hands. "I've had enough. You've ruined my life; I want it back. I want it back."
“Be quiet.” Lan Zhan hears his father say, as dismissive as ever. “Do not alarm our children.”
“My children!” she screams. “They’re mine! You’ve never done anything!”
“Stop it,” he warns, more serious now. Lan Xichen wraps a hand around Lan Zhan’s arm.
“A-Zhan…” he says, nudging him to go back upstairs.
“I want a divorce,” Lan Yue says.
The room goes quiet. It’s quiet for several moments before Lan Qingyuan speaks.
He laughs.
Lan Zhan freezes. He has never heard his father laugh. Not with anger, not with joy, and never with malice as he does now. It’s an ugly, awful sound, and it drains the noise from around the room.
“Divorce? You’ve officially gone mad.”
“I am serious.” His mother says. “I will leave you, and I will start my own company – I am sick, I am sick of giving up my dreams to your ego.”
“I am trying to protect you –”
“You are holding me back!” she cries. “I’m going to do it – I’m going to be better than you are, better than you ever will be -”
“You will not last a week.” Lan Zhan clenches his fist. “You cannot even run a household – what makes you think you’ll be able to run a business? You’re weak, and you’re naïve. You don’t stand a chance of being successful.”
His mother gets a wild, untethered look in her eyes. There's something so steady, though – like the calm before the storm, like the calm space between lightning and thunder.
“Five years,” she says. “And I will be twice as successful as you.”
“Naïve.” His father dismisses. “I have to protect you from yourself.”
“You have to protect me from you,” she snarls. “I’m filing for divorce, whether you like it or not.” She gets up, walking to the staircase.
"You will fail and come crawling back." Lan Qingyuan says, following her sharply. "Make another move, and there's no going back.”
She turns back to give him a final look.
“Watch me.”
There’s a triumphant, shocked silence that follows, loud enough to be heard across the room. “Children,” Lan Qingyuan says mechanically. “Your mother and I are getting a divorce. Choose who you will go with.”
Lan Yue freezes, her hand on the railing, fearing a thought she hadn’t had yet. Lan Zhan watches her quietly, desperately, to see her eyes welling up with tears, to feel his brother’s tight grasp on his shoulder.
His mother looks at him pleadingly – and Lan Zhan has never seen her quite so small.
“Make your choice wisely,” Lan Qingyuan says, looking up at Lan Zhan, suddenly, finally, a giant.
“What kind of question is that?” Jiang Cheng mutters.
“Maybe he hates him too,” the woman beside him says.
"Of course I have," Mr Lan says. There's a quiver in his voice, hardly noticeable, but it's there. "I am only human."
When Lan Wangji does not seem satisfied with his answer. Mr Lan continues. "You may think my choice is selfish, but I can live with the fact that it was right."
Mr Nie observes him as he tightens the grip on his mic.
“Zhan’er,” Lan Yue smiles. “How was school?”
“Good,” Lan Zhan runs up to her, all but throwing himself on the sofa next to her. They’re in a flat now, after his dad sold their house, leaving them to find out once the movers arrived. He likes it better, he thinks. The old house was always cold.
“Where is your brother?” she asks, ruffling his hair. He lays his head and watches as she rifles through takeout menus. Her arms were covered in burns – she was working in a noodle shop to pay rent. Her face, however, was the brightest Lan Zhan has ever seen it.
“He went straight to the old office to study.”
“Ah, he goes there a lot lately, no? Huan’er studies so hard. Will you take him dinner again?”
Lan Zhan nods. Lan Yue smiles, “Now help Mama look through menus for her business!”
“Mn.”
"You're distracted," Nie Mingjue says, looking at his textbook. The office isn't great, but it's a step-up from the bench, and true to his word, Lan Xichen's mother is a fantastic cook. As a result, he's eaten better than he has in months.
Lan Xichen, the strange man that he is, insists on studying there with him. But, unfortunately, his giant glasses only make his eyes look even bigger and more sympathetic, and a part of Nie Mingjue really hates that he can never say no.
“Ah, sorry, I’m just thinking of my brother.”
Nie Mingjue remembers him. The little one, around the same age as Huaisang.
"He's a good boy…a very good boy," Does he just call everyone a good boy? "But he has no friends. He's so closed off; he only ever talks to our mom and me. And…I don't know; since my parents got divorced, he's only been worse."
“I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
"Me too, he's just, he's shy." Lan Xichen trails off. "I just wish he would have a friend. Someone to talk to when he's lonely."
Nie Mingjue sighs and continues his work. It only takes a few minutes before Lan Xichen begins speaking again.
“You know, you have really nice handwriting, Mingjue…."
“Thanks?”
“Could you…write a letter to my brother? Saying you want to be his friend?”
“What?” Nie Mingjue glares at him.
“You saw him earlier right, he dropped off dinner. His name is Lan Zhan. He’s 13 years old, can you write one as if you were a boy of his age? Just say you’ve always wanted to be his friend.”
“Xichen, I can’t -”
“I just really want him to know he’s not alone. I want him to have a friend, even if it’s not real. Please. If I wrote him a letter, he’d know it was from me.”
“Why should I do this?”
“Because you’re a good boy, just like him.”
“Good boy again?! You -”
“Haha! I told you – Dage is a good boy!”
Huaisang's voice in his head claws at him. "Fine," he says and finds a sheet of paper. "Hi Lan Zhan, my name is – wait, I shouldn't use my actual name, right? So what should I use?"
“Any name,” Xichen leans over. “A name that makes you sound cool, kind, smart, and rich.”
Nie Mingjue cocks an eyebrow. “And rich?”
“I’m not taking any chances.”
He sighs and looks over. There’s an old newspaper on the floor, and he picks it up to read. The headline sounds familiar – Youngest winner of the Mathematical Olympiad! – and he realizes it’s the same happy, snuggly boy with his parents from days ago.
"Wei Ying," he sounds out. "That's a good name. It's smart and kind. And look at him," he says, looking carefully at his loving family and toothy smile. “He will have a bright future.”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Xichen nods. “Yeah, that’s a good name.”
"Okay," Nie Mingjue sighs, "Hi Lan Zhan, my name is Wei Ying…."
“Mama, Xiongzhang,” Lan Zhan calls out.
"Yeah, Zhan’er?” Lan Yue leans over her computer. “What happened, my darling?”
Lan Zhan walks into the living room and proclaims, “I have received a love letter.”
Lan Xichen coughs into his tea. “What?” their mother looks at Lan Zhan with a similar expression.
"His name is Wei Ying, he is my age, but he is too shy to talk to me. He is brilliant and kind. He is very much in love with me." Lan Zhan says, holding the letter.
"Maybe he just wants to be your friend…." Lan Xichen sighs. What in the world did Mingjue write? He was with him the whole time.
“Let me see it, Zhan’er,” Lan Yue says. Lan Zhan proudly hands her the letter.
“I am very shy, but I have always wanted to be your friend. Can we be friends, Lan Zhan?” she reads out. “I would really like it if we could write to each other. Will you be my pen pal? Just leave your letter in the birdhouse in front of your uncle’s old bookshop.”
"He loves me," Lan Zhan says with conviction.
Lan Yue chuckles and hands him the letter. “If you say so, Zhan’er. But don’t get your expectations too high, okay? Maybe he really wants to be your friend.”
"I must write him back immediately," Lan Zhan says and rushes to his room.
Lan Xichen smiles painfully as he runs off, getting up to go and gently scold Mingjue.
"Huan’er," Lan Yue says. "I know this is your doing."
Lan Xichen freezes. “A-Niang – I just want A-Zhan to have -”
“I’m sure you have your reasons,” she smiles. “But don’t lie to him for long, okay? It will hurt him.”
“I understand. I won’t.”
“She sent you?” Lan Qingyuan looks at his brother. “She was meant to come.”
“She could not – she has a meeting,” Lan Qiren sighs. “I brought the personals and your boys; could you just enjoy your time with them?"
Lan Qingyuan sighs and begrudgingly carries on a conversation with his kids.
“How was your meeting?” Lan Zhan asked, not letting go of his mother.
Lan Yue pouts. “Unfortunately, they didn’t give me any money either.”
Lan Zhan frowns. She ruffles his hair. “It’s okay! Did you have fun with your dad?”
“I told him about Wei Ying. Xiongzhang told him about school. He only wanted to hear about you.”
“He did?” she stiffens. “Well, next time you meet him, you tell him your mama got a huge investment, okay?”
“Mn.”
“Do you think he wrote back already?” Lan Zhan says, walking up to the birdhouse. “What if he didn’t?”
"No, I saw him put it; I was studying." Lan Xichen nods.
“Really? What is he like?”
“He’s tall and smart, handsome. He looks rich too.” Lan Xichen can hear Nie Mingjue cursing him in his head.
Lan Zhan goes pink. “Woah.”
When Nie Mingjue takes the letter out, he’s immediately assaulted by the little bunnies on the envelope. Lame, he thinks.
They’re pretty cute, though.
Hi Lan Zhan,
Dear Wei Ying,
Hello Lan Zhan,
Dearest Wei Ying,
Hey, Lan Zhan!
Did you have a nice weekend?
I’d say my favourite colour is blue.
There’s so much I miss about them.
Will we meet one day?
I enjoyed that book as well. The movie was terrible.
I had a sad day today.
What I want for Christmas is to be surrounded by flowers.
I’m so happy we are friends.
Can you believe it has been six months?
My brother bought me the best ice cream.
Your last letter made me laugh so much!
Your favourite snack is strawberries, isn't it? I used to live near a strawberry farm.
What is your birthday wish?
My brother once convinced me to braid my hair; it was not fun.
I met my father today. I don't think he likes my brother or me anymore. I told him about you.
I wish I could talk to you all the time.
All the best for your exams!
Will you be going away for the summer?
Dear Wei Ying,
Today, my mother is sending out flyers for her business. She has a great idea. She thinks that if we create a service that collects food from across restaurants in the city, many local restaurants will benefit from the mass orders.
I really wish she gets it. This is her dream. I wish for her to fulfil it.
What is your dream, Wei Ying? I do not know what mine is yet. I want to dream big, like my mother. I hope you do too.
Love,
Lan Zhan
“What is your dream, Wei Ying?”
Looking through one of his bags, Mingjue finds the damp remains of his prize placard.
1st Prize, Nie Mingjue, Class 12. Virtual investment competition.
“Why don’t you make a real investment? With your talent, you can really -”
He pushes the thought out of his head. His hands, however, close around the envelope of bank details Lan Xichen had handed him.
With your talent, you can really be something, Dage.
Love, Lan Zhan
From, Wei Ying
Love, Lan Zhan
Best wishes, Wei Ying
With love, Lan Zhan
From your friend, Wei Ying
Love, Lan Zhan
Awaiting your response, Wei Ying
Love always, Lan Zhan
Reading your letters is the best part of my day.
Love,
Wei Ying
“Have you been well,” Lan Qingyuan says, stirring his milk into his tea.
“I’m fine.”
“And your brother?”
“He’s fine too.”
“Still working at the bookshop, I suppose?” He says. Something about his tone grates at Lan Zhan.
“He likes the shop. We spent a lot of time there growing up.”
“A-Zhan,” Lan Xichen sighed. “We’re supposed to sell the books. You can’t just read them the whole day.”
“Qiren should have sold that old place years ago,” His father says. Lan Zhan narrows his eyes. “And you. What are you doing?”
Lan Zhan looks down at the scuffed edges of his shoes, and for once, feels something close to shame. “I am thinking of starting a business.”
Lan Qingyuan quirks an eyebrow. “Are you.” It’s not a question. “Who is your partner?”
“Someone capable, competent and reliable, and very, very smart.” He says. It’s not a lie. When he starts a business, that’s what he’d want.
“And who is this person? Not your uncle, I hope.”
"Uncle, what if I quit my job and start another bookstore?" Lan Zhan asked several weeks ago.
“Have you ever been slapped with a book?”
“He is Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan swallows, far too confident for someone who has quickly crossed over to lying.
“Wei Ying? That sounds familiar. Wait,” he pauses. “Your pen pal? From 15 years ago?”
“…Yes, Wei Ying. You remember him. He is my partner.”
“I see you kept in touch,” Lan Qingyuan says, his eyes grazing over the frayed inner cuff of Lan Zhan’s jacket. “Am I to believe you are simply business partners? Or have those letters transformed into something else?”
Lan Zhan takes a long, long sip of his tea. "We are excellent partners in business and in life." Stop speaking. “We even met yesterday.”
“Smile, bunny,” Lan Zhan said yesterday, squatting in the pet store to take a better picture.
“I see,” his father cracks something of a smile. “What will you be working on? In this new business.”
“Technology, mostly…” Stop. “Wei Ying is a genius. If you remember, he was the youngest winner of the Mathematical Olympiad when he was only thirteen."
“I believe you have mentioned that.”
They proceed to drink their tea in uncomfortable silence before they walk out.
“Let me drop you home.” His father says, looking straight towards a shiny black Mercedes.
“There is no need.” Lan Zhan says flippantly.
“It is on the way.”
“There is no need.” He repeats. “Wei Ying…will drive me home.” You will take the bus.
Lan Qingyuan sighs and turns to him. His eyes move to his jacket again. “If you are interested in starting a business, I will be throwing a networking party next Friday. You can meet some valuable contacts.”
Lan Zhan clenches his fist around his phone.
“And bring this…Wei Ying, as well.”
“Oh…” Fuck. “Why should I? Bring Wei Ying.”
He raises an eyebrow. “He is your business partner, is he not?”
“Yes. But -”
“And as your father,” Stop, "I believe it is important for me to meet him. You have been…close for more than 10 years now."
“Wei Ying dislikes crowds and busy places.”
“As do I. I assure you it will be nothing more than a small, professional party.”
“Forget it. He will not agree. I will let him know you invited him, though. Thank you.” He turns to take his leave.
“And thank you.”
Lan Zhan turns around, watching his father approach the chauffeur-driven car. “For what?”
“For meeting me today,” he says. Lan Zhan narrows his eyes. “And answering a question I have had for many years.”
Lan Zhan tilts his head to the side. “What question?”
“I have wondered for years,” he crosses his arms, “if you children made the right choice, leaving me for your mother. If you made the right choice, even if it was, as you said, the selfish one.”
“We did not leave you for mother -”
“But now I don’t need to wonder.” He says, and for the first time since he walked out of the house, 16 years ago, Lan Zhan sees his father smile. “You still live off Qiren, who was always too sympathetic towards you and your mother. Let me guess, you work in that little shop as well, don’t you? For free.”
Lan Zhan grits his teeth.
"Neither you nor your brother went to college. Your jacket is one your uncle has had for 20 years; the inside is fraying, but your brother sews it back for you, so you do not need to buy another. You work a minimum wage job. And you," he smiles again, "ask me if I regret the selfish choice while you're here telling me stories about your fake boyfriend and fake business plan.”
Lan Zhan’s grasp tightens around his phone till he’s sure he’s seconds away from breaking it.
"So thank you," his father opens the door. "For showing me I was right all along."
The car moves before Lan Zhan does, but when he does, he runs. He runs until he catches up; he runs until he's in front of the car, forcing it to stop. Then, out of breath, fists clenched, he knocks on his father’s window.
Disgruntled and not nearly as smug as he was moments ago, Lan Qingyuan rolls down the window. “What?”
“Where is your party?” Lan Zhan says, eyes wild. His face breaks into a dangerous, enraged smile. “Wei Ying and I will be there.”
“Mail is here,” Lan Zhan says, holding out the letters. “I picked it up when I sent Wei Ying’s letter.”
“Thank you, my love,” Lan Yue smiles, taking the stack of letters from her son “A-Zhan, Wei Ying is still leaving letters for you?”
“Yes,” Lan Zhan beams. “We have become so close.” She shoots Lan Xichen a look. He looks back, completely guilty.
Her attention diverts to the letters in her hands. The number of overdue stamps has her hands shaking, and she slowly moves them to the counter next to her.
“Are they the bills, again?” Lan Xichen asks.
“No, no, Huan’er. Just some letters.” She forces a smile and looks up at him. He doesn’t believe her. “Nothing for you to worry about. You study for your exams, okay?”
“Okay…” Lan Xichen’s eyes remained glued to the envelopes.
“How do I look?” She says, putting on her jacket and giving her a turn. “Does it look professional?”
Lan Xichen smiles. "Very much so. This one will work out; I know it."
Lan Zhan nods. "Me too. I told Wei Ying to hope it does as well." His mother smiles and kisses them consecutively on the forehead.
"Thank you, Zhan'er, Huan'er. If I get it, Mama will buy you both ice cream, okay? Have a great day at school."
Lan Zhan beams. “Mn.”
Once she leaves, Lan Xichen walks over to the counter, carefully opens the first few envelopes. “Oh no,” he says quietly. This is worse than he thought.
"Is it terrible," Lan Zhan says, his voice small. He doesn't seem to have the courage to turn around and look.
“No, no, A-Zhan. Of course not.” His brother forces a smile. “Everything will be okay.”
Lan Zhan eyes him suspiciously but sighs and goes back to his book.
“A-Zhan,” Lan Xichen. “Will you go to school alone today? Xiongzhang needs to stop at the bank.”
“Yes, I would like to withdraw everything and close the account.”
The kind-faced lady at the counter nods and takes his passbook. "I'll do that right now; let me just update this," she runs it through the machine. Her face twists in confusion a few moments later, and Lan Xichen leans over.
“Is everything okay?”
“Sir…Are you sure you want to withdraw all this money?”
Lan Xichen furrows his brows. “It’s only about eight hundred yuan.”
“Eighty thousand yuan.”
“What.”
“You’re involved in financial trading, right? This money seems to have come from shares.”
“Like, investing?” Lan Xichen takes off and wipes his glasses. “Please, show me this number again.”
Nie Mingjue stares at the ATM when the card pops out.
“Account Closed”, the machine reads, and he begins to shake it until it moves. “No. No!” he cries, slapping the machine on the side. “No, that money was for Huaisang! No! Lan Xichen!”
He kicks the machine one last time and runs.
When he gets to the shop, Lan Xichen is standing there, his hands in his pockets. He’s running. He’s taking the money and running.
Nie Mingjue shoves him in the shoulder against the shutter. “You closed the account? How could you! That wasn’t your money!”
“Mingjue -”
“I trusted you!” he yells. He’s crying already, punching him lightly in the same place he was shoved. “What did you do with it? You told me I could trust you, and you -”
“What are you doing?” Lan Xichen says, walking inside with him. Nie Mingjue fills up a backpack of his things, the investment competition placard sticking out, the way it had the day they first met.
“I’m going to Beijing. I got into a college there.”
“Where will you live?”
“I found an apartment.”
“And your brother?”
Nie Mingjue looks away. “I sent his boarding school the money. He’s moving out of his aunt’s house this weekend.”
“You’re so smart.” Lan Xichen says solemnly. “In one year, you got 100 times the money you invested.”
“Stop.” Nie Mingjue turns to him. “Stop it.”
“I came here to -”
“Don’t you get it?” Nie Mingjue yells. “What kind of person are you? Was this why you brought me here? You lured me in with that good boy nonsense, made me write those stupid letters, and that’s it? You just took that money?” His voice shakes. “I can’t believe I let you do this – I can’t believe I stayed here and listened to you!”
“Mingjue -” Lan Xichen warns. “Listen to me!”
“No!” he cries. “My parents are dead. My brother can’t even look me in the eye. I couldn’t – I got kicked out of my house with no money, and I was stuck. Did you think I made that money to repay you?! For gratitude? I never wanted your pity! I never wanted your kindness. This kind of kindness…” he looks at him, disgust, rage, and desperation in his eyes, “Is not something I can afford.”
Lan Xichen opens his backpack and hands him a black bag filled with his money.
“What?” Nie Mingjue looks inside, bewildered.
“I took it out. Did you think I took it and ran?” Hurt rings through his voice. Nie Mingjue flinches. "My mom – my mom is almost out of money, and I needed whatever I had in the account to pay the bills. So I was closing the account because I wouldn't have the balance to maintain it."
“O-oh,” Nie Mingjue says, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Xichen – I -”
“If I wanted money from you, would I have let you stay here like this? What do you think of me?” Lan Xichen sighs. “I couldn’t maintain the account, so here’s the money. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier; I was coming to do that."
“Xichen – I didn’t know -”
"I have to go to school; I'm late," Lan Xichen says, walking away.
“I’m so sorry I’m late!” Lan Yue limps into the conference room. “I’m so sorry!” the piece of glass in her hair scratches her face, and she flinches.
“Oh dear, are you okay?” Baoshan Sanren says, standing up. “You’re bleeding!”
“Oh, I’m okay, I’m okay, ma’am! I ran into traffic on the way here, haha…” she says, wiping her cheek.
"Wait – did you get hit by a car?" one of the employees says. "Why didn't you go to the hospital?! Please go; we can reschedule."
“No, no, I’m okay.” Lan Yue smiles. “Just a few scratches. My name is Lan Yue; I'm here to talk about foodrun.com." The presentation behind her has a drawing Lan Zhan had done many years ago, of him at a table, surrounded by the food he likes.
“So foodrun.com -” she picks up the laser pointer, only for it to fall out of her desperately shaking hands. The car had knocked her down while she ran to get the bus, but she had got up straight away. “I’m sorry, I’m just nervous,” she laughs.
“If you’d like, we can schedule this for a later time.”
“No, no,” she smiles. “I understand that SH Venture Capital is always very busy. I do not want to take more of your time. So, foodrun.com is a delivery network of local restaurants -”
“Miss Lan,” Baoshan Sanren says, holding up a folder. “I received your proposal in the mail. I have looked through it already.”
“We think it’s a brilliant idea,” the man next to her says. Lan Yue’s hands can’t stop shaking.
“What?” she takes a shaky breath.
“We love that it’s already ready to be on mobile platforms. It’s user-friendly, as well. Congratulations.”
“Oh,” she gasps. “Thank you!”
“We would like to invest in your business.” Baoshan Sanren smiles. She’s a bit of an elusive, wandering figure, and Lan Yue cannot tell what’s behind her eyes. While her smile is calm and welcoming, there’s something behind her, something she cannot identify. “But I have a question for you. If you can give me the answer, we will invest.”
"Yes, yes, of course."
“You have been focusing entirely on getting new users, I can see. Now – with a website like this, getting users is never going to be a problem. But how exactly are you going to generate revenue? Would you consider shifting to a paid service model?”
Lan Yue takes a deep breath. “No, I would not.”
Another one of the venture capitalists strokes his chin. “So neither you nor your investors would make any profits for a while.”
“I cannot compromise on this,” she swallows. She might just blow this golden opportunity. “I have seen plenty of businesses fail when investors and owners seek profits in the early stages. Most users don’t stick around. At this point, creating a user base is what is most important for this business. If we don’t do that, there’s no point at all.”
Baoshan Sanren gives her a strange, twinkly-eyed smile. "If you were in an ocean, you would either die of thirst or -"
“Of hunger.”
“No,” she interlaces her fingers. “You would survive. Even if you were drowning, you would never drink the seawater.”
“Why would I?” Lan Yue smiles. “When I could wait for rain.”
Baoshan Sanren laughs and stands up. She pulls out her card, handing it to Lan Yue. “Go ahead with your plan. We will invest.”
“Zhan’er,” Lan Yue smiles as her son picks up the phone, waiting outside the elevator.
“Mama,” Lan Zhan says, “how did the meeting go?”
“Zhan’er, Mama’s getting an investment!”
“Whoa!” he says, and she laughs. He never expresses so much excitement. “Congratulations. I’m so happy.”
“Me too,” she smiles. “Mama’s going to become really big, and then we can move into a big house. And then both my sons can be proud to call me their mother.”
“I am proud.” Lan Zhan says.
“Are you?” she teases. A drop of blood falls onto her jacket, and she holds her nose to find out that it’s bleeding. “Aish,” she scrambles to find a tissue.
“Mama, are you okay?”
“Of course, of course, baby,” she says, pushing the tissue in to stop the bleeding, holding her head back. “I’m so happy, Zhan’er. Not only about the investment.”
“What else are you happy about?”
“Zhan’er, what do you think of before going to bed at night?” she asks. “After I close my eyes, I can picture it. A new world – and now, since they liked my idea, I can be a part of it. Isn’t that exciting? A new world, where you, your brother, and I can live, every day.”
“Mn,” Lan Zhan smiles. “I can’t wait.”
“Aha,” She laughs, still holding her nose. “Tell Huan’er once he’s done with class, okay? I’ll buy you both ice cream, as promised.”
"Really? I'm happy…."
She laughs again, leaning against the wall. “Happy because of ice cream? Or because Mama did well?”
“I can be happy about two things.”
“Indeed you can,” she laughs. “I love you, A-Zhan. We’re going to have so much fun.”
“I love you too, Mama.”
“I know, my darling,” Lan Yue smiles, “I love you so, so much.”
If I knew then those would be my last words to her, I would say it a thousand times over.
Love,
Lan Zhan
“That elevator isn’t working,” Baoshan Sanren says, pressing the button for the other one. “Come with me,” she smiles.
"Oh, thank you, ma'am," Lan Yue nods.
“Come back next week, okay,” she says. “We will discuss more details about our investment. I’m looking forward to working with you, Miss Lan.” She extends her hand.
"Ah, me too; thank you so much, again, for this opportunity." Lan Yue shakes her hand.
A shocked look flashes through Baoshan Sanren. “Oh dear,” she takes out her handkerchief. “Your nose, your nose! It’s bleeding!”
“Oh, oh, no,” Lan Yue tilts her head back. “Sorry, I thought I had it under control! I’ll wash this and return it to you!”
“Ay,” she sighs. “Do not worry about that. What happened to you?”
“Actually, a car hit me while I was running to catch the bus,” she laughs, far too flippantly. “But I was still thinking about our meeting, so I got up and ran.”
“Ha,” Baoshan Sanren says, astonished. “Running a business must be hard.”
Lan Yue laughs. "Haha, yes. Yes, honestly, it is tough. You fall and get hurt very often," she brushes one of the cuts of her face. "I wish I could fall on sand sometimes, instead of concrete. Then I wouldn’t get hurt as much.”
“Sand?” Baoshan Sanren raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
Lan Yue chuckles. "I have two young sons. When my youngest was little, he fell off a swing and hurt his knees." Baoshan Sanren frowns. "My ex-husband told him to stop going on the swings after that, but he told me to cover the ground with sand."
“Oh?” she smiles. “He must have loved playing on the swing.”
"He sure did," Lan Yue smiles. "And now, because there was sand on the ground, he could swing as high as he wanted. So even if he fell, he wouldn't get hurt."
“I see.”
“I wish I had a sandbox underneath me too," she says, forlorn. "That way, I wouldn't be so scared of falling. And then I could swing as high as I wanted, without hitting the hard ground. Just like my son."
Baoshan Sanren’s feels an unidentified sense of excitement. “I know what you mean.”
"So, will you head back to work, then?" Lan Yue asks, looking at the neck pillow around Baoshan Sanren's neck. She must sleep at work a lot.
“Ah, yes. And you?”
Lan Yue shakes her head. “I promised my kids I would get them ice cream if I got the investment. So I'll bring it for them and then head home."
Baoshan Sanren smiles. "There is a convenience store down the street. They have many flavours; I'm sure your sons will be happy."
“Ah, thank you.” She bows her head. “I will see you next week!”
Lan Yue buys the ice cream and gets onto the bus. She's getting a migraine that's hard to ignore, but she looks at the small wallpaper on her phone with her perfect, wonderful family and places the ice cream on the seat next to her.
She doesn't know if it's the tiredness of the day or the migraine or the stress that's finally off her shoulders, but she falls asleep close to her stop. She doesn't wake up.
“Are you leaving already?” Lan Qiren says, holding his brother's shoulder. Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen sit in the corner of the room, Lan Zhan's head tucked into his brother's arm, still crying. "The funeral just got over."
“I’m going to the US,” Lan Qingyuan says. “My flight leaves in a few hours. I’m going to the airport.”
“What.” Lan Qiren drops his hands. “Qingyuan. Your wife has just died.”
“Ex-wife.”
“Even so! What will you do, going to the US? There are many things left to do.”
“You will do them,” he says, putting on his coat. “You have done most of them already, for the sister-in-law you cherished so much.”
“Qingyuan!” Lan Qiren says sternly. “What was I meant to do? I could not wait for you to sober up and host the funeral. She doesn’t have any other family.”
“You have proven yourself more than capable of handling the rest, then.”
“Brother,” he snaps. “I understand you are grieving. I understand that this divorce has not made the best of you, but,” he sighs, frustrated. “You must be there for your children.”
“My children?” Lan Qingyuan says, finally turning to give the two a look. Lan Zhan looks at him for what feels like the first time. He looks into the warm, amber eyes of his father and now sees nothing at all. Lan Xichen wraps an arm around his waist, holding him upright as much as he can.
Lan Qingyuan takes a long, drawn-out look at them. Then, finally, he opens his mouth. "They're her children. They are no longer my problem." he turns to walk away but decides to turn back for one final look.
“They made their choice. Let them live with it.”
There is a deranged man at the bus stop, and Nie Mingjue has followed him from work.
“Why did I say that? Stupid,” Lan Zhan hits his head against the metal of the bus stop. “Stupid. Stupid Wangji,” he hits it again. The people around him watch him in utter confusion, watching this unrealistically handsome man proceed to have a meltdown while waiting for the bus.
“Idiot,” he says, now turning around and hitting his head the other way. “Idiot, Wangji.”
“I should go up to him,” Nie Mingjue says. “I should…go up and say hi." Instead, he watches as Lan Zhan rams his head back and lets out a singular, awfully deadpan laugh.
“Hahaha.” He says, like a robot. “Hahahahaha.”
“Or maybe not,” Nie Mingjue blinks.
What the hell happened to the sweet boy from the letters? He looks kind of mental now. The robotic laughter continues, and Lan Zhan proceeds to knock his head back with every single monotonous note. Nie Mingjue can’t help but laugh. “He’s gone mad.”
Clearly, the other people at the bus stop think so, too, since they proceed to move further and further away from him.
“Hello,” Nie Mingjue says. “Remember me? I wrote you letters under the name Wei Ying, no, no no,” he groans. “Hi, you seem insane now. Do you want a ride home? No.” God, Huaisang would know what to say in such a bizarre situation. He looks at his phone for a long time, looking through his contacts, itching to call him.
Lan Zhan gets onto the bus. Nie Mingjue proceeds to follow him.
“Good evening. I lied to you for a year and wrote letters with some kid’s name. No, hi, my name is Wei Ying, but I lie to everyone and tell them – no, hey! Lan Wangji! We used to write letters to each other, your brother asked me to – no no no."
Lan Zhan looks miserable as he walks off the bus, no longer laughing. Nie Mingjue street parks and follows him out, walking several steps away as Lan Zhan goes off aimlessly. “Hey, I know everything about you, no, too stalkerish, no. Hey, I was at the event, on stage, did you see me? I followed you home – NO!”
Lan Zhan takes a turn and walks, pushing his hair behind his ears. Nie Mingjue frowns and follows him into the alley, stopping behind a postbox when Lan Zhan slows down. God, he really is a stalker.
Lan Zhan stops in front of a truck, running to take several large stacks of books off the back.
“Aiya, A-Zhan,” a man walks out of the shop, and Nie Mingjue freezes. “Why did you come on a weekend? Go relax at home. Uncle also left early.”
“I need the money,” Lan Zhan says, “pay me a lot, Xiongzhang.”
Lan Xichen laughs, a sound Nie Mingjue hasn’t heard in many, many years. “When did you become so spoiled, A-Zhan?”
Nie Mingjue sits, staring at his bus ticket when a pair of shoes is placed on his lap.
“You don’t have any nice enough shoes for the cold,” Lan Xichen says. “It was bothering me.”
“Are you trying to make me feel guilty?” Nie Mingjue says. “They say if you give someone shoes, they run away. Is that what you’re making me do? I’ll take these shoes and run. I’ll take them and become rich.”
Lan Xichen sighs and takes off his ratty old shoes. “Do it,” he says, putting the new shoes on. They’re exactly the right size. “Become rich and successful, and then -”
“If you want me to pay you back, I’ll do it now. I’ll have to pay a lot more interest when I’m rich,” he crosses his arms.
“Don’t call me,” Lan Xichen says, standing up. “When you’re rich and successful, and you can give your brother a good life, get married and be happy, don’t contact me. Don’t call me.”
Nie Mingjue takes a deep, shaky breath, staring at Lan Xichen. “But call me,” he says carefully, looking down at the shoes. “If you are lonely, miserable, or sad…and standing in the rain again, with no place to live, just like you were that day. I will always pick up.” He sits down next to him. “If you’re ever going through a rough patch, you know where I keep the keys.”
They sit there in silence as Nie Mingjue’s eyes fill with tears, but they don’t move until they hear the call for his bus.
“Mingjue,” Lan Xichen gently touches his shoulder. “Come on, your bus is here.”
Nie Mingjue nods and gets up, ambling to show the man his ticket. Just as he crosses the barrier, he turns around. "Lan Xichen!" he cries. "What is your wish?"
“My wish?” Lan Xichen frowns.
“Tell me what you want,” Nie Mingjue says, finally letting his tears fall. “I want to pay you back! You know I can’t be in your debt.”
Lan Xichen shakes his head. “I don’t want anything from you, Mingjue. Just go and live your life.”
Nie Mingjue runs from the gate, wrapping his arms around him. While he’s stunned, Lan Xichen only sighs, patting his back slowly as he lets him cry into his shoulder. “Good boy,” he says, and Nie Mingjue cries even harder.
"Take care, okay?" he says, wiping his eyes with his hoodie. Lan Xichen hugs him tighter, wishing, sincerely, that there never comes a time he needs to see him again.
“What is it you’re thinking of, A-Zhan?” Lan Xichen smiles. They’ve created an assembly line to move the books into the tiny bookshop, one even smaller than the one Nie Mingjue once lived in.
“Wei Ying.”
“Wei Ying, again?” Lan Xichen gives him a sad smile. “He hasn’t written you a letter in 15 years.”
“You said you saw him, right?”
“Of course,” Lan Xichen says. “He’s tall, handsome, smart-looking, and rich.”
"I know. I believe you." Lan Zhan sighs. "Sometimes, I wish I could meet him."
“A-Zhan,” Lan Xichen says, looking down at the books. “He may not be as you remember him.” Nie Mingjue looks at his shoes and remembers the well-preserved pair Lan Xichen had given him. He sighs deeply.
“I know,” Lan Zhan sighs. “But even if I could see him once…that would be enough.”
“Did something happen?” Lan Xichen asks, concerned.
“Nothing,” Lan Zhan says. “But even for a moment…that would be enough.”
Nie Mingjue clenches his fist.
That night, Lan Zhan takes out his notepad. He looks at the stack of letters he treasures so profoundly, the photo of his dear mother on the desk.
He picks up a pen.
Dear Wei Ying,
Lan Xichen carries the last stack of books inside the following day, getting ready to open the store. His uncle won’t come in until later, and he wanted to get most of the heavy lifting out of the way.
The shutter refuses to remain open, and he’s using his other hand to hold it open, making it very hard for him to walk across and leave the stack inside.
“I got it,” a voice behind him says, and the shutter is held up for him.
"Ah, thank you," Lan Xichen smiles, not turning behind just yet. "Sorry, you need to push that thing a certain way to keep it up; I'll help." He places the books down and shoves up the shutter. “Got it! Thanks again!”
“Xichen,” Nie Mingjue says, staring at him. Lan Xichen looks at the young man, puzzled. “It’s me.”
Everything clicks.
"Mingjue?" Lan Xichen blinks, still behind those ridiculous glasses. "You're – are you okay? Are you hurt? Did something happen? Are you broke? You have a place to live?"
Nie Mingjue gives him a small, pathetic smile and shakes his head. "I'm good, Xichen.” He leans in and gives him a hug.
“I am so happy to see you again.”
I didn’t know at the time, but that spring, I would lose the one person I love most in the world. I did not even get to say goodbye.
I could not think. Even things like breathing became difficult, and my life no longer felt necessary. But your letters kept me company. Even though you did not write to me anymore, I read them every day. Those letters were the only thing that stopped my life from spiraling out of control.
Thank you for staying by my side. And thank you for the letters.
Back then, I believed you truly existed. And even now, I want to believe you do. I miss you, Wei Ying.
Love always,
Lan Zhan
Several blocks away, there is a terrible, terrible building with water damage, leaks, and a terrible temperature control system. In a loft above a terrace, there’s a small, messy office, surrounded by books, games and knick-knacks, which looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in months.
Next to a broken AC, there is a sign with a terrible business logo. Yunmeng Heroes, it says, and it’s next to a board with several photographs. The largest one is of a boy with his family, holding a medal and a trophy, one which says, ‘Mathematical Olympiad Winner, 2006.’ The man standing underneath it proceeds to make instant noodles.
“I’m making lunch,” the man in the purple hoodie says, pouring the hot water over the noodles. “Jiejie, you want some?”
The woman lying asleep on a mesh bed sits up. A book on machine learning, used as a makeshift eye mask, falls off her face. "Ah, A-Cheng, yes. We should all eat."
“Hey, idiot,” Jiang Cheng says, calling for the third person in the room. There’s a man with scruffy, wild hair and giant glasses hunched over his desk. "Food. Beef or spicy pork?"
“I’m busy.”
"Hey!" Jiang Cheng yells. "It's almost sundown; you have to eat lunch!"
The scruffy-haired man doesn't respond and continues to type relentlessly, staying wildly focused on his two monitors. He looks like he’s been there for many hours, possibly days. His shirt looks like it hasn’t been changed in a very long time. “Wei Wuxian…” Jiang Cheng says. “Wei Wuxian. Wei Ying!”
Wei Ying moves away from the screen, pressing the enter button. Jiang Cheng drops his fork. “Wait. Is it…?”
Jiang Yanli looks up to see the loading screen. “A-Ying, is it?”
The monitor loads to reveal Wei Ying’s face, and his eyes remain glued to the percentage on the screen. “3…2…1.” Wei Ying whispers.
A square appears around his head, the words underneath it, clear as ever. Face.
“It worked!” Wei Ying yells, and his siblings run towards his desk. Jiang Cheng shoves his face into the frame. Face, it recognizes.
“It’s so fast!” Jiang Yanli cries, looking into the camera.
“It worked! It worked! You’re a genius!” Jiang Cheng grabs the sides of his own face. “It worked, Jiejie, Wei Ying, it worked!”
His siblings cheer and jump around for a while, and Wei Ying stares at the screen, mesmerized. “It worked,” he says, almost out of breath. “It worked.”
Lan Zhan looks at the letter for one last time before he puts it in the birdhouse.
“It’s time for me to find you, Wei Ying.”