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“Is this safe?” Zizhen eyes the stack of talismans on the table.
“Yes!” Jingyi exclaims.
“No.” Sizhui claps a hand over Jingyi’s mouth, though the assembled patrons of the roadside inn pay the group of teens little attention.
“Probably,” Jin Ling says, though he doesn’t look up from his phone.
Jingyi nudges the stack of papers toward Zizhen. “Wei-qianbei tested these on himself, and he’s still alive!”
“That’s not the ringing endorsement you think it is,” Zizhen says.
“Look, do you want to win this or not?”
Zizhen bites his lip. He very much does want to win the annual costume contest that the Jins host as part of the fall discussion conference. His sisters have swept the prizes for the last four years.
“Look,” Jingyi says, “we don’t even need blood to activate these! We use tea! How bad can that be?”
“I don’t recognize any of these radicals,” Zizhen tries, though his resistance is rapidly waning.
“Well, I’m not doing it,” Sizhui declares. “Baba and I have been working on my costume for weeks.”
“Little Prince?” Jingyi asks, elbowing Jin Ling who, for once, doesn’t take the bait.
“No,” he says, “an Immortal of Fate. Xiao-shushu is helping me with my costume.”
“What?” Zizhen yelps. “No fair! I didn’t know Mister Uncle Mo could help!”
Jin Ling shrugs. “You didn’t ask.”
“Come onnnn,” Jingyi begs, tugging Zizhen’s sleeve. “Do this with me! It’s not a permanent change! Wei-qianbei said the effects fade as soon as you remove the talisman!”
Zizhen sighs. “And you just need tea to activate it?”
“Uh huh!”
“Fine.” Zizhen takes a talisman from the stack. “But let’s try them in the bathroom. It would be rude to make a mess out here if something goes wrong.”
“Yes!” Jingyi pumps his fist. “This is going to be awesome!”
It is not awesome.
Sizhui, bless him and his family for eight generations (to come -- not blessing Wei-qianbei!), only laughs a little. Jin Ling falls on the floor and laughs until he pukes.
Jingyi strokes his newly-minted beard. “I could get used to this.”
Zizhen smacks the back of Jingyi’s head.
“We are supposed to look like legendary heroes!” His beard itches and he wants to cry.
“To be fair,” Sizhui says, “Great Uncle is a bit of a legend.”
Zizhen glares at him and revokes his familial blessing. The shock of looking in the mirror and seeing TWO Lan Qirens, one with his round face and chubby cheeks and one with Jingyi’s bright blue hair, has stolen all his good humor. Even worse, the effects did not fade when they pulled the talismans off their arms.
Sizhui takes out his phone. “I’ll call Baba,” he says.
“You’re taking pictures!” Zizhen wails.
“And then I’ll call Baba.”
“You said this was safe!” Zizhen hisses to Jingyi as his former best friend takes selfies.
“Well,” Jingyi says, pulling Zizhen into the picture, “we’re not hurt.” He winks at his phone and pouts like an idol.
“I hate you.”