Chapter Text
“Jingyi, that’s the exact opposite of what we need,” Zizhen breathes out, not even bothering putting his phone down — but he does hold it out of Jingyi’s reach. “If your cousin is rich, the last thing he’ll have is some ancient tech!”
“DVDs are not ancient.” Sizhui mumbles, flipping to the next section of the binder.
“He might!” Jingyi says, not trying to reach for Zizhen’s phone again, but resolutely ignoring Sizhui’s statement. “Aren’t rich people, like, hoarders? His parents might be, and if they are, they definitely have a DVD player!”
“That’s also not a given!”
“But it doesn’t hurt to try!”
Sizhui sighs, drawing circles on the dust collected at the floorboards around them as his shoulders slump. His friends barely acknowledge, still going on about Jingyi’s cousin’s hypothetical family values. He leaves them be, knowing they’re distracting themselves from the task at hand — packing Sizhui’s stuff before he moves out.
Yes, of course Sizhui doesn’t want to move out. He’s lived in this town for the good part of his childhood, and he’s been friends with Jingyi for as far back as he remembers. He’s got his family living nearby, and his favorite places to hang out, preferred paths to take to school depending on the kind of morning he’s having, hell, even favorite aunties from the family’s market. It sucks that he’s been forgetting all of these things because of some— some stupid situation of this and that and, and—
It doesn’t matter the reason, the thing is: Sizhui has to move out, and he hates that he has to. He really, really doesn’t want to move out. It’s not that he can’t understand why his dad thought that was what’s best to do, because it is, and it sucks! And Sizhui can’t help feeling down.
“Good god!” he bursts, slapping the thick binder over his crossed legs, and both of the boys turn their widened eyes to him, suddenly silent. “Can we stop arguing?!”
He doesn’t give a damn about Jingyi’s cousin’s bank account or if he has a DVD player or not, he doesn’t even give a damn about the DVDs his friends are arguing over in the first place. Stalling is not going to help with the packing and it certainly will not help with Sizhui’s mood, and if a single person listened to what he had to say, they would know Sizhui has a DVD player himself, but no one is interested in that, are they? But sure, ignore him! Make a fool of him just because no one wants to listen to goddamn reason and prefers to jump on bandwagons about— about… Cousins? DVD players?
“Oh, Sizhui…” Zizhen says, sounding apologetic. He kept his eyes firmly on the dusty floor, but then Sizhui feels a hand between his shoulders, rubbing tiny circles. “We’re sorry.”
“Sorry, Sizhui.” Jingyi reiterates, patting his shoulder.
It’s just… being has been difficult for Sizhui, lately.
He breathes out, feeling the tension in his gut uncoil a tiny little. At the very least, he has Jingyi and Zizhen. They’re a nuisance, but they’re his favorite nuisances, and that’s got to count for something.
Sizhui holds his head up, smiling dimly at his friends. He sniffles before saying, “My dad has a DVD player somewhere in the house.”
“Ah!” Jingyi yelps, throwing his hands up. Zizhen sits back on his heels, looking just as bereft. “Why didn’t you say anything!”
He blinks, unimpressed, wiping under his nose with his sleeve. “He’s a hoarder.”
Zizhen chuckles. “Really? Are you sure?”
“Your dad? Prim and proper, extremely rule-abiding and organized uncle Lan is a hoarder?” Jingyi joins, snickering a little too enthusiastically. “No way.”
“I’m serious,” Sizhui says flatly. “Do you think all this stuff is mine?” he holds up the DVD binder, pointing with it at the countless boxes upon countless shelves in the storage room.
His friends’ laughter dies eventually, and the two blink at each other, bereft again. “No way,” Jingyi tries a little last chuckle, taking the binder from Sizhui’s hand and reading the label on one of the DVDs. “Ah. God. Jesus. It says 2002. That’s— that…”
“Before any of us were born.” Zizhen pops closer, nearly lying across Sizhui’s legs to get to Jingyi.
Sizhui just shrugs. “I told you,” he has enough evidence to back his claim that at least two of the smaller, unlabeled boxes in this very room, which his dad packed before he got too busy with moving things, are almost every single child toy he’s ever owned, and if that’s not a hoarder’s thing to do… “Let’s go find the DVD player.”
“Oh, right, that!” Jingyi springs up, dropping the binder.
“Ah!” Zizhen rubs the top of his own head, where Jingyi dropped the binder at. “Wasn’t there a box labeled electronics?”
“There might be.” Sizhui gets up off the floor, walking the maze-like, not completely packed room, looking for the specific word between his and his dad’s handwriting.
“Found it!” Jingyi calls suddenly from across the room, and Sizhui looks over his shoulder to find his friend sitting with a deep cardboard box sitting on his legs. If it’s labeled, it’s turned so he can’t see it. “Oh, thank god we didn’t tape anything down yet.”
“Careful!” Zizhen hisses, plopping down beside Jingyi. “Are you trying to tear it apart?”
“Not trying.” he mumbles, apologetic. Sizhui walks between the other boxes again so he can sit by Jingyi’s other side.
“I didn’t pack my laptop yet, we can plug the player in it.”
“Sweet,” Jingyi responds absentmindedly, elbow deep in rummaging the box. It cranks like Sizhui imagined a pile of old devices would. He blindly pulls out a blue controller that looks like it controls no other device inside the box. It looks old and one of the five buttons is sunk in. “What even… y’know what, whatever.” he puts it back in the box.
“Is this it?” Zizhen asks, plucking a tiny gray rectangle with a cord from inside the box. Sizhui and Jingyi sputter with laughter under their friend’s confused gaze. “It isn’t?”
“That’s an external HD, Zizhen!” Jingyi cackles, though Sizhui doesn’t laugh that openly, keeping most of it behind the back of his hand.
“Ah, come on,” Zizhen pouts, cheeks red. “I’m not tech-literate like that, let me be.” he mumbles, throwing the HD back in the box and crossing his arms over his chest.
“Yeah, but c’mon! That’s, like, not even close!”
While the two bicker again, Sizhui reaches inside the box, pulling a bigger device from the foot of it with both hands. “Here, here, stop arguing now, grandpas, I’ve got it.”
“Wow.”
“That’s it?”
“Hm. Bigger than I thought.”
“Yeah, Zizhen, you thought an external HD was it.”
Zizhen harrumphs, “Jingyi! Leave me be!”
“Never, ever in my life.” Jingyi just beams at him, moving the box to the floor again.
It’s only when the three of them are moving back to the living room with the binder, the newly acquired DVD player and Sizhui’s laptop that he realizes they probably shouldn’t be doing that. That’s his dad’s stuff, and they hadn’t got permission to, I don’t know, raid it? The task was to pack the stuff, not stall and look through the stuff like it’s some investigation project.
Worst of all, Sizhui knows his dad — as much as Jingyi tries to paint him as this severe, no nonsense authority figure —, wouldn’t do much to stop them. He’d have this soft, unbearable look on his face, the one for when he knows Sizhui is struggling, then does something bad and is hesitant to admit he did it either entirely on purpose or because he doesn’t know better.
“Sizhui? Hello?”
“Huh?” Sizhui blinks awake, seeing Jingyi’s hand hovering in front of his face, then his friends’ twin confused expressions. He stares down at his laptop sitting on the floor and plugged into the player with the program ready to spin it: he just had to insert the DVD he’s holding just by the entrance. Sizhui clears his throat, hesitating. “Oh. Yeah.”
“Are you alright?” Zizhen puts a hand between his shoulders again.
“Hey, what if something weird’s in there?” Jingyi gasps.
Zizhen regards him with a flat look. “Weird how?”
“I don’t know!” he throws his hands up, exasperated. “Just— weird!”
“My dad’s not—” two boxes. Small as they are, still filled with Sizhui’s early childhood stuff. “I don’t know.” he looks over the spread open binder, sitting by Jingyi’s crossed legs on his left. The empty section is labeled with the date 18.06.‘01.
“There’s only one way to find out.” Jingyi’s smile is widening and taunting. He gestures with his chin to the DVD player.
Sizhui gulps, looking over to it again, to his hand with the DVD with content from over twenty years ago, when his dad was close in age to him. What did he have going on back then?
Did he also feel the existential dread of teenagerhood and had to rely on every other thing that wasn’t a dead giveaway that he didn’t know what in the world he was doing in his life or what he was good for anyway, to be so worth giving that thought any importance? Was he also having to let go of the things he considered home because of some choice of his own that no one — really, no one — could even bother trying to understand it because of how stupid it seemed to everyone but him? Was he struggling with being too?
Pfft. As if. His dad is above all that. He must be.
Sizhui inserts the DVD, and he sits upright with his hands over his lap and his eyes transfixed on the laptop screen as it loads. His friends huddle closer to him, attracted to screen like moths to light.
JUNE 2001
“Wei Wuxian!”
The boy freezes, a guilty smile growing on his face. “Wow, that was an all caps,” he chuckles. “I better go now, talk to you later, uh…”
He wrangles his hands together over his lap nervously, almost biting his tongue to say, “Lan Zhan.”
“See ‘ya around, Lan Zhan!” with a last giggle seeping around that dazzling smile and the devastating sound of his name in his voice, the boy takes off around the hallway. “I’m coming, stop yelling!”
Despite his better judgment, Lan Zhan gets up, following the same path the boy just went through in more careful, silent steps. He peeks from behind a pillar — it is not stalking, the school is communal ground — and, yep, there he is.
“It’s not like I asked you to take the blame!” Wei Ying whines, his ear tightly clutched by mean fingers.
“Yeah, but you did ask me to go to principal Lan’s office in your place!” Jiang Cheng, owner of said mean fingers and Wei Ying’s brother, says in that same all caps voice.
“Jiang Cheeeng,” he stomps, exasperated, trying to tug his ear free. “You know he hates me more than anyone in the school, he’d expel me if he knew I was the one who did it!”
“Then here’s a nice tip,” Jiang Cheng lets go with a last tug. “Stop fooling around!”
Wei Ying looks not at all remorseful for the assault or guilty for the reason of said assault. He only laughs, rubbing his ear with a hand. “But that’s not fun!”
Lan Zhan bites the inside of his cheek, retreating back to behind the pillar. He breathes in and out anxiously, covering the left side of his chest as it thumps violently against his hands. He still hears the brothers’ voices, “You have the worst definition of fun.” Jiang Cheng scoffs.
“You’re the worst definition of fun!”
“That was the worst comeback ever. And don’t get all excited, we each got assigned punishment anyway.”
Wei Ying harruphs, and their bickering melts away as they walk in the opposite direction from where Lan Zhan stands — again, not stalking.
This morning went not at all like Lan Zhan envisioned it would be, and he’s not yet sure if that’s a good thing or not.
It started like: his alarm went off exactly a minute later than he programmed it to. Then: uncle served breakfast with the same cashew juice he packs for Lan Zhan’s and his brother’s school lunch, and Lan Zhan knows it isn’t exactly his uncle’s fault he doesn’t know Lan Zhan dislikes it, but still, distressing. Also: that one extra minute of sleep? It snowballed into getting to school five minutes later than his usual time, which isn’t late for class, but it comes distressingly close to that. Plus: a group assignment for the social studies class, which Lan Zhan was definitely not aware of beforehand.
And now: Wei Ying, trouble boy, sliding beside Lan Zhan right by the end of class to ask, smiling cheekily, “Are you left-handed?”
Lan Zhan had cowered away slightly, narrowing his eyes at the boy. “What?” then, as he processed Wei Ying’s question, he frowned, equal parts confused and impressed (fine, more the former than the latter, but still). He blinked, closing the zipper of his backpack. “I am.”
“Really?” Wei Ying’s eyes widened comically, and he did a little celebratory dance. “Yes! I knew it!”
Lan Zhan bit the inside of his cheek, and he sat upright again. “How?”
The boy’s smile turned mischievous in a split second, and he reached faster than Lan Zhan could get away, tugging the end of the braid on the right side of his head. “This one’s more crooked!”
“Ah!” Lan Zhan yelped as his head got pulled with his hair minutely before Wei Ying let go. He scowled, and that only seemed to feed the fire in the boy’s smile, because then he was openly laughing in Lan Zhan’s face. He grabbed his own hair, holding the ends away from Wei Ying’s trickster’s hands.
Yes, Lan Zhan didn’t have time to redo his right braid because his alarm clock was a single minute late, but he didn’t think anyone but himself would notice!
“Sorry, sorry, but it’s funny that I was right, isn’t it?”
Lan Zhan frowned, ready to tell Wei Ying that no, it isn’t funny to pull on people’s hair like that, without even an introduction or an invitation to hang out, perhaps — not that, he’d definitely not say that out loud. But then, of course, they got interrupted by—
“Wangji!”
Lan Zhan squeals, spinning around on his heels. “Uncle.” he greets hastily, ignoring that his uncle probably noticed his altered state.
“Are you alright? I called your name three times before you answered.”
He gulps, averting his eyes to where Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng previously stood at. “I’m alright. Apologies, uncle.”
“If you say so,” Lan Qiren waves a hand dismissively. “Say, Wangji, are you busy with your studies this afternoon?”
“I’m not,” Lan Zhan considers. Technically, he’d be busy with talking to the social studies teacher to plead his case about doing the assignment by himself, but it’s not due in another good two weeks, so he’s got time to do that another day. “Do you require help?”
“I do, yes,” his uncle says, lips pursed in a displeased downturn. “Those rowdy boys from your grade fooled around this morning again, and I cannot oversee their punishment because…”
Lan Zhan’s mouth sputters faster than his head could give permission. “I’ll do it!” he winces once he notices his uncle gawking at him. “I’m… available to fulfill your role in that task. If— if you require my help with it.” he says, ears burning with shame.
“Right,” his uncle says it slowly, possibly still taken aback by his eagerness. “The boys must copy the rules ten times each. They should be in the detention classroom now. I will leave you to it, Wangji.” he reaches over, patting Lan Zhan’s shoulder before taking his leave, perhaps to go run the errand that’s stopping him from overseeing the punishment.
Lan Zhan breathes in very slowly, and he slaps his hands to each side of his warm face before he stands upright again. He fixes his backpack slinged over his shoulders, and he takes a moment to tell himself that everything is fine, and that he doesn’t have to panic, and that the title he has of Head Of Punishment is only that: a title, a name given by the other students because of the often times he’d have to oversee his peers’ punishment due to his uncle’s unavailability.
That’s given, of course, because he’s the principal’s nephew, and also has no friends. But that’s another thing entirely.
He breathes out, taking his way to the detention classroom.
Lan Zhan doesn’t mind having no friends, he really doesn’t. What he does mind is being treated like this outcast that he surely isn’t. So what he’s the only one in his family that’s not remotely outgoing and easily makes friends? So what he asks his uncle to give him a heads up when a teacher plans on having a group assignment so he can either miss the class and be assigned to a random group or talk to the teacher beforehand? So what he lives in the shadow of his made up titles and his brother’s blinding smile? He’s still plenty of fun by himself!
His brother doesn’t seem to think the same, though, and keeps insisting that he made some friends because it’s only “normal” for “boys his age”. Well, guess what, Lan Zhan is a boy his age, and he doesn’t have friends, so that logic is thrown off entirely.
Lan Zhan doesn’t mind having no friends, and he is not an outcast! Trying to have friends leads to the most embarrassing situations of things ever, like meeting a boy from your grade while you oversee a detention months ago and being so dumb you get a goddamn crush on that boy because his smile is just so…
“Oh, my god! Lan Zhan! Hi!” Wei Ying beams, his eyes turned into tiny, happy slits as he’s waving widely with his free hand in Lan Zhan’s direction at the doorstep of the classroom.
Like that.
“Lan Wangji got detention?” Nie Huaisang gawks at his seat, eyes bulging so wide they could pop out of his skull.
“You know Lan Wangji?” Jiang Cheng’s head whips around to look at his brother so quickly Lan Zhan fears for his spine.
“Course I do, we’re friends! Right, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying’s wave is more muted now, but his smile isn’t.
Lan Zhan clears his throat, closing the door behind himself before directing himself to the middle of the room, standing before the three seated boys. They’re the only ones in detention today, which happens as often as a summer rain in late june — very. “I will oversee your detention today,” he says, hands clasped in his front. Nie Huaisang stops gawking with a soundless ah. “Principal Lan informed me you’re assigned to copy the rules ten times each. No one leaves this classroom before this task is completed.”
He’s sure all three of them know this, going solely by how often they get punished, but a protocol is a protocol, like reading someone’s rights as they get arrested — which Lan Zhan learned from watching his favorite policial TV show.
Wei Ying, typically, disregards the protocol of no talking during detention unless strictly necessary as he kneels on his chair, bending over the desk to get closer to Lan Zhan. “Say, Lan Zhan, is it weird calling your uncle by principal Lan?”
Lan Zhan purses his lips to hold back any stupid answers, even if he hasn’t thought of any yet, and he walks over to the vacant desk beside Nie Huaisang, dragging it across the floor to put it before the arrangement of chairs, where he’ll sit for the duration of detention.
Luckily, Wei Ying doesn’t let Lan Zhan think of an answer. “Auntie Yu gets all stuffy when I call her Attorney Yu to rile her up, is it the same thing for you two?” he snickers with a giggle, now leaning so far back on his chair that it tips, threatening to slip from under him.
That infuriating smile of his is closed around the cap of a blue pen, which gets popped right out of there when Jiang Cheng reaches to slap the back of his head. “Stop fooling around and get to work!”
Lan Zhan sighs quietly. Protocols, protocols, the only things he’s good at. “You may now begin.”
Wei Ying pouts heavily, but silence finally falls upon the classroom as he stops twirling his pen and starts writing on the assignment papers reserved for detentions that pile on each of the boys’ desks.
Lan Zhan sits down with his backpack at his feet, and he reaches to pull the first textbook he can find. He doesn’t usually do coverups, especially if it involves playing with a textbook, but he’s not sure if he’ll handle any actual studying to pass the time, nor any actual just looking at Wei Ying for who-knows-how-many hours straight.
In his fourteen years of life so far, Lan Zhan had always thought crushes were a stupid made up thing to further reinforce the idea that everyone thinks he’s an outcast. Now that he has one, though… It’s even weird to acknowledge it as that, because all those months ago, Lan Zhan was ready to write a farewell note to his family, as he was sure he was about to die. Oh, no, he wouldn’t make it through another week, he couldn’t.
Yes, he’s heard boys and girls in school talking about butterflies and prickly hands and tongue-tied syndrome and whatnot, but again: made up thing to antagonize Lan Zhan, so it couldn't be true and it couldn’t be all that bad.
Oh, how was he dumb — in only that sense, specifically, Lan Zhan’s heard he’s quite smart for his age and he takes pride in that. It was true, and it was all that bad.
The butterflies went more like juggling chainsaws, the prickly hands went more like symptoms of a heart attack, the tongue-tied syndrome went more like— actually, Lan Zhan already doesn’t talk that much, so this one wasn’t that drastic. But still, the feeling of being incapable of talking is much more distressing than the feeling of not wanting to talk.
And to know this was all caused because of a single trouble boy with a dazzling smile? Oh, jail. Jail for Lan Zhan for a hundred million years. Jail for Lan Zhan until he gets over his silly crush. Life sentence for Lan Zhan.
Of course, after he got through the gross of panic, it was more bearable. A little.
After the butterflies dropped their chainsaws and went back to their original job of pollinating flowers, Lan Zhan felt a beautiful garden bloom inside him. It was filled with only the prettiest blossoms that he wished could live up to his darling’s sweetness.
After he wouldn’t feel faint at the mere sight of him, Lan Zhan could spend a lot more time just pretending he wasn’t always trying to look at him.
After his tongue untied itself, he— still wouldn’t talk much. But it was nice that he could, if he wanted to.
After the storm, a beautiful rainbow reflected in the clear sky, and he knew a different, darker cloud was still in the distance, dancing in the winds of change.
For now, the view was enough. Wei Ying, sat before him, beaming at something else, his mouth moving around words quicker than Lan Zhan can process what they mean, ignoring their work at hand at the favor of—
Wait, what?
“Right, Lan Zhan? Tell him I’m right!” Wei Ying turns to him, pointing his uncapped pen in his direction.
Lan Zhan blinks, eyes flickering between Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng, who seem to be in the middle of a discussion instead of copying rules. “About what?”
Jiang Cheng stiffles a laugh, pointing at his brother. “Ha!”
“You wound me, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying pouts, and Lan Zhan almost panics because he’s not sure why, but he’s somehow part of it. “I’m still right though.”
“You’re most certainly not.” Jiang Cheng rebuttals, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Yes, I am!”
“Must we fight over hypothetical animal fights?” Nie Huaisang whines, not even paying full attention.
“We must if Wei Ying insists on being wrong.” he says, dodging the uncapped pen Wei Ying throws at him.
Technically, Lan Zhan should stop whatever this is that’s happening, but one, he doesn’t know what it is they’re arguing over, and two, he wants to know.
“It doesn’t matter how big or angry the dog is, donkeys are smarter,” Wei Ying pleads his case, sounding entirely too serious. “It’s true, I saw it on the internet!”
“I hope your hypothetical donkey is smarter than you too,” Jiang Cheng scoffs. “What does it matter if they’re smarter, they’re still prey to canines!”
“That still doesn’t prove a dog will win a fight over a donkey.”
“Neither does your argument prove the opposite.”
Nie Huaisang huffs tiredly, melting against his desk. “Why can’t the donkey and the dog just love each other?”
“They are genetically incompatible,” Lan Zhan says, and suddenly all eyes of the room are on him. He blinks nervously. “Um… Both statements are true. Donkeys are smarter than dogs, donkeys are prey to most canines. Neither proves who wins a fight. And— and they can’t love each other because donkeys are usually infertile, or, um, have too many genetic variables to breed valid direct descendants. Those genetics would go crazy if you tried to breed it with a dog.”
Lan Zhan takes a big gulp of air after talking that much, and he waits in the suspended silence of the classroom. The three boys look at him with hilarious intensity, and they blink between each other before erupting in belly aching laughter.
“H-holy cow, I didn’t know Lan Wangji could talk that much!” Nie Huaisang says, hiding his grin behind his hand as his shoulders jump and he sounds more like hiccuping than laughing.
“Lan Zhan, you little know-it-all!” Wei Ying doesn’t hide his giddines, nearly putting it on display as he throws his head back, holding at his stomach like he’s squeezing his cackle out of himself.
“Aw, man…” Jiang Cheng covers his face with both hands, and his laughter sounds like a breathless tea kettle going off.
Strangely, though, it doesn’t feel strange. None of the boys sound like they’re laughing at Lan Zhan, and he’s never seen any of them laugh that much at the same time. It feels… oddly good, to know he’s the cause of that.
Lan Zhan bites the inside of his cheek. Did he just make friends?
THE NEXT DAY
Lan Qiren taps the desk with his fingers one at a time, like it’s a deliberate sound to make the boys even more nervous.
In a not at all shocking unfold of events, Wei Ying, Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang are in the principal’s office again.
However, in an entirely unpredictable twist of events, this time, Lan Zhan joins the — self-proclaimed, school-confirmed — trouble trio of the school. The four boys sit bundled up, divided between the two chairs across the principal’s desk.
“May I know what I am looking at?” his uncle says, pointing his words with gestures to the computer screen turned to the other side of the desk.
Lan Zhan is almost sure he can hear Nie Huaisang sweating beside him.
“Um…” Jiang Cheng, ever striving to be well-behaved, ever impeded by his wish to follow his brother wherever. “A computer…?”
Lan Qiren blinks, unimpressed.
“The school student forum…?” Nie Huaisang tries.
Lan Qiren blinks a second time, impatient.
The correct answer, which Lan Zhan is sure Wei Ying won’t give — if his uncle ever looked at that boy as the saving grace of the now-quartet sitting in his office —, is a video of four boys in the detention room, discussing and cackling about donkeys, dogs, and genetics, recorded from a video camera (Nie Huaisang’s) and uploaded to the forum (also Nie Huaisang’s).
It’s a good video. Great, even. Hilarious. But of course Lan Zhan’s uncle doesn’t think so.
His shoulders slump, and he clears his throat, ready to admit defeat and suggest which punishment should be assigned to the four of them.
Which is, of course, when Wei Ying jumps in, “It’s our social studies assignment!”
“Huh?” Jiang Cheng turns to him with a confused scowl.
“It is?” Nie Huaisang frowns, also turning to look at Wei Ying.
“Excuse me?” Lan Qiren queries calmly.
“Hm.” Lan Zhan says, puzzled. Inwardly, he thinks, way more exasperated, it’s our what now?!
“Yeah!” Wei Ying keeps going, as if that isn’t an utter absurd and also a lie. “We decided to, uh, take a… comedic route! Right?” he looks over at his brother as his voice squeaks.
“Uh…” Jiang Cheng says, blinking rapidly, but recomposing himself to face the principal’s still unimpressed face. “Yes. That is, uh, true! Our idea was to, um, perceive comedy from the lens of a— a, um, student as opposed to a… teacher!”
“And our study was successful!” Nie Huaisang jumps in, eyes jittering between Wei Ying and Lan Qiren. “Because… you… didn’t find it funny!”
The principal opens his mouth, and Lan Zhan can hear his disappointed and certainly unconvinced sigh before he gives it.
“Precisely,” which is when he decides, hell with it, and joins as well. “Our study highlights the practices of humor of students in our school, and how it differs from the sense of humor of our teachers. As you can see from the results, as in: the commentary reviews, the watch time, and the rebound reaction of the teacher body, our project shows that disparity clearly.”
Lan Zhan takes a big gulp of air, pleased with himself. He looks over at his peers from the corner of his eye, seeing Nie Huaisang’s dumbfounded expression, Jiang Cheng’s dropped scowl, and Wei Ying’s beaming, barely contained toothless smile — he’s also giving him a thumbs up from where the principal can’t see.
After that moment of silence, Lan Qiren sighs curtly. The boys all turn to look at him, eager. “I see,” he says. “I will still have to ask you boys to remove the video from the forum, as it strays from its intended purposes.”
“Yes, principal Lan.” the four chorus demurely.
“Thank you. Dismissed now, boys.” the principal reaches to turn the computer screen back to its original place.
Lan Zhan can almost hear Wei Ying’s frown as he says, “No punishment? Not— not that I’m complaining, but, um… just this? Just deleting the video is fine?”
Lan Qiren adjusts himself on his seat, not even looking at them anymore. “Just removing the video is fine. I cannot in good consciousness punish students for doing their assignments.”
“Wow.” Lan Zhan can only hear Nie Huaisang say it under his breath because they’re sitting so close together — he’s also happy to announce that Nie Huaisang’s nervous sweating is not so loud anymore.
The trouble quartet scurries off the office with hasty bows and tight steps, and immediately as soon as they’re out of earshot from Lan Qiren’s office, they all start laughing so hard they narrowly miss bumping heads and falling against the other.
“Oh god, oh, my god,” Wei Ying gasps, holding himself upright with a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I can’t believe it worked! He believed it! Holy squirrels!”
“Lan Wangji, have I ever told you how much I love your brains? Because I do!” Lan Zhan lets Nie Huaisang lean on his arm, or else he’s sure he’d flop over to the floor like a fish out of water.
“We should— should start a Lan Wangji’s brains appreciation group.” Jiang Cheng says, a breathless tea kettle again, not really trying to shake Wei Ying off of him, but also not not trying.
Lan Zhan catches his breath, allowing his voice to sound only when he knows what comes out is not loud laughter, “Just Lan Zhan is fine.”
The other three boys giggle some more, speaking nonsense about the situation, and Lan Zhan thinks, holy squirrels, I have friends.
Well, not that he minded not having any before, but still, it feels… nice.
“Ah, but I can’t believe we’re gonna have to delete the video.” Wei Ying says, tumbling slightly when Jiang Cheng finally shakes him off. He takes to sitting on the floor anyway, his back to the wall with the mural of warnings and official announcements.
“I still have it on my computer, if you want to watch it back anytime.” Nie Huaisang says, walking over to plop himself down beside Wei Ying.
“Yeah…” he says, wistful though still bummed.
Lan Zhan doesn’t want to be the last one standing alone, so he decides to sit down as well after Jiang Cheng does too. Because old habits die hard, he has his posture perfectly straight and his legs neatly crossed, unlike his peers — though he’ll have to admit Jiang Cheng back posture is impressive.
“But still,” Wei Ying adds. “It was fun having it up on the forum. Did you guys see how many views we got? And— and so many comments! Everyone thinks we’re hilarious!”
Lan Zhan blinks. He’s never had someone say he’s hilarious (he doesn’t think hilariously lonely counts), but he guesses there’s a first for everything: crushes, friends, opinions of thirds about himself.
Jiang Cheng scoffs. “False. I think you’re just an idiot, so that’s not everyone.”
“Ah, piss off, Jiang Cheng!” Wei Ying sticks his tongue out at him, and Jiang Cheng sticks his own right back at him.
“Well,” Nie Huaisang calls, clearing his throat. “Not only do we have to delete the video, but we also have to start on our actual social studies assignment.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Wei Ying whines. “Me and Jiang Cheng are not busy today, but I think auntie Yu might actually murder us if we even breathe close to her computer.” his brother nods at the information, lips pursed.
“Today’s dage’s day on our computer.” Nie Huaisang adds, apologetic.
The boys fall silent, puzzled, until Lan Zhan clears his throat, and their attention falls on him. “My house is available today. If… if you wish to come over after class.” he anxiously glances away as he speaks, but then…
“Ooh, hang out at Lan Zhan’s after school! So cool!” Wei Ying hooters, getting a hiccup laugh from Nie Huaisang and a roll of Jiang Cheng’s eyes.
Lan Zhan smiles. Yes, it feels nice to have friends.
LATER THAT DAY
The pointer on the screen hovers over the delete button, and the four boys stare mournfully at it.
“Are we sure we can’t trick principal Lan into believing we removed the video and then not doing it?” Wei Ying insists. His teeth clack as he talks, with his chin holding him upright, propped up on the desk in Lan Zhan’s uncle’s home office.
“Not in his home we can’t.” Jiang Cheng says, but still not urging Nie Huaisang to just pull the trigger.
“Not like he has a camera watching his office at home,” Nie Huaisang mumbles, raising the eyebrows of the two brothers. “What?” he blinks, and his eyes widen a second later. “Does he?!”
The three boys turn their widened eyes at Lan Zhan, who blinks at them, crossing his arms. “We do not have monitoring cameras in the house.”
They breathe in relief, and Jiang Cheng concludes, “There are still other ways to know, we should just delete it for once. I don’t think Wei Wuxian can afford getting in any more trouble before summer break.”
Wei Ying doesn’t argue, only giving a goofy giggle. “That’s right. I’m on the brink of my advertence limit,” he says, not sounding even one bit rueful. “I’m lucky Zhanzhan joined in on the fun this time, or else we’d definitely be punished.”
“Definitely.”
“Oh, a hundred percent.”
Zhanzhan? Fun? Punishment? Lan Zhan frowns. “Uncle said he couldn’t punish us for doing assignments.”
“Which is code for I’m trying my best to not put a single scratch on my best student’s record. Get the memo, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying laughs again, leaning away from the table to put his head over Nie Huaisang’s crossed legs, jammed together with Jiang Cheng’s on the office chair that Lan Zhan stands behind. Jiang Cheng tries sticking a toe in his brother’s ear, and gets a bite in said toe.
Lan Zhan’s frown deepens, and he siffles a big, angry sigh. He cannot believe his uncle would do such a thing! Lan Qiren, the man who got in a big fight with a cousin at a family reunion because he insisted on picking a favorite between his nephews, having biases among his students. The world really does tip around faster than Lan Zhan can keep up with it.
“Alright,” Nie Huaisang calls, wheeling the chair closer to the desk, which pushes Wei Ying’s head from his lap. “Time to say goodbye.”
“Goodbye, dog vs donkey debate,” Jiang Cheng says. “Which I clearly won, for the record.”
“Goodbye funniest video ever,” Wei Ying moans and groans dramatically, waving at the computer screen. “And I’m pretty sure Lan Zhan was the one who won it.”
Jiang Cheng huffs. “Whatevs.”
Lan Zhan purses his lips, giving a tiny nod as a goodbye bow to the donkey vs dog debate video — which he never knew could be a coherent string of words together, but here it is.
“And…” Nie Huaisang clicks confirm on the popup asking them if they’re sure they want to remove the post from the forum, and in the next few seconds, it’s gone. “Done.”
The boys all sigh, collectively melancholic, and silence reigns for a moment.
That is, until Wei Ying suddenly perks up, accidentally hitting his head on the desk. “Huais— ow!” he says, startling the others into turning to him.
“What is wrong with you?” Jiang Cheng barks, hands hovering awkwardly over his brother’s curled figure.
“I’m good, I’m good, It’s okay!” Wei Ying repeats, rubbing at the spot he hit with a hand and batting his brother away with the other. Eventually, he manages to be back upright, and he beams. “Huaisang!”
“Yes!” he squeaks, clearly confused.
“Do you remember Wi-FiFriends?” Wei Ying shuffles closer on his knees, and he grabs Nie Huaisang’s wrists, rattling him with them.
“Wi-What?!” Nie Huaisang, as usual, lets himself be rattled by Wei Ying, his head lolling like a ragdoll.
“Don’t play dumb!”
“I— I-I don’t know, Wei ge, I swear I don’t know!”
“Nie Huaisaaang!” Wei Ying springs up to his feet in one cranky motion, and he grabs the back of the office chair, tipping it forward carelessly. “Out, out now!” he takes the place of his friends, tugging himself closer to the desk once again.
Lan Zhan stares, exasperated, unsure if he should help Nie Huaisang get up or ask what in the world Wei Ying is so frantic about or stop Jiang Cheng from caving a hole in his brother’s head using his fists only. He does none of the above, only coming closer to look at what Wei Ying is doing on the computer.
Which is furiously typing on the search bar a domain that Lan Zhan can’t even begin to comprehend, but does include the words Wi-Fi and friend. “Ha! It’s still there!”
“What is still there? Can you speak in comprehensible human language, please?” Jiang Cheng pops up from the floor, slapping a hand over the computer screen to get his brother’s attention.
“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Ying says, though he vibrates with laughter, excitedly pointing at the covered screen. “Huaisang, say it! I’m too excited, I can’t stop laughing!”
“Um…” Nie Huaisang says, because suddenly he does know what Wei Ying is talking about. Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng turn to look at him instead. “Last month me and Wei ge—”
“We created a website then recorded and posted a random video because auntie Yu said I only get people’s attention for being far too loud and obnoxious, and I wanted to prove to her that I’m also funny!” Wei Ying interrupts, and their eyes dart between the two like following a ping pong game.
“But it turns out we didn’t get a lot of attention at all…” Nie Huaisang points at the view count below the video, showing a pitiful two digit number.
“And we kind of forgot about it the next day because I thought I had deleted it, but no!” Wei Ying wrenches Jiang Cheng’s hand away from the computer, pointing at the screen excessively. “It’s here!”
Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “So what? All that just to tell us you’re unfunny?”
Wei Ying sputters, “I’m plenty funny!” he says with his nose in the air, sticking his tongue out at his brother. “I’m saying this because now that the whole school knows we’re funny they might want to watch something like that!”
“Like… a webcast show?” Jiang Cheng says, not yet immediately saying no, which sounds like novelty, considering the idea is coming from Wei Ying.
“Yes!”
“I don’t know about that, Wei ge…”
“Hm…” Lan Zhan agrees. He can’t imagine what his uncle would say if he saw him doing more goofy stuff for the internet to see.
“Come on!” Wei Ying says, spinning the chair around to face the three of them. “Think about it! We gained popularity from the donkey vs dog video, all we need is a place to record and a cool name!”
Nie Huaisang clears his throat. “I’m… pretty sure dage wouldn’t mind lending us some of his extra recording equipment.”
Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow, arms laxing their tangle around each other as he gives a shrug. “I’m not sure mom would be too mad if we used the garage at an appropriate time for an appropriate period.”
Wei Ying’s eyes fall on Lan Zhan at last, they glimmer like someone stuffed them with stars while Wei Ying slept, and he grins wide and full of expectation.
Lan Zhan sighs quietly, clasping his hands together on his front. “I’m not sure I would be fit to participate,” the boy deflates, his shoulders slumping as his enthusiasm leaks like an untied balloon. Lan Zhan stutters, “But, um… I wouldn’t mind being behind the cameras. Maybe pitching ideas, if you’d like me… to.”
The three boys look at him for a moment before Wei Ying squeals, jumping on them with his arms open. “We’re having a webcast show!” he says, rattling them like he had with Nie Huaisang.
“Easy, easy, Wei ge, we don’t know if this is gonna stick.”
“Of course it’s gonna stick, we’re funny as balls!”
Jiang Cheng scoffs, pushing Wei Ying away from the three of them. Lan Zhan dreads the moment he’s yanked away from Wei Ying’s warm, way too enthusiastic to be comfortable half-hug. “Well, what about a name then?”
“That’s an important part,” Wei Ying says, sitting on the office chair again and boosting a mind-scrambling spin that Lan Zhan’s uncle would certainly not allow it if he were in here. “I’m pretty sure one of the reasons our Wi-FiFriends didn’t stick was because the name was too complicated.”
“Maybe,” Nie Huaisang’s eyes follow Wei Ying on the chair, and he almost falls back against Jiang Cheng. “Well, since I also would like to be excused from being on screen, I think the name should have something to do with the two of you.”
“Hm,” Jiang Cheng slaps a hand on the backrest of the office chair, stopping Wei Ying’s spinning. “XianChengShow?”
“Too wordy,” Nie Huaisang grimaces. “What about, uh… JiangWeiWeb?”
“Hm,” Lan Zhan tilts his head to the side, instinctively holding an arm up when a giggly Wei Ying gets up from the chair, one spin away from meeting the ground. Fortunately, he doesn’t, only stumbling until he gets his footing again. “WJ-Day?”
“iCheng!” Wei Ying says once he stops stepping wildly over the room as he falls back onto the chair again, limbs scrambled on it. “Y’know, like, i, like, internet, and Cheng, like, well, Jiang Cheng.”
“But that’s just me,” Jiang Cheng frowns. “My name. Not the two of us.”
“Aah, don’t worry about it!” Wei Ying says, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s gotta be short and sweet like that. And I’m your amusing and kinda weird right-hand anyway, you’re gonna be the real star of the show, Chengcheng!” he singsongs, wiggling his fingers in his brother’s direction with a big grin on his face.
Jiang Cheng’s face grows bright red in an instant, and for once it doesn’t seem to be stemming from anger or irritation.
“So? Whaddya think? iCheng it is?”
“iCheng is fine by me.” Nie Huaisang shrugs, and he turns to look at Lan Zhan.
He nods. “I like iCheng.” he’d say he likes anything Wei Ying suggested, but that’s too on the nose.
“iCheng it is!” Wei Ying announces, getting up and spreading his arms wide again.
When he lunges for a group hug again, though, Jiang Cheng steps out of the way, so Wei Ying falls flat on his face, and Lan Zhan hears Nie Huaisang hiccuping laughter.
JUNE 18TH 2001
Lan Zhan fidgets with the powder blue controller Nie Huaisang gave him, feeling his insides vibrate. He’s sitting on a bright pink beach chair in the Jiangs’ garage, and he’s watching Wei Ying fuss over every little detail on his brother’s face — Lan Zhan’s also running over and over in his head the loose script of cues to play the sound effects with the buttons on the controller.
“Let go of my nose!” Jiang Cheng wails. “You are not plucking my nose hair out— let go of those filthy tweezers!”
“Oh, the tweezers are filthy, not your boogery nose!”
“Stop saying boogery, that’s not even a real word!”
“Yes it is! Boogery, boogery, boogery!”
“Stop, stop, stop!”
They’re interrupted by Nie Huaisang’s abrupt call of, “We’re live in five… four, three, two…!”
Wei Ying tosses the tweezers over his shoulder, and the two brothers turn in the direction of the camera perched on Nie Huaisang’s shoulder. “Hello, internet!” Jiang Cheng greets.
“Hi!” Wei Ying follows suit. “I’m the booger in that corner of your nose you can only get out with tweezers, Wei Wuxian!”
Jiang Cheng grimaces at his brother. “And I’m the tweezers you certainly shouldn’t use to pick on your boogery nose, Jiang Wanyin!” he turns to the camera again. “And we’re the hosts of this brand new weekly webcast show we like to call…” that’s one of his cues…!
Wei Ying elbows Jiang Cheng, getting half in front of him to yell enthusiastically at the camera, “iCheng!”
The cheering crowd sound effect (second button from the top) plays just at the right time, despite the sudden change in pace, because Lan Zhan is very good at adapting to those, he’s recently found.