Chapter Text
(A/n: Words mean flashback).
The sunlight slanted lazily through A-Yuan’s window, stretching across his desk in golden bars that seemed to highlight every pencil, textbook, and stray notebook. The room smelled faintly of his lingering lunch and a hint of his shampoo—mundane details that somehow made him feel more human, more grounded, and yet utterly exposed in his own thoughts. Outside the room, the living room hummed with faint life: the occasional shuffle of papers, the clink of dishes and the low murmur of his parents somewhere in the house, oblivious to the storm brewing in his adolescent brain.
A-Yuan’s posture was deceptively calm, his back straight and pencil poised over his physics homework, but inside, a tumultuous storm raged. Today in school, during lunch, he heard a group of his classmates whispering about… well, things that made his ears burn just recalling them. Their voices had been conspiratorial, eyes sparkling with the thrill of shared secrets.
The classroom was buzzing as usual, but today’s conversation had taken a decidedly “forbidden” turn. A-Yuan was tucking his notebook away when he noticed his classmates huddled in a tight circle, whispering and giggling. His ears perked up instantly. Lan Jingyi, Jin Ling, and a few of their other classmates were huddled together, laughing under their breaths.
“You know what I found out?” one of the boys whispered, leaning close to the group. “My cousin said… well… that sometimes people… like… do stuff at home when nobody’s looking.” He wiggled his eyebrows exaggeratedly, and a snicker rippled through the circle.
“Hey… what are you all whispering about?” A-Yuan asked, leaning slightly closer, his brows knitting together.
The group immediately turned toward him, smirks spreading across their faces. Lan Jingyi and Jin Ling exchanged a glance and let out small snickers.
“You’re still really innocent, A-Yuan,” Lan Jingyi said, voice dripping with mischief. “You really don’t know anything about… this stuff. Remember the duck blanket incident? You were so innocent back then, we could’ve told you anything and you’d believe it!” The group erupted in laughter, and A-Yuan turned bright red.
“This stuff?” A-Yuan repeated, changing the topic, narrowing his eyes, sceptical. “What stuff are you even talking about?”
Jin Ling leaned forward conspiratorially, whispering, “Well… you know… sometimes the things grown-ups do… for fun.”
“Huh?” A-Yuan blinked, utterly bewildered. He tilted his head, trying to process what he had just heard.
Lan Jingyi chuckled, elbowing him lightly. “See? Told you. He’s still way too young to know these things.”
A-Yuan’s eyebrows furrowed. “Wait… wait, tell me a little more! Just a tiny bit! Then I’ll understand!” His voice wavered slightly, his curiosity battling his embarrassment.
The group leaned closer, their whispers laced with mischief. “Well… sometimes adults—like, when no one’s watching—do things that… involve kissing, touching… things that make people blush.” A girl covered her mouth to giggle, while Lan Jingyi added, “It’s… kind of like what you read in romance stories, just real-life edition and way more spicy.”
A-Yuan’s eyes widened, his face flushing a deep crimson. His hands clenched at his sides as his mind spun. I… I can’t believe they’re saying this! Do they mean… do my parents…? No, stop thinking that, A-Yuan! You’re going to faint from embarrassment! My parents… They’re… responsible, normal… Asian parents! They wouldn’t do… that kind of thing…
The other classmates erupted into soft gossip again, whispers and giggles bouncing around the small circle. A-Yuan, cheeks burning, felt his composure slipping, but he forced himself to straighten and puff out his chest.
A-Yuan opened his mouth to deny everything, but the words stuck in his throat. “N-no! That’s… that’s stupid! My parents would never…” He stopped mid-sentence, realising he was mumbling aloud, and the others instantly burst into louder laughter.
Another girl leaned closer, grinning mischievously. “Oh my gosh, Sizhui, you’re so pure. Seriously, do you even know what we’re talking about?”
“I… I—I know enough…!” A-Yuan replied defensively, his hands fisting on the desk. “That stuff… is… gross! I don’t want to even think about it. And my parents… they would never do… any of that…!”
“Yeah, right,” Jin Ling snorted, exchanging glances with Lan Jingyi. “You’re totally blushing right now. Look at you! Innocent little duckling, still traumatised by the blanket incident.”
The teasing didn’t stop. Every little movement, every flinch from A-Yuan was met with knowing giggles, whispered commentary, and snickers from the group. Even Lan Jingyi, who usually didn’t like to make fun of A-Yuan, leaned in with a playful grin. “You’re seriously too innocent, A-Yuan. You really have no idea.”
A-Yuan could feel his face burning, the heat crawling down his neck. I am not innocent! I just… I just… I don’t… think about this stuff… seriously… I’m normal! But the more he tried to assert himself, the more the teasing escalated.
By the time the bell rang, A-Yuan had been made fully aware of just how little his classmates believed he understood the world of “adult stuff.” He went back to his seat, cheeks still red, stomach twisting with a mixture of embarrassment, curiosity, and reluctant intrigue. Okay… maybe I don’t know everything… but my parents… they wouldn’t… right? Definitely not.
And deep down, a tiny, uncomfortable sliver of curiosity had lodged itself in his mind. He didn’t want to admit it—not to himself, not to anyone—but the questions lingered like a persistent itch: What really goes on behind closed doors? How do people actually… His fingers itched to find answers, but shame and panic kept him in check… for now.
The humiliation had clung to him like a heavy cloak, and even now, hours later, the memory twisted in his stomach like a live thing. Do they really…? No, no, that’s ridiculous. They wouldn’t… I mean… He shook his head violently, trying to eject the thought, but the curiosity refused to be silenced. But what if…? What actually happens when the door is closed?
A-Yuan’s face heated as he considered the possibility. His pulse quickened. He cast a cautious glance toward the slightly ajar door, the muffled laughter and conversation in the living room making him pause. Are they really that distracted? Could he really have a moment of privacy? The thrill of possible secrecy made his heart race. Okay… just a quick check… for educational purposes… strictly scientific. (Lamest excuse ever *snickers*)
A-Yuan got up and closed the door quietly, not locking (a mistake), sat back down and leaned over his laptop, hesitating. His fingers hovered above the keyboard, trembling slightly—not with fear exactly (or maybe it is), but with the cocktail of curiosity, guilt, and embarrassment only a teenager could feel. His fingers trembled as he opened the browser, hesitating for only a moment before typing in a vague search, rationalising aloud in a whisper to himself: I’m not… I’m just… learning. Human biology. Knowledge. Totally science.
He typed, hesitated, and typed again. The results appeared, each one more provocative than the last, even though he knew he shouldn’t look, his eyes widening, instantly regretting but unable to look away. His eyes widened involuntarily. His ears burned, and he could feel a blush creeping across his cheeks and down his neck. Oh no… why did I even… why did I click… why am I even looking… what if they find out… His thoughts raced in chaotic loops, each rationalisation followed by panic: It’s just research… just research… for knowledge… educational… Knowledge is power. Yeah… Totally educational.
He clicked the first video. The sound of the muted video filled his headphones, and his attention locked in, heart pounding like a drum. Every movement, every conversation, every indistinct image seemed magnified in the quiet of his room. He tried to tell himself it was nothing, that it was purely academic, but the heat in his face betrayed him. His hands gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening, as he leaned in, hypnotised by the flickering images. It’s okay. Totally fine. Learning… strictly for science. Biology. Human development. That’s all… nothing else.
And yet, in the back of his mind, there was a creeping awareness, a faint tickle of worry that something unseen was approaching. A shadow of apprehension whispered, What if someone comes in? What if they see me? What if I’m… caught? The thought made his heart pound harder, an exciting dread that mingled uncomfortably with the guilt and curiosity.
He did not notice the faint creak of the living room floorboards as his parents moved about, blissfully unaware that their teenage son was navigating the treacherous waters of curiosity, embarrassment, and the raw, hormonal stirrings of adolescence. He was entirely absorbed, entirely unprepared for what—or who—might arrive next, the quiet anticipation making his pulse thrum in his ears.
~*~
A-Yuan sat rigidly at his desk, laptop perched precariously before him, his fingers hesitating just above the keyboard. His eyes, wide and unblinking, were glued to the screen. The images that flickered before him were… unlike anything he had ever imagined. Bodies, motions, sounds—all so raw and foreign—made him feel both repulsed and impossibly curious.
How… how are they doing this? His mind raced, trying to rationalise the impossible movements, the close contact. Do they not feel pain? How can it feel good? What… what are those sounds even?
His face burned hotter with every passing second, turning the deep shade of a ripe tomato. He tugged slightly at his collar as if that would somehow cool the heat pooling in his cheeks. His heart pounded—not from fear, but from the overwhelming mix of shock, curiosity, and sheer embarrassment.
Even as he chastised himself silently—this is wrong. I shouldn’t even be watching…—he found it impossible to look away. Every tiny movement, every audible sound, sent his thoughts spinning further into bewildered fascination.
He tried to take a breath, telling himself it was for education, for understanding the “adult world,” but even that excuse sounded feeble to his own ears. His hands clenched the edges of the desk. Why… why is it so… intense?
The room was silent save for the faint hum of the laptop, but inside A-Yuan’s head, a storm of red-faced panic, confused curiosity, and guilty fascination raged relentlessly.
~*~
Back in the living room, Wei Ying was lounging on the couch, newspaper folded in half on his lap, muttering to himself about the neighbours and the absurdities of his colleagues—half-listening, half-grumbling. Lan Zhan sat nearby, quietly accessing through his documents, glancing occasionally at Wei Ying with an almost imperceptible sigh of patience. The afternoon sun slanted through the blinds, the kind of quiet, ordinary light that made the house feel safe, familiar, and mundane.
Until Wei Ying’s instincts—the classic, inescapable Asian-mom-alert instincts—fired like a rocket. His eyes, sharp and piercing, darted towards A-Yuan’s room. The door was closed. Closed?!
“Why is the door closed?!” Wei Ying’s voice sliced through the calm air like a siren.
Lan Zhan, reading, raised an eyebrow. “He’s a teenager. He probably wants some privacy.”
Privacy. The word made Wei Ying’s skin crawl. Privacy. For what? For what could a child of thirteen need privacy? He snapped his head toward Lan Zhan. “What does a kid need privacy for?! Do you see that in my day?! Closed doors mean trouble!”
Lan Zhan, expression as stoic as ever, let his mind wander in true deadpan fashion: Yes, Wei Ying, I understand. You were once a human fire alarm for potential mischief. Very instructive. But maybe, just maybe, let him have some privacy.
Wei Ying, unfazed by the silent judgment of his husband, bolted from the couch. Legs pumping, arms flailing just slightly, he launched toward the staircase like a man possessed. “A-Yuan! Open this door right now!”
Meanwhile, A-Yuan had been utterly absorbed in his laptop, every fibre of his attention locked on the screen, cheeks flaming red, eyes wide and brain spinning with curiosity and embarrassment. He didn’t hear the faint creak of the door hinge, didn’t hear Baba’s first sharp call echoing down the hall. In his mind, he was entirely alone in his little private bubble, thinking, It’s just for education… just for learning… don’t worry… nobody will ever know…
And then—too late.
The door swung open with a decisive push, and Baba’s presence loomed like a thundercloud at the threshold.
“A-Yuan!” Wei Ying’s voice thundered, sharp enough to make the windows rattle.
Baba’s shadow fell across the threshold. “A-Yuan!” he barked again, stepping closer, his expression somewhere between horror and motherly fury.
In the split second before A-Yuan could react, Baba’s eyes caught a glimpse of the screen. One fleeting, accidental glimpse. And in that instant, the world tilted.
A-Yuan’s hands shot forward in a panic, slamming the laptop shut, taking off his headphones, his face crimson beyond redemption. Too late, too late, too late! He thought desperately, sweat prickling his forehead.
Wei Ying froze for half a second, the proverbial hammer of realisation crashing down on him. His eyes narrowed. So this… THIS is what he’s been doing behind that door?!
A-Yuan’s inner monologue spiralled. Oh no. Oh no. I’m doomed. My life is officially over. He saw everything. Heaven help me. This is the end.
Chaos erupted like a volcanic explosion in the quiet house:
“WHAT IS THIS?!” Wei Ying’s voice hit a pitch previously thought unattainable, echoing off the walls.
A-Yuan’s mind raced. How do I explain this? Pretend it’s homework? No! That’s absurd. Say it’s for biology research? Too lame. Say I’m possessed by curiosity? Still lame… His voice stumbled out, high-pitched and panicked: “Baba! I-I was just—just… researching!”
Wei Ying’s dramatic gasp was audible across the room. “RESEARCHING?! What kind of research needs… THIS?!” His hands flailed, pointing at the laptop like a lightning rod.
A-Yuan’s voice trembled, but trying to retain a shred of dignity. “B-Baba… I-I was just… watching for… educational reasons!” His words were meek, almost stammering, but there was a tiny flicker of defiance in the corners of his tone. I didn’t mean… this… why do you have to yell…?
“EDUCATIONAL?!” Wei Ying barked, advancing a step, hands flailing. “Do you know what kind of things you’re exposing yourself to? Do you understand the gravity of this?!” His eyes darted between the laptop and his horrified child, imagining every worst-case scenario simultaneously. Oh my God, my son… what is he learning… what will happen… oh, the shame!
A-Yuan swallowed hard, cheeks flaming, and meekly protested, “B-Baba, it’s not… It’s not like that…!” His voice cracked slightly, his dignity hanging by a thread, but he tried to keep calm despite the storm raging around him. Stay composed. Don’t lose all dignity. You can apologise later… maybe…
Wei Ying’s internal monologue spiralled like a hurricane: My son! My innocent, perfect child! How could he…? Privacy! Privacy is dangerous! The audacity! And I didn’t even want to scold him today… His eyes widened further, hands pinching the air in a dramatic display.
“HOW DARE YOU!” Wei Ying thundered, pacing, every word dripping with theatrical Asian-mom intensity. “DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS? DO YOU KNOW WHAT COULD HAVE HAPPENNED?!”
A-Yuan’s meek voice squeaked, trying to assert a tiny bit of self-respect: “I-I… I wasn’t… doing anything wrong… I just… wanted to learn…” He raised a small hand, almost pleading, as if sheer politeness could counter the storm of his father’s rage.
But Wei Ying was unstoppable now. “I didn’t even want to say anything… I wanted a peaceful afternoon! And now… now you put yourself in danger… oh, my life, my poor life… why must my child be so bold, so reckless, so… exposed to such things?!”
As soon as Baba’s shrieking and flailing reached a crescendo, A-Die, who had been silently observing from the couch, finally stepped in. His calm, measured footsteps made a faint thud on the wooden floor, his deadpan expression a stark contrast to Wei Ying’s storm.
“A-Yuan? What’s… happening?” A-Die asked, voice low, trying to take the temperature of the room. His eyes flicked between the flustered teen and Wei Ying, who was currently on the verge of combusting.
Wei Ying turned on him, eyes wide, almost steaming with indignation. “WHAT IS HAPPENING? WHAT?!” His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, half anger, half mortification. “THIS—THIS—OUR SON… HE IS WATCHING… SHAMEFUL THINGS!”
A-Die blinked slowly, processing. His inner monologue: Shameful things? My calm, clever son? Did I just… mishear? He tilted his head. “What… things exactly?”
Wei Ying’s face went a shade redder than his usual shade of dramatic anger. He brought a hand to his forehead, as if physically restraining his internal panic. “PORN! HE IS WATCHING PORN!” He hissed the last word as if saying it aloud could purge the memory from existence.
Lan Zhan, standing silently near the doorway, cocked an eyebrow. “What…?” His voice was measured, his mind already trying to untangle the chaos. He’s saying… what? My son? Watching what?
Wei Ying, now pacing like a tiger in a cage, stomped a foot for emphasis. “YES! PORN! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?!” He threw his hands in the air, and his voice cracked with the perfect blend of horror and embarrassment. “HE… HE… HE KNOWS WHAT IT IS! AND HE… HE…”
A-Yuan, cheeks bright crimson, squeaked out a meek attempt to defend himself, trying to reclaim just a sliver of dignity. “B-Baba… It’s not just me… Jingyi… and A-Ling… they… they watch it too…”
Wei Ying froze mid-step. His eyes shot daggers at the teen. “WHAT?!” His hand flew to his chest in faux physical offence, then to the sky as if pleading with some higher power. “THEY WATCH IT TOO? YOU’RE CORRUPTED BY THEM?! BY YOUR CLASSMATES?! I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS!”
Lan Zhan blinked again, utterly unamused, thinking: Great. Now it’s a class conspiracy. Perfect. He is greatly disappointed in A-Yuan for seeing… Such things at this age. He opened his mouth to speak, but Wei Ying was already half-sprinting toward the phone, grabbing it as if the mere act of holding it could avert future disasters.
“LAN ZHAN!” Wei Ying shouted, waving the phone like a weapon. “CALL HUAN GEGE—NOW! THIS IS OUT OF CONTROL!”
Lan Zhan, eyebrows raised, voice quiet but steady: “Huan… gege?”
Wei Ying jabbed a finger at the screen. “HE IS WATCHING SHAMEFUL THINGS! OUR SON! AND I—NO—OUR FAMILY HONOR! YOU UNDERSTAND? YOU MUST CALL HUAN GEGE IMMEDIATELY!”
A-Yuan meekly squeaked, nearly curling into himself: “B-Baba… it’s just… curiosity… I didn’t… mean…”
“CURIOSITY?!” Wei Ying bellowed, flailing again. “CURIOSITY DESTROYS LIVES! CURIOSITY RUINS CHILDREN! CURIOSITY CORRUPTS INNOCENT MINDS! AND YOU—YOU SIT THERE AND WATCH IT?!”
Lan Zhan stepped closer, placing a calm hand lightly on Wei Ying’s arm, inner monologue calculating: Okay… deep breath. Let’s defuse this before the whole neighbourhood hears.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said evenly, voice carrying the weight of authority that somehow managed to pierce the chaos, “maybe—just maybe—we should… solve this on our own, calmly.”
Wei Ying looked at him like he had just insulted the very essence of the universe. His eyes narrowed, voice thick with disbelief: “CALMLY? HOW CAN I BE CALM?! MY SON… MY SON IS WATCHING… PORN! I—NO! I CANNOT!”
A-Yuan’s inner monologue spiralled: Oh no… It’s all over… maybe I’ll never be allowed to go out of my own room again… I should have just studied… why did I even…
Wei Ying, oblivious to the silent commentary and internal calculations of the others, jabbed a finger in A-Yuan’s direction. “AND DON’T YOU DARE THINK OF MAKING EXCUSES! I WILL CALL HUAN GEGE AND… AND… EXPLAIN TO HIM HOW YOU AND THAT RASCAL JINGYI HAVE BEEN CORRUPTED!”
Lan Zhan, already exhaling slowly through his nose, prepared to intervene fully if the next wave of chaos escalated further. Meanwhile, A-Yuan felt trapped in the eye of the storm, cheeks still crimson, trying to find any possible opening to escape without completely losing dignity.
The bedroom had transformed into a chaotic battlefield of shrieks, flailing arms, and looming parental authority, all while one teenager sat frozen, heart hammering and praying for mercy.
~*~
The moment Wei Ying finally grabbed the phone and hit call, the tension in the room could have been cut with a knife. His hand trembled slightly—not from fear, no, but from pure anticipation of the drama that was about to unfold. This is it. Someone must witness the devastation my son is causing to the very fabric of our family honour, he thought grimly.
“HUAN GEGE!” Wei Ying’s voice bellowed through the phone, almost shattering the eardrums of anyone nearby. Jingyi, sitting on the sofa, froze mid-bite of a snack. Jiang Cheng, leaning against the doorway, blinked at his son. Lan Huan picked up, his usual calm, warm tone cutting through the chaos: “Wei Ying? What—”
“STOP! STOP TALKING!” Wei Ying cut him off, voice dripping with scandal and fury. “I DON’T WANT TO HEAR YOUR SOOTHING TONE! MY SON—A-YUAN!—IS WATCHING… WATCHING SHAMEFUL, SHAMEFUL THINGS ONLINE! AND HE—HE IS LEARNING… LEARNING FROM JINGYI! DO YOU HEAR ME?! THE CHILDREN ARE CORRUPTING EACH OTHER! CORRUPTING!”
Lan Huan’s warm, calm demeanour faltered slightly, a sweat drop appearing at his temple. Uh… okay, first, slow down… breathe… He tried to interject: “Wei Ying, slow—”
“NO! YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND! A-YUAN IS INNOCENT—TOO INNOCENT! AND JINGYI, YOUR SON! HE—HE IS LEADING HIM ASTRAY! HOW CAN YOU ALLOW THIS?!” Wei Ying’s words were now escalating into shrieks, echoing off the walls of the living room.
Jingyi’s face paled; his fingers gripped the edge of the sofa as he shrank into himself. His inner monologue: Oh no… this is it… I’m doomed… loudspeaker… why did I even sit here?! Why did I even tell this to A-Yuan? This is why you shouldn’t say things to children!
Jiang Cheng’s eyes went wide in shock, and then, in true protective-parent mode, he barked back at Wei Ying, voice booming: “WHAT ARE YOU SAYING? JINGYI IS CORRUPTING A-YUAN? WHAT IS THIS NONSENSE?!”
Wei Ying’s voice snapped to Jiang Cheng, flaming with indignation. “I AM NOT LYING! HE IS! I HAVE SEEN IT—AND I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS! YOUR SON—JINGYI—IS LEADING MY SON INTO SHAME!”
Jiang Cheng flinched at the sheer force of Wei Ying’s voice, but then jabbed back: “HE CAN’T BE! MY SON? CORRUPT? YOU ARE SCREAMING WITHOUT PROOF!”
Wei Ying’s hand shook on the phone, eyes widening as his own internal monologue spiralled: Does he not see? He must understand! This is serious! This is life-altering! He must witness my pain!
“IT IS PROOF ENOUGH!” Wei Ying shrieked. “I SAW WHAT MY SON WAS DOING—MY SON—WATCHING—! AND YOU—YOU—CAN’T DENY IT! AND IF YOU THINK JINGYI IS INNOCENT—OH NO—HE IS THE LEADER OF THIS! THIS IS A CONSPIRACY AGAINST FAMILY HONOUR!”
Meanwhile, A-Yuan sat frozen, cheeks flaming red. I can’t believe this… they’re making Jingyi and me sound like masterminds of sin… why didn’t I lock my door?!
Jingyi, pale as a sheet, whispered faintly to himself: I’m so dead… I’m actually dead…
Lan Zhan, standing quietly, pinched the bridge of his nose, shoulders twitching slightly as he internally begged for someone—anyone—to stop the shouting.
Wei Ying, voice dripping equal parts horror and indignation, pointed furiously at A-Yuan (though Huan gege couldn’t see this): “HE IS WATCHING SHAMEFUL THINGS! AND HE… AND JINGYI IS ENCOURAGING IT! MY SON—A-YUAN—is CORRUPTED!”
Jiang Cheng, now fully in protective mode, barked at both his son and Wei Ying: “ENOUGH! JINGYI, WHAT DID YOU DO?!”
Jingyi squeaked, trying to explain, but Wei Ying cut him off mid-sentence, voice like thunder through the phone: “DON’T YOU DARE MAKE EXCUSES! I WILL NOT ALLOW THIS! SHAME! SHAME ON BOTH OF YOU!”
A-Yuan, still meek but trying to defend some dignity, muttered: “B-Baba… we didn’t… mean—”
“MEAN?! MEAN? DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE CORRUPTION YOU’VE SPREAD? THE DANGER TO FAMILY HONOR?!”
Lan Zhan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. This is officially… out of control. Lan Huan, on the other end of the phone, could barely form words, sweat dripping down his temple.
~*~
Wei Ying had finally reached the point of no return, the exact point where hesitation was forbidden. He jabbed a finger towards A-Yuan, voice breaking and quivering simultaneously:
“THE SHAMEFUL THINGS! I SAW IT! A-YUAN!—HE WAS WATCHING… watching… explicit… EXPLICIT CONTENT! Naked people! Doing things! Things you should never even imagine at your age!”
A-Yuan, frozen mid-step, felt the blood rush to his ears. No, no, Baba can’t be… he can’t… I didn’t hear him, I didn’t… oh no, I did hear him! His hands shook slightly as he tried to defend himself.
“It’s not just me!” A-Yuan’s meek voice squeaked, full of desperate dignity. “Jingyi… he… he… they all—”
“YOU! JINGYI! YOU ARE CORRUPTING MY SON! DO YOU HEAR ME?! CORRUPTING!”
Jingyi’s lips trembled. Oh no… this is it… parents… Baba … I’m a goner. He looked to his Baba, who had gone from mild shock to full-blown fury.
“WHAT?!” Jiang Cheng barked, lunging forward like a general in full battle mode. His voice boomed across the living room, startling everyone. “HOW DARE YOU, JINGYI! DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE SHAME YOU’VE BROUGHT?!”
Jingyi flinched and stammered, “B-Baba, it’s not—”
“NOT? NOT? HOW DARE YOU DEFEND YOURSELF!” Wei Ying thundered through the phone. “I CANNOT BELIEVE THE INFLUENCE! THE CORRUPTION! THE… THE ABSOLUTE RUINATION OF FAMILY HONOUR!”
A-Yuan, cheeks burning hotter than a furnace, tried to speak up, still grasping at his dignity: “B-Baba, it’s really just… curiosity… not—”
“CURIOSITY?!” Wei Ying shrieked, voice echoing. “CURIOSITY IS WHAT DESTROYS GENERATIONS! THIS IS WHAT LEADS TO SHAME, DISHONOUR, AND—AND—utter moral decay!”
A-Die hurried over, placing a hand gently but firmly on Wei Ying’s arm. Please, breathe, this is spiralling, he thought, eyes darting towards A-Yuan and Wei Ying’s stormy gaze.
Wei Ying tore his arm free, still pointing like a human exclamation mark. “YOU—YOU WERE WATCHING PORN! EXPLICIT PORN! AND THIS JINGYI—THIS JINGYI! HE ENCOURAGES IT! HE LEADS YOU ASTRAY! HE IS THE CORRUPTOR!”
Jingyi whimpered, clutching at his arm as if it might protect him. Why am I cursed with a speaker phone?
A-Yuan whispered, meek but desperate: “B-Baba, Jingyi didn’t force me—I just… looked once…”
“LOOKED ONCE?!” Wei Ying’s voice reached operatic heights. “ONCE IS ENOUGH! ONCE IS A SIGN OF DEEP MORAL CORRUPTION! THE SHAME! THE EMBARRASSMENT! THE—”
“ENOUGH!” Jiang Cheng barked, his veins visible on his forehead. “JINGYI! APOLOGIZE! NOW! “
A-Yuan, cheeks crimson, muttered, “I… I didn’t mean… it’s… it’s… curiosity…”
The room on Wei Ying’s side was a mess of pacing, flailing hands, and high-pitched shrieks, while on the other side, Jiang Cheng was minutes away from punishing Jingyi for his deeds.
The phone call had officially become a full-blown international disaster of family chaos.
~*~
After what felt like an eternity of shrieking, finger-waving, and chaos radiating through the phone, Wei Ying finally let out a long, trembling exhale. His shoulders sagged, hands dropping to his knees, and the furious glint in his eyes softened ever so slightly. Lan Zhan, who had been standing quietly nearby, observing the spectacle with a mild sigh and a half-amused, half-exasperated frown, finally stepped closer.
“Wei Ying,” he said softly, one hand resting lightly on Wei Ying’s shoulder. “Take a breath. You’ve… expressed your feelings. The storm has passed, at least for now.”
Wei Ying huffed, nostrils flaring as if the act of breathing itself was a battle. His mind replayed every moment of horror he had just experienced: A-Yuan’s blushing, frantic clicking, the knowledge that family honour had—at least in Wei Ying’s eyes—been temporarily shattered. How could they do this? How could my innocent son be exposed to… that?
Lan Zhan’s calm presence was like a gentle anchor. “You’ve made your point. He understands the gravity of his actions.”
Wei Ying groaned, rubbing his face. “I… I just… I couldn’t believe it. My own son! Watching… those things! And Jingyi, that little rascal—he led him astray!”
“Yes, it was… unfortunate. But A-Yuan is still young. He was curious. That’s natural, though the timing and method… clearly poor judgment.”
Wei Ying’s head shot up, voice thick with lingering outrage. “Poor judgment?! My son was corrupted! My family’s honour… the neighbours… the universe itself…”
Lan Zhan’s tone softened, but remained firm. “Wei Ying. You’ve calmed yourself now. Let us not dwell in panic. You need to trust that he will learn from this.”
A-Yuan, still seated on the edge of his chair, head bowed, eyes slightly downcast, took a deep breath. I knew I messed up. Baba is still upset, and I… I need to make this right. With a small, hesitant voice, he said, “Baba… I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have watched those things, not at my age. I… I wasn’t thinking.”
Wei Ying’s gaze softened ever so slightly at the sincerity in A-Yuan’s voice, though the protective, slightly dramatic Asian mom streak in him wasn’t fully subdued. “Hm. That’s… acceptable. For now. But understand this, A-Yuan: curiosity is natural, but you must have patience. There is a time for everything, and this was not your time.”
A-Yuan nodded vigorously, lips pressed tightly together. “I understand, Baba. I… I really am sorry. I’ll never do it again until… until I’m older, like you said.”
Lan Zhan crouched slightly to meet A-Yuan’s gaze, adding in his soft, measured voice, “He means it, Wei Ying. He understands. Mistakes happen, but learning from them is important. And A-Yuan… I also want to say the same thing. There is a time for everything. And watching these now isn’t the right time. Wait until you are old enough to watch them.”
A-Yuan gave a shaky nod. Wei Ying let out a long sigh, shoulders loosening, and muttered under his breath, “Fine… but if this ever happens again…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but the glance he threw at A-Yuan carried the weight of all the unspoken threats, a mixture of love, exasperation, and theatrical parental authority.
A-Yuan gave a small, grateful smile, relief washing over him. I’m still loved… even if Baba almost gave me a heart attack. I’ll never forget this lesson.
Lan Zhan straightened, brushing a stray lock of hair from his eyes. Wei Ying rubbed his temples, muttering half to himself, half to the universe, “I need tea. Definitely need tea.”
And for the first time in an hour, the household finally felt… calm. The storm had passed, though the echoes of chaos would linger in their memories—and in A-Yuan’s cautionary heart—for a long time.
~*~
The house was finally quiet. The echoes of A-Yuan’s panicked flailing and Wei Ying’s shrieking had faded, leaving only the faint hum of the fan and the soft ticking of the clock. Lan Zhan and Wei Ying found themselves in the living room, each with a steaming cup of tea in hand. Wei Ying slumped onto the couch dramatically, head tipped back, eyes half-closed as if the weight of the world—or at least the emotional toll of parenting—was pressing down on him.
Lan Zhan, sitting opposite him, allowed himself a small, quiet smile. His posture was perfect, his demeanour calm, but his eyes betrayed mild amusement. Only Wei Ying could turn a simple bit of curiosity into a full-blown national crisis. But I guess that was justified.
Wei Ying sighed, blowing gently over his tea. “Lan Zhan… you have no idea. No idea what it’s like to see your son… your innocent little ducky… watching… that. I think my hair turned fifty shades of white in five minutes.” He shivered theatrically, earning a faint chuckle from Lan Zhan.
Lan Zhan tilted his head, voice calm but teasing. “Fifty shades? I think you’re exaggerating.”
“Exaggerating?!” Wei Ying shot back, almost choking on his tea. “Lan Zhan, my soul is traumatised! And Jingyi! That little scamp! Corrupting my A-Yuan! I could have called Huan gege again, I swear, just to lecture everyone properly!”
Lan Zhan allowed himself a small laugh, shaking his head. “You’re lucky you didn’t. Huan gege would probably have laughed more than scolded.”
Wei Ying groaned, flopping sideways. “I can’t… I can’t… I am too old for this. Too old to deal with teenage hormones and their… and their friends! It’s like… like fighting a hurricane with chopsticks!”
Lan Zhan smirked faintly. “Then perhaps… You should’ve taken a nap instead of interrogating the hurricane.”
“Nap?!” Wei Ying’s eyes widened. “During the chaos? Never! I am the protector of the household, the guardian of family honour!” He sat up, chest puffed dramatically. “I cannot sleep while corruption runs amok!”
Lan Zhan allowed a tiny smile to tug at his lips, shaking his head. “I think he’ll be fine. And perhaps, you’ll survive as well.”
Wei Ying gave him a pointed glare. “Barely! Barely survived! But at what cost? At what cost? And Jingyi, too—corrupting my A-Yuan like that! Next thing I know, they’ll be comparing…” He made a vague gesture with both hands, then flopped forward again. “No, no. I cannot even think about it.”
Lan Zhan smiled, amused, and he raised his cup slightly in a quiet toast. “To surviving hormones, chaos, and family honour.”
Wei Ying clinked his cup against Lan Zhan’s, muttering, “And to me, the heroic, ever-vigilant protector of all that is right and pure in this household.”
Lan Zhan sipped his tea, eyebrow quirking. “You did notice, Wei Ying… A-Yuan handled it reasonably well. He didn’t scream. He didn’t run.”
Wei Ying paused mid-flop, forehead wrinkling in thought. Huh. He’s right… sort of. He straightened slightly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I guess so… I suppose that’s something. Still… still! The sheer audacity of him! Sitting there, blushing like a tomato, watching… that, right under my nose. My house! My family honour!”
Lan Zhan’s lips curved in the faintest smile. “He’s sensible, though. Even embarrassed, he tried to reason. That counts for something.”
Wei Ying’s eyes narrowed mischievously as his inner monologue twisted the thought: Sensible, yes… but still very much in need of a lecture, maybe some fear therapy, and—oh!—a lifelong cautionary tale to tell him every single day. He leaned back, sighing dramatically. “Hmph. Sensible, maybe. But that doesn’t mean I forgive him. No, no, the lesson must linger, Lan Zhan. It must linger!”
Lan Zhan raised an eyebrow, lips twitching as he stifled a chuckle. “And yet you’re sitting here quietly, tea in hand.”
Wei Ying flopped again, pretending offence. “Quietly? Me? I am strategising! Planning subtle psychological reminders to implant fear and respect into his young mind. Strategically… and, of course, making sure he remembers that Baba is always watching.”
Lan Zhan shook his head, but amusement softened his tone. “And yet… You couldn’t stop your inner mischief from surfacing during the lecture. The yelling, the chaos… I think he remembers that better than your subtle reminders.”
Wei Ying’s lips quirked into a sly, guilty grin. Caught. “Maybe… maybe he does. But it’s only fair. He needs to understand the consequences of… well… curiosity. And hormones. Curiosity and hormones. Dangerous combo!” He paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I suppose… I suppose I can be satisfied that he didn’t flee like a coward. That’s… a small victory, isn’t it?”
Lan Zhan sipped his tea again, giving a quiet nod. “It is. And you handled it—chaotic as it was. You were there, reacting, guiding, lecturing… it could have gone worse.”
Wei Ying leaned back into the couch cushions, a sly, self-satisfied grin stretching across his face. His eyes glinted with mischief as he tapped the edge of his teacup, murmuring to himself, “Hah… now A-Yuan might have an idea of what we do behind closed doors sometimes.”
Lan Zhan, sitting beside him with the serene patience that only he could muster, raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. “…”
“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Wei Ying continued, voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “You saw how red his face got earlier, right? He was this close to fainting from curiosity. Imagine that, thinking he’s innocent, and now he knows… just a glimpse!” He wiggled his fingers dramatically as if he were holding a secret treasure.
Lan Zhan’s lips twitched, barely resisting a smile. This man… he thought, shaking his head. Relentless.
Wei Ying leaned forward, elbows on his knees, speaking like a master storyteller, revealing the punchline. “And the best part? He’ll be thinking about it for days. Wondering… imagining... All that curiosity, all that blush… priceless!”
Lan Zhan’s inner thoughts ran a quiet commentary: Priceless, yes—but at what cost to my sanity?
Wei Ying continued, lowering his voice for dramatic effect. “Oh… Someday, he’ll piece it together completely. But for now, the suspense, the confusion, the innocent misinterpretation… It’s art.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head like a proud, mischievous parent.
Lan Zhan finally let his faintest smile show, sipping his tea. “…Mn.” His voice was calm, almost disinterested, yet there was amusement glimmering beneath his composure.
Wei Ying straightened up, wagging a finger with mock severity, eyes gleaming. “But let me be clear,” he said, voice rising like an Asian mom finally taking charge, “A-Yuan still doesn’t have the right to watch stuff like that!”
Lan Zhan, ever serene, simply tilted his head slightly, muttering his trademark, nonchalant, “Mn.”
Wei Ying huffed, dramatic and triumphant all at once, settling back into the couch with a flourish. “Good. Lesson delivered. Boundaries maintained.”
Lan Zhan’s lips twitched in the faintest of smiles, shoulders shaking slightly with silent laughter, as the tea cooled in front of them and the house settled back into quiet… for now.