Archive of Our Own

Rays of dawn filter gently through his eyelids, the alarm loud in his ears. He has started to need one of those these years. It still takes him an exorbitant number of tries to finally blink open to full alertness, and an even greater number of minutes to drag himself out of the comforter and into the chill of the cold November morning.

There’s a perpetual exhaustion to one’s routine once they become a parent. The quiet me-time he used to appreciate in his mornings, now nowhere to be seen. His hour-long yoga routine now just twenty minutes of meditation to ground himself. The clutter he couldn’t stand around himself, now a cherished part of his days, as are the colourful hairclips in various shapes often digging into his soles, the crayon scrawls on the walls that he cannot bring himself to paint over, drawing sheets on his fridge, socks tucked into odd crevices, and stinky lunch boxes with half-finished food in them. The door to his daughter’s room is ajar as he had left it last night. He leaves it as it is for an hour and a half more. 

A-Yue doesn’t like having it completely shut. 

In that regard, she takes a little bit after him. She was eighteen months old when he had impulsively adopted her, and Lan Zhan, a fresh graduate too angry with Shufu to join the family business, had only just begun to realize that a cheap, rented apartment also meant frequent power outages. A prideful, comfort-coddled 22-year-old with a delusional certainty that he could make it in the world all by himself, even with a child. He had to switch a handful of jobs, looking for one that would allow a man to bring a child to work, leave at a moment’s notice in case the child got sick, and require minimum commute while also paying sustainable enough wages, before his brother put his foot down, stuffed them both into his car, and drove them off to the ancestral mansion.

That had been in the spring, almost five years ago. Now, his daughter is six, and her Shugong, an irreplaceable part of her life. 

Now, he holds the position of VP at the Lan group with an unnecessarily large payout and the kind of work freedom that comes only with nepotism, something Lan Zhan is still actively trying to convince himself he doesn’t mind as long as it’s for his child. Because now, his daughter, who is old enough that she can dress, eat, and go to the bathroom by herself and whom he often has to pry out of his Shufu’s spoiling hand, leaves enough room for him to compensate for the said nepotism by working overtime.

And so, now, the routine looks something like this: waking at dawn to squeeze in 30 minutes of freshening up and yoga before he gets started on the lunchbox menu he prepped for last night; arranging A-Yue’s little lunch box in a way that would make his princess eat even if there’s a lettuce sandwich inside; and then finally brewing himself a cup of green tea before he goes to wake up the said princess.

He’s peeling the almonds he soaked last night when the family cook shuffles in, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“You need any help, A-Zhan?”

Lan Zhan lowers his head and quietens himself. He has developed a habit of humming when he’s by himself. An old wordless melody he had created years ago when A-Yue used to be the size of his forearm and swaddled in cotton muslin. She still asks for it sometimes when she’s in one of her moods.

Today’s menu is mini steamed buns and tomato eggs for school, with pancakes for breakfast. Lan Zhan tells the cook to get started on the batter and begins packing the lunchbox. Mini buns in the first compartment, A-Yue’s favourite tomato scrambled eggs in the second. Some salted sweet corn on the side, along with slices of carrots and apples cut into the shapes of flowers or stars—he can no longer tell them apart. Then he places his teapot over the flame and gets ready for his favourite part of the day.

His daughter takes after him in many ways. In some, though, she's quite the opposite.

Waking up, for instance.

“Baba nooooooo,” she whines when Lan Zhan’s cold fingers brush her cheeks. She’s tiny and needy and very, very sleepy. Lan Zhan, who now possesses the heart of someone who’s been waking that tiny, needy child for school for nearly three years, slips his hands underneath and jolts her straight into his arms. A-Yue shrieks at the sudden loss of the comforter, but upon realizing she’s within her Baba’s warm arms now, happily snuggles in like a baby koala and goes right back to sleep. He rubs her back and kisses her brow, gently swaying her in his arms, her warmth and weight familiar and reassuring of all that he is, grounding him for the rest of the day.

“Good morning, little one.”

A-Yue sticks her head into his neck and conveniently pretends not to hear. Lan Zhan gets up and walks over to her balcony door. The cold breeze outside has her whining once more, looping her arms around his neck to snuggle in closer and fall asleep again.

“Look, the sun and birds are out to greet you.” He gazes up at the clear sky and sighs. There is, if he’s being honest, a lot to appreciate about the suburbs. The crisp mornings, the fresh air, the blessed absence of smog so you can actually see the stars at night. For all his mixed feelings, he’s grateful his daughter gets to grow up here rather than in a cramped city apartment with barely enough room for her to run around. “They will be sad if you do not greet them back.”

Inside the crook of his neck, A-Yue’s head moves, peeking out at the sky. She’s mostly awake now, he knows; she just doesn’t like to leave his arms too soon. The cold certainly doesn’t help. He is well familiar with this feeling of comfort and safety. Shufu might not have been an ideal parent, but he was certainly a loving one, however bad he may have been at showing it.

“Morning, Ba.”

Lan Zhan kisses her cheek. “Excited for school?”

“No.”

That has been her favourite word ever since it became her first. He smiles and takes her inside anyway.

It’s been over a year since he began transitioning her into independent bathing, and he still can’t properly focus on anything until A-Yue has emerged from the bathroom in one piece. She stands on her bathroom stool now, drowsily brushing her gap-toothed mouth with her Barbie toothbrush. Lan Zhan fills the tub behind her, checking the water temperature every so often, sets her baby soap and shampoo within reach, and makes sure, perhaps for the 70th time, that all edges are dry and non-slippery. Then he returns to her room to lay out her school uniform, check that her schoolbag is packed correctly according to the day's timetable, and confirm whether or not she will be having dance rehearsal after school for the annual day. Only once A-Yue has emerged from the bathroom, showered and dried and completely safe, does he finally allow himself to return to the kitchen counter to sit down with his tea. More often than not, his tea ends up over-steeped and bitter.

Though it is worth mentioning that his days wouldn’t be nearly as manageable without Cook Liu and Housekeeper Xun making it all possible. Growing up, his uncle considered an extensive household staff an unnecessary indulgence, but the two have been fixtures of the Lan household since long before Lan Zhan was born. For all that his routine is a well-oiled machine honed by years of single parenthood, it would hardly be as sustainable—or as fulfilling—without this support system around him. He would probably enjoy making A-Yue’s lunches far less if he also had to worry about groceries and cleaning every day. He would never have the time to listen to her rambles, to read her stories, or to run around driving her to various extracurriculars while also handling a full-time job. He would probably have very little peace at all if his brother and uncle weren’t always there to ease the load whenever things got overwhelming.

As he sips his tea, he watches Xun-Ayi tell the cook to use panda mould for cupcakes because Baby is outgrowing her Mickey Mouse phase and has been jabbering about pandas lately, and lets his heart swell with gratitude that his baby gets to be loved so.

Tiny footfalls race through the corridor, and Lan Zhan promptly sets his teacup down.

“We forgot the chart paperrrrrrr,” A-Yue bursts through the door at full speed, her tie, belt, and sock on one foot missing. Lan Zhan barely manages to open his arms before she carelessly plops herself into them, too trusting of those strong big arms to care about slipping or colliding into anything. He places her on the counter and pops one of the peeled almonds into her mouth. She makes a face, chewing haphazardly.

“Your S.U.P.W materials are already here,” Lan Zhan tells her, and her chewing gradually slows down. “Chart paper, silver glitter, stick glue, and blue ribbons. Anything else?”

She shakes her head and retrieves the second almond by herself while he goes to fetch the remnants of her uniform. All her classroom alerts usually come on Shufu’s phone, as he’s usually the one with the most free time to keep track of them. Lan Zhan only keeps her class teacher’s number and gets other important updates from his uncle. A-Yue is worried about her craft materials because her Shugong is away visiting his friend, and she does not know that he blasted Lan Zhan’s phone all day yesterday, sending reminders. She eats her almonds one by one, swinging her feet, while Lan Zhan finishes up her uniform.

“Oh, also, Luo-Laoshi said we have to give money,” she remembers when they begin their daily battle with the blazer.

Lan Zhan nods. “I have already sent your share, Baobao.”

Six is the age when A-Yue’s school begins incorporating self-defence workshops, perhaps one of the few things Lan Zhan actually appreciates rather than dismissing as yet another unnecessary expense of private schooling, expenses he would have no way of bearing if not for his nepotism money. She probably wouldn’t even have secured easy admission without Shufu’s sources and the legacy of the Lan name.

The househelps lay out breakfast while he braids her hair: two loose plaits on either side, tied with white ribbons and white clips. Then he sits at the dining table with his now-cold tea to make sure she doesn’t just eat the pancake but also finishes her porridge. A-Yue generously drizzles her pancake with syrup and relishes the berries, but gives a dubious look at her tiny bowl of vegetable congee. So Lan Zhan scoops up a spoonful and puts it into his own mouth. He has discovered that A-Yue is far more likely to eat when she’s copying him than when she’s being told to. She asks for another pancake. He tells her she can have it once she finishes the entire meal. In the end, she doesn’t need the second serving.

“Ba, can I wear the Belle dress for my recital?”

Last year, A-Yue’s favourite was Snow White, and that meant having to hunt down a Snow White dress for her violin recital, only to end up getting it custom-made at the last minute because she liked none of the options they found and had her Shugong happily indulging her spoiled whims. In a family of guqin players and pianists, A-Yue has chosen the violin as her instrument, much to Shufu’s relief and Ge’s dismay, who had been hoping she'd pick up the guitar and offend their uncle eternally.

“We will try. But I cannot promise it will be easily available.”

He stuffs her bookbag, water bottle, and craft materials in the backseat and A-Yue launches into several disjointed tales the moment they set off. About the annual dance rehearsals, the upcoming Children’s Day fete, the violin recital, the school picnic that Lan Zhan is still contemplating not sending her to because it’s being held out of the city. She’s jabbering about a girl named Sue from the English chapter her class is currently reading when the dashboard display lights up with an incoming call. A-Yue, who can now fully read the character for Xichen and is very proud of it, all but smashes the display to answer.

“Hey Bobo!”

“Morning, little one! How is my baby girl?”

“Good! I got a star on my math test, and I’m getting Belle dress for my recital!”

Lan Zhan sighs. This is precisely what he had meant when he tried to have a talk with his uncle about his “new discipline structure” for A-Yue, which involved practically no discipline at all. If his six-year-old self could see Lan Qiren now, he’d find the old man unrecognizable. And maybe be a little enviable.

“Smart girl!” His brother praises her. “What is a Belle dress?”

“The princess, Bobo,” A-Yue eyerolls, with all the indignation of a six-year-old who’s tired of the adults around her not keeping up with her. “I showed you the stickers last time.”

“Ahh yes yes. I’m sure you will be very pretty as her!”

“Do not encourage her,” Lan Zhan says, keeping his eyes on the road. “There is a possibility we won’t find the dress.”

“I’m sure we can arrange something in that event.”

“Ge!”

On the speakers, Lan Xichen huffs and changes the topic, that he had called to inform that Shufu will be returning on the weekend. Lan Zhan has had multiple “discipline” talks with the two of them over years, and while it has curbed their spoiling tendencies considerably, it hasn’t completely eradicated them.

The crowd near the school gate is mostly sparse when they arrive, punctuality being one habit his daughter has thankfully inculcated from him. He helps her lift the bag onto her shoulder, the water bottle around her tiny neck, and the craft bag into one hand, and not for the first time feels mildly alarmed at how much weight their education system expects such little kids to carry, both literally and otherwise.

“Be good and do not make trouble for your teachers,” he says, patting her head.

A-Yue, vibrating with excitement now that she’s spotted a friend near the gate, vigorously nods and runs off, only to remember something a few steps away and come rushing back. Lan Zhan lowers himself, and she quickly plants a smooch on his cheek before she’s off again.

“Bye, Baba!”

He watches her disappear into the building beside a little boy, as usual struck by the pang of nostalgia for the days when A-Yue would wail her heart out at the school’s gate. She had been a crier, his precious, clutching his shirt pocket with her tiny fist and refusing to let go. He had to spend quite a few days sitting outside her classroom, within her line of sight through the window, just so she would stay and slowly get used to being there. He should be proud of how far she’s come, and he is. But mostly, he is mildly offended by how fast she’s growing. But then, he supposes, that is the point.

With a quiet sigh, he returns to his car, finally ready to begin his own day.

It’s early noon, and he’s in the middle of the quarterly review meeting when his phone rings. There are only two numbers in Lan Zhan’s phone that are never relegated to silent mode, not even for the most important meetings: Cloud Recesses Primary School and Gusu Music Studio. No matter your seniority, designation, or importance, if either of those numbers calls, you come second. So hardly anyone is surprised when he glances at the screen and, without a word or change in expression, walks out of the boardroom.

“Is she hurt?” 

That is his first question, the words falling utterly flat even as his free hand has fisted up in his pocket. 

In all the years of raising A-Yue, the school has only ever had to call him for two reasons. One, when she was too new to playschool and would often get overwhelmed to the point of meltdowns, resulting in an angry demand to have her Baba called over, and two, when she grew old enough for kindergarten and started pulling mischief like setting all the ducks free or hiding the bunnies in her bag to bring them home. Or, on rare occasions, when she got sick. She’s a delicate child, as opposed to his resilient Lan genes. She’s been sensitive since he first brought her home.

On the phone, the principal’s voice is a bit hesitant.

“No, no, Lan-xiansheng, she’s fine. She’s just… inconsolable. We’ve tried to ask her what’s wrong, but she won’t say. She keeps asking for you and crying a lot.”

Lan Zhan frowns. That is certainly a first. “May I speak with her?”

The principal must have moved closer, because Lan Zhan’s ears are immediately assaulted with the unbearable sound of A-Yue wheezing between sobs. There’s little that makes him feel as helpless as his daughter crying.

“A-Yue?”

Her crying immediately intensifies at the sound of his voice. She is practically wailing now, having inhaled so much air between sobs that she can barely force the words out.

“Ba-Baba….”

His hand automatically reaches for his car keys. “I’m on my way, Baobao. Do not worry.”

“Ba…”

“I know. I know, little one.” He talks as he races to the parking lot. “I will be there very soon.”

He tells his assistant to manage until his brother can take over, then sends Lan Xichen a quick text informing him of the situation without ending the call. He is out of the building and on his way within minutes.

“I am driving now, Yue-er. Can you give the phone back to Principal Liu?”

She does. Lan Zhan tells the principal he will be there shortly and requests her to get A-Yue to drink some water if she can. Then he ends the call and all but floors the accelerator.

Cloud Recesses Primary is a twenty-minute drive. Lan Zhan reaches in twelve. It being the junior section of the school, the hallway is almost never quiet. And yet, he feels like he can hear A-Yue’s cries loud and clear as he walks through the corridor. He almost forgets to knock before he pushes open the door to the Principal's Office, eyes frantically searching for his daughter who, he finds, is huddled on a large chair, trembling and clutching onto her white cardigan that’s a little too big on her because she insisted on buying one that matched her Baba’s coat. His face is blotchy and heavily tear-stained, her usually bright eyes swollen, and her tiny hand fisted around a wad of crumpled tissue. The principal and a teacher are hovering nearby, looking helpless.

The moment A-Yue sees him, she all but cannonballs into him.

“Ba!”

He kneels, gathering her into his arms, a hand cradling her head while the other pats her back. Her heartbeat thumps rapidly against his chest.

“Breathe,” he tells her. “I am here, baobei. Breathe.”

She all but crumples into him, arms looping tightly around his neck, face burying into his collarbone.

“Does it hurt somewhere?”

A-Yue shakes her head but doesn’t pull her head away. He lets himself relax a little.

It takes a while for her sobs to subside into wet, exhausted hiccups. For all her fierceness and mischief, she is still a deeply sensitive child. Has always been clingy and needy when she’s vulnerable. Be it the 2-year-old A-Yue who could never sleep unless she had her Baba’s shirt pocket gripped in her tiny fist. Be it the 3-year-old A-Yue who had wailed so terribly on the first day of kindergarten that Lan Zhan had simply carried her back home and would have resorted to homeschooling her if Shufu hadn't put his foot down. Or be it this 6-year-old A-Yue who still tends to get moody with him every time he gets held up at work and misses her bedtime by so much as five minutes. 

As such, she's always been handled with a very gentle kind of care by everyone at home. She hasn’t yet had much cause to deal with emotions that felt too big for her little frame on her own.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

A-Yue’s arms tighten around his neck, burying her closer. “Home.”

Principal Liu smiles sympathetically. “She’s been like this for nearly an hour. We tried taking her to the nurse, but she just clamped up and cried harder.”

Lan Zhan nods, rubbing soothing circles on A-Yue’s back as her tears soak through his shirt. He holds her until the worst of her shaking subsides and her breathing is relatively steadier beside his neck, then draws back just enough to retrieve his handkerchief and clean her face with careful, methodical strokes. Then he hands the handkerchief to her to blow her nose while he brushes the stray hair out of her face.

“You wish to go home?”

A-Yue nods morosely.

He stands, effortlessly supporting her weight on one arm as he reaches for her school bag with the other.

He doesn't really get to carry her all that much anymore, not unless she's asleep and has to be shifted to her bedroom, or when she's trying to wriggle free on their shopping sprees and he has no choice but to pick her up, or on the cold early morning when she has to be physically removed from bed. She's more fascinated with his back and shoulders nowadays, always insisting on piggyback rides because somehow she has more faith in her Baba's strong shoulders than even Lan Zhan does. But for now, A-Yue's arms loop around his neck and her head relaxes on his chest, snuggling her into a closed embrace.

“I will be taking her home for today.”

"Of course," Principal Liu smiles. "Please, take all the time she needs."

The walk back to the car is quiet, save for A-Yue’s occasional sniffles on his shoulders. Lan Zhan settles her into her booster seat, carefully buckling her in and wiping her dirty cheeks with a soft tissue from the glove compartment. Then gets into the driver’s seat and pulls out of the school gates. His daughter somehow looks smaller in the passenger seat, her eyes red and puffy, and her lower lip still jutting out in a wobbly pout.

“Shall we go to the cafe instead?”

A-Yue, who had been pretty much slumped on the passenger seat, perks up at that. It’s just a slight gleam of interest in her eyes, but it brings her Baba immense relief to know there’s something he can do for her.

He shoots a quick text to his assistant informing his change of schedule, then takes a swift right turn.

There’s a lot in which his daughter is different from him, and a lot in which they’re remarkably alike. Anger and emotions, for example. Bunnies, however, are the one thing in which they might as well have been carved from the same stone.

The Cloud World Cafe, or, as A-Yue calls it, the bunny cafe, is a small, quiet establishment tucked away in a cobblestone alley a few blocks away from their house, and as familiar as a second home to them by now. Its owners being two of Lan Zhan’s very dear friends, A-Yue has spent a significant chunk of her childhood there. More often than not, when there was no one home to watch her, this is where he left her.

Xiao Xingchen’s smiling voice greets them the moment the bell above the door chimes.

“Look who’s here! How is my baby girl?”

Instead of answering, A-Yue shuffles and hides behind Lan Zhan’s leg. Xiao Xingchen looks up at him, asking through his eyes if everything’s alright. Lan Zhan gives him a small shrug and begins to usher A-Yue into the sunlit enclosure at the back, placing an order for the carrot basket on his way.

It's always nothing short of magic, how quickly his daughter cheers up the moment a fat white ball of fur headbutts her, eliciting a tiny huff as she begins to stroke its floppy ears. Xiao Xingchen delivers them a small basket of chopped carrots and lettuce, along with a plate of A-Yue's favourite blueberry pastries “on the house.” They sit cross-legged on the garden grass, and Lan Zhan quietly watches her try to recall all the names she had given the bunnies last time and place them on her lap one after another to feed them. When she's distracted enough by playing, he brings one of the pastries closer to her mouth, and A-Yue bites into it without fuss. Lan Zhan makes her finish a pastry, then orders cheese sandwiches and milkshakes for them both since it's almost lunchtime.

When the basket is empty, A-Yue bids a thorough farewell to every single rabbit in the enclosure, and Lan Zhan gently wipes her hands clean with a wet wipe. 

"Better?" he asks softly.

She nods, though her eyes are still downcast. 

With her belly full and emotions somewhat reigned in, she requests a trip to the children's library next door too, another one of her favoured places. Lan Zhan takes her there as well. The hushed atmosphere there is always a balm to his easily overstimulated senses, so he completely understands the charm.

Today, A-Yue bypasses the fairytale section, going straight for a large, illustrated encyclopedia about marine life. She drags a plush blue beanbag over to where her Baba is sitting on a low bench and plops down, resting her head against his knee. They stay like that for almost an hour, Lan Zhan brushing his fingers through loose strands of her braids and A-Yue slowly turning the glossy pages, her breathing steadily getting slower.

Somewhere in the middle of her book, she falls asleep.

He returns the book to the shelf and carries her sleeping form back to the car.

Housekeeper Xun meets them at the door, her face etched with worry. Lan Zhan gives her a reassuring shake of his head, and carries A-Yue to her bedroom. Taking off her shoes and socks, he loosens her tie and belt too, then slips off her coat, and settles her beneath the quilt, leaving the door ajar. The cook asks if they should prepare some of Baby’s favourites for dinner. Lan Zhan tells him he would appreciate that.

By the time he manages to finally collapse onto the living room couch, his phone is filled with notifications. He takes it out to reply to Shufu’s worried messages and Lan Xichen’s particularly passive-aggressive one, asking what could have made his niece cry and whether he needs to “take it up with upper management.”

Lan Zhan rolls his eyes and tells him to shut up.

The sun is already dipping by the time A-Yue patters out of the bedroom, unusually low in energy.

“Good evening,” Lan Zhan says from the kitchen counter he’s sitting at, sipping on his evening tea. He helps A-Yue climb onto the chair beside him, then gets up to prepare her a cup of chocolate milk.

“Shall we have pasta for dinner tonight?”

A-Yue shrugs. Lan Zhan places the cup in front of her and leans in, resting his chin on his hands. “Along with the grass jelly pudding?”

That earns him a small smile, almost shy. He takes his seat again, this time opposite his daughter, and they quietly sip on their beverages for some time before he finally broaches the topic.

“Yue-er, do you want to tell me what happened today?”

A-Yue doesn’t respond immediately, her face half-hidden behind the cup. When she looks up, with a chocolate moustache smeared over her upper lip, her eyes are glassy again.

“I was bad today.”

Lan Zhan reaches over to wipe her mouth with a tissue, then brushes the loose strands of hair off her face. “But my Yue-er is always a good girl, is she not?”

A-Yue’s head droops, teardrops sticking to her lashes. “I was mean to my friend, and we fought.”

“You had a disagreement?” Lan Zhan corrects gently, his gaze steady on her.

“I was mean, Ba,” his daughter says, twisting her hands in her lap. “We were doing s.u.p.w craft, and I wanted to put silver glitter on my spaceship, but A-Yuan bumped the table and spilt the glue everywhere. It got all over my chart paper and my hands, and it was ruined, and—and…”

Lan Zhan nods, encouraging her to continue.

“I got so mad,” A-Yue finishes, with a shuddering whisper, a fresh wave of tears gathering in her eyes. “I felt it all the way up in my tummy, and it was so big, Ba. The angry was so big. I yelled at him and pushed his chart paper onto the floor, and he said my spaceship was stupid, so I told him he was a stinky butt and that I didn’t want to be his friend anymore, and he said okay, and then—and then I didn’t know how to take it back…”

She is on the verge of hiccuping again. Sighing, Lan Zhan moves around to her side so she can lean against him. She is her father’s daughter, after all. Love, grief, anger, sorrow—everything is always cranked up to the max. Intense and all-consuming. In this, his daughter is just the same as him.

“I felt so angry when he called my ship stupid, and then I felt sad that he didn’t want to be my friend. And then I felt bad for being so mean. I just couldn’t stop crying…”

He kisses her head. “That is a lot of feelings for someone so little.”

A-Yue nods, her lower lip jutting out.

“But there’s nothing wrong with those feelings, Baobei.” He rubs her back slowly. “Everyone has those big feelings sometimes. It is hard being hurt, and sometimes, when we are hurt, we say things we do not mean. I do too.”

That gets her attention.

“You do?”

"Mn," Lan Zhan nods, tickling her cheek with his thumb. "Sometimes I feel so much that I do not know what to do with it. It makes me want to hide, or it makes me want to lash out. It is very hard."

"But you never yell."

He doesn’t, but he’s always been the quiet one. If anything, the inability to yell makes it harder. He and Ge never quite fought outwardly, but they argued plenty. He still remembers the fights they would have, mostly over mama. The fierce possessiveness he felt over her, the need to have her love him and only him, the sting of perceived injustice whenever she held Ge in her lap too long and not Lan Zhan.

“When we were little, I once yelled at your Bofu,” he lies, because A-Yue could certainly use the reassurance right now. “And then, I apologized because I knew it was the wrong thing to do.”

A-Yue’s eyes grow as large as saucers.

“You yelled?”

He nods solemnly. “He broke my favourite hairpin. It was a gift from your Nainai.”

“Oh,” A-Yue says, sounding as though this saddens her almost as much as it had saddened Lan Zhan. But she also looks immensely relieved.

If baba says it’s alright, then it must be.

He picks her up and settles her on the counter so they can be face to face, as he usually does when they talk about important things. He brings himself to her level so she won’t have to look up at him.

“It is okay to feel angry, Baobei. And it’s okay to feel sad. What matters is how we act when those feelings are big. Sometimes, we make mistakes and say things we don’t mean. Like calling A-Yuan a ‘stinky butt’.”

Hearing it from her Ba makes A-Yue giggle. “He really does look like a grumpy turnip when he’s mad.”

A faint smile graces Lan Zhan’s lips. “Perhaps. But that does not mean we should say it. Do you think A-Yuan meant to hurt your feelings when he said your spaceship was silly?”

A-Yue immediately shakes her head. “He was helping me make it before that.”

“Exactly,” Lan Zhan explains. “When we feel hurt, we react quickly. We say things without thinking. It is something we all learn to manage as we grow. You will too.”

She looks up at him. “But I do not want to feel that again, Baba.”

Picking her up again, he places her in his lap this time, close and tight to his chest, and kisses the top of her head with all the love he can. How he wishes he could ensure she never has to feel that again. But he cannot.

“Big feelings are a part of who we are, little one,” he says, rubbing his cheek against her head. “Both you and me. They make us who we are; they’re not something to hide from. I promise, with time, you will learn to understand them.”

A-Yue is quiet for some time, snuggled into his chest, thinking whatever her little mind has decided to focus on. Then she takes a breath and nods to herself. Not unlike how he does to himself when he seems to come to a decision.

“Okay. Tomorrow, I will tell him I am sorry.”

“That is a very brave and kind thing to do,” he tells her, his heart swelling. “I am very proud of you. Do you wish to make him a card as well?”

She immediately perks up, looking up at him with bright, twinkling eyes.

“Will you help?”

“Of course!”

They spend the evening in the kitchen, with Lan Zhan preparing the mushroom pasta for dinner while A-Yue empties her art supplies on the counter nearby and makes her card. Something with stick figures and flowers, with one stick figure holding out a flower to another, as the crooked speech bubble over them says: I am sorry. Will you please be my friend again?”

Then he asks the cook to prepare the grass jelly pudding and helps A-Yue colour the card and set her bag according to the next day’s timetable.

By dinnertime, A-Yue is happily gorging herself on her beloved pasta and favourite dessert, looking finally at ease for the first time in hours. Everything that had weighed on her earlier in the day seems to have loosened its grip, replaced by the simple contentment of a full belly and a doable plan for tomorrow.

Later, after her bath, A-Yue picks out Two Little Gnomes and the Silver Star for her bedtime reading, a story about two gnome best friends who quarrel when one accidentally ruins the other’s precious silver star, only to miss each other terribly by the end and make up. A story she has never quite shown an affinity for before. Lan Zhan says nothing about the choice. He simply settles beside her and begins to read.

A-Yue listens drowsily, one hand curled around the edge of the quilt. By the time the two little gnomes forgive each other, her eyes have already fallen shut.

Lan Zhan closes the book, brushes a strand of hair from her face, and kisses her forehead.

“Tomorrow,” she mumbles in her sleep.

“Tomorrow,” he agrees, leaving the door ajar as he quietly steps out.

The morning after, A-Yue wakes up with a renewed sense of purpose. She doesn’t even have to be coaxed out of bed or insisted upon to finish the green peas in her meal.

“I am ready, Ba,” she declares after breakfast. “Can we leave now?”

And it occurs to Lan Zhan, quite suddenly, that he's a bit nervous in the face of all that energy. A-Yuan is a good kid, at least that’s what everything his daughter has told him suggests. He can only hope the boy is worth all the faith his precious is putting in her efforts to make amends. More than anything, he hopes today goes the way she wants it to.

“Would you like me to send snacks for your class today?” he asks on the drive, because A-Yue’s anticipation is thick in the air, and it’s making Lan Zhan worry. Her face lights up as she begins counting off all the things she thinks her friends would love. Cheeseballs for Mei Lin and Nuggets for Jingyi, please?

“What does A-Yuan like?”

He’s not above admitting that parenthood has brought out a less-than-admirable side of him, one that has little regard for small moralities when it comes to his daughter. He has resorted to bribery more often than he cares to admit, all to ensure A-Yue receives a little extra care, a little extra affection from the people around her. Occasional gifts and snacks for the staff. Treats for her friends. Making sure the gift bags handed out for A-Yue’s birthday are always the best in the class, with the most premium chocolates and toys that happen to be trending that year.

Ahem.

Things like that.

Things that only nepotism money can make possible.

“I don’t know that yet,” says his precious, completely oblivious to her Baba’s current moral failings. “We can ask Jingyi. A-Yuan was his friend first.”

Indeed. Jingyi was the one who introduced A-Yuan to his daughter, as he did all her other friends too, something Lan Zhan is eternally grateful for. If not for him, A-Yue would have had a lot harder time adjusting to the new school. Or even crawling out of her shell. From what Lan Zhan knows, which admittedly isn’t much, A-Yuan is a quiet, shy child with a scary aunt and a silly dad. He is talented in mathematics and drawing but, in A-Yue’s own words, not as much as her. And he is a little weak in English, so A-Yue has taken it upon herself to help him. And they’re both not as good as Jingyi at running and wall climbing.

They arrive at the Cloud Recesses Primary punctual as ever, when there’s barely a crowd at the gates. A-Yue, clutching the card to her chest, all but leaps out of the car. Lan Zhan follows at a more sedate pace, helps her with her bag and bottle, and then hands her a box of choco chip cookies.

“Xun-Ayi made you these to share with your friend.”

A-Yue's face gleams. “Say thank you to her!”

“You may do it yourself after school,” he says. “And remember—”

He’s cut off before he can reassure her that it’s okay if things don’t go as planned and that he’s always, always, there for her. By another tiny voice some distance away.

“A-Yue!”

Lan Zhan’s gaze falls on a child, about his daughter’s age but a bit shorter, quickly making a beeline for them. Behind him is a man, visibly sleepy and practically dragging himself on his feet. His hair is pulled up in a haphazard ponytail, which he’s suddenly brushing his fingers through now, and he’s dressed in his rumpled pyjamas. Lan Zhan is pretty sure it’s against the school’s dress code for parents.

The little boy reaches them and holds his hands out, words practically tumbling out of him. He was possibly buzzing with the same anticipation as his daughter was. In his hands is a store-bought stuffed panda.

“I’m sorry I called your spaceship stupid!”

A-Yue, who’s jumping on her heels now, all but snatches the gift. “Thankyou!! I made you something too! I am sorry I said I didn’t want to be your friend.”

The boy accepts the card, looking at it with wonder.

“Ahh. You must be Lan Yue.”

The man’s voice almost startles Lan Zhan for some reason. He’s down on his knees now, beside his son, talking to Lan Zhan’s daughter, and Lan Zhan, with his instincts of raising a little girl, cannot help but notice the man’s effortless tendency to make himself smaller for children, to meet them at their level rather than speaking down to them.

“I am A-Yuan’s dad. I hear my monkey made you cry yesterday?”

A-Yue smiles shyly. “It’s okay, it was my fault too.”

“Eyyyy.” The man reaches over, ruffles his son’s hair, then hooks an arm around his neck and grabs him into a loose headlock. “What did I tell you about upsetting pretty girls, huh?” A-Yuan yelps, whining with annoyance. “Daaaad! Stop itttt!” His father only laughs harder and tickles him mercilessly until the boy is shrieking with laughter too. “Yes, yes! Upsetting pretty girls is a crime against humanity. Happy now? Let me gooooo!”

They’re obviously a much rowdier bunch than he and his daughter are.

A-Yue, meanwhile, is giggling. She looks up at him and says, in what she thinks is a whisper, “I told you he’s weird!”

Lan Zhan knows that in her mind, that is a compliment. He is less certain everyone else will see it that way. Before he can check her for it, though, the man throws his head back and laughs. He gets up on his feet and extends a hand towards Lan Zhan, head tilted with a smile and eyes shining with a spark of curiosity.

“I’m Wei Ying.”

Lan Zhan blinks. It's the widest smile he's ever seen. He almost forgets to respond for a moment. When he does shake the offered hand, it’s warm, with a very firm grip.

“Lan Zhan. I apologize, I don’t recall if we’ve met before.”

“Oh, we haven’t! We certainly haven’t. I mean, no way I’ll forget a face like you—”

He stops abruptly, then gives a nervous little laugh.

“I mean, there’s no way I won’t make sure you don’t forget me.”

Lan Zhan ducks his head, ears burning. The man facepalms. “That’s not any better, is it?” Then he straightens back with a long sigh and says, “I just mean, it’s usually his aunt who drops him off since I’m not exactly a morning person. Which is obviously a terrible oversight on my part.”

Down below, the two children are looking up at him with identical, scrunched-up expressions, as though they might as well be judging him. Wei Ying rolls his eyes and ushers them towards the entrance.

“C’mon, you two. Get going, or you’re gonna be late.”

A-Yuan bids them both goodbyes, takes A-Yue’s hand and runs off. Halfway through, she apparently remembers the ritual and turns back, reaching them just in time for Lan Zhan to bend so she can plant a smooch on his cheek. Watching her, A-Yuan too reaches out to kiss his own father.

Then they're both off, hand in hand.

Wei Ying looks stunned, his eyes wide and eyebrows raised. “I can already tell your daughter's gonna be a good influence on him.”

Lan Zhan huffs. He actually doesn't much like to entertain thoughts of his precious with boys in general.

“No, no, I’m serious!” Wei Ying insists. “Yesterday, she gave him his first heartbreak and unleashed a whole lesson on friendship. And today she’s taught him not to be embarrassed by fatherly affection? Are you kidding me? That’s a whole character growth in just two days.”

He huffs again, this time his face splitting with a full, genuine smile. “A-Yue was pretty upset about her behaviour yesterday.”

“Ah, tell me about it,” says Wei Ying. “My little man had me running around the stores until late last night because he was absolutely insistent on getting that panda.”

“Thank you for doing that,” he says, surprised by how much he means it. “I know she appreciates it.”

Wei Ying waves him off. “It's nothing. Our kids are besties, which means we’re besties too now.”

That is a rather contrived bit of logic. Lan Zhan does not say so. As they walk back towards their cars, Wei Ying shares that A-Yuan has not exactly had an easy childhood, so he is very grateful his boy has managed to find such good friends here. It makes the move worth it, he says.

“Guess I’ll be seeing more of you, then?” Wei Ying asks when they reach their cars. “You drop her off every day, don’t you?”

“I do. But weren’t you not a morning person a few minutes ago?”

“Yeah well, we'll see about that,” says Wei Ying, his eyes shining. “I mean, I gotta build some good habits for my kid, right? And waking up early is one of them, I hear.”

It is so blatantly a line. A very corny one too. And yet, it makes Lan Zhan laugh, his face warming with a smile that lasts the entire ride home. The man is a shameless flirt; that much is obvious. But Lan Zhan is not stupid enough to believe (hope) one can beat their daily habits that easily, even with the willpower of infatuation.

He eats his words the very next morning, when he finds Wei Ying slouching against his car with his son, sleepily waving at them with the same open grin.

—×—