Chapter Text
-/-
Jiang Cheng is nine when he first feels the twinge.
It happens right after his taekwondo practice, beads of sweat clinging to the cowlick strays near his temple as he bends down to grab his water bottle from his duffle bag. It's right at that very moment that feels it, a painful throb in his chest accompanied by an involuntary hiss between his teeth at the sharp pull. The youngster snatches his water bottle and stands up right, bringing the nozzle to his mouth, frowning as he drinks steadily while rubbing a hand on his sternum. The counter measure makes the residual pain subside until it's gone. Weird.
H e doesn't ponder on it long when his good friend Song Lan bumps his arm in jest. "Next practice I'll beat you by two rounds." Xiao Xingchen smiles from beside the other boy, not a hair out of place unlike Jiang Cheng's disheveled appearance. The younger boy is attached to Song Lan at the hip, and where one goes the other will surely follow.
Jiang Cheng smirks. "I'll win by three." And his minor pain is long forgotten.
His father picks him up from practices and drives home, inquiring how school was, listening attentively to his youngest as he prattles on about mundane things that kids find noteworthy, accompanied by hums and 'aahs' at all the right parts.
When they arrive at the grand mansion, they are greeted by the delicious aroma of his older sister's cooking and the barking of three dogs, that come racing into the foyer. Jiang Cheng drops his bags and bends down to hug them, laughing aloud as they lick and try to jump all over him while his father watches on amused. Jasmine, Princess, and Love were presents for Christmas last year after Jiang Cheng had begged for a puppy during the summer prior.
His mother must hear their entrance and exits her office, beautiful in her elegant stature and dressed immaculately. She chides at her youngest's appearance without any true harshness, gesturing him to hurry and shower before dinner is ready. Not wanting to disappoint A-niang, he books it to his room,, the pups scrambling on the marble floor after him. A quick scrub under a nice hot shower later, Jiang Cheng dresses and combs through his long hair, wincing at the knots the brush gets caught on. Huffing in exasperation, he gives up when he's at least somewhat presentable and races back downstairs to eat.
A-Li serves their parents then him, making sure he gets a large portion of pork in his bowl; she always saves the best piece for him and it makes him feel special. His mother inquires about his day and gives a pride-filled nod when he says he did well on his history test. His father comments that he was impressed with Jiang Cheng in his last few minutes of practice he was able to catch, and A-Li promises to cheer loudly for his upcoming match. All the attention makes him beam, bowing his head to hide his blush. Family dinners always leave his stomach and heart full.
At night, after his parents have tucked him in and wished him goodnight, Jasmine jumps onto the bed and buries her head in his shirt, setting off a slew of giggles from him. She sniffs at his chest with determined fever as if there was buried treasure in there. Beaming, he pretends there's hidden gems stuck between his ribs, diamonds just waiting to be discovered. Love and Princess soon jump onto the bed, joining in the hunt that has him howling with laughter, he's lucky his parents bedroom is downstairs so he won't get in trouble for the noise.
It takes a few minutes to calm them down, and by then Jiang Cheng is slumped back into his pillow, exhausted and cheeks aching. He rubs their heads while they paw at the bed until they each find a spot around his small form and snuggle close.
Letting himself drift off to sleep, Jiang Cheng doesn't even realize he forgot to mention the pain he felt earlier.
-/-
It seems to keep happening.
The new throb rarely occurs and when it does, it's brief enough Jiang Cheng doesn't really worry. At night his beloved animals sniff and rub there heads against his chest, but can't seem to reach what they're looking for. He considers mentioning it to his parents or even A-Li, but in the end he loses his chance. Because a few weeks later, the warm atmosphere of the traditional family dinners is shattered when his father brings home a boy.
Jiang Cheng was already upset that evening when his dad was late to pick him up from Taekwondo practice, so much so that Xiao Xingchen's grandfather had to give him a ride home instead.
Entering in the foyer, no dogs race across the marble floor to greet him. His mother is stuck in her office and he can hear her raised voice speaking to someone on the phone, clearly upset if he goes by the venom in her voice. He's never heard such a tone from his mǔqīn, not even when she's acting out a bed time story and trying to portray a scary dragon. His sister is in the kitchen but she's frantic and nervous, offering him a quick smile and shooing him upstairs to shower and change. His father is suspiciously absent, for the moment.
Once freshened up, he returns downstairs to find his father's in the parlor with an arm wrapped around a skinny boy's shoulders, who is anxiously glued to the Jiang Patriarch's side. All heads turn at his arrival, mother's expression closed off and his sister's smile is strained. His father however is in a jubilant mood, gesturing him closer. "Ah Jiang Cheng, come meet our newest family member. His name is Wei Wuxian and starting tonight, he will be your brother."
Shocked by such an announcement, he stalls for just a moment, but goes and greets this boy....his new brother.
Dinner is awkward, unlike previous ones where they ask about each other's days and indulge in stories over warm food. Princess, Love, and Jasmine have been sequestered in the laundry room, and the dogs occasionally give a pitiful whine and scratch at the closed door which can be heard even in the dining room, prompting the new boy to occasionally flinch. Everyone promptly ignores the noise, and Jiang Cheng has to pretend he doesn't care.
His father asks question after question to newest addition to the Jiang family, seemingly oblivious of the tense atmosphere. The boy eats like he hasn't had a meal in years, but anytime he doesn't have his cheeks stuffed with food, he only offers one word answers, posture wary in this unfamiliar place. If anything, Jiang Cheng feels bad for him, especially with the not so subtly glares his Muqin is directing at the boy. A-Li just maintains a pleasant demeanor throughout the meal, more often than not refilling the boy's plate when it's at least near empty.
Suddenly and unexpectedly Jiang Cheng feels that sharp throb again, like a thorn of a rosh bush from his mother's garden he had once pricked his finger when he had not been careful. He grimaces and accidentally makes eye contact with the boy, who had been apparently staring at him. He ducks his head when he spots Jiang Cheng's unpleasant expression. Great, now the boy probably thinks he hates him.
Tummy unsettled by both the pain and this evening's strange events, Jiang Cheng peers towards his mother. "Muquin, I'm not feeling good, can I go lay down?"
His mother's tight expression goes starkly relieved. "I'll come tuck you in," she proposes, already rising from her chair faster than anyone can dare object. Jiang Cheng shimmies out of his chair too, almost missing the flicker of dismay and frustration that flashes across his father's face when they proceed to leave the table. To try and make up for the bad first impression, Jiang Cheng nonchalantly pushes his dinner roll on the bread plate towards the boy, a peace offering of sorts.
Upstairs, A-niang adjusts the covers around him, eyes occasionally flickering out towards the hallway. There's many emotions that play on her beautiful face, but one he dares not voice is the hurt engraving itself in deep. Once she smooths the blanket across his lap, she glance towards him. "Need anything?"
By now the pain has faded and so after a moment of consideration, he shakes his head. "No. I think I'll be ok."
She snorts, almost as if she found it funny, but leans over and kisses his forehead before Jiang Cheng can asks what's got her laughing. "Sleep well A-Cheng."
She rises from the bed and walk towards the door, flipping the light switch off and pulling the door nearly shut after her as she leaves. But Jiang Cheng watches her pause, through the crack of the door as she takes a deep breath, her shoulders rising at the action. Once having steeled herself, she disappears downstairs.
-/-
After a week passes of tense dinners and new routines, Jiang Fengmian decides to get rid of Jasmine, Princess, and Love.
His father says they have to do this, that Wei Wuxian is scared and this is the only way to make the boy, his brother feel at home. He imparts that Jiang Cheng should understand, regardless of how the younger boy feels. And no pitying expression gracing his jie-jie's face or underlying anger from his muquin will change his father's mind.
His parents don't come in together to bid him goodnight anymore. A-niang still tucks him him with her lips pulled in a tight line, but never forgets to give his cheek a kiss. His father also comes later, leaning in the doorway to toss a quick impersonal goodnight, despite the fact he could heard him telling Wei Wuxian a lavish bed time story down the hall. Another painful twinge pulses in his sternum. It's getting more and more bothersome the more frequently it happens.
There are no longer any pups to hunt for buried treasure in his chest at night, and his clumsy fingers can't reach the thing stuck between his ribs no matter how much he tries. But his father must believe his decision was well worth his weight in gold when Wei Wuxian eye's no longer sparkle with skittish tears.
Strange that somehow those tears find themselves on Jiang Cheng's pillow instead.
-/-
Now that the pups' are no longer there, Wei Wuxian comes out of his shell. And he's a whirlwind of contradictions.
Brave yet timid. Wicked smart yet utterly lazy. Wild yet contemplative. Mischievous yet deadly serious given the right topic. Thin as a stick yet excels in most if not all sports. Though he's a year older, he got held back and ended up in the same grade as Jiang Cheng, and thus is now in all of his classes. His friends think his brother is the coolest thing ever. In fact most of his class is taken by the wild boy, who attracts a following of gazes brimming with wondrous awe or heated jealousy. The fan club only grows bigger after he places second in a taekwondo spar, a few points shy of Jiang Cheng, though no one seems to remember that.
"With him on the taekwondo team, we'll be a shoe in for the finals," Song Lan mentions, sounding as eager as an unemotional rock like him, can. Xiao Xingchen of course absolutely agrees with his best friend, openly admiring the perfect form Wei Wuxian practices with his sword.
There's a prickling across his chest and Jiang Cheng crosses his arms, frowning as he tries to ease the discomfort away.
For all the attention and popularity he clamors, Wei Wuxian seems to have taken a shine to Jiang Cheng; maybe his small peace offering that first night helped more than he knew. The boy also infuriatingly loves being an older brother, taking his duty way too seriously. He never strays too far from the younger's side, throwing a casual arm around his shoulders, teasing the younger boy to call him gege.
"Yah, why would I call you that?" he asks annoyed, though he doesn't brush off the arm his brother. It's...well...kind of...nice to be have someone looking out for him. But like hell will he say it out loud. No way!
"Because I'm your older brother and I'd do anything for my didi," he whines. "What's it cost to call me gege? Come on, sound it out with me, ge-ge."
Jiang Cheng scoffs, crossing his arms. "No way. If anything I'll call you.....A-Xian!"
If he thought the nickname would push the other away, he is surely mistaken with the way the older boy's face lights up. "Aww of course, you can. My precious didi!," he squeezes Jiang Cheng's cheeks together, the younger boy pushing him away.
"Yah! Stop!" When his brother attempts to squeeze his face again, Jiang Cheng has to make a break for it, the boy chasing after him in the hallway. "Didi come back! A-Xian wants to give you some love!"
In class, taking a seat as far as he can get from his brother, his seat mate Nie Huaisang leans over to whisper, "How did get so lucky to have such a nice older brother? Da-ge just likes to push me around and complain when I say I hate sports," the younger boy whines, snapping his fan open with a flourish to hide his pout.
Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes and wonders why being so 'lucky' felt the opposite sometimes.
-/-
Jiang Cheng is ten when he feels a tickle at the back of his throat.
The pain these days is annoying still there, almost as frequently poking him as his brother when he wants to lure him into some prank or another. But he sucks it up like a big boy.
It's during dinner one evening, the five of them situated around the dining room table, eating together like the stock photo family in portrait frames they are supposed to be. The tickle in his throat happens right after Jiang Yanli finishes serving the family their portion of Lotus Pork Soup. He can tell Wei Wuxian's piece is the biggest as it has been since he came here, but Jiang Cheng just twists his mouth and doesn't say anything.
A-niang's face remains stern, lips thin while she delicately lifts her spoon to them while his father chews thoroughly on his portion of meat. While his muquin isn't outright hostile, her posture says enough to not engage with her during dinner time.
His fuqin will occasionally ask his brother about his day and how he's adjusting to school and extra curricular activities, particularly interested when the boys spins tails his adventurous exploits in sports, all the while nodding at the right places. His father doesn't put the same effort into asking about Jiang Cheng's day, when he remembers to at all. But even when he does, the nods and hums are off, delayed or missing all together.
The brief, sharp pain feels like it's reached a bit deeper, spilling outward.
A-Xian has just finished sharing about how he aced the math exam without needing to even study that hard, one that Jiang Cheng did study hard for and got an A-, when he has to pinch his lips shut, swallowing to try and stop the tickle. But it persists and persists until finally he can't suppress his initial reaction to the sensation. So he leans over to the side, under the table and coughs into his fist really quick.
The sound is loud since dinner had mostly been partaken in quiet when not filled with his brother's jubilance. Sitting back upright in his seat, he sees his mother's nose wrinkle, but otherwise she doesn't comment. Thinking he's in the clear, he lifts a spoonful of broth only to have to stop and set it down, coughing into his cupped hands. At this A-niang's irritation increases as she too sets down her utensil with a sharp clank upon the fine china dish, reaching over to grasp her wine glass and sip from the plum colored drink.
Jiang Chen frowns down at himself, upset at this bothersome sensation. Though he's secretly comforted when Wei Wuxian leans over to rub at his back soothingly, and he spares his older brother a quick smile. The tickle however refuses to disappear and he can't help the third time he coughs, much louder than other two that has A-niang setting her wine glass down with a thud upon the linen table cloth.
"Jiang Cheng, why are you coughing?" she asks sternly, his siblings' and father' worried attention on him solely for once.
He clears his throat, shaking his head. "I don't know, the back of my throat it tickles," he cups his adam's apple, rubbing the skin there. "I...I might be getting sick," he admits hesitatingly. His sister makes a pitying sound, already about to serve him more soup to comfort him.
A-niang's reaction is an entirely different story.
Unlike the care his muquin usually displays when he complains of feeling ill, the admission appears to incense her further. "Why would you be getting sick, huh?" She asks with a sharp brow, before motioning towards wide-eyed Wei Wuxian. "He was an orphan in poor health and underweight yet has surpassed you in a physical examination last week. Surely, as a child born of wealth and good genes should rank above him."
As of late, it seems all his mother does is compare him to his brother. Her full focus on him usually is just to throw complaints that make his chest tight. Between the attention of his father that measures so little and his mother's overbearing kind, he can't tell which is the better of the worse.
"Dear," his father tries to ease her temper, but it sets her off and she's arguing about the situation they don't talk about, the one that eventually has his father walking away from the table to retreat into his study and his mother stomping after him in a berating tone.
With both parents gone, dinner is finished in a subdued quiet. Even when Jiang Cheng can't help but cough again, Wei Wuxian keeps his head down and doesn't reach back over to rub his back.
-/-
After that, any time Jiang Cheng mentions he's feeling under the weather or a little sick, his mother grows angry and his father grows quiet. They usually both end up withdrawing from the room, usually one or the other giving their sentiments.
"You're not sick," A-niang will insist, storming off.
"I'm sure you'll manage. Would want to disappoint now, would we?," A-die he advises gently, that is anything but.
Jie-Jie will sometimes offer him some medicine or a nice back rub while he lies in bed. Her soothing touch helps him forget any icky feelings he's not supposed to have.
Given his gege's inherent need to baby him, Jiang Cheng indulges A-Xian by letting him cuddling him and even rocking him to sleep, which aggravatingly helps. His older brother learns however it's best to coddle the younger when they're not in front of their parents.
-/-
When Jiang Cheng finds himself out of breath, during track practice, his lungs screaming like they're on fire, he takes a self-regulated timeout on the benches mid warm-up.
His coach frowns, jogging over from the side-line and bending down to eye-level. "Hey you alright kid?"
Jiang Cheng is breathing like he ran two miles, which he technically almost did, shy two laps, but logistics. "Yeah coach. I just..." he takes another deep breath. "-can't catch my breath."
The coach looks perplexed at this, probably concerned since Jiang Cheng has always been one of the top track runners and can handle two miles easily. The coach looks out in the distance, watching as Wei Wuxian overtake the rest to finish in record time, with still enough energy to do kart wheels that have the others team members laughing as they collapse onto the asphalt.
"Ah," the coach nods his head, as if coming to a realization Jiang Cheng is not privy to. The man give him a smile that looks more pitying than anything and hands him a bottle of cold water. "Here, drink some of this. It might help."
Jiang Cheng takes it gratefully, greedily sipping his water, until the fire is put out. He takes a deep breath, thankfully feeling a bit better, the ache in his ribs slowly residing.
"Better?," Jiang Cheng nods and stands up from the bench, earning a pat on the back. "That's the spirit kid. Now hurry and finish the last laps. We got some drills to go through."
-/-
A few more track practices that result in the same sharp, breathless pain has him reconsidering the sport he's loved so dearly
It shouldn't hurt when he runs, tired before he rounds the third lap. It definitely shouldn't hurt when his brother stands atop of the 1st place podium, beaming with a gold medal around his neck, standing high above the sea of people cheering in the stands. And it shouldn't need to hurt to have to look up to him from his second place stand, his presence shrinking next to him, the silver around his neck heavy and dull looking in the light.
It shouldn't have to hurt to decide to give up something that hurts him.
After a terrible practice one evening, he announces to his family he's gonna quit track, using the excuse it's not challenging enough for him. Feigning disinterest is easier than allowing tears of frustration to pour out of him. He also says he plans to replace one with two, trading his track shoes for cleats and a basketball gear. Thankfully it's enough to have an approving nod from his A-niang, even if his A-die barely bats an eye.
And at the first practice of each, he finds his chest doesn't ache as quickly as it did before. And even when it does, he can ignore for longer.
But of course, the fresh start is cut short and the hurt returns as fiercely as if he hadn't stopped running, all because his brother decides to quit track and join the two teams as well.
Maybe it's supposed to hurt as Wei Wuxian steals the sunlight twice over, unable to let Jiang Cheng blossom for just this once.
-/-
Jiang Cheng is eleven when he stumbles upon a seed.
While all the kids are outside, running around the playground and playing tag, or some like Wei Wuxian show off how many rules he can manage to break, Jiang Cheng is in the library. He prefers the quiet, being able to sit in the air conditioning while sparing his lungs from aggravation. And not to be blunt, but he doesn't necessarily care to read. However he'd take dusty paperbacks over dealing with the flocking girls AND boys who trail after his brother.
He's skimming through the comic book section when he sees a colorful hardback book showcased on the shelf housing manga collections. It's a girl, hanging upside down, a flower stem flowing out of her mouth, atop of a background like a quilt made of mix-matched floral fabrics sewn together. He finds he likes it enough to pluck it off the shelf, curiosity getting the better of him.
"Hana-haki O-to-me" he sounds out the letters slowly, the name not flowing as smoothly on the tongue. Well duh it's in Japanese, which he sadly doesn't understand.
But turning over the front cover, he hits jackpot because there's a translated title: 'The Girl Who Spit Flowers'.
A little seed takes root in corse, moist soil that lines his soul.
He takes a seat on the floor, leaning back against the book shelf, and starts to read. And read. And read so long the bell rings to signal recess is over and he has to hurry and check out the book if he doesn't want to lose his page. He makes sure to stuff the book at the bottom of his backpack before his classmates coming traipsing in from outside and a sweaty Wei Wuxian tackles him with a battle cry.
All day he pretends like his backpack is holding a hidden treasure, because it feels like he's carrying around a secret no one knows. Not even his older brother, who knows everything. He has to duck his head during the lesson multiple times to hide his smile but a noisy someone always notices.
"Psss, what's got you so happy?" Nie Huaisang whispers.
Jiang glowers. "Nothing." Thankfully the teachers calls for the class' attention, and he's avoids spilling the beans to the younger.
At bedtime, hiding beneath his covers with a flashlight, Jiang Cheng devours the rest of the book hungrily. It's about a girl who falls in love with someone, only they don't love her back. So flowers start to grow in her lungs and heart. She coughs up flower petals the longer she's sick. And though she's in pain, the only way to remove it is by having surgery which will also rid her of all the memories and feelings she has for that person. She has a tough time deciding what to do because she cares for this person deeply and doesn't want to forget the good memories. In the end she decides to let the flowers grow until they choke her, but then the author must be a bit of a sap for happy endings, because luckily the guy confesses and saves her.
Shutting the cover with a soft slap, Jiang Cheng turns off his flash light and hugs the book close to his chest. The story is sad for sure, but deep down he feels like he just unearthed some hidden knowledge, a secret of the universe within the floral covers. He thinks of dogs digging in the dirt to unearth green sprouts, of leaves and twigs poking their way up through tough soil to hungrily search for sunlight, of flowers blooming within the smallest of confined spaces.
The seed he's found is planted deep, and he thinks with a little water and care, it'll grow before he even knows it.
-/-
If A-Niang and A-Die are right, that he's not in fact sick, then after gaining his new found knowledge Jiang Cheng is sure that he must be growing something else instead; something loud and eye-catching he cannot ignore, like the bright blue cornflowers sprouting along the outskirts of the kickball field, weaving into the chained linked fence. They practically look neon in this unforgiving heat.
They must be what's twisting in his chest, coiling in his throat as he coughs, guttural and breathless into the crook of his arm. At this rate, he's not feeling up to playing with the sun blaring down on him, nape of his neck warming and sweat building at his temple. As his turn comes up to kick, he bows out, calling for a water break.
His brother is on the pitcher mound, posture sagging as his brother backs out. "A-Cheng, come on!," whines, sounding annoyed. Maybe A-Xian wanted an opportunity to trip up his younger sibling in front of the other kids.
Jiang Cheng runs into the dug out and plops down beside Nie Huaisang, the younger have feigning a twisted ankle to sit out, anything to get out of sports in general. While he rests his arms on his knees, chest heaving in and out, his absence is long forgotten as the next kid steps up to play, kicking a foul ball right off the bat that rattles against the fence before bouncing into the outfield. Xiao Xingchen dashes after it, dust kicking up under his feet, fast as a bullet.
Distracted by the game, he jumps when his best friend tisks, lightly slapping the end of his fan against his arm. "You know if you don't wanna play, all you have to do is say so. No one is gonna judge in this weather, even for superstar athletes."
Jiang Cheng frowns, a bit irked as he tries to catch his breath. "I wanna play, but I can't exactly help it when-"
The younger boy's sigh cuts him off, dramatically rolling his eyes. He unsheathes his fan, waving it at his face in attempt to capture a cool breeze. "Excuses, excuses."
-/-
During half-way through the school year, Jiang Cheng finds he's developed a bit of a wheeze, like somehow he swallowed a flower whole, unbeknownst as to when he could've done such a thing. It frankly sounds awfully annoying, similar to the high-pitched dainty sneeze A-Li's new boyfriend Jin Zixuan gives when he's even in the same vicinity as chamomile; an unfortunate discovery during tea time with said drink was made from the flower. Given the guy is a bit too uppity, it's easy to let Wei Wuxian rope him into ordering twelve bags of chamomile tea online, though if caught Jiang Cheng will feign innocence.
Anyway, back to his wheeze, it tends to make an appearance at the moments his chest aches most fiercely; nights when soccer, basketball, and even taekwondo have wrung out his lungs parched, left on the clothesline to dry. No matter how much he hydrates, watering the soil of his lungs constantly, his mouth remains as arid as the Gobi desert.
At that point, he thinks it's time to seek a little help.
Dr. Shu has been the private physician for the Jiang family for decades now. He's patient as he takes a listen to Jiang Cheng's chests, mouth twisting when he hears the troubling wheeze. Perhaps if the doctor listens long enough he can distinguish what type of flower is causing such an annoying ruckus so he can pluck it free; he suspects it might be sister's beloved mimosa pudica brushing against his lungs, the pink spindles billowing in each lungful breeze.
"Young master Jiang, do you have trouble occasionally breathing?"
Jiang Cheng nods, kicking his legs lazily atop of the examination table.
The older man looks at him over the rim of his spectacles. "How long?"
Jiang Cheng thinks, counting on his fingers. 9, 10, 11. But does it count if it hurt only sometimes? "A while," he decidedly answers after a minute, shrugging.
Dr. Shu hums, wheeling his chair over to his desk and opening a drawer. "Well, I think you might have asthma. It'd help a great deal if I prescribed an inhaler. You know what those are, right?"
He nods, he's seen them on TV before. It looks pretty simple to use.
The doctor awards him a smile." Good, nothing to be afraid of." He picks up the phone on his desk and begins dialing the number. "I just need to ring up your parents and get their permission."
He waits for a few moments, until someone on the other line picks up. "Hello Mr. Jiang, it's Dr. Shu. I'm here with your son and I was contacting to request your permission to write up a prescription." There's a pause, a question. "The youngest, Jiang Cheng." Another pause. "He's been having some difficulty- Oh. Alright I'll wait." There's another pause. "Good afternoon Madame Jiang. I was informing your husband that I just recently examined Jiang Cheng and discovered what could be the initial stages of asthma. I was about to write a prescription-"
The doctor trails off, blinks, listening to the other person on the line. "Well yes, he hasn't been officially diagnosed yet, but I feel it's certainly-" He's cut off again. "Right. Ok. Alright, sorry to take up your time Madam." The doctor hangs up, subdued. He stares at the phone receiver, before digging in his drawer and pulling out a pen and a pad. "I'm going to write a prescription Master Jiang, but will retrieve it myself," he answers, pen scratching against the paper.
Tilting his head high to take a peak, Jiang Cheng frowns. "That's not how you spell my name doc."
The older man lets out laugh, one that sounds awkward, forced. "Yes, um. Ugh...It'll be faster this way. Plus I can be the one to get them for you when they run out, which this should be good for a year. That way we won't worry your parents." He rips the paper off the pad, and folds it neatly into his shirt pocket, patting the area for good measure. He winks, "It'll be our little secret."
The next day with an inhaler in hand that has someone else's name on it, Jiang Cheng shrugs and accepts this is just the way things go.
-/-
The inhaler is a lifesaver, literally, and makes sports so much easier once again. One puff is a like a cool mist in a greenhouse, sprinkling dew upon the slumbering buds. He does keep it secret per Dr. Shu's request, stuffing it into a hidden inner pocket in his backpack during school. He only takes it out when he has to really needs it, usually in a locker room stall or under the bleachers.
But keeping a secret is easier said than done when you have an older brother who likes to snoop through his stuff.
"Whoa, what is this?"
Jiang Cheng turns from the sink where he's been washing him face, spotting his brother holding up the red inhaler, shaking it and spraying it wastefully in the air. He rushes at him, and is about grabs it when Wei Wuxian holds his arm up high, his one extra inch making it hard to reach.
"What is it?" his gege teases. "And who is 'Liu Bang'?"
"It's mine! Give it back!" he about is ready to tackle his brother and instead opts for tickling him under the arms, which immediately has him dropping his arms, giggling. Jiang Cheng snatches it and goes back to his unzipped backpack.
"Aww didi, I was just playing," A-Xian tickles his neck as Jiang Cheng flinches, veering away from the touch. "Come on, tell gege what it is? Come on, Come on. You know you want to."
Annoyed, Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes, but relents. "It's an inhaler," he mumbles.
His brother tilts his head. "Why do you have it?"
Figuring his secret can have one person in the know, he reveals, "Cause I have asthma."
Wei Wuxian gives him a look like he thinks Jiang Cheng is pulling his leg, which he is not thank you very much. Huffing, the younger turns and stuffs it back in his bag, deep into one of the inner pockets.
"Well, where did you get it?"
"The doctor."
Continuing his annoying game of 20 questions, his older brother asks, "But how come it has Liu Bang on it?"
"Cause," he answers vaguely, vexed by this dumb questions.
"Does Madam Yu and Uncle know?"
Jiang Cheng hesitates for just a second too long and it's a pause that his brother latches onto.
"Perhaps we should tell them," he sing-songs, inching towards the door.
""No!," he snatches his brother's shoulder, pulling him back into his room, closing the door for good measure. "A-Xian, you can't tell."
His brother narrows his eyes, before a wicked smirk takes over his face. "Fine. Me being the good gege, I won't tell. But what will my little brother give me to keep his a secret?"
Jiang Cheng sighs, should've known getting his brother to do anything comes at a cost. "What do you want?"
A-Xian lifts a finger to his chin, tapping it as he hums, eyes casing the room. It takes an obnoxiously long time, humming off-key while he's at it, before finally smirking wider than before. Right away Jiang Cheng knows that it's gonna cost him dearly.
But lying in bed at night, staring at the empty spot where his gold Taekwondo medal used to hang, he wages his secret is well worth it.
-/-
Jiang Cheng is twelve when two new students join their class. Both draw frenzied whispers and more than a few lingering looks. The first is a tall regal looking boy who the girls claim is so handsome, donned in pristine white. In Jiang Cheng's opinion, Lan Wangji looks like a tall white bean sprout. The other boy is shorter, dressed in a black leather jacket, pants and boots with jewelry studs decorating nearly his entire ear, the rim of his eyes lined in coal. Xue Yang, danger in the flesh. Or just a vicious lump of coal.
His brother latches onto the sight of both of them, for two different yet related reasons.
One for the sake of annoying, another for the sake of having someone to be annoying with.
What a genuine surprise though that Lan Wangji and Xue Yang prove to be unimpressed by Wei Wuxian. In fact the twinge of annoyance that mars both their features when Jiang Cheng's brother attempts to befriend the troublemaker or probe a reaction out of the studious coat rack gives Jiang Cheng a smug sense of satisfaction. The narcissus flowers thrive leisurely, relishing in the sight of his brother's pout and slumped shoulders.
But then he immediately feels guilty, the freshly germinated florets droop sickly. It's not that he wants his brother hated, god even if his didi took over the world just to destroy it Jiang Cheng thinks he could never hate him, but it's nice when something doesn't come easy to A-Xian, when people don't worship the ground he walks on.
Perhaps this one time he can steal the sunlight.
The opportunity arrives when Jiang Cheng is partnered with Lan Wangji for a project. Going by the non-reaction he receives at the announcement, Lan Wangji may be expecting either Wei Wuxian 2.0 or nothing at all.
So Jiang Cheng mirrors the taller boy's behavior, decidedly not wanting to get on the Lan's bad side. After dividing the work evenly between them, he remains quiet, focuses solely on his half. He doesn't ask questions, and finds the time passes relatively fast. Though Wangji talks as much as dried paint on a wall, there's a smudge of respect in his eyes at his studious dedication. When they receive an A+ when their assignment is handed back, the taller boy bestows him a monotone, "It was nice working with you." One glance at his face and he finds the taller boy means it.
Jiang Cheng has to listen to his brother whine and grumble about the unfairness that Lan Wangji talked to him, all the way home. His pout lasts through dinner and Jiang Cheng doesn't even mind when his brother sneaks into his bed and snuggles against his back, complaining that his bed is cold and he needs the warmth his little brother has.
One down and he decides he needs a different approach to befriend Xue Yang.
Everyone either is scared of him or attracted to him, or maybe it's a little of both; and by the way he smirks, perhaps he relishes in that fact. Jiang Cheng certainly has noticed the looks the new kid gives Xiao Xingchen and occasionally Song Lan, both of his friends wary yet intrigued. Still, a few weeks go by and Xue Yang hasn't really made any friends, but he certainly has made some enemies, given his propensity for a good fight. Though shorter than most of the boys, his fists speak for themselves.
"I like your earrings," Jiang Cheng comments off-handed one day in passing while the troublemaker scribbles on his desk. It's easily to imagine the stem of a single daisy in his hand, held out to the stray angry kid, a peace offering of sorts.
Subtle as a rock but hey, he's twelve, cut him some slack.
Xue Yang snaps his head up, nasty glare already in place like he's expecting to be ridiculed, but it quickly falls when he notices Jiang Cheng's entirely serious. Giving him a once up and down, he replies, "Thanks. I also have tattoos."
Whoa! Dude is 12 and sporting ink already?! Eyebrows raised, Jiang Cheng sits in the seat beside him. "Really? Can I see?"
Smirking, Xue Yang lifts up the bottom of his shirt and showcases a wicked looking dragon, the dark ink slithering along his ribs. It's pretty awesome.
Jiang Cheng whistles, impressed. "Wicked."
The smirk shifts into something genuine, almost a smile. "You wanna see my other sketches? I plan one day to have a whole sleeve."
"Hell yeah," his eagerness has Xue Yang pulling out a sketch book, flipping through pages and pages of designs that are creative and intriguing as Snapdragon seeds.
Wei Wuxian pouts and faces forward in his desk, refusing to speak to Jiang Cheng for the rest of the day.
-/-
Jiang Cheng is thirteen and Xue Yang is in stitches at the lunch table, leaning against Wei Wuxian in a similar state. The lone daisy is long forgotten in the face of ostentatious bouquets, probably smushed under one of those leather boots.
Both the boys had given out their gifts for the Double Seventh Festival, Xue Yang to Song Lan AND Xiao Xingchen while his brother bestowed Lan Wangji with a stuffed bunny. While Xiao Xingchen had smiled, cause his friend always smiles even if you insult his deceased grandmother, it was the reaction of the two stoic students that was most telling. Faces blank, the bright flush of their ears was enough of a tell.
"Shameless," Lan Wangji had mumbled but he wouldn't let go of that stuffed bunny even during chemistry lab.
The two troublemakers were sharing in their exploits, two delighted peas in the pod, brothers from other mothers.
All Jiang Cheng received was a single daffodil, one that wilts within in his chest beneath a plaguing ache.
He decides he didn't much care for the holiday. It's pretty stupid anyways.
-/-
Jiang Cheng is fourteen when he starts high school and immediately catches sight of tangible sunlight that makes bouquets of blue hydrangeas bloom throughout his entire chest.
His name is Lan Xichen, older brother to Lan Wangji, heir to the Lan corporation, top student of his grade, and he's beautiful.
But it's not really his face that makes the word float like a cloud in Jiang Cheng's mind when he takes notice of Xichen. There's a certain softness to him when he smiles, a grace and poise the teen carries in his posture that remains present even when he competes in sports. The junior is also very kind, happy to lend a pencil, a hand, or even an ear to anyone brave enough to approach him.
"A-Cheng," the older boy greets him openly, weaving his name like the finest spun silk. It caresses his skin and soothes the wild Indian paintbrushes that grow so sporadically, long enough to reach down and tickle his stomach like the wings of butterflies. Through their brothers and family connections, they had become acquainted several times and developed a sort of friendship, something Jiang Cheng covets close to his chest, knowing being close to a popular boy two years older than him is by far the coolest thing to happen to a freshman like him.
"A-Huan," he returns the greeting, clutching his books to his chest to hide the way his heart is pounding, along with a couple of flowerets trying to escape.
"Are you feeling well today?" the junior inquires kindly. Jiang Cheng had shared once with the older boy the discomfort he experiences daily, and unlike so many the flawless Lan heir didn't dismiss him. It was nice, especially when Zewu-Jun bestowed genuine sympathy for his plight.
Behind the First Jade of Lan, his best friend Nie Mingjue scoffs. Given he's the older brother of Nie Huaisang, it's not surprising Jiang Cheng's best friend relays the school gossip and even the skepticism of Jiang Cheng's health issues. Nonetheless, it causes the freshman's smile to fall and his shoulders to hunch.
For once, he witnesses Lan Xichen's polite demeanor transform into admonishment as he throws a scolding look over his shoulder at the burly junior, who only shakes his head and wanders off to talk to other classmates. Facing back towards Jiang Cheng, the genial expression returns. "Sorry about him. He's too blunt expressing his opinion." he apologies.
But Jiang Cheng can hear the unspoken words 'and what he believes is true.' Swallowing around the Mountain-laurel popping along his palate and swelling his tongue, Jiang Cheng shakes his head. "It's ok, nothing I haven't heard or seen before," he mumbles.
His eyes skirts away from the pitying look Lan Xichen offers, hating how uncool he sounds. So he finds himself surprised when the older boy lays a gentle hand on his shoulder, earning a wide-eyed look from the younger. "But you're feeling alright?" Lan Huan checks again, as if to be sure.
The Moutain-laurel are immediately smothered by baby blue forget my knots that have him tongue tied for an entirely different reasons. Not wanting to embarrass himself by stuttering, Jiang Cheng nods, allowing a small private smile that is returned wholeheartedly.
-/-
Accompanying his father to business socials is about as fun as it sounds, especially when he's an afterthought to Wei Wuxian.
An entire dictionary of words cannot fully describe the embarrassment he feels when his father introduces his older brother before him, before his own heir. "This is my son Wei Wuxian, he's just started high school." A pause, then, "Oh and this is Jiang Cheng, my youngest."
The uncomfortable looks of his business partners makes Jiang Cheng wish he could rip out the garland of deep red roses and stuff his face in them, if only to hide his shame.
And it's entirely unfair how easily Wei Wuxian can work a crowd, mingle in a room like owns it, dance from group to group, draw laughter or consideration. Jiang Cheng is awkward, blunt, and impatiently glances at his watch, hoping more than a minute has passed than the minute he had previously. These crowds are just so...full of themselves. Since when did being rich become a personality trait?
The only saving grace at these boring ass functions is-
"Senior Jiang, Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng," Lan Xichen greets them, his own name said with such warmth, perhaps it's good the garland didn't make it's appearance, or else he might have done something embarrassing like gift them to the senior. 'These remind me of your beauty.' Bleh! Jesus, he's cringey.
"Jiang Fengmian, it good to see you," Lan Qiren bows politely accompanied by his nephews, the Jiangs reciprocating the gesture. Lan Xichen and his younger brother have probably attended these shindigs for years, given A-Huan is being prepped as the Lan heir. Perhaps these events are what sapped all of the joy from the younger Lan's face.
"I'm glad you two are already familiar with my sons. Perhaps us adults should leave you all to catch up, build some connections" his father suggests, the Lan senior dipping his head in an agreeable notion as they depart, leaving the four of them behind.
"Lan Zhan! Fancy running into you here," his brother skips to his side, leaning against him to jostle the stiff frame. "Now this party can begin! Shall we steal a bottle of Emperor's Smile?" he stages whispers.
The Second Jade of Lan frowns. "Drinking underage is forbidden," his tone as deadpan as ever. Truly a remarkable talent.
Wei Wuxian pretends to pout. "You're no fun Lan Zhan." He then smirks, wiggling his brows. "Too bad I already stole one." He then takes off, running into the crowd.
Lan Wangji flusters, before letting out a pained sigh. "Shameless," but proceeds to follow the wild freshman, no doubt being unknowingly ensnared into his schemes for the night.
Once the two are gone, Jiang Cheng gulps because that leaves...
"Your brother is quite character," Lan Xichen smiles, looking right into his eyes. Inwardly Jiang Cheng deflates. Of course the older Lan brother has become another victim Wei Wuxian has wrapped around their finger.
"If you mean a troublemaker, then you're correct. I'm sure if you wanted, you could go join them," he says the last part quietly, biting his lip.
The older hums. "I'm afraid I wouldn't be too much fun in their company. These formal events are always a bit stiff and Uncle also wants me on my best behavior. Besides, I'd much rather spend the time with you," A-Huan remarks, genuine.
At that, Jiang Cheng lights up, the corners of his lips quirking, roses practically hugging his lungs and heart, he doesn't even mind the pang. He lets the First Jade of Lan guide him around the room, indulging in funny commentary about every older businessman in the room, Jiang Cheng having to muffle his laughter into his shoulder.
Maybe these things aren't so bad after all.
-/-
Jiang Cheng is fifteen when a new student transfers to their school, becoming the target of all the hot gossip. His name is Jin Guangyao and people whisper that he's an illegitimate child of the head of the Jin household. At this particular tea, people react within two categories: they either turn their noses up snidely or seek the student out for any connections their families can gain from the Jin. All in all it's a vicious game, and the poor guy is a peony threatening to be crushed in the greedy hands.
That is until Lan Xichen comes and introduces himself, and suddenly the Jin finds himself under the wings of the First Jade of Lan and the powerhouse Chifeng-Zun.
And soon the adoring gaze of the former.
Jiang Cheng feels the Indian paintbrushes perishing under the megawatt smile the older senior directs solely at the younger Jin, something he had only dreamed about, something that never measured up to what he saw in reality, from his place on the sidelines; one that wasn't directed at him. It's different from the friendly and often empathetic ones Jiang Cheng receives. No, this one carries something deeper than just friendly camaraderie. The intricate camelias with their layers of longing slowly shrivel as the two grow closer and closer, as the delicate peony prospers in the warmth. Part of him wants to intercede, to beg for what he's witnessing to stop, please. But the poisonous brush of the oleander makes his throat close, and the words have nowhere to escape to.
He can't even be mad at Jin Guangyao because he's just so...so...nice. Even compressed beneath the jealous weight of the sickly yellow hyacinth poking at his gums, Jiang Cheng shuts up a few jealous bastards who have nothing better to do than to try to spread malicious lies about the guy. Though if anyone ever asked, he'd deny it to his last breath.
When he hears the wildfire titters spreading the word that Lan Xichen, the most coveted and sought after boy in all of their school district, asked Meng Yao to be his prom date, Jiang Cheng has to bite his lip and not burst into tears right then and there during history. As the words caresses his ears and fade into the air, gone are the foolish daydreams with it. Everyone else is excited for the dance, but not him. He'd be too busy nursing his overgrown garden, attempting to save the flowers that were withering with so little care.
Wei Wuxian got asked out in front of the whole school, but that's because he was the one who asked out Lan Wangji in front of the whole school with a big marching band and confetti. The stoic Lan didn't show emotion except everyone could witness his ears turning red as he mumbled an affirmative whisper that has his brother leaping on the other in joy, smothering the Second Jade of Lan.
Xue Yang had spray painted a big flashy mural on the side of the school near the basketball courts, asking out his two boyfriends. When the principal dragged him away by the ear, the sharp smile only grew wider as Xiao Xingchen blushed while Song Lan stoically raised his eyebrow, clearly impressed.
Even as angry violet petunias germinate at these scenes, he can't begrudge his brother's nor friend's happiness. But the resignation doesn't relieve the agony any less.
-/-
Despite constantly imagining the multitude of arrangements he cultivates, Jiang Cheng still is uncertain what is actually there. Because what kinda of flowers are growing when there's so much unrequited love? When familial, platonic, and romantic affection are so sparse?
He reaches to lay his hand gently on his chest and can almost feel the stressing throb it gives. Perhaps he's growing a garden of tumbleweeds, coiled up tightly together within the expanse of his lungs, and he cannot tell where one begins and another ends.
-/-
It's nearly a year later when everything he holds so dearly close to his chest is threatened. And it all starts so innocently.
It's after a basketball game, when Jiang Cheng is huffing heavily, taking the occasion puff from his inhaler. He's sitting on one of those stiff wooden benches nailed down to the floor in the empty locker room, everyone having already showered and left. He's bent over and willing his lungs to work, trying to push down the tall gladiolus; those damn things always want to have their day in a sun after good games. Show-offs.
"Oh."
Jiang Cheng snaps his head up and goes still at the sight of Lan Xichen, dressed in a white button up paired with tan slacks, staring at the prone form of the younger. The basketball team captain was most certainly supposed to be long gone, but here he is. Fuck.
Jiang Cheng's mouth opens and closes, excuses on the tip of his tongue, but words seem to be failing him today. The older Lan seems to be in a similar position and neither quite knows what to say until a sudden urge to cough has the younger filling the emptiness with his inhaler, taking another grateful puff; the clusters of Kalmia's shiver delighted in the mist.
The footsteps draw nearer until a weight settles beside him, the wooden bench giving a quiet creak. One glance to the side and he finds trouble in those golden eyes.
"I..." The Lan heir takes a good look at him, stare stalling on the inhaler. "I didn't realize that it was that serious."
"Yeah, well I don't really talk about it." He stopped doing so before he turned eleven. But these days it's more "talked" about by everyone else than himself.
The Lan tentative asks, "Do your parents-"
"No. Rather not have them..." Shut him down? Get angry? Mock him? "...worry."
A stiff pause and geez, when was the last time he talked to Lan Xichen? He rarely sees him in the hallway and anytime he encounters him at the business events, Jiang Cheng tended to turn on his heel once spotting Jin Guangyao plastered against his side. Speaking of which...
"A-Huan?" a soft voice calls from the doorway before the dainty peony rounds the corner. Jiang Cheng stuffs the inhaler in his pocket, forces his chest steady. "Are you ready?" The senior blinks, taking notice his boyfriend is not alone. "Hey Jiang Cheng. I saw you out there today. Good game," he complements cordially. See! So damn nice.
"Thanks," he accepts the niceties, still a little out of breath, sounding like he sprinted four miles. Or got run over by a flower truck. How Poetic.
Meng Yao smiles pleasantly, attention slipping back to his boyfriend. "A-Huan, your Uncle and brother are waiting in the car. Dinner reservations are at 7:30," he reminds.
Lan Xichen hesitates one glance towards his boyfriend before back to Jiang Cheng, torn and apologetic. "Wanyin-"
"Don't sweat it. I'm fine," he waves the older boy off, grabbing his duffle and hightailing it out of there. "Enjoy your meal." He even manages a brief facetious attempt at a smile towards Meng Yao, before leaving the locker room. He'll just shower when he gets home, and hope he doesn't cough up any cyclamen fronds this time.
-/-
Of course the next night after his parents return home from a business dinner, it all goes to shit.
He's laying his bed, working on his homework with the front door opens, thundering against the wall. "Jiang Wanyin!" his muquin calls from downstairs, the warning in her tone enough to lift his head. "Come down here this instant."
He nervously scurries off the bed, hurrying out in the hallway and down the stairs, holding onto the banister. His parents stand in the foyer, shucking off their coats to the servants and dismissing them immediately. Both are silent, but it does nothing to dispel the anxiety the turns his stomach. His mother points to the parlor and strides towards it, the click of her heels and the displeased clench to her jaw making him wary. His father doesn't spare him a glance, following A-niang.
A thick swallow and he trails after them.
His father stares off into the fire place and his mother rounds on him the moment he makes his entrance.
"Wanyin, would you care to explain why Lan Xichen inquired about your health? Something about an asthmatic incident after your basketball game?"
There's a sense of betrayal that surges through his veins, one that makes his eyes sting. A-Huan, always thinking of others and cannot help his caring nature, probably thought he was doing the right thing when he brought the incident. He didn't know it would lead to this.
"I..." What can he say when the dead foliage is clogging his throat?
Through the hallway, he can see Wei Wuxian peaking through the railings of the staircase as A-Li, who's visiting for a weekend from university, tries to pull his older brother away, understanding the youngest wouldn't want people to witness him being punished.
"Well? Is that true?" his mother demands.
He bows his head, but nods.
"Do you have an inhaler?"
Reaching into his pocket, he pulls old the trusty red tool and shows his mother. She immediately snatches it, reading the label. "Liu Bang? Who's is this? Did you steal this?!"
He shakes his head. "No muquin it's mine."
"Then who gave this to you?!"
He squeezes his lips shut.
"Jiang Wanyin, I asked you, who gave this to you?!" his mother's voice is shrill.
Swallowing thickly. "Dr. Shu. He refills the prescription," he keeps his eyes lowered, feeling like he's betraying someone who was only trying to help him. It took him years to understand the need for false names on medical prescription labels, to realize it's not just the way things are.
"And why would he do that?! There's nothing wrong with you!" his mother shouts, tossing the half empty inhaler into the fire place, his flowers crisping as if they were the ones being burnt. He mother marches up to him, grasping him tightly by the chin. "Stop pretending to dredge up attention from your father or sympathy from your friends. That's enough Jiang Wanyin!"
She lets him go and stomps off to her office, his shoulders jumping when the office door bangs closed behind her.
His father, who had been watching the plastic inhaler melt, sighs aloud. "Hasn't this gone on for far too long, Jiang Cheng?" He sounds disappointed and he wonders what his father thinks now about that little boy he had praised at dinner after taekwondo practice. Are they no longer one in the same?
Petals fill his mouth, prickling his tongue, but he keeps his lips tightly shut, for this is the last he will speak of it to his parents.
-/-
At lunch the next day, Jiang Cheng is sullen and withdrawn. Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang, both who can never resist juicy gossip even if it's at their own shdidi and friend's embarrassment, must have shared about the fight with their group of friends, because they look pitying if anything.
At the lunch table, Jin Zixun makes a joke to lighten the mood, which does fuck all because a) this person is certainly not their friend and B) it's at Jiang Cheng's expense. That person is rewarded with a well placed elbow to the gut from Song Lan, but it does little to ease the burning of his eyes and the flush of his face. Especially when he can feel some the seniors peering over from a table a few rows down, namely Lan Xichen and his perfect boyfriend. Not even Nie Huaisang's lethal glare directed at the guy can lighten his mood.
"It's not something to joke about," Xiao Xingchen hisses from beside his boyfriend, the usually mellow student sporting an irritable frown.
If there is one thing to know about a Jin, it's that they will double down regardless if they are in the wrong. "Well I'm sorry that his act caught up with him. I mean what did he expect?"
"Shut the fuck up, you prick," Xue Yang sneers.
None of what his friend say matter though, when their words and even the silence of the rest don't retort Jin Zixun's claims. Jiang Cheng decides he doesn't want lunch, standing up and scraping the rest into the trash, hurrying to the exit. He doesn't want empty comforts from his brother who tries to call him back. And he certainly doesn't want to remain here when the flutter of the alluring Wisteria clogs his throat and poison any words he dare offer in his own defense.
-/-
Hurrying down the deserted hallway with stinging eyes, he surprised when he hears someone calls his name. "A-Cheng!"
The familiar voice that once drew him in like a honey bee to a flower's pollen, now makes him want to fly away as fast as he can.
However, a strong hand grasps his arm and he's stopped in his haste. "A-Cheng, I saw you left lunch early and looked upset. Someone-well actually A-Yao said he heard a rumor going around about a fight with your parents regarding...your health," There's a thick pause. "I want to apologize, because I feel it's my fault for overstepping my boundaries. Is there anything I can do?"
The younger boy doesn't have to turn to know the older teen is wearing the kind concern of his, but the thick aftertaste of betrayal still lingers from the previous night. "Haven't you done enough?"
Maybe he meant for the words to come out mean and angry and sharp as the barbs on eryngiums, but they just sound so broken even to his own ears. The other must hear it too, because the hand around his bicep loosens and Jiang Cheng takes his chance to slip out of Lan Huan's grasp, hurrying down the hallway and disappearing around the corner.
-/-
Jiang Cheng is sixteen years old when he's sitting in a deserted bathroom stall located in a restroom on the other side of the school that people rarely frequent, discreetly wiping away the tears with the sleeves of his jacket. For once, the tears seem to ease the pain, the flowers mollified by the wet anguish. And to think such hurtful tears were wrung by such a handsome person, one that he thought could do no harm.
Right then and there, he decides no one can ever know of his garden.
Absolutely no one.
Not his family, not his siblings, not his friends, not even his hopeless crush can ever know about it.
Because all they will try to do is rip it from it's roots in their disbelief. They'll stomp on the soil with their steel toed skepticism until nothing can sprout from it. They'll raze the foliage just to prove their doubts weren't unfounded. And the worst part is, they'll destroy it all, because they won't be able to tell the difference between what's beautiful and what's deadly.
Though through the passing years, Jiang Cheng has come to accept it's one and the same.
-/-
For the rest of the year, Jiang Cheng plays pretend, much more dedicated and engrossed in this performance than the one everyone accuses him of.
He pretends he's a person of peak physical health. He pretends that sports, taekwondo, and even the routine choreography of running up and down the school's three flights of stairs don't suck him dry and leave him gasping once he's at home, showering in the privacy of his own bathroom. He pretends spiked cactuses aren't bulging within his lungs the longer he plays this game of make-believe.
He doesn't get sick, he doesn't struggle, and he doesn't show any more signs of weakness.
He never requests another inhaler after the ashes of his old one were tossed in the trash. Instead he practices method acting through the 'grin and bear it' technique, challenged on the days the flowers have stolen the oxygen they desperately need, forgoing the comfort of the gardener. He never discloses about any lingering twinges or aches to his friends, all in all stops leaning on them for support. He puts on a nonchalant attitude and goes forth each day like he's a typical emotionally repressed high school student, even if he receives occasional side glances and nudges, the ones that might as well read 'finally put aside the act, huh?' His friends move past it like stale gossip, but he's the one that has to bite his lip until it bleeds, clinging desperately to his silence.
At home, encompassed within the sprawling estate like a decaying flower in a cracked vase, he never shares anything with his siblings or his parents anymore, forgoing who he is to behave like the good little heir he's supposed to be: subdued, obedient, an empty shell of a mold.
A flower who's petals are picked off, one by one.
He avoids Lan Xichen and the other members of the 'venerable triad' who try to make small talk with the group when they wander close to their lunch table. It's easy because soon they'll graduate this year and ship off to university and Jiang Cheng won't have to swallow down the petals of indigo peonies that wander up to his throat. Even during business functions his father drags him and his brother along too, he mingles through the room and steers clear of the Lans and Jins after the expected formal greetings.
Jiang Cheng keeps up this performance so well, he's got everyone fooled. Right up until his birthday.
-/-
Jiang Cheng turns seventeen and he has planned to spend his birthday on his own. And the way he plans to celebrate it is to spend all day at a free clinic on the lower west end.
He makes sure to leave his phone at home, fabricating some excuse for his family and friends that he's spending the day with the other, persuading his brother to take that road trip he's been dying to go on with his boyfriend so the two different sides don't conflict. Arriving at the run down building, he uses an alias, dresses in his most plain clothes, and pays in cash.
When the doctor on staff performs an examination using his stethoscope after jotting down Jiang Cheng's symptoms, the middle-aged man frowns at what he discovers behind his tortoise shell spectacles; it's like being eleven again back in Dr. Shu's office, the one that's since been cleared after he was "referred" out. The clinic doctor requests the plump nurse to prepare the decades old X-Ray machine, and tries to assure Jiang Cheng that everything is alright.
"We just want to make sure everything checks out," the doctor offers as appeasement.
Some would be beside themselves with worry at these thin placations, but Jiang Cheng is anxious for an entirely different reason, leg jiggling, on the edge of his seat, dying to know.
And 15 minutes later, when he's presented with an x-ray illuminated on the film viewer, displaying the cysts that look like flower buds just beginning to bloom in springtime, he smiles. It's a shaky little thing accompanied by a single tear drop, but it's there resting above his quivering chin. The uneasy doctor is taken aback, the attending nurse fretfully concerned but Jiang Cheng can only focus on that beautiful portrait of his chest.
His little garden is real after all.
-/-
Jiang Cheng has been seventeen for a week when he takes a bus during lunch hour to visit a lawyer's office on the outskirts of the suburbs.
He didn't even bother going through the motions of grabbing his lunch, sitting down, only to stumble through a flimsy excuse of why he had to leave early. Nah, instead he booked out of the school the minute the lunch bell rang, forgoing his phone that would no doubt be vibrating by now in his locker.
The location is a small place, less fancy and far more unassuming than the bigger high rises like the Jin's golden Carp Tower and the sky-scraping corporate practice of Gusu Lan situated in the middle of downtown. No, this building is older, design dated, brickwork shoddy, and the uneven sidewalk threatens to trip anyone who isn't watching where they step.
In other words, it's perfect.
Jiang Cheng enters the building, greets the secretary, and requests to meet with the first available lawyer that specializes in legal emancipation.
-/-
When his parents are served the court papers a few weeks later, they are furious.
His mother can barely speak, her mouth pinched so tightly and a vein throbs at her temple. Surprisingly his father is the one that outwardly explodes, shouting questions across the dining room table, loud enough for the servants hiding in the kitchen to hear.
"What is this?!"
"You cannot be serious?!"
"Jiang Cheng do you know what this will do to the family?!"
His brother looks equals parts shocked, outraged, and bewildered at what his little didi is attempting to do. His sister's entire demeanor bares distress, probably wondering why her precious baby brother is breaking their family apart; perhaps also considering what it'll do to her engagement to the Jin heir. Both reactions do nothing to lessen Jiang Cheng's resolve.
Even during the tirade and the tears, Jiang Cheng remains silent. He guards his little garden behind a locked white picket fence, resigning to becoming the ghost that will no longer haunt Lotus Pier estate.
-/-
Given the delicate situation, Jiang Cheng is provided temporary housing through the justice department. He still attends school, does his coursework, fulfills his positions in the different sports teams he's on, but if he was subdued before, now he's resolutely silent at the lunch table. His friends attempt to pull him into conversation, but he just feigns like he doesn't hear, and Nie Huaisang can flap his fan about all he wants. After a while they must catch on that something is going on back home, especially with the way Wei Wuxian stares intensly at his didi during the whole lunch hour while the younger boy doesn't spare his gege the time of day. Even Lan Wangji inquisitive looks towards his boyfriend are met with a tense shake of the head.
Given the sensitive nature of this court case and his family all about public appearances, none of them are allowed to talk about it openly. Which suits him just fine.
One the days he doesn't have sports, his afternoons are spent at that the quaint law office. Jiang Cheng is assigned an amicus attorney, one appointed by the court for private family law cases. His name is Mr. Miyagi and he's an older gentleman with an amiable disposition, the grandfather type that receives your words with utmost respect instead of searching weaknesses that can be leveraged later. He takes in all the documents Jiang Cheng complied from the free clinic, xeroxed on a school printer. The older man nods his head during intervals as Jiang Cheng goes through his timeline, one he wrote down in meticulous detail containing any and all grievances he had with the lack of care, the neglect as well as the emotional and psychological....abuse he underwent.
Abuse. It's hard to saying that word out loud, but he's come to learn it's not normal for parents to dismiss your concerns nor berate for every little thing. It's not normal to be gaslighted when they hurt your feelings and you speak up about it, only for the table to be flipped back on you. It's not normal to punish a child, their own damn child for wanting to seek medical attention.
Mr. Miyagi doesn't look at him with pity or false concern, he doesn't given him threadbare reassurances. Instead he thanks him for divulging such personal information and then proceeds to lay out what to expect in the coming court hearing. Even if he doesn't voice it, Jiang Cheng appreciates the straight forward approach a lot.
His lawyer examines the timeline, fingers holding onto the frame of his glasses while the other writes in a yellow notepad. "You've said you've been experiencing symptoms since the age of-"
"Nine," Jiang Cheng answers, picking at the loose thread of his jacket sleeve.
The scratching of the pen stops and Mr. Miyagi peers up at him, face not giving anything away. "That's certainly a long time," is his only comment.
A shuddering sigh from the teen, one that ruffles the vegetation years in the making. "Yeah, it has been."
-/-
If there was one thing Jiang Cheng should've known when taking on the Jiang's, it's that both sides strive to fulfill their namesake: 'Attempt the impossible.'
Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Fengmian were never gonna to make this easy. Not when the Jiang name and reputation were at stake.
They hired the Langling Jin law firm to represent them in court, which is not surprising given Madam Yu and Madam Jin's close kinship and the patriarchs of both households mutual business pursuits. Jin Guangshan will take point while his son and A-Li's fiance' Jin Zixuan will assist, despite the guy being fresh faced having just recently graduated from law school. Jiang Cheng also thinks there's some conflict of interest given Jin Zixuan is set to marry his sister. But he guesses names and money will grease rusted wheels, if you catch his drift.
Unlike the direct offense attack Jiang Cheng and Mr. Miyagi are expecting, they're met with an underhanded ploy. Stalling.
The defense delays it, asking for documents, requesting a reprieve for this, another rescheduling conflict for that, anything and everything to keep this hearing from proceeding and make sure the news outlets never catch wind of this. The delays are running Jiang Cheng's savings dry and fast.
Maybe his family and their closest confidants thought that by delaying this hearing, the inevitable would happen. That somehow making this legal proceeding as messy and convoluted as possibly would make Jiang Cheng admit defeat.
And you know what? They would be right. Jiang Cheng will concede after months of fruitless endeavors and having to yank out spouting weeds.
But that's only because a better reason gave him an out.
-/-
Jiang Cheng turns eighteen and on that very same day, he stuffs his identification documents and already obtained high school diploma in his backpack alongside the last bit of savings he has left. He leaves a single letter addressed to Mr. Miyagi, a flimsy excuse of an apology.
Slipping out of the window of his temporary residence at the stroke of midnight, he runs away with a one-way bus ticket out of the city burning his pocket.
Though unable to carry little of his possessions along, he makes sure to take his garden with him, potted plants and all.
Notes:
If it was confusing, while this story does mention hanahaki references, this is NOT a hanahaki disease story. JC just tends to use the flower metaphors that he relied on as a kid because at his age when this first started, he was unfamiliar with concepts like terminal illness or chronic pain. And what's a kid to do when he doesn't understand something, than to fill in the gaps with his imagination? So the metaphors of 'growing flowers' was just easy. It's gonna be a common reference throughout, even as an adult, which is kinda more heartbreaking.
I chose Mr. Miyagi as the name of the lawyer because have grown up on the karate kid, I find his presence comforting. :) Hope that doesn't offend.
Also as the story progresses and the medical jargon gets more....robust, please don't come after me for inaccuracies. They won't be accurate and they certainly won't be realistic, just consider 'an attempt was made' thank you!
Also for the Girl who Spit Flowers, I do not actually know the full storyline. I couldn't find somewhere that gave a synopsis so take what I wrote with a grain of salt.
Select Flowers/plants mentioned in this story were incorporated for their meaning while others were for only appearance or poisonous quality, and will be marked accordingly so. I'm still working on footnoting so eventually they'll be linked soon.
• blue cornflowers- appearance
• chamomile- can cause allergic reaction
• mimosa pudica- appearance (spindles look ticklish)
• narcissus- narcissim/smugness
• daisy- purity/innocence (of intentions)
• Snapdragon seeds- appearance (they look like skulls, it’s pretty cool)
• a single daffodil- one means bad luck
• blue hydrangeas- grace, beauty
• wild Indian paintbrushes- appearance
• Mountain-laurel- poisonous
• baby blue forget my knots- love/appearance
• deep red roses- embarrassment~ love
• peony- representation of Jin Clan
• camelias- longing
• oleander- poisonous
• yellow hyacinth- jealousy
• violet petunias- anger and resentment
• tumbleweeds- appearance, no flowers, prickly
• gladiolus- honor
• Kalmia- perseverance
• Cyclamen fronds- sorrowful resignation
• Wisteria- poisonous
• eryngiums- appearance (sharp and prickly)
• Cactuses- appearance, prickly
• indigo peonies- appearance
Chapter 2
Summary:
Time skip!
Notes:
Found a great website of locating the modern day places where the stories of The Untamed takes place. While I will use the modern day names, the Untamed sects locations are still gonna be referenced/mentioned as parts of the city.
Modern Untamed locations(also my twitter come follow me ( ◞･౪･) )
Please ignore any spelling errors or mistakes, will come back to clean it up. :)
Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
~10 years later~
A woman taps the toe of her worn chestnut heel, the leather slowly peeling. Shifting in the stiff seat, she clutches her purse on her lap, the logo hand-stitched into the side faded by the simple fact it's accessory frequently reached for throughout the years. Her gradually greying hair, pearly ombre in the bright light is pulled back into a french twist, any stray hairs having been sprayed down before departing this morning. Her knee length tweed coat is Chanel, a lucky find at the local consignment shop one Sunday afternoon; none the wiser on this side of town able to tell it was steal of a discount.
The girl manning the front desk flips through a magazine, the two buns atop her head like ears moving from side to side as she tilts her head this way and that. The pink bubble blooming between her pouty lips, popped in the next second as she continues to chew loudly. The waiting room area is a few chairs around a low table, taken up by wrinkled magazines that have been picked up by one too many hands.
Finally, the double doors leading to the back open with a grating squeal and the lady in the waiting room perks up, delighted by the sight of the young man who pulls down his surgical mask, revealing his handsome face. "Madam Feng, you can come on back now."
At the invitation, the woman jumps to her feet, anxiously smoothing down her coat. She then steps through the entry while he politely holds the door open for her, the two of them proceeding down the hallway, walking side by side, her heels clicking against the tiled floor.
"How did the surgery go, doctor? Did you she do alright?" the mature woman inquires, hoping there wasn't too much trouble.
"It went just fine, mam. Within a few days, she should be back on her feet, running around," the doctor informs, the prognosis easing the rigidness from her petite frame.
They reach another door that he pushes open, allowing her to scurry inside the small operating room first. She makes a soft, wounded noise, hurrying to the patient's side and gently touching their leg. "My brave baby, you did so well. Mommy is here, did you miss me?" She does not even appear put out when she doesn't receive a response.
Behind her, the man represses an involuntary snort, and instead proceeds to bend down at the head of the bed, right at the patient's eye level. Said patient leans her head back and proceeds to lick his face, drawing a chuckle from the usually grumpy man.
He reaches up and scratches between her floppy ears. "Yes, you're good girl, aren't you?"
Madam Feng watches the scene adoringly, hand on her fluttering heart and wishing she was twenty years younger. "Oh Dr. Cheng you have such a way with animals. Most people seemed to be scared of Daisy because of her size, when she's only ever been the sweetest darling, I assure you."
Dr. Cheng rises to his feet, sighing regretfully. "Unfortunately, there's great deal of misconceptions about pit bulls out there." He offers the dog a chin scratch that has her rumbling contently, wagging her stubby tail. "And we both know, a mean dog more often than not means a cruel owner."
She humphs with a pinched frown, dripping her head in stern agreement. Both parties are of the mutual opinion that if someone isn't ready to provide adequate for an animal, including the virtues of patience and unconditional love, then they shouldn't be entertaining the idea of owning one. The numerous barks and meows from cages just down the hall, bragging a full occupancy shows just how many in the city are ill prepared to take responsibility for their whims.
"Will she be needing any medication? Vaccinations?" she probes, trying to restrict any wariness from leaking into her voice. Things these days just start adding up so fast.
Dr. Cheng drifts from the bedside to grab a few items lying on a separate counter, carrying them back to her, handling a plastic collar and a prescription bottle. "Daisy needs to wear the cone for two weeks at minimum, just to ensure she doesn't try to bite at the stitching. The carprofen is for any pain she has, once a day at the most. To clean the wound use warm salt water each night. Careful, the spot will be very tender for the first few days," he instructs.
She clears her throat. "And how much will this all be?"
Dr.Cheng extends a considerate expression. "Not to worry Madam. The cost of most surgeries here are subsided through a city grant. The medication is not too expensive, though you can speak with the front desk about the payment plans they offer."
At this news, Madam Feng inwardly exhales, beaming openly at the young man. She reaches out to lightly pat her beloved pit bull on her head, yet cannot take her eyes away from Dr. Cheng. "Thank you so much Doctor. Mister Wu was certainly not lying when he said you were the best in all of Shanghai."
Throughly bemused, Dr. Cheng accepts the complement graciously. "Kind words Madam."
-/-
Replacing his last scrubbed down instrument back in the drawer, he shuts it closed and locks it with the only key. He pulls the handle just to test it, and like always, it doesn't budge an inch. With everything secured for the night, he grabs his messenger bag and leaves the examination room, shutting off the light on his way out.
Heading to the back where the kennels are, he meanders deeper into the shelter, reaching back to pull his elastic free, letting his long hair down. He makes dizzying turns down familiar hallways, the shelter is a maze one can get easily lost if not for beacon of light to lead the way: just follow the sounds of barking.
Rounding a corner, he strolls past the empty display wall where they usually store the smaller animals in during the day to draw attention. At the end of the hallway are the steel double doors with the fading sign of 'employees only' slapped across it, one propped open at this time of night. It's why you can hear all the commotion of the animals winding down for the day.
He leans in the doorway to find Luo Qingyang kneeling down before a cage, teasing Buns, the resident chubby cat with a reputation for hogging all the treats and his rap sheet of escape attempts; like how the holy hell does this little shit get out?
Narrowing his eyes as the assistant coos at him, he can guess Buns must have gotten himself an accomplice. The fat fucker continues to rub itself against cage, as if to tempt the young woman with his soft fur to set him free. On the white board hanging on the wall, the scrawl of 'Days without Buns Escaping' and underneath is a pitiful 10. If Jiang Cheng wasn't here right now, he may return Monday to the inventory down one chunky feline and the tally count back down to zero.
"Ready to lock up?" he interrupts the scheming duo. His voice perks some furry ears in the kennels, and in response he gets some barks, meows, and even honking from the rabbits.
MianMian nods, rising to her feet while Buns looks at him accusingly, giving a melodramatic meow. Hah! I foiled your plot, didn't I?! Well you loaf of bread, you've met your match!
"All the water dishes and food bowls have been filled sir," the younger woman informs him.
"Any adoptions or fosters?" He glances at the board where below Buns' track record is a layout of the numerous stalls they have, labeled with each animals name. Most if not all are occupied for the night.
MianMian shakes her head regretfully. "There's some perspective adoptees, but they're still on the fence."
Jiang Cheng sucks his teeth, but otherwise doesn't comment. Sometimes that's the way things go in this line of work. But it doesn't stop that traitorously little smudge of hope inside him that all these animals, whether young or old, will eventually find a home; even the baguette with an illustrious career as an escape artist.
MianMian takes the time to say goodbye to every animal, while Jiang Cheng offers nothing more than a cursory glance at each of them, to at least ensure none are in distress. It's a weak attempt at distancing himself from getting to attached to them, knowing that any could be adopted by tomorrows end. But the not so sneaky hand of his reaches out towards one particular stall, fingers reaching through the chain link fence to scratch at soft grey fur of a husky, negates his indifferent act.
Not to mention, when he arrives at work in the mornings, usually the only one there to open up shop, he tends to spend his free hour petting, belly scratching, and holding the more affectionate animals. He might have even at one point, hypothetically speaking, laid flat in the bunny pen and let the fluffy balls of fur hop all over him. But like hell if he's gonna admit that to a soul! He'll be taking that secret to the grave!
Luo Qingyang finishes her lengthy farewells, her lips quirking when she catches him petting one of their furry guests. He rolls his eyes and strolls to the door, and she skips after him, politely refraining from mentioning the lapse in his resolve.
After making sure the front entrance is bolted up for the night, reassured by the barred windows, they both head out the backdoor that leads into a side alleyway. He holds open the door while MianMian rolls out her pink cruiser bicycle from the storage closet, the pastel paint just beginning to chip away. To be fair, the state of the bike ain't half bad given it had once belonged to her grandmother. He lets the door slam closed, locks the single door and pockets the key, heading towards the main street, while MianMian pushes her bike alongside.
"Nǎinai wonders when you'll come visit for dinner again. She misses you."
He snorts. "Your Grandmother just wants to kick my ass again at Go. Last time I fell into her trap, I lost 50 Yuan."
"She says she'll go easier on you this time." Mianmian chirps cheerfully, an affinity she has for overlooking her grandmother's sly ways, writing them off as 'just old people things!'
"I'll spare my wallet from the agony." His assistant straddles her bike, setting her pink backpack into the wicker basket hooked at the very front. "Get home safe," he says in parting, and the young woman gives him a wave before she's peddling down the sidewalk, weaving through pedestrians. Off to grandmother's house she goes.
He glances in the opposite direction, the bus stop at least a few blocks away and sighs aloud at the thought of the sizable commute ahead. Reaching down to his hip, he lifts up the flap of his bag, sticking his hand inside to scrounge for his mask. He finds it after a few failed pats, the rough three-ply material brushing against his fingers. He pulls it out and places it over his mouth, hooking the elastic bands over his ears and pinching the bridge of the nose to fit properly. Then he begins walking, adjusting the bag on his sore shoulder.
People bustle past him as he treks along the uneven paved sidewalk, bodies grazing against his shoulders. It's the time of day when many get off work, and the nightlife takes over. Familiar shop owners wave at him as he passes, understanding by his pace, the vet is not inclined to stop to browse for any purchases today.
The soles of feet are crying out for relief by the time he reaches the bus stop, a line of people already awaiting for the usual blue and eggshell #20 to arrive.
A few of the patrons are older, one in particular sitting on the bench beneath the canopy. His crossed hands rest poised atop his wooden cane as he squints behind large thick glasses at the faded times splotched upon the dirty, finger-print smudged glass. A couple of school girls in uniforms whisper and giggle about something, swinging their school bags back and forth by their side, the swaying motion causing their knee-length, black pleated skirts to flutter as well. One woman, wearing a pencil skirt and jacket, a matching set in the same faded khaki fabric, wraps her hand around the pole of the bus stop for balance in order to slip her right foot out of one of her worn plum pumps, rolling her ankle and stretching her toes in her pantyhose. She must have had a long day on her feet as well, and he sympathizes at the haggard look on her face and slumped shoulders, a few stray hairs escaped from her simple updo.
The sound of the noisy engine snaps him out of his people watching, and faithful #20 bus swerves into the designated curb. It breaks abruptly, the landing needing a bit of work as the folding doors open, bashing against the frame. A couple of stragglers get off, before those waiting begin filing in, steadily boarding the bus. When it's his turn, he climbs up the short set of steps and treks to the back, most seats taken up by now. He catches a lucky break however when a corner seat at the very back row is open, and he slides into it gratefully beside the other four passengers seated on the longer bench, kicking his shoes out under the seat in front of him. His feet breath a sigh of relief.
Once all passengers are loaded on, a couple of unfortunate souls standing in the aisle and gripping onto the handrails above them, the bus pulls away from the curb and back into the busy road.
Jiang Cheng rolls his neck to ease the soreness a hard day of work will do to ya when the recognizable noise of rattling coins reaches his hearing. The bus conductor walks along the bus with her metal tube of change, collecting the cheap fare from every rider and ripping off small tickets for everyone. This conductor is an older woman, small face collecting wrinkles of all varieties, and lips curled back like she's missing a few teeth. She reaches them with practiced ease, even in shabby flip flops, leaning against the seats and rattling her change at them.
He coughs up the 1 yuan, handing it over as she dumps it into the tube and rips off a paper thin stamped ticket, handing it to him before trekking back towards the front to collect from any new riders that came on board the most recent stop. He stuffs the ticket in his pocket, making a note to self to take it out when he gets home. Trust him, he's accidentally done laundry with a few of these in his pockets and soggy paper can be a bitch to pick out.
Unlike the fancy buses downtown, a draw back is that buses like #20 are older and not air-conditioned. And so in order to not overheat passengers now packed to the brim, the windows are pulled down to let in a cool breeze; appreciated by the heavy-set man sitting a few rows up, who fans himself with a folded newspaper, but not by someone carrying around a pair of piss poor lungs.
Even with the mask situated just right, it doesn't necessarily stop the smoke that proliferates in the air. The pollution from the numerous factories and crowded streets, vehicles bumper to bumper like a couple of chain smokers meeting up for a cuddle, wafts through the opens windows. It leaves a gritty, dry sensation at the back of your throat, aggravating the tickle to a point it scratches.
But Jiang Cheng manages, like he always does. However, he does spare a quick apology to his flowers no doubt wilting at the poor filtration.
The ride takes about 40 minutes, with the routine stops along the way, until the familiar glowing sign of family owned restaurant can be seen out the window; some of the lights flicker and one of the bulbs is completely out so instead of "peking duck' it reads 'peking uck'. And God help him, for some dumb ass reason it never fails to make him grin behind his mask; a token levity that greets him on the route home after a long fucking day.
Jiang Cheng stands up from his seat, holstering his satchel, leaning over to pull on cord above the window that runs the length of the bus. A grinding buzzer sound rings over head, and he pushes his way past people, another body immediately snatching up his unoccupied seat. He gets off and veers to the left, strolling past a few street vendors and a busy make-shift restaurant beneath a tent tarp, packed with customers sitting on cheap plastic chairs, eating and drinking at small folding tables. The smell of delicious hot food prepared by cooks who scrap their spatulas along the side of the wok, tossing the mixture in the air to the flashing of flames has his mouth salivating, only stayed by the pitiful lightness of his wallet.
He passes by the late night temptations and heads down a quarter of the block, sidestepping a drunkard's feet sticking out from where he sits against a wall, before entering into an aged apartment building. The rickety elevator is broken down for the third time this month, so Jiang Cheng has to hike up five flights of stairs, pausing ever 15 steps to just....breathe. By the time he makes it to his floor, he eagerly rips off his mask and finds his unhindered breathing makes him sound like he might as well have ran up those five flights.
Meandering down the hallway, he can hear the lives of each tenant behind the different numbered doors: the staticky echoes of an antique television Mister Chu plays while he naps, the couple arguing loudly that'll end with them fucking against their dining room table by the end of the night, a pluck of odd strings on a ghuzeng just slightly off key as the middle schooler Zhou Betty tries to tune it.
Jiang Cheng stops in front of door #16, the bolted metal numbers brassy where he suspects they were once gold at some point. He extracts his keys from his bag and slides the specific one into the deadbolt, bracing his shoulder against the door as he twists the key with a precise bang of his arm against the door, the lock giving way. The consistent protest of his throbbing shoulder is easy to forget once he retreats inside and shuts out the world.
The veterinarian removes his satchel and drops it on the floor, allowing himself to finally relax. He shucks out of his shoes, using the toe of one to push down the heel of another, kicking them to the side once they're off. He then flips his head upside down, gathering his long hair and piling it a messy bun, securing it with an elastic band, stretched to the point it'll snap within a few good tugs.
Standing up straight, he rubs at his unobstructed sore neck, socked feet roaming further into the apartment. Man, he'd kill for a massage.
In the bedroom, after shedding his shirt and tossing it into the broken plastic hamper, Jiang Cheng veers into the bathroom and flicks on the harsh fluorescent light. Bracing his hand on the white faux porcelain sink, he stares into his fatigued violet eyes, searching for...for...welp, he really doesn't know. Maybe the will to live?
Snorting at the thought, he turns on the faucet and ducks down to splash water on his face.
After throughly reawakened, Jiang Cheng removes the last of his work clothes, pulling on a pair of ratty old sweatpants and a loose shirt. He then ventures back into the living room, diverting course into the kitchen. The kitchen is small, the span of his arms spread out nearly touching both walls. He opens a cabinet and pulls an an instant ramen package, tearing the plastic with his teeth and pealing back the lid part way, filling it with water from the sink to the fill line. He then pops the package in the microwave and hits 5 minutes.
With dinner heating up, Jiang Cheng opens another cabinet, this one decorated with a crescendo of pill bottles, all arranged by doses. He pulls the first out, twisting the cap and dumping one in his palm, replacing the cap and setting the bottle back into the cabinet. He repeats this process 8 more times. God if only he was just kidding.
He sets the pills aside for the moment, sliding towards the industrial sink, and grabbing a plastic glass from the dish rack. He runs the faucet and fills the glass to the near brim, and by then his microwave is beeping and a steaming hot cup of noddles is calling his name.
Placing the glass carefully next to the open microwave, Jiang Cheng snatches a pair of chopsticks off the rack and sticks them between his teeth, swiveling to face his back to the counter, bracing his hands behind him on the flat surface to hop on top, sitting comfortably on the counter, crossing his legs. He leans over and reaches in the microwave to grab the rim of the hot cup, pulling it out and setting it atop of the microwave beside him, smacking the door shut with his foot. He removes the chopsticks from his teeth, sticking the ends in the broth and stirring the noodles around.
Besides the bed, coffee table, and the couch, he's got no dining room furniture and like hell would he risk to spill food on the little that he has. Plus the counter top ain't half bad of a seat.
Holding the cup near his mouth, Jiang Cheng plucks a few noodles and blows on them, until certain they aren't gonna burn his mouth. He slurps them in, inhaling his meal like a man starving, the taste enough to satisfy the cravings for the night. By the end he's downing the rest of the broth, wiping his mouth against the back of his hand when done before tossing the empty container in the trashcan.
He then gathers his nine pills, ranging in sizes and colors, popping one at a time in his mouth, consuming them with gulps of water. One in particular leaves a chalky taste in his mouth, and he has to consume the rest of his glass just to wash it away.
Despite the horrendous amount of pills he has to take day and night, he likes to consider them feed for his garden, the mixture of chemicals necessary to bolster the flowers and keep them growing. For that, he'll endure the godawful taste.
He tosses the empty glass into the sink, leaving it unwashed for the night before sliding off the countertop, that stiff, lumpy mattress calling his name.
-/-
Jiang Cheng's apartment is what he would call aesthetically minimal; others would interject it's a sparsely decorated shithole, if at all. There's a couch, a coffee table, a lamp, and bookshelf in the living room, with a bed and end table in his bedroom. He's got the bare minimum of furniture required to be considered an adult, okay?!
There's no artwork hanging on the wall, no collage of pictures, or posters. If someone where to break in, they'd probably be disappointed, thinking the tenant had just moved out.
But see his life accrues in the cracks, like a rare flower sprouting between the crack of a sidewalk. You throw open his drawers, and that's where you'll find a lot more about who Jiang Cheng is. He has old study materials, paperback books, animal medical journals, a beloved Japanese magna, and flyers from the shelter crammed into his wobbly bookshelf. One specific drawer in the kitchen is designated for medical use, filled to the brim with multiple prescription bottles, some old, expired, half filled, or empty all together; there's also inhalers, nutritional supplements, liquid cold medicine, immune boosters, the works.
He could run his own pharmacy out of that drawer if he was desperate. Too bad he's lazy.
His bedroom with an ensuite bathroom is small, and his bed even smaller. He's lucky there's a built-in closet, because no way in hell would he have been able to fit a wardrobe in there, let alone afford one. The plain bedspread, a deep purple monotone comforter has as much personality as the muted walls grey-taupe walls, but if you peal back the edge you'll find embroidered sheets underneath, every inch covered in patterns of colorful efflorescence bounties upon a white backdrop that wrap around him like he's lying in a fucking meadow. The god awful pattern is so gaudy, but damn if he doesn't love them.
The bathroom is cozy if you're not claustrophobic because it's the size of a tiny elevator lift, with no separator between the toilet and the shower, the sunken floor designed to drain water. It's not really something he can complain about, since at least this place doesn't have the stove in the bathroom, but it's frankly a bitch to wait for the floor dry on the weekends when he doesn't work.
But yeah, that's it's. That's his home, his little corner of nothing. Just he, him, and his.
He fancies it would be nice to come home to a dog or three, but sadly he doesn't have any pets. He can barely afford to take care of himself, let alone another living creature. He just has to make do with his job.
On the steel fire escape outside his window are terracotta pots shoved along the railings, ones that were supposed to house sprawling flower arrangements. Most are empty, a smattering of dry mulch leftover in a few, while a flimsy cobweb blows in the breeze between two.
Ironic as it turns out, Jiang Cheng is actual pretty shit at gardening. Now mind you, he made a valid attempt at it, but with the hours he works, the late night emergency vet calls he has to answer that send him crashing back into bed at 4:00am, and his unpredictable health, he tends to forget the things need care and water. And it goes without saying, exhausted excuses of forgetfulness and stale tears just won't do.
If he ever did have a green thumb, it be a sign of gangrene before ever considered a talent for horticulture. And let's not talk about the time he killed a cactus. A damn cactus!
His failures suggest that the only flowers he'll be able to grow are the ones taking up residence in his lungs; those lovely, dainty things possessive and threatening to consume him whole.
-/-
If you had asked a nine-year-old Jiang Cheng, lying underneath a three dog puppy pile, what he wanted to be when he grows up, he would've have answered two drastically differing responses, entirely dependent upon the company present.
In front of his parents, siblings, friends, and acquaintances: A businessman that will follow in his father's footsteps and take over Jiang Corporations.
In front of the mirror, by his lonesome self: A veterinarian.
When he was younger, the want of personal dreams conflicting with expectations of filial duties always weighed so heavily on his mind. But since a decade passed, how easy the choice became in deciding what career to pursue when he had no family, friends, or acquaintances to please.
And Jiang Cheng absolutely adores his job, so fucking much. Animals have always been something that brings him joy. They are easy to understand when humans aren't. They love so openly when humans can be so callous and cruel, stingy with their affections. Animals give their loyalty to those who show them love, who earn their trust while people need favors and promises in exchange for such devotion. Animals never go out of their way to purposely hurt you, and if they do, the blame lies in the hands of the owner.
However, the drawback, if there is one, is that people never really tell you to consider as a kid the little contemplated fact about your dream job.
What are the benefits and costs?
The benefit: he gets paid to work with animals and is entitled to health care.
The cost: the shitty health care can maybe cover one teeth cleaning and that's about it.
But the veterinarian can only sigh because part of that predicament is on him.
Running away with little to his name meant he had to work multiple jobs in order to go to school, to afford even basic groceries. He poured blood, sweat, and a plethora of tears into making something of himself and damn if he didn't fight tooth and nail to get by. After graduating with his doctorate in veterinarian sciences, instead of going off to a fancy clinic catering exclusively to wealthily families boasting ownership of thoroughbreds and exotic pets, or even applying to work at the upscale zoo with large animals and large crowds, he instead chose to work at the local no-kill animal shelter-pound. The home for leftovers.
And one could argue his personal career choice wouldn't have been a huge deal, even with the students loans he's still paying off, if his health wasn't so shit. Nearly two decades since he first felt that twinge, it's only gotten worse.
How unfortunate, given his lungs do make the loveliest flowers.
So that morose monologue leads him here today, on a breezy Saturday, staring up at the archway of the hospital entrance and wondering if the crumbling statues on top are gargoyles or dragons, and if it even fucking matters.
The Nightless City Medical branch is quiet imposing for it's size, but overall unassuming given it's faded, washed-out coloring. The only feature that makes it stand out is the bright red lining that outlines the structural molding, and tracing along the logo; it's subtle enough to be pleasing to the eye yet noticeable enough to draw a second look from passerby's. That and it's only hospital within the Burial Mounds, far from the central medical district stationed in the heart of downtown bougie Shanghai that most on this side of the Huangpu River would have to commute by three buses and half a day's walk to get to.
Nightless City is where the commoners go, especially given word of mouth claims their unique treatments are effective and the price of which is low. And to Jiang Cheng's ears, it's low enough his pitiful savings doesn't feel the need to cringe.
Steeling himself, and with a nudge from the Protea blooms, he enters into the hospital.
Ok, never mind about the early observation on subtly. The red lining has suddenly spilled out over the whole place, only richer and darker in color. The walls are covered head to toe in it, aged wine and burnt oak vibrancy with drapes sporting the crest hanging from the ceiling. The floors are creme but that blood red line weaves all along the floor, maybe going for some abstract artsy look but honestly to Jiang Cheng it looks like a toddler decided staying in the lines wasn't for him and scribbled everywhere. It would probably look nice if the place wasn't garish as hell.
Ignoring his initial reaction to scoff and round on his heel, he trudges forward to the front desk stationed in the middle of them room manned by a young man in scarlet scrubs. "What floor is oncology?" he asks from behind his mask.
The prim man glances up from his computer screen. "2nd floor sir. You'll locate the elevators behind me to your left."
"Thanks," he wanders around the desk and follows the directions. Pressing the up arrow button, he watches the numbers tick down, absently watching as a nurse escorts a patient across the hall towards the exit, pushing their wheelchair.
The ding of the elevator snaps him out of his staring and he lets the carriage empty of the few passengers, before entering and hitting the button for the second floor. It feels like the ride takes forever but within less than a minute he's exiting into the hallway and wandering down a corridor, following signs for the particular hospital wing he's searching for. He comes to double doors marked 'Oncology' and pushes the right open to enter.
The waiting room is just as bland as the shelter's, but thank fuck there's no excessive amounts of red like the ostentatious display down in that horror show of a lobby. Instead the only use of red sticks to the carpet and the nurses' scrubs.
He nears the reception desk where a slew of staff residing. He clears his throat. "I have an appointment at 1:30."
The head nurse, name tag reading 'Wang Lingjiao', asks, "Name?"
"Cheng Wanyin."
One of the younger nurses types it into the computer and Nurse Wang made a considering noise whilst peering over her subordinate's shoulder. She possesses a slim stature, long brows, with lips the color of jam. He wages she must be young, but the way she plastered on make-up aged and donned a severed hairstyle aged her by 20 years. She reaches behind her and grabs a clipboard that already has a blank form, handing it to him. "You'll be seen you shortly. In the meantime, new patients are required to fill out this information sheet. You can have a seat over there," she points her long manicured finger nail to the waiting area with a few people already waiting.
He grabs a pen from the penholder atop the counter and strolls over to an empty seat, the chocolate brown corduroy squishing beneath him when he takes a seat, the cushion long gone soft over the years. Every other seat is saddle tan leather and the mixtures of textures and colors makes his mouth twist in distaste beneath his mask. Seriously three questions: Who the hell decorated this place? Are they still in business today? And if so, HOW THE FUCK?!
Shaking his head, he clicks his pen and begins filling out the informational form. Down the row he can hear someone cough, and another person shift in their seats, the leather protesting at the movement. By the time he gets to the medical history portion, his hand cramps as he tries to write small enough to fit these tiny boxes, but also legible to read.
Just as he crosses his last t and dots his last i, he hears his name being called. "Cheng Wanyin?"
He glances up at a nurse holding up a door to the back, awaiting him. He rises from his seat and follows her into a back hallway, the door snapping shut behind him. Not one sight of red in this sterile white hallway thankfully. Her tennis shoes squeak against the tile floor, his eyes squinting to pick up the occasional scuff mark as they near an unoccupied examination room. She holds knocks then opens the door when she receives no response, inviting him inside.
"If you would please have a seat, I'll take your temperature and blood pressure. And I can take those forms from you."
Handing over the clipboard, Jiang plops onto the examination table, clenching his teeth at the way the paper crinkles beneath his weight. She does her tasks in diligent quietness, jotting down a few things on his forms before she makes to leave. "Dr. Wen will be right with you." She departs, shutting the door softly behind her, the thunking plop signaling she has dropped his file into the tray attached to the door.
Finally alone, Jiang Cheng removes his mask and prepares himself for a wait.
It's not more than two minutes before there's a knock and the door opens to reveal a tall, serious faced man. "Dr. Cheng. I'm Dr. Wen Zhuliu." The man closes the door behind him, holding a red folder, damn that color, in the crook of his arm. Dr. Wen bows to him, Jiang Cheng returning the gesture, taking a moment to examine the physician.
Going by his posture and face, Jiang Cheng would wager this man at least 10 years his junior, though age has only been kind to him. His hair is pulled back into a low bun, bangs trailing down to his brows, the two features as straight as bold lines drawn in sharpie. The man's mouth is straight too, but the corners of his lips seem to pull downwards when resting in a neutral expression.
"I thank you for coming in today and hope it wasn't too much trouble to find the location," Dr. Wen comments politely.
Jiang Cheng shakes his head. "I'm familiar with the area, so it wasn't really a hassle for me."
The doctor dips his head. "Good." He then grabs the rolling chair and wheels it closer, taking a seat. "If you don't mind Dr. Cheng, I'd first like to review your history with you."
"Oh." Jiang Cheng shifts, that annoying tissue paper crinkling beneath him. "But I already wrote it down."
"Yes, but as you're well aware these provided spaces are too small, and I find patients have to skimp on the details. And between you and me, this is more of an undisclosed cognitive test to examine if a patient has trouble with spacial awareness," he waves the clipboard in his hand, picking one of his pens from his breast pocket with the other, clicking it ready. "So if you wouldn't mind Doctor, in your own words please."
Jiang Cheng swallows to ease his dry through, tucking in for the lengthy tail. "Well an x-ray done when I was 17 years old showed pulmonary cysts in my lungs. At 18, I had a cystectomy to try to remove them. But within a year the cysts reappeared so I was put on an armful of multiple medications, attempting to avoid major surgery. However, a biopsy at 20 showed a few of the cysts were malignant. That same year I did my first round of chemo and radiation for four months and came away with a relatively clean bill of health."
Dr. Wen is skimming through what he's written, writing notes in the margins of things that didn't make the cut. "How was your overall health? Poor or just ok?"
Shitty was more like it. "Decent, I guess. Of and on I would get sick, and even once got pneumonia but that was kind of expected given my shoddy immune system. I was and am still using inhalers due to asthma from my childhood.""
The doctor nods like it's to be expected. "Anything else?"
"At 23, I was experiencing shortness of breath doing minor activities, even while sitting or standing. Uh there's word for it...it's um..."
"Orthopnea," the doctor helpfully provides.
Jiang Cheng points, nodding. "Yeah that's one. Took a trip to the hospital and during the visit they found fluid build-up between my lungs and the chest wall. The physician diagnosed me with pleural infusion. They were concerned if we didn't opt for surgery, no medication would stop the fluid from spreading to my limbs. So I had to go back under the knife."
The doctor nods, his pen scratching against the paper while he makes notes in the margins of his clipboard. "Was the surgery VATS or Thoracotomy?"
"Thoracotomy," he answers, hand absently rubbing against his chest, the space right between his pecs where an 8 inch scar is hidden beneath his shirt. "Stayed in the hospital for a week and a half before being discharged."
"No complications?" At the shake of his head, the doctor scans through the rest of the paperwork, pursuing his mouth. "It also says a few years later-"
Jiang Cheng sighs regretfully. "At 24, the cancer came back and I underwent my second round of treatment, much more aggressive this time, around 6-7 months. It was rough." That's putting 'losing weight and all of his hair while prone to being violently sick' lightly.
The physician finally looks up from his clipboard. "And what brings you here today, Dr. Cheng?"
Jiang Cheng thinks of bright red petals littering his sink. Thinks about staring into the bathroom mirror and seeing his reflection of stained teeth and lips painted a candy apple red. Thinks of the dew drops collecting on his brow, the chill breeze that rustles his limbs.
Such thoughts have him offering Dr. Wen a bitter smile. "And 28, I suspect that contrary to the popular opinion, third time is not the charm." His attempt at humor falls flat, but then again Jiang Cheng has never been known for his comedic talents, if you don't count the blunders he's made through the years. A damn cactus!
The doctor, bearing a propensity for stoicism, softens a touch. "Well this time, it might just be." He sets down his clipboard on his desk, rising to wash his hands. "If you will Dr. Cheng, can you please remove your shirt? I'd like to examine your heart and lungs." Dr. Wen instructs over his shoulder as he faces the sink, allowing his patient a moment of privacy.
Jiang Cheng begins undoing the buttons on his shirt, letting it slip from his shoulders and suppressing a shiver as the cool air brushes against the freshly exposed skin. Dr. Wen finishes thoroughly scrubbing, stealing a paper towel with a clean rip from the roll, and dries his hands before discarding it in the trash.
The physician is once again facing him, and Jiang Cheng tries not to be self-conscious now that his scar is on full display, opting to stare at the slew of posters pinned to the wall instead. Why yes, yearly gynecological examinations are important!
Dr. Wen politely refrains from staring too long at his scar as he approaches his side, removing his stethoscope from where it hangs around his neck. He situates the earbuds in his ears and considerately rubs the diaphragm of the tool on the palm of his hand to warm it up.
"Just breathe normally," he instructs, before setting it right against his heart.
As it touches his skin, Jiang Cheng breathes, silent and awaiting, letting his garden speak for itself. His eyes drift along the room, his hands curled around the edge of the examination table anxiously. After a few minutes enduring a serious of light touches, Dr. Wen requests, "Now can you please take deep breaths? And if at any point you feel lightheaded, let me know."
The next time diaphragm touches his chest, Jiang Cheng takes a deep breath and then releases it. By the fifth time, a touch of lightheadedness occurs but he doesn't mention it; he can handle it amongst all the rest of his problems.
"Dr. Cheng, you've stated in the preliminary intake your chest hurts on a constant basis, is that correct?," Dr. Wen breaks the hushed silence.
Jiang Cheng nods, taking another deep breath when the doctor sets the bell against on a new expanse of skin, this time near his ribs.
"How bad?" he inquires.
For some reasons the question, so genuine in nature, waivers his steadiness. His breathing momentarily stutters and his throat swallows around a nonexistent lump. Dr. Wen glances up briefly at the reaction, before Jiang Cheng schools himself, clearing his throat. "Um, not bad as it once was. I've gotten used to dealing with the pain."
The man hums, focusing his stare back on his chest. "On scale of 1 to 10?"
"6?" Jiang Cheng wages.
There's a hum before the touch from his chest disappears. "I am going to take a listen from the back now." Dr. Wen moves around him, except there's a pause. "If you could.."
It takes a second before it clicks. "Oh right, sorry," Jiang Cheng pulls his long pony tail over his shoulder, now unobstructing the view of his back.
"No apologies necessary doctor." The bell presses against his back, staying for a moment before it moves to a new place. Jiang Cheng continues deeply breath before Dr. Wen must notice the slight wobble in his frame and stops his examination. Coming back around, standing in front of him, Dr. Wen. rewinds his stethoscope around the nape of his neck. "Your heart sounds good, but I can hear some blockage within each thoracic chamber. If I may, I would like to examine your limb nodes."
Jiang Cheng nods and the doctor hands gently starts with the base of his neck, fingers palpating different areas. The straight brows of his pull down when he palpates around the chest area.
"There's at least one lymph node that feels swollen. I think it's be best to proceed with doing some x-rays and a few other tests before you leave, so way we can get a clear picture of what we are dealing with."
Agreeing, Jiang Cheng slips his shirt back on whislt Dr. Wen pages a nurse. He suspects this picture will be some of his best work yet.
-/-
By the time he leaves the hospital, the sun is low in the sky. The 20 minute bus ride home means he arrives when the sun has all but vanished and the nightlife is out in full.
After that long ass day dealing with being x-rayed, poked, and prodded, Jiang Cheng decides to splurge and stop at the 7-11 on the corner to get a stemmed bun. Cheap and fast, he empties his pockets for the correct change and feels his stomach grumbling hungrily as the clerk grabs the tongs to select one from the steamer. He takes his single purchase with a brisk thanks and heads back out into the night.
Savoring the hot pork bun, he chews languidly and leans against the telephone pole, watching as cars, scooters, and trucks drive by. Across the street is a fruit cart that a young boy is running, beside him his mother managing the meat stall, the smoke enough to tempt a few patrons. There's a 7-11 on the other side of the street, a young woman just getting off her shift, shedding her uniform and hoping on her beat-up scooter to head to her second job. A man plays his guitar by the bus stop, open case lying beside his feet with a few coins tossed in.
See this is what poverty looks like. It's not always the person on a corner with a cardboard sign asking for help. It's the people that have to work day in and day out, living pay check to pay check, grinding without a stop. Some have to chose whether to eat or to pay the electric bill. Some have to chose whether to sleep or make a few extra bucks. They can't spare a moment to complain life isn't fair; they stretch the rations, push the pennies, and ignore the aches of their worn bodies to survive to the next day.
On this side of the river, Jiang Cheng considers the people here are some of the most beautiful flowers, resilient to grow even when the sun refuses to shine.
-/-
On a Wednesday afternoon, the resident vet is sitting at his desk, working on paperwork when there's a knock against the doorframe. Jiang Cheng glances over his shoulder, greeted by the sight of a perk A-Qing leaning in the door way. "Supply shipment arrived just now. MianMian is unloading it.
"Thanks."
A-Qing then glances down at the floor beside him where the husky lies, gnawing on a piece of rawhide. She then narrows his eyes at him, lifting a brow.
"Not a word," he warns which only earns him a smirk.
Any smart aleck remark is interrupted when his phone rings on his desk, the default jingle has a furry companion lifting their head. Jiang Cheng reaches over and picks it up, hitting the green talk symbol on his prepaid phone, lifting it up to his ear. "Hello?"
"Dr. Cheng, this is Dr. Wen from Nightless City Hospital. I was wondering if you had a moment to speak."
His stomach drops, and he instantly rises from his seat. "Sure just one moment, please." He grabs the spare leash lying on his desk and jingles it, perking up the canine who eagerly scrambles to their feet. He holds the phone away from his mouth, "I'm gonna go take them for a walk."
"And you said you don't play favorites," A-Qing stage-whispers before disappearing.
He rolls his eyes and hooks the leash to the husky's collar. He makes his way through the halls towards the front door, the husky's little paws scratching on the floor. When he gets outside, he has to squint for a moment, the sun bright at this time of day. His furry companion immediately pulls to the right and he's helpless but to follow, wandering past the storefronts.
He situates his phone at his ear. "Dr. Wen? Sorry about that. I had to step out."
The man hums, the sound deep even through his shitty quality phone. "It's quite alright. I just wanted to call you as soon as we received the lab results of the tests. I'm afraid unfortunately your assumption was correct. It's lung cancer," he cuts right to the chase.
Jiang Cheng would find himself appreciating such bluntness if it weren't for the tickle in the back of his throat spasming, celebratory lilies frolicking in their resurrection. "What stage?" his voice soft.
"Just on the cusp of stage 2, but we caught it early enough."
Jiang Cheng nods and realizes the man can't see him. "So how do we proceed?"
"I suggest we start as soon as we can, though I must apologize I already have patients booked until Sunday afternoon. Would that time be alright for you?"
"Sure, sure."
Dr. Wen confirms the date and says his goodbyes, but Jiang Cheng's mind is already far away.
He hangs up, eyes fixated on the bustling street, the world continuing on turning. A nudge against his leg has Jiang Cheng kneeling down, petting the canine as he rests his head against the husky's, the fretful whine loud in his ears. He remains there for a few empty moments, trying to catch his breath and not burst at the seams.
He'll be fine, like always, once he resigns himself to the fact his overgrown garden is slipping out of his control.
-/-
God he hates these functions.
Donned in the best clothes he owns, surrounded by Shanghai's elite of the elite is not how Jiang Cheng wants to spend his Saturday night. He politely excuses himself from a boring as fuck conversation to return to his booth, refraining from grimacing as his shoes pinch his toes. 'Annoying bastards', he grips, though not sure who the comment is more directed at.
Sighing inwardly, Jiang Cheng savors a free moment to take in the place. YP museum is lavish, as expected for the anticipated grand opening. The ceiling covered in fragments of mirrors, enhanced by massive light fixtures hanging in an unsymmetrical style, each bulb stationed at different height that when examined from far away take on the shape of waves transversing across the entire ceiling. While most of the framed artwork is set up deeper along the corridors of the museum, there's sculptures installed intermittently throughout the gallery floor. Some sculptures are those of forms posing, art imitating life, covered in different mediums. They earn the perfunctory glance, the tilt of the head, the enlightened hum.
But others are frankly...shit. There he said it! Like what the fuck does a 7 foot tall, lopsided banana need ooo'ing and aaa'ing for?
Regardless of all the "art", the main attractions are the two bracketing walls that tower near 60 feet high by 40 feet long, depicting two historically prolific locations. One painted with an ancient sect surrounded by gorgeous lakes containing boats and people bustling about as if to portray a town floating atop a river, across from another wall showcasing a grand staircase lending to a palace in the clouds, and one can barely discern the faint outline of mountains in the background. The middle wall is all windows, giving the party a view of downtown nightlife with the alighted city scape as living artwork.
It's all so breathtaking, and that is not necessarily meant as a compliment. His chest twinges uncomfortable in the crowded room full of people drinking and laughing in black tie attire, the rubbing of shoulders with the filthy rich grating on his nerves. One diamond stud in a high pitched cackling lady's ear probably costs as much as someone back home on the other side of the river could feed a family of five for a year. Just the thought makes him sick.
But he reminds himself he's here to draw sympathy and monetary support for the shelter, and so he reigns in his anger, squashing down orange lilies and plasters on as much of a pleasant expression he can manage. It's easy to endure this vulgar fest when he sneaks a glance towards the two volunteers manning their station, having to suppress the smile as A-Qing plays up her blind act, her grey eyes and sob story eaten up like a seven course meal by the sympathetic crowd listening attentively, positively touched by such a brave individual caring for such lowly creatures.
Or maybe the animals mean zilch to the trust fund ears, and they're the lowly creatures, having to come here and beg for people to care, perform this little song and dance like a fucking monkey. It's beyond humiliating and infuriating; these wealthy people, who's pocket change could transform the city and address so much need, requiring to hear a fake sob story to open their wallets has him about this close to ripping out his petunias as they vibrate in anger.
It's a perverse kink of these crowds: the rich need to be needed by the needy.
A-Qing pats the table, as if searching for the clipboard with a donation sheet, glazed expression staring out. One of the patrons frantically reaches out to help, already clicking the pen to sign on the doted line. Luo Qingyang rests a hand on A-Qing's shoulder, adding the fake sniffle here and there while oh so graciously thanking the man; a line of patrons is already beginning to form, each clamoring to sign.
A sucker is born every minute.
Jiang Cheng purses his lips in effort to not smirk, lest he give away the girls' act. He may not rely on their under-handed methods to get by, but he can appreciate a damn good ploy. And besides, these investors came here to give up money, or at least to be photographed as evidence of having attended. Might as well make themselves of use.
Jiang Cheng is so focused surveying A-Qing and Mianmian's act, politely thanking each donor and tactfully ignoring the lingering look he earns from a few housewives and even the occasional middle-aged man waiting in line, when he hears a voice that sends him a decade into the past he had run so hard from.
"J-Jiang...Cheng?"
Did he mention he hates these functions?
Notes:
just to reiterate as the medical jargon gets more....robust, please don't come after me for inaccuracies. They won't be accurate and they certainly won't be realistic, just consider 'an attempt was made' thank you!
10 year reunion, yeehaw 🤠
I took some liberties when the descriptions of more lower income, common neighborhoods combined with past travel/working abroad in a similar country.
Chapter 3
Notes:
Ya'll thank you so much for reading this story. To see it garnering such enthusiasm is so contagious and motivates me to share this work.
I've decided to cross post as well on wattpad where you can find it: here
And made an update tweet which you can like/retweet here if you want 🥺👉🏻👈🏻:here
Also surprise! I made a cover that took me 3 hrs (see below and in tweet)! NOTE: IF ITS NOT SHOWING UP BELOW BC AO3 IS ACTING UP GO TO THE TWEET!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
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He turns to the voice and finds himself face to face with his brother.
Or well he thinks it's his brother, because the man five feet from him looks nothing like the long-haired mischievous trouble maker Wei Wuxian. The man before him has his hair cut shorter, right to his ears, separated bangs curling over forehead like a heart. He's wearing an impeccable tailored black suit, accented with a black tie that has Gucci across it right in the middle, a golden bumble bee pin above his breast pocket; the damn wings on it have pearls.
"Mr. Wei," a partygoer intercepts his brother, bowing to him. "Congrats on your venture with this museum. It is truly a wonder, and the press will hail this as the social gathering of the year!" His brother belatedly returns the gesture, thanking the man albeit jerkily.
Of course of all luck, this museum would be his brother's. A higher power must be laughing at him up in the sky. And sadly tonight the gladiolus flowers are playing hide and seek beneath the soil as if they enjoy his squirming.
The man departs from his brother's side and soon that stare is back on him, one step forward before he stops in place, mostly because Jiang Cheng had stepped hastily backward and accidentally bumped into the booth. Mianmian chides him but he's too busy dealing with an aching his chest, and for once his garden cannot claim the blame.
His brother's mouth opens and closes, for once words seemingly lost to the master and commander of them, when a deep voice interrupts their stare off, "Wei Ying."
All fucking right.
The appearance of Lan Wangji is more shocking than anything else. All through out middle school and high school, the guy was stiff, boring, white on white bread, and his style could best be described as bland with a side of bland.
Now his styled mullet dyed brown plays on the nape, wire rimmed glasses framing his deadpan face, whilst the broad frame works a light blue and lilac stitched jacket with so many goddamn pockets, over black slacks. Apart from wandering what the hell is he hiding in the all those damn pockets, the jacket looks like it belongs in grandma Lan's closet but for some reason the tall tree pulls it off.
Sensing something is off yet not yet noticing his presence amongst the party, Grandmother Willow touches his still brother's arm, the barest furrow to his brow. "Wei Ying."
Said man swallows thickly, nearly looking like he's tittering on the edge of a cliff, trying to decide whether he should break into song or break down into loud wailing, fuck make up your mind Wei Wuxian. "Lan Zhan it's..."
The furrow grows deeper, and Lan Wangji turns and immediately stills as well, a look of actual alarm on usually his stoic face. And it would be so goddamn funny if Jiang Cheng wasn't internally panicking, contemplating how big of a fine shouting fire in this crowded hell hole will rack up.
"Dr. Cheng!" a musical voice whistles across the gallery.
The three of them snap their heads towards the source to find Bójué fūrén Fei waving him over to her little cluster of wealthily older widows. Oh thank fucking fuck.
Jiang Cheng turns towards the two volunteers. "I'll be right back." Without making eye contact with his brother and his partner, he then bows to the newest suc-donor. "If you would excuse me."
He nearly books it towards Countess Fei, full sprint, knees-to-the-chest-bitch, but forces himself to walk, if not for sheer desire to abstain from humiliating himself.
-/-
Wei Wuxian does not know how long he stands there, watching his brother's retreating back maneuver through the sea of bodies, his purple shirt standing out like a splotch of paint on a blank cream canvas. Not even Lan Zhan has anything to comment, too stunned speechless, more so than his usual nonverbal manner by this surprise.
They must stand there still as a sculpture for a few minutes before an airy voice calls, "A-Xian."
A small presence slides in front of him, the warmth of his sister's smiling face greeting him as she touches his arm. Oh Jie-jie. "This is wonderful. You've truly out done yourself." Her husband, in his garish yellow embroidered jacket, is beaming as well. "Congrats Nèidì," he offers sincerely, the years of childish feuding faded long ago.
Wei Wuxian thinks he's smiling, but it feels stiff and all wrong. And it must be because the smile fades off A-li's face, replaced with a flicker of concern. "A-Xian, what's troubles you?"
A tall sturdy presence appears at their side, his brother-in-law Lan Xichen touching his little brother's shoulder. "Wangji?"
The younger Lan brother looks at his brother than at his husband and just goes back and forth. The shaken dispositions even have Jin Zixuan leaning closer to his wife's ear. "Should I get them something?"
A-Li shakes her head uncertainly, not quiet knowing what to do about her shidi's muteness.
Just then more familiar faces amble up to them. "Xian-Xian! Sick party!" Good old Xue Yang crashing into the tense little bubble like a bull in a china shop.
Xiao Xingchen sports a gentle smile on his face. "It's truly breathtaking A-Xian, you went above and beyond. And you're helping raising money for so many organizations."
Song Lan behind his two partners dips his head, a look of pride on his face.
"Sorry, we're late," Jin Guangyao apologizes, coming out from behind the taller friends, Nie Huaisang trailing nonchalantly after him. "Da-ge wasn't feel well today. He said he'd try to make it but if he can't, he sends his heartfelt congratulations. I'll make sure to take plenty of pictures for him to see."
The new company then takes notice of the wariness and shock of their friends, and become ill at ease.
Nie Huaisang slide up to Wei Wuxian, jostling him gently. "Are you so struck by the turn out? I mean we all knew it'd be a hit!" He waves his fan out towards the crowds as if to emphasize the success. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji follow the motion, gazing out towards the crowd, dazed as they stare at one particular person.
"What's got you looking like you saw a ghost?" Xue Yang jokes. He follows his friends' gazes and his smirk drops instantly. "Holy shit."
The rest of the company turn in said direction and find themselves in the same state breathlessness.
Across the gallery, amongst a sea of faces is Jiang Cheng.
He's here, in the flesh, conversing with Bójué fūrén Fei and her esteemed party, hands stuffed into the pockets of his black slacks. His mouth moves as he shares something that has the group and even a few passerby's entranced. Going by his facial expression he doesn't look to be gloating, or even particularly enjoying the evening's festivities, but whatever he says has a few of the widows giggling behind their palm like school children. Countess Fei has not let go of his arm this whole time, wrinkled mouth twitching like the cat that caught the canary.
Jin Yangli sucks in a shaky breath, "A-Cheng." Sensing the swell of emotions, her husband touches her shoulder gently, and she has to grasp onto it to not burst into tears in public.
At once, Wei Wuxian snaps out of his stupor and suddenly veers around his friends and family, hauling ass over to the booth his brother was standing by previously, nearly stumbling in his haste. Soon his husband, sister and friend group follow him confused, although still they glance occasionally back to ensure Jiang Cheng is still there and it's not all an allusion.
The previous line that had been swarming the table has dispersed, previous patrons having wandered off to explore other booths. The two girls perk up, one delayed given the taller girl has to whisper into her ear that someone else is coming.
"Good evening sir," the taller girl greets cheerily, quite adorable with the buns in her hair. "Would you like to donate to the City Animal Shelter and Pound? Every dollar will help a poor defenseless animal." The small girl alight, clutching a clipboard in her hands as her unseeing grey eyes stare off past them.
Wei Wuxian grimaces. "Uh, not right now. I actually have a question."
The girl with a clip board immediately sags, tossing the board perfectly on the table. "Lame," she huffs, crossing her arms. The thing is that she is now looking directly at them, flicking back and forth between the group of faces. Most have their suspicions but don't have the audacity to voice them.
Except one.
Narrowing his eyes, Xue Yang leans forward. "You know, I overheard a couple of old farts bragging about donating to a charity with a blind girl. You don't look very blind."
"A-Yang," Xiao Xingchen chastises his boyfriends, lightly swatting his arm, though not denying he was considering the same thing. Going by Song Lang's raised brow, he might be sharing the same train of thought as his partners.
But the girl doesn't seem to take to offense, a smirk appearing on her small face. "That's cause I'm not. These...," she waves her fingers in front of her eyes. "...are all natural."
The group are taken aback by her blatant honestly. "Lying is wrong," Lan Wangji condemns, a stern frown on his face, ever morally upright. It only earns his husband a snort of derision.
"Well good thing I don't lie." She places a hand on her chest, smirking. "Cause I never said I was blind. I can't help it though if people make assumptions, since most here seem to use their bank accounts more than their heads." Not even the Second Jade of Lan can argue against that, though he might as well have eaten a lemon going by his face. His brother Lan Xichen however makes a considering noise.
"Some scheme you got kid," Xue Yang remarks, clearly impressed.
"And not very truthful," Jin Guangyao cordially states, thought quite admiring of her tenacity.
She smiles, facetiously. "It's not like they were gonna use the money for anything other than to pamper their rich asses off, so why not put it towards something worthwhile? But go ahead, announce it to the room, it's not like you can prove it." Her demeanor shifts as she visibly swallows, chin beginning to quiver, "And all you will be doing is harassing a poor blind girl, who-who was j-j-just trying to save the animals," her voice crumbling towards the end, her face scrunching as if about to cry, a hand coming up to cover her mouth. Princess Peach pats her back, disheartened expression as well, drawing a few curious looks from the other patrons.
"She's good," Song Lang comments into Xue Yang's ear, earning a bemused huff from Xiao Xingchen.
"Frankly, I don't care about that," Wei Wuxian waves it off. "I just want to know about the man in the purple shirt."
Little blind drops her hand, glaring steely at him and then at all of them. "Why? Are you guys trying to get him to join your underground sex cult? Is that rich people are into these days? Cause I can save you the trouble. He's. Not. Interested." Even Pinky narrows her eyes as if to appear threatening, while the adults gape.
Wei Wuxian sputters. "What? No! That's not- listen I just want to know more about him," his begs.
"Well, what's in it for us?" scammer shorty inquires, and it reminds him so much of himself in his childhood. Sigh, Karma.
"What if I make a donation?" Wei Wuxian offers, anxious to learn anything and everything about his brother who has been missing for a decade and is RIGHT OVER THERE!
The smaller guy shares an unreadable look with the taller girl, before she narrows her eyes at him. "Depends. How much will you donate?"
"Five hundred?"
Both girls' expressions read 'really?', and the flick of their eyes to the clipboard where donors have jotted down their sizable pledges, each with more than 3 or 4 zeros to em.
Pinky tries to let him down gently. "Sir, selling personal information is not really our thing-"
"Ten thousand," Wei Wuxian throws out without blinking and immediately both girls perk up.
"His name is Dr. Cheng and he's the resident Vet at the shelter," pink princess offers easily. "He's 28, single as far as we know, and loves dogs. He's also pretty grumpy but not like in a scary mean way, but more he's just an angry grape sometimes. The long work hours will do that to ya." She then holds out the clipboard to him and he takes it, jotting down his contribution.
"He's hates coming to these things, but we make him go," the scammer adds, quite deviously. "Because, if you can't tell, he's much pretty eye candy and gets lots of donations pouring into the shelter, even with his prickly attitude. Seriously by the end of the night we usually have to rescue him from all the old widows or bored housewives who want a piece of him. Once I had to pretend like I was possessed to scare off this old as balls sugar daddy type who was stalking him all night." She makes a face of disgust. "Did you know there's a lot of pervs in your circles?"
Arms behind her back, Pink Princess nods with an innocent look, like they are talking about the weather.
Everyone just blinks, because what the fuck? Wei Wuxian just shakes his head, saving that concerning information to revisit at a later occasion "How long has he been working at the shelter?"
Both girls clam up again and pretend to think, their acts not very convincing with the off-key hums even as their fingers tap on chins. God it's like looking at a mini me's. This time it's Yanli who steps forward, hands braced on the table. "20,000." Jin Zixuan behind her doesn't even try to dissuade his wife from doing so, too engrossed with this conversation as he signs for the donation.
"He's been working there for at least two years, but that's when I joined the shelter. MianMian has worked there longer."
Tall pink princess, MianMian reveals, "I've been here five years but he was there before me, so probably earlier than that. Everyone in the neighborhood knows him."
"How-"
"How-"
Both Jiang siblings pause, having eagerly spoken at the same time. A strained smile shared between them, amongst the hurt and relief.
It's Nie Huasiang who asks, tone unreadable, "How long has he been in Shanghai?" Before the girls can pull a fast one again, he scribbles an amount, and then points his fan at them. "55,000."
The girls blink, shocked at the amount. However they recover but genuinely seem to have to consider the question. MianMian shrugs, but little scammer twists her mouth. "One night, when we were locking up, I was very curious-"
"A-Qing means she was being annoying," MianMian helpless inserts.
Blind scheme master, A-Qing rolls her eyes, fallping at lazy hand at the older girl. "Po-tae-to, Po-ta-to. Anyways, I was asking Dr. Cheng about why he chose to work here of all places. He mentioned he came to this city to study and used to volunteer here and hasn't left since," she shrugs. "So maybe, like, I don't know ten years, give or take."
There's a collective stiffening of frames in the group. Jesus. he was right here? This whole time?
"You said you thought he was single? What about family?" his jie-jie questions, her voice fragile.
At this A-Qing occupies herself with the pamphlets, maybe uncomfortable with the topic while MianMian's expression schools serious, some might even wager somber. Her voice falls softer, everyone having to lean in closer to hear. "I don't think he has any, I mean lot of us don't. Or least he never talks about it, and we just learned not to ask."
The heavy silence speaks for itself.
"Pardon me," An older gentleman brushes by them, escorting his wife to the table as the group steps back politely.
Immediately the two girls straighten up at potential donors. "Good evening sir and madam. Would you like to to donate to the City Animal Shelter and Pound? Every dollar will help a poor defenseless animal" Mianmian recites.
"We have a sign up sheet," A-Qing transforms into her character, patting the table like she's trying to feel for the clipboard. The wife makes a pitying noise while the husband quickly assists in retrieving the sheet, handing to her as she points to a space where one should sign, but of course off center and not directly on a blank space.
"Oh honey, I do love animals," the wife laments, nudging her husband to sign away his dry cleaning expense for the night.
As the couple becomes engrossed in the task and MianMian's plays up her distraction, A-Qing meets the eyes of their group still watching and winks, the smallest smirk on her face.
Huffing amused, Wei Wuxian wanders away, taking his hushed friends and family along with him. They stop in an open space, all staring at Jiang Cheng across the room, standing out and in the crowd.
-/-
Nodding occasionally while the older ladies prattle on, pretending to be engrossed in the gossip about whose pool boy might be shagging whose husband, Jiang Cheng sneaks a peak back towards where his brother and partner were and- Oh sweet release of death, end me now!
There's a cluster around his brother speaking with A-Qing and MianMian at the booth. Though facing away from him, the outline of figures is all too familiar; ones that appear in his dreams off and on through the years, just as far away as they are now, shadows he watches walk away, never willing his feet to chase after them. Not anymore.
He really should've expected this in all honesty. Beijing is known for the old money, while Shanghai is for the new money; the gentrified home of the young trust fund babies. He should've known this day would come, after all it was crowd from wince he came from.
Christmas roses flail wildly in the storm, and he looks up at the shimmery ceiling. 'Hey, whoever is up there! You've tried to end me a few times, and if you're still into that, now would be the perfect time to do so! I'm giving you a free pass, have at it!'
All he gets is silence in return. Damn it.
"Dr. Cheng," a voice edging on sultry, teetering on tipsy, draws his regard back to the group of vultures. He loathes them as much as he loves them, the gossipy wenches who have dirt on everyone in the high rises of Shanghai. If anything, they're a good entertainment to pass the time at these boring ass events. "Why don't we ever see you around town? It's always such a pleasure to be in your company."
An arm rests across her stomach, her hand balancing the elbow of the other arm while clutching the wine glass beside her mouth, never too far away. Her hair is dyed as black as motor oil, as if to hide her age and the floor length velvet gown hugs her, her face is smooth, pulled tight by plastic surgery, he'd bet his pitiful salary on it. She eyes him like a piece of steak, the flavor of the week probably.
"I tend to not frequent this part of town Madam Meng, especially when I work on the other side of the river."
Ms. Kong, a sweeter woman plays absently with her necklace, pink sea pearls that bring out the golden hues of her still supple skin, despite the faint wrinkle here and there. "Surely with a bit investment, we could help you set up a practice here? I speak for all us when I say I'm sure you'd find plenty of business."
He simpers, suppressing a snort he wants to give. Yeah he can guess they'd be eager to swan dive into his business alright, which a no-thank-you. "Madam Kong, your offer is kind, but I'm afraid it'd be too hectic to spilt my time between the two areas. I'm content where I'm at," politely declining.
"Oh but Dr. Cheng, surely our presence could lighten up your day, relieve your stress," Madman Meng purrs, emphasis on the relief. Lady calm thy horny self.
"Well seeing you all is a rare treat. As the saying, absence makes the heart grow fonder," he sidesteps smoothly. Despite reciting the cheesy as fuck line with a deadpan expression, the older women sigh with hands to their hearts, gobbling that shit up like a seven course dinner.
With the cougars fanning themselves, he decidedly peeks back over towards their donation booth to- Shoot! They're looking over here! Quick pretend you're a statue!
He stays still, eyes low, holding his breath, refusing to move an inch. The time has come to kick that piece of shit floppy banana off the display and place him on it!
"Dr. Cheng, are you alright?" Madam Wu inquires, the old bats watching him attentively, ready to drop their purses at a moment's notice.
Fuck, the jig is up. He breathes out and forces himself to make up an excuse. "Yes, I was just admiring...uh...the floor?" It comes out as more of a question, but the ladies glance down in sync and immediately become entranced.
"Ooo is that crema marfil marble?" Ms. Kong comments, appreciative that no expense has been spared, even on the floors scuffed by dizzying high-heels and handmade Italian leather loafers.
"Looks like Maravilla," Lady Meng tosses out before sipping from her champagne. He can't tell if she's bored or impressed, her face unmoving.
"Polished Sienna Azul," Bójué fūrén Fei bolsters the idea, readjusting the grip she has on his arm. She's one of the few he doesn't mind pawing at him given she's more about pursuits of business than pleasure.
But honestly he'd roll his eyes if he wasn't being watched and drooled over. The rich occupying themselves with conversations about the floor? Talking for the sake of talking.
However he's stuck with the affluent Golden Girls because the only other options are a) talking with rich people he doesn't know or b) wandering back to the booth where rich people he does unfortunately know are staring him like the most enticing item up for auction.
Wandering away from this empty conversation isn't an option, over his practically dying body.
But he knows something is bound to give, there's only so many rich people that can be used as fodder to distract his brother from approaching. He can't hide forever behind butterfly weeds he's surrounding himself with like a flimsy protection.
"Dr. Cheng," Bójué fūrén Fei interrupts his internal freakout. "Would you mind accompanying me through the exhibit? I have a proposition to discuss with you."
God bless this opportunistic widow, he'd give her a big ol' smooch if he wasn't so perturbed by the very thought. "Of course Madam Fei. Ladies if you would excuse us," he leads the Countess away from their others before they can protest, listening half-heartedly to Bójué fūrén's proposal while they trail after a few guests into the museum, nodding absentmindedly.
At the moment, he would agree to anything to get away from the ghosts who have come back to haunt him.
-/-
Wei Wuxian's eyes follow his brother as he escorts Bójué fūrén Fei into exhibit, his footsteps about to follow with restless company when a body physically intercedes the hot pursuit.
"Master Wei," Mr. Ma, a big donor towards fine arts and entertainment, jovially greets. He holds out a champagne class to him in his white gloved hand. "The guests are eagerly awaiting your speech to commence the night."
He wants to politely decline, maybe through in a curse word while he's at it because can't everyone see their world has just crumbled to plaster dust?! But once gain, he's constrained by duties and obligations.
He accepts the glass and allow Mr. Ma to direct him to the set up glittering stairs that he ascends with slow steps, attempting to mask the shakiness of a newborn deer.
His family and friends having taken their respective places near the bottom of the stairs. Mr. Ma removes the Montblanc fountain pen from his breast pocket, tapping it against his champagne glass. The noise captures the attention of those nearest, noticing the guest of honor is going to speak.
As the crowded room gradually hushes, he meets his husband's stare, trying to gather strength from Lan Zahn's steadfast presence that's kept him upright the past decade.
He straightens his shoulders, realigning his frame, painting on a charming grin. "Ladies and gentlemen, I want to formerly welcome you to one of the biggest ventures from the Jiang Corporation; particularly a personal venture of mine, The Yiling Patriarch Museum of Art."
He pauses for the clapping, taking a moment to swallow down the nerves.
"Tonight is more than just a night to come together and celebrate the most up and coming artistic talent of Shanghai. Tonight is also a night to give back. As many of you noticed, we have nonprofits here that center around important causes." One cause that would be the end of all causes. "These organizations serve the lower income of the city in the fields of health, housing, education, and recreational. I want to thank each and every one of you for attending the grand opening, and thank personally for all those who donated so far. As the CFO of the Jiang Corporation, I am happy to announce that we will matching all donations tonight."
The crowd gasps and merrily claps, and he's unsure if it's because of their company's generosity or the blatant display of their wealth.
"I..I also want to thank my family and friends who have supported me in this new venture. To my parents, who will show up fashionably late," there's a smattering of laughter. "To my jie-jie, my brother-in-laws, and my dearest and oldest friends. And especially my husband. Lǎo gōng, thank you," his voice shakes and he bows, the waiver nearly has Lan Zhan moving to ascend the stairs but his brother-in-law thankfully stalls him.
The applause is louder this time, and it's at this very moment, he feels the absence of his brother so much more than ever before, despite Jiang Cheng being the closest he's been in a decade. It should be Jiang Cheng giving a speech, and Wei Wuxian the one looking on with pride.
"There are many things I could toast tonight." His eyes drift down to the glass in his hand, peering subtly towards the hallway his brother disappeared down to. "But perhaps I toast to the hope this will mark the beginning of new chapter in our lives."
"To new beginnings!" A boisterous voice cheers, the wealthy crowd repeats, drinking to the night and themselves.
His own friends and family lift their glasses to the sentiments, but going by their strained smiles, they are the few sharing in the sensation of drowning.
-/-
A buzzing sound signals the time is up on this late Saturday night.
A middle-aged man pulls out hot, freshly laundered clothing, slamming the metal lid closed with a clunk before dropping the messy pile atop. He grabs a t-shirt at random and begins folding it, placing it on the already neat stack on the unused machine beside him. He repeats the mundane process as giggling reaches his ears.
The man glances down the aisle, where his four-year old daughter sits on a rumbling of the dryer, laughing as her body shakes. His nine-year son leans against the opposite still machine, immersed with his second-hand gameboy. The father is at least thankful they can entertain themselves when he has to drag them down here with him, unable to leave the kids at home alone since his wife passed last year.
A few aisles over, two teenage girls, sisters going by their similar features, sort their whites from their colors. Occasionally they trade whispers and smiles while their eyes stray to a regular sitting in front of a running washing machine, the handsome man leafing through a paperback.
Jiang Cheng is unaware of the shy looks he garners, shuffling in the stiff plastic seating bolted to the floor, his fingers brushing back a stray piece of hair that's fallen out of his bun behind his ear. He balances his beloved magna on his jean clad knee, converse resting on the edge of his seat while his other leg swings lazily, toe of his shoe dragging against the flooring of the laundromat, the mismatched tile a far cry from the "cream" and "marvelous" marble of the upscale art museum.
As soon as Bójué fūrén Fei was distracted by a fellow patron, he had booked it out of there like he had stolen the Mona Lisa right off the wall. He even coughed up the fair for an expensive cab back to his apartment, too fidgety to sob at the price. He just needed to get as far away from the past, so desperate for distance to ease begonias clogging his throat. Once retreating in the safety of his apartment, he knew sleep would evade him tonight, and thus the dirty pile of laundry accumulating in his broken plastic hamper provided a distraction.
While the washing machine in front of him spins, water sloshing against the tempered glass window, he chews at his thumb, reading through his copy of 'Hanahaki Otome'. The copy is worn, wrinkled and battered, pages dog-eared and highlighted. He's rereading the section where the main character is given the slim options regarding her Hanahaki diagnosis: to remove all pain and feelings, or to die by the thorn. Her eyes tear-up as she looks at the doctor, clutching at her chest. To forget the one she loves, even if they don't return the sentiment seems to be more unimaginable to her. She declines surgical intervention, willing to die in obscurity than continuing to live not remembering her unrequited love.
He sighs, closing his book and letting his foot slide off the chair onto the floor with a thump. Despite the garden of unrequited love that has plagued his life since he was young, he thinks if given the same option, he'd choose to keep the painful reminder too, squeeze the throned stems with little remorse no matter how much blood drips down his hand.
He and the character both cannot bear parting with their flowers, testaments of how deeply they love those who hurt them.
-/-
Wandering into the oncology department of the Nightless City Medical branch Sunday afternoon, ignoring the godawful obsession with red, he finds it's more sparse of bodies occupying the waiting room and manning the front desk. The young nurse checks him in easily, entering his insurance information, and the cheap out of pocket pay doesn't even make him flinch. After he's brought back to a room designated for infusion therapy, or at least that's what the plaque on the wall outside the door reads.
"Dr. Wen will be with your momentarily," she adds, before leaving him to stand there awaiting, leaning against the wall with nothing better to do.
It's once he's alone that he hears a high-pitch annoying af giggle. He scans the hall and find the source at the nurse's station. A doctor donned in a wrinkled white coat leans his elbow on the counter, blatantly flirting with the head nurse he remembers from last time, Nurse Wang. Now a few things to note beside her high-pitch hyena laugh that scrapes the ears like a cheese grater and smug expression on the doctor's face that makes him look like a cartoon villain is their hands; he has a wedding ring on, and she does not.
'Paging Dr. Wen Chao. Dr. Wen Chao to pediatrics,' comes over the intercom, no one moving to answer the call. Glancing at the cocky doctor's hip where his hand rests, his blinking black pager in plain sight offers an inkling of which absent doctor is being paged. And apparently said doctor is too busy playing footsies with the head nurse to treat some sick kids; the two might as well be practically rolling in sickly yellow roses as they purr and paw at one another in public.
Annoyed, Jiang Cheng lifts his fist and coughs boorishly, the noise startling the two apart. As they look over to him, they meet the unimpressed lift of his brow, dedicated solely to the two lovebirds.
What? He's sick. Cough cough motherfuckers.
Both parties instantly straighten up, embarrassed at being caught, let alone by a new patient. Nurse Wang averts her eyes down and starting shuffling around some files on the counter, while Dr. Chao gives a forced chuckle, saying goodbye to his mistress before fleeing from the scene.
Dr. Wen Chao. Prick.
Not wanting to stumble upon another gag-worthy scene this place might offer, he turns and occupies himself with examining the infusion room he'll become familiar with.
The room is spacious, housing around 16 lounge chairs in the same saddle tan leather, each separated by a flimsy curtain about as tall as the chair itself along with an infusion pump. Currently about half are sporadically occupied. Most occupants look asleep or at least preoccupied by reading material or listening to music through headphones that still sport wires. One occupant however perks up upon recognition, removing their headphones and waving him over.
Jiang Cheng strolls over to Ms. He, her matured beauty alight with joy at his presence. "Well if this isn't a treat. To what do I owe this surprise visit, Dr. Cheng?" Jiang Cheng bends down beside her chair, taking her outstretched hand. Ms. He was one of the first he met when he ran away to Shanghai, her and her sister offering him a home cooked meal when he was surviving by the skin of his teeth while attending school and working three jobs.
"This is as much as a surprise for me as it is you, Furen He." Though over 70, the years have been kind to her outer looks. One however can't say the same to the inside, prone to aches and pains.
She tilts her head, a pinch between her ashy brows. "My sister didn't put you up to this? I wouldn't be surprised given she knows how much I detest hospitals."
He snorts but shakes his head, thumbing against the back of her hand, speckled with a few liver spots. "No mam."
"Well whatever brought you here needs to be short and sweet, or less I need to put a word with the staff. A hospital is no place for such a fine young, strapping man like yourself," she wags her finger, determination etched into her face.
Oddly touched, Jiang Cheng smiles, albeit regrettably. "Unfortunately this visit marks the first of many, neither short nor sweet." Her expression falters while he does his best to smile. "But hey, at least you'll have company."
The purple hyacinth she offers with a look of devastation is fodder for his sweet sorrowful garden. Perhaps he can trade her a bouquet of anemone that have regrown for a third time.
"Oh Wanyin," she laments, gripping his hand.
He lifts her hand, kissing the back of it gently. "Don't worry. I'm a veteran at this," he assures her, as she clasps her hand on his.
"Meimei," the soft voice of Ms. Hú, the older sister of Ms. He, breaks the silence when she strolls towards the station. "Oh my, Cheng Wanyin?"
He stands, letting go of Furen He's hand to bow to her sister. "Furen Hu."
She waves off the formality. "Oh none of that, come here," she beckons him forth and he embraces her, having to bend down for her smaller stature. When he pulls back, she cups his face, examining him with a tisk. "Such a handsome face but those cheekbones are too prominent for my liking. We need to fatten you up."
He snorts while Madam He pulls at the hem of her sisters' knit sweater. "Jiejie, he's sick too."
She frowns down at her sister before looks backs at him as if to dissuade such notion, but all he can do is helplessly shrugs, dipping his head still cradled in her hands. "Oh you sweet boy," she sighs wistfully. "Haven't you been through enough?" she asks aloud, more so to fate than to him. Dismally, he's learned there's no rest for the weary.
"Dr. Cheng," a warm vibrato calls to him from the doorway, Dr. Wen Zhuliu entering in the infusion room, donned in his neatly pressed white coat. Madam Hu pinches his cheek before letting go and he bows to both of them, meeting the doctor half way.
"Dr. Wen," he greets.
"Thank you for coming in. I apologize to delay your treatment. If you would please follow me," he motions, already making his way back out into the hallway.
Jiang Cheng blinks and follows, tossing a wave over his shoulders at the two sisters who watch him go. Dr. Wen strolls down the hallway, leading him to a more secluded corridor. "Um, Dr. Wen. I thought you said we would start treatment this afternoon?"
"Yes that's the plan, Dr. Cheng," still continuing down the corridor.
Uncertain, he pushes again. "But Dr. Wen, doesn't that usually take place in the infusion therapy room?"
Dr. Wen stops in front of a room, the door already open. "Usually that's correct. However from one professional to another, I thought you might prefer to have a bit of privacy." Taken aback, Jiang Cheng glances inside to see the room houses his own little station: leather lounge seat, infusion pump, and a freshly made hospital bed. "I apologize if I assumed incorrectly?"
Jiang Cheng shakes his head. "No, it's great. Thank you. That's very considerate." He bows and proceeds to make his way inside, the physician trailing after him.
Jiang Cheng glances between the two reclining options, turning to the older man. "Where should I sit?"
"The infusion process takes an hour or so most. Whichever you find more comfortable."
Given the short time, Jiang Cheng opts for the leather seat, situating himself back, arms laid upon the arm rest. Dr. Wen heads to the sink, washing his hands thoroughly. "Do you have any questions before we begin?" he asks, drying his hands and pulling on latex gloves.
"Um, does it hurt?" He realizes how dumb the question sounds and corrects himself. "I mean more along the lines of the residual affects of the infusion."
"Depends upon the case, but usually most patients experience little to no symptoms," he rolls over a tray with needle, tubing, and rubber band as well as a vial that looks clear as water. "Unlike chemotherapy, this infusion process does not cause hair loss, vomiting, nor weight loss."
"Sounds like a miracle," he jokes lightly, letting the doctor wrap the rubber band underneath his bicep and tie it tightly in a knot. He thanks his luckily stars he remembered to wear a short sleeved t-shirt today.
"Yes, the Board of Medicine thinks so too," Dr. Wen comments, attaching one end of the tubing to the infusion pump and the other to the IV needle. He grabs a small packet, tearing it open and removing a small soaked square, rubbing it across the area where his vein is, Jiang Cheng shivering at the cold touch.
Dr. Wen notices. "My apologies, I should've mentioned it was cold. I'll make sure to get you a blanket."
"It's alright," he dismisses the concern.
The pyshician grabs the vial of clear liquid, placing it delicately into the infusion machine and clicking it on. He presses a few buttons before he focuses on his arm, placing the tip of the needle against his skin. "This will sting a bit," he warns.
Jiang Cheng breathes out, forcing himself to relax. Previously experience has taught him tensing will just lead to more pain. Dr. Wen inserts the needle, the sting minor until it eventually fades. He leans back in his seat, trying not to jostle the needle, wanting to avoid that sickly feeling he gets when it moves the nerve.
"Alright, Dr. Cheng?" Dr. Wen checks, grabbing a clear bandage off the tray at his nod. The physician places the bandage over the insertion point, pressing the edges on his skin. He then taps a few buttons as the machine then whirls and a clear liquid flows through the tubing and into him. It feels weird at first, a little cool, but overall nothing new.
Dr. Wen cleans up the tray, discard the waste in the trashcan and removing his clothes. He then goes to the closet near an in-suite bathroom, opening the door and removing a soft, burgundy blanket. He comes over and offers the item to him. "May I?"
Jiang Cheng nods and the doctor kindly lays the blanket over his lap, allowing the patient to be the one to situate it as he sees fit.
"Thank you," he says quietly, glancing up to the physician.
"Now if you need anything or experience discomfort, there's call button on infusion machine. I'll come by to check on you part-way through." Dr. Wen explains. "Is there anything I can get you?"
Jiang Cheng shakes his head, his pony tail brushing against the leather. "No, I'm alright."
Dr. Wen dips his head, departing from the room with a soft click of the door. Alone now, Jiang Cheng sighs and tries to make himself comfortable, reaching on the side of his chair, emitting a noise of surprise when he finds a lever to lift his feet up. Now reclined, he decides to spend his time trying to get some rest that escaped him the previous night.
Turning his head to the side, he blinks sleepily at the infusion machine, realizing with a soft curse in his fading consciousness that the vial now contains a smokey cloud substance floating lazily in the clear liquid.
It's fucking red.
-/-
Mondays are the devil's ass, something he doesn't look forward to, and whoever does is a sick fuck. But this Monday in particular, he can attest, is particularly dreaded.
After running head first into his past, he's anxiously awaiting for it to coming bursting through the doors of the animal shelter, siblings and old friends demanding explanations, ones he doesn't feel ready to answer or confront. The only thing he's got going for him today is that waking up this morning he found he felt surprisingly good. No nausea, no aches, no fatigue.
Apart from the feel good feelings, he's so consumed by hypervigilance the whole morning, peering often towards the entrance, that a tiny nuisance of a helper easily picks up on it. A-Qing wears a too innocent look when she mentions out of the blue people were asking about him at the museum opening.
He narrows his eyes, halting his pen where he'd been signing off on paperwork. "Who?"
"People. The fancy kind," she wiggles her eyebrows.
"And what did they want?" though his face is deadpan, inside he's too anxious, about ready to pluck Borage from his chest and chew on it.
She pretends to examine her nails. "Nothing."
He clicks his tongue. "Must be, for surely the two volunteers last night couldn't have done something to earn nearly 5 times the usual in donations." He then leans closer, lowering his tone. "And I'm not talking about your blind act."
Wide-eyed, A-Qing suddenly rises from her rolling chair behind the counter, hand cupped to her ear. "Oh! I think I hear one of the animals howling. Must be hungry. Gotta go check!," she books it out of the lobby as he rolls his eyes, shaking his head.
Of course the minute the front desk is unmanned the phone rings. Sigh, must he do every job around here?
He picks up the phone, situation it between his chin and his shoulder while he leaves through the documents he was signing. "City Animal Shelter and Pound, Dr. Cheng speaking. How may I help you?"
There's a pause before a tentative, "A-Cheng?"
He freezes at the sweet lithe of his sister's voice that steals his own. He grabs the phone, squeezing the bakelite plastic handle, before he whispers, "A-Li?"
She makes a happy hum as if she's smiling, and gosh he can imagine it as clear as day. "Oh A-Cheng. It's...it's so good to hear your voice." There's a moment when he thinks someone thickly swallows, and he cannot distinguish if it's him or her. "It's been too long."
He blinks rapidly, as if to will his eyes dry. Ten years aren't enough to wear upon the pink carnations so lovingly planted nearest to his heart. "Yeah," he manages to choke out, coughing afterwards to clear his voice. "It has."
"And you're a vet too!" she praises, before giggling lightly. "I should've guessed given how much you adored the pups when we were kids."
"Princess, Jasmine, and Love," he recites by heart, missing them with a dated ache.
She sighs with amusement, as his jiejie always did when he managed to do something endearing. "I saw you at the A-Xian's museum opening," she begins hesitantly. "You looked well."
He gnaws at his lip, a smidgen ashamed to have fled like a dog with it's tail tucked between his legs. "I...I couldn't stay long-"
"Oh no, no. I understand A-Cheng," she hastily soothes, falling quiet. In the background, he can now pick up the sounds of clattering, as in the kitchen of a busy restaurant. "I think running into each other was a bit of shock for all of us."
He swallows around the lump in his throat. "Yeah, it was."
"Well now that we are both in the same city, I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to catch up," she adds hopefully.
He hums, neither confirming or denying. It's all he can manage.
"Anyways, I'm sorry to have interrupted you're lunch hour. I'll let you- " she stalls, someone speaking with her, but it's too faint to make out who. "Oh. Um, perhaps sometime soon we can all get together for a nice dinner. It's not just me wanting to see you again," she teases delicately.
He winces. That's the problem, isn't it?
"We'll see," he side-steps, glancing at the clock. "I've gotta go prepare for a few patients this afternoon jiejie."
"Oh yes, of course. Um...take care A-Cheng. Hope speak to you again soon," lingering on the line before she hangs up.
He sets down the phone back on the receiver and lets out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He spares a thought to feel thankful the waiting room is empty before laying his head down on the counter. 'In and out', he wills his lungs. 'In and out'.
For all you can run, when the past comes calling, you best be prepared to answer. Ready or not.
-/-
Standing in the wing of a crowded auditorium on Wednesday afternoon, Jiang Cheng contemplates if he regrets that he's lived this long.
Why you may ask?
Remember how he had been so grateful to a certain wealthy widow's offer during a certain museum opening to avoid a certain group of people? Recall how he had nodded and practically would have agreed to anything just to get away from his estranged friends and family?
Well fuck him because he apparently mindlessly agreed to Bójué fūrén Fei's proposal of being a guest speaker for a weekly lecture series at the Fudan University, one of the most prestigious and selective colleges in all of China. The Countess herself is a member of the Board of Trustees for the University, and has a few buildings sporting her late husband's surname for their generous contributions to the school.
And now he and a few other select professionals are about to entertain a bunch of rich, opportunist students who've never had to even consider how to pay for college let alone know where the financial aid office is. Sure most students made it here by merit, they're smart not dumb, but most also had every chance to ensure their spot here: private tutoring, extra curricular activities, elite clubs, personal meetings with the university's selection committee, business dinners with wealthy members of society, anything to enhance their chances.
Contrary to the crowd at the community college, Fudan University students have been handed everything on a silver platter.
Now obligated to lecture to them, he might as well strip and lay on the platter, stuff an apple in his mouth while he's at it.
He stuffs his hands in his dress slacks, peering over to a couple of professionals huddled together with clear camaraderie, alumni catching up on their advantageous pursuits.
Oh what's that Zhang Xiuying? You've married a trophy husband, vacationed in Thailand from the fortune you've made off the labor of lower tier workers, and now bought out the burrows to kick out the homeless camped there? Ha ha ha your accomplishments know no bounds, you Queen!
If there's one thing he's gonna tell the kids, it's this: Eat the rich.
His plans to overthrow capitalism and incite the awaiting youth into leading the rebellion come to screeching halt when he hears a gentle sound.
"Wanyin?"
His chest flutters, his throat clamps tight and his eyes sting as if reliving memories long forgotten, buried beneath entanglements of wormwood. That's the funny thing about pain, the mind can try it's best to forget the scars but the body keeps the score.
He peers over his shoulder to see a surprised Lan Xichen gliding over to him with the poise and elegance he's carried since their school days. If time has been kind to the likes of Madam He, then he can predicate by this impromptu reunion that time will absolutely trip over itself to cater to the First Jade of Lan.
The older man's dark hair is combed neatly immaculate, pushed back to display his smooth complexion, crinkled eyes and a pleasant lift of his lips. He's taller now, broad whilst still being graceful. The pale blue suit jacket complements his skin tone, while simultaneously judging Jiang Cheng's meager threads from about 4 zeroes distance between them. His garden suddenly shrinks, very shy in the presence of this man.
"Is it really you?" the Gusu Lan heir asks, a hopeful smile on his face.
"Xichen," he greets, reciprocating the familiarity whilst bowing.
"Wow. I-I heard there was a veterinarian attending that went by the name similar to your own but wasn't sure if it was you. It's really good to see you Wanyin," Lan Xichen says, tone emphasizing he genuinely means it.
"It's good to see you as well," Jiang Cheng replies, voice subdued.
"How have you been?" the other asks politely.
"Fine, or I was at least until I remembered I agreed to be here. I'm guessing if you're here, Bojué fūrén Fei roped you into this as well?"
Despite Jiang Cheng's misgivings, Lan Xichens seems happy with the arrangement. "Gusu Lan is regularly invited to lecture each school term since we established offices in Shanghai a few years ago. Though Uncle tries as of recently to persuade me to send someone else in my place, I still enjoy being the one to come speak," he explains.
"Ah, well the shelter tends to fly under the radar, but the Countess knows how to play the long game. Hopefully I bomb this one bad enough that she never invites me again."
Lan Xichen chuckles. "I have no doubt you will do fine. In fact, I find myself in a similar position to the students, eager to hear from a profession I am not very knowledgable of, especially one that means a great deal to the lecturer."
"Even if you're able to recall my difficulties with schmoozing people?" Jiang Cheng nearly scoffs in disbelief.
"Absolutely," the Gusu Lan heir says confidently.
"Well with this crowd all bets are off," Jiang Cheng remarks, crossing his arms over his chest, glancing nonchalantly towards the audience, too rattled by the unflinching attention from the older man.
His younger self would have swooned at being spared the time of day by the First Jade of Lan. But a decade has passed, and he's no longer a shy high schooler with a little crush anymore; the hallow feeling in his chest is a reminder of that.
"Have-" the soft word draws his attention back to his senior, not quite able to meet those golden eyes so he ends up staring at the bridge of his perfectly slopped nose. "Have you been feeling alright?"
The question makes his jaw automatically clench, too many unpleasant memories arising, poisoned by bloodroots smothering any of the good moments. He has to remind himself he has a decade of tangible proof that no one can take from him.
So he forces the tension down and dips his head. "I've been well enough," he answers, toned dulled from it's usual sharpness by the present company. "Busy with work but other than that just fine."
The other man breathes out in relief, and his mouth twitches like on the cusp of a gentle smile. "That's good to hear." Even with more than a decade since they last spoken, he can tell the elder conveys the sentiments with honesty.
Jiang Cheng allows himself to trail his eyes from the bridge of Lan Xichen's nose up to his golden stare. The man is still looking at him for some reason, surveying his face, and he's helpless to do much else but stare right back.
A clap breaks the connection as Bojué fūrén Fei ambles her way to the cluster of professionals she's kidnapped invited here; behind her appears the interim president of the University himself, though it's obvious who's running the show. "Gentlemen, ladies thank you so much for agreeing to come and provide the students a once in a lifetime learning opportunity to get an up close look at the professional world. Perhaps also make some connections," she hints, a pleased as punch twist to her lips.
Forget the notion of a silver spoon. These kids got the whole damn cutlery set.
"If you would all take a set in the front row of the audience. I'll introduce each of you to present," she directs.
Lining up like a bunch of school children, Jiang Cheng prepares himself to march to his doom, steadily ignoring the warmth that radiates off the man behind him.
The audience settles when the make their way out from behind the curtain, and Jiang Cheng is so checked out that he at least makes it to his seat without incident. Small blessings.
"Students," the University president begins from his podium. "It is with great pleasure to start this lecture series with introductions our esteemed guests. The first is no stranger to Fudan University. If you would please welcome the CEO of Gusu Lan enterprises, Lan Xichen."
There's enthusiastic clapping as the man rises from his seat, buttoning his suit jacket. He ascends the stairs and already there's a slew of feminine sequels and creaking of wood as people lean forward in their seats, followed by the hush, the awe, the swoons.
Sitting in the old wooden seat, forced to look upwards to watch Lan Xichen speak, it's like being back in high school all over again; just a face in the crowd while Lan Xichen situated on his pedestal shines immaculate and untouchable.
-/-
Once he finished his speech, Lan Xichen steps down from the stage as Bojué fūrén Fei announces Dr. Cheng Wanyin will speak next. He passes by a stiff Jiang Cheng, offering him an encouraging smile whilst trading places with him, taking one of the unoccupied seats.
Sitting now in a sear not visible to the audience and away from the spot lights, Lan Xichen takes in his fill of the youngest Jiang, trying to memorize every detail. The long hair that cascades down his back, the chiseled bone structure emphasized under the auditorium lighting, the way the deep purple of his eyes somehow can be seen from afar. The younger man has grown into himself, his uncertain, shy demeanor melting into assured, blunt directness; Lan Xichen finds that he likes it.
He's snapped out of his admiring daze when the whispers of the young captivated audience reach his ears.
"Oh no, he's hot," a girl breathes out.
"Woah. That dude is beautiful," a deep voice comments before hastily adding, "No homo."
"Aww he works with animals," a girl swoons.
"God I'm in love."
"Dude, I think I want to be a vet," a male comments.
"Since when?" another male interjects.
"Uh...since now!"
"You're allergic to cats and couldn't even keep your sea monkeys alive, dumbass."
"First of all, the sea monkeys were an accident. As for the allergies, honestly if it means I get to learn from that guy, I'd be willing to suffer. Full homo."
One of the other professional turns in their seat to shush them, but Lan Xichen can't help the smile that makes it's way on his face as he focuses back on Jiang Cheng. While his outer appearance and introduction might have stirred interest, more so to do with hormones, it's when Jiang Cheng takes the podium and begins speaking about the profession, his chosen route despite the little financial return, the reliance on public funding that stuns the crowd.
Despite Jiang Cheng's earlier concern he would flounder, one peak back reveals he's got the entire auditorium quiet, attentively listening. Some are even taking notes.
It was like that in high school, despite the rumors, many eyed the youngest Jiang with a mixture of admiration, derision, and interest. It was only the general skepticism about his health that stopped anyone from pursuing the younger. That still leaves a bad taste in his mouth. The younger was exceptional, talented, and so under-appreciated, Lan Xichen didn't understand why people preferred to spread nasty rumors instead of getting to know the Jiang heir.
But even considerably close to Jiang Cheng, Lan Xichen had been so troubled at witnessing first hand Jiang Cheng relying on an inhaler. Though the younger brushed off the concern, the worry plagued him throughout the week until it prompted him to seek out his parents at a business dinner, for surely they would help?
He would chastise his younger self at his naivety if he could. The following day, he learned his good intentions only made things so much worse.
The flames were fanned once again as the rumors circulated the halls. Rushing after the youth out of the cafeteria with an apology on his lips, he'll never forget the broken way Jiang Cheng had said, "Haven't you done enough?" before he slipped through his fingers. He could not not have known it would be the last time they would speak to one another for over a decade.
The shameful memory still fiercely aches, plaguing him throughout the years. But taking in the fact the younger man is here, right up on stage, Lan Xichen's heart erratically thumping in his chest at the hypnotizing presence of the younger male, the First Jade of Lan wonders if perhaps this is a second, precious chance to do things right.
-/-
Jiang Cheng makes it to Friday without any more commotion, ready to check out for the weekend and retire after this week that has had too many surprises to be considered enjoyable. Unexpected visits from the Ghost of Christmas Past and Present in the middle of August is not his idea of fun, and if the Ghost of Christmas Future shows up, he's gonna drop kick it on sight.
Speak of the devil. Mianmian comes skipping down the hall, tapping against the door. "Boss, there's someone asking for you."
Oh God, his family has come to collect, haven't they? And to think he almost made it through the week, too relieved by the short phone call with his sister and the brief run-in with Lan Xichen.
He lets Mianmian drag him to the waiting room and find himself confused by the absence of calamity.
Instead a little boy, peering at the display wall, watches kittens paw at a toy. A stern woman stands near him, facial expression glacial at the puppy whining to to get her attention. The squeak of the metal door has both round towards him, the kid perking up as he abandons the kittens and hurries straight up to him, skidding to a stop.
Jiang Cheng peers towards MianMian who shrugs, slipping back behind the desk. "Can I help you kid?"
The little boy looks up in awe. "It's you."
Jiang Cheng frowns, glancing towards the passive faced woman to the kid with stars in his eyes. "Uh I think you've got wrong person."
The kid shakes his heads rapidly like a bobbly head. "No! You look just like your picture!"
Ok that's a little creepy. Jiang Cheng asks, "And where did you get my picture?"
"My mother!" the kid smiles, and Jiang Cheng nearly combusts.
Oh God did I have a kid I didn't know about? Is this in fact my son? Am I gonna have to pay child support when I can barely support my- wait I don't swing that way and I've never had sex with a woman. Jesus calm the fuck down.
After that unnecessary heart attack, Jiang Cheng clears his throat. "And whose your mother?"
"Jiang Yanli!"
The world comes to a screeching halt. His sister had a- chrysanthemums cautiously pop up from a small barren patch of soil that had been so neglected as he gradually crouches down, to look more clearly as the boy nears him. The eyes, those big brown eyes are all his jie-jie.
"What's your name?" he wonders aloud, voice thankfully steady.
"Jin Rulan, but everyone calls me Jin Ling!," he smiles, bouncing on his toes. "And you're my Uncle!"
He can feel Mianmian staring unabashedly at him and if Jiang Cheng didn't wake up feeling good today, he'd probably have fainted by now. He's an uncle. "How old are you kid?"
"Five and three-quarters!" He holds up as many fingers as he deems the appropriate amount. "How old are you?"
"28."
"Wow that's old," he comments brazenly and Jiang Cheng can't help the ugly snort he gives; Mianmian hides her face behind her magazine, but her shoulders shaking are a dead giveaway.
"Yeah, I am. Is your mother here?"
"Nope!" he chirps with the delight of a crocus spring.
Jiang Cheng glances at the imposing woman. "Then who's that?"
"Jinzhu. She drives me around places like school and home because Mama and Baba work so much."
"Like a babysitter?" He recalls that kind of life all too well.
"I'm not a baby," his nephew asserts. His nephew. God will he get used to that?
"Does my sister know you're here?" he raises a brow.
"Nope! But I overheard about my parents talking a lot with Uncle Xian and Uncle Ji about you and that you worked at this clinic and you're a vet so I asked Jinzhu to bring me here today!" he exclaims, before leaning in and stage-whispering. "Just don't tell them I'm here."
He would like to state for the record that he had not intended this day to end with becoming an accomplice in nephew's plans. Nonetheless, he smirks. "Your secret's safe with me, kid."
Jin Ling toothily grins. "Can we go see the animals now?"
This time Jiang Cheng gruffy chuckles but rises to his feet, holding out his hand to his nephew. His nephew! The boy takes it trustingly, and Jiang Cheng glances towards Jinzhu as if to check it's ok. The woman inclines her head and together the three of them venture to the back where the kennel is at. The whole time Jin Ling is rambling about animals he likes and complains he doesn't have, hoping now that he has an uncle that works with them his parents can be convinced. All the while Jiang Cheng stares down, nearly running into the wall; he's holding the tiny hand that his sister had a part in making and his throat tightens.
Entering into the back room, Jin Ling goes wide-eyed. "Woah!"
He smirks, guiding the youngster further inside. Passing by the kitty cages, Chubs yowls, melodramatic and grating.
"Not today Brioche," he hisses over his shoulder.
Jin Ling peeks back. "What's that?"
Jiang Cheng guides him forward with a gentle hand between his shoulder blades. "Just a chunky feline." Chunky fiend is more like it.
They reach the stall he's always gravitated to, one that houses dogs that remind him of his childhood made of three furry companions and treasure hunts. Said dog is taking an afternoon snooze, head rested on their paws while the fluffy tail lazily flicking back and forth. His nephew is absolutely smitten, smushing himself up against the fencing and staring at the dog like there is nothing better in the whole wide world. If he had any lingering questions about family relation, this sealed the deal.
Jinzhu however appears besmirched by Chubs, dainty fingers scratching under the chin and eliciting a purr. He's checking the cage lock before he leaves.
"They are so big! What kinda of dog is that?" Jin Ling asks, tilting his head up towards him.
"A husky."
"They're fluffy. Do they have a name?"
"Well we can't actually officially name them since they'll adopted," he hopes. "But we give them nicknames."
"What's theirs?" Jin Ling asks, looking into the stall, fingers curled around the chain link fencing.
"Fluffy."
Said dog perks their head up, yawning before scrambling to gate, sniffling his the kid's tummy as he giggles. Jiang Cheng realizes his own mouth is curled upwards, reaching through the fence to scratch at the fuzzy ear.
"If you want, you can feed them," he'd practically do anything to keep this kid, his nephew, smiling.
Jin Ling bounces eagerly as Jiang Cheng snags a dog treat and hands it to him, the little boy eagerly holding out the treat as Fluffy snatches up the treat, drawing laughter. Buttercups seedlings are planted by tiny precious hands in the freshly tilled soil.
"Can I give them a nickname too, Uncle?" an imploring look from his sister's big brown eyes.
Be still his small, dead heart. "Sure."
The little boy makes a thinking face before he beams. "Fairy! I like the name Fairy." And going by the wagging of Fairy's tail, they like it too.
Still entranced by the childlike wonder and elation of his nephew, Jiang Cheng ruminates that perhaps reuniting with his past might not be such a thing to dread.
Notes:
That wasn't so bad. See Jiang Cheng was confronted by the easiest ones and the cutest one! :D
WWX and LWJ looking like Why does LWJ NEED ALL THOSE DAMN POCKETS?! this
I imagine Lan Xichen's hair like this (short, not long and ignore all the historical outfit/headwear. Also his expression seeing JC is much softer like 🥺) this hair is NOICE
*also want to note, the assumption of Furen Uni students (rich, have all the advantages, etc.) is just for the work. In this fiction world, it's true. In the real world, I don't know, but I assume there's prob many who rely on financial aid thought cannot confirm. Please don't take it as fact.
gladiolus- strength
christmas roses- anxiety
Butterfly weed- 'leave me'
begonias-warning, caution
yellow roses- infidelity
purple hyacinth- sorrow
anemone- sickness
Borage- bluntness, directness
wormwood- poisonous
corcus- youthful gladness
Pink carnation- I'll never forget you
bloodroots- poisonous
chrysanthemums- happiness
buttercups- childishness and youthful joy
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