Work Text:
1.
Liang Wan is not sure which one of their dates should be considered their first.
There was the first date Zhang Rishan asked her on, but since that was so he could spy on her to make sure she wasn’t an evil double agent, she doesn’t really want to count it. Then there was the first time he called her his girlfriend, but that was to get the very scary lady in high heels to leave him alone, and also he’d gone and wrecked his hands again, so Liang Wan thinks of it as more of a professional meeting. And then there was the dinner they had in the bunker in Gutongjing, which would have been very romantic, all candlelit and quiet and just the two of them, but there was the giant snake tree that was trying to murder them to consider. Plus, they were under the impression that they would be living together until they died, which heightened the anxiety considerably, and Zhang Rishan was having multiple internal crises about whether or not dating would dampen his commitment to Fo-ye, who Liang Wan privately thought was maybe a jerk for giving Zhang Rishan that kind of guilt complex.
So this is their first date, probably, and Liang Wan is upset, because Zhang Rishan looks so damn good all the time and especially right now and they’re going to a movie theatre. She decided on dinner and a movie because that’s what normal couples do, even if one of them is like one hundred years old and prefers opera. Liang Wan just wanted to be a normal couple for one evening, please, but then Zhang Rishan met her in front of the movie theatre wearing perfectly tailored dress pants and a matching vest under his standard wool trenchcoat, and the shirt underneath the vest is just on this side of salmon and it’s bringing out the pink in his cheeks and Liang Wan is about to commit crimes because he said hello and kissed her on the cheek and now they’re sitting in a fucking dark room where she isn’t supposed to be looking at her boyfriend and Liang Wan is not paying attention to whatever comedy is happening in front of them. Or maybe it’s a historical adaptation. She has no idea because she keeps surreptitiously trying to sneak peeks at Zhang Rishan’s wrists, which are inching out of his cuffs, but the stupid bracelet is blocking the most important part, that little bone knob on the side and what the fuck, Liang Wan, you should not be this horny about someone’s wrists.
“I knew it,” Zhang Rishan whispers out of the corner of his mouth, and Liang Wan jumps. “I’m overdressed, aren’t I?”
“You fucking prick,” Liang Wan says and then stands up, grabbing his stupid hot wrist so she can drag him to the back of the theatre and they can make-out until the lights come back on and they have to explain themselves to a very startled teenage employee.
They don’t actually make it to dinner that night.
2.
Coffee dates are cute, aren’t they? There’s something about taking someone somewhere you go every day and buying something that you get every day but you’re with this person today and buying that something with them specifically and that makes it special.
It’s less special, Liang Wan thinks, when the coffee in question is from the hospital cafeteria, and you’re on the tail end of a thirty-six-hour shift.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, face squished in her palm as she accepts the paper cup of sludge that Zhang Rishan hands her. She downs a third of it in one gulp, thankful that the hospital’s coffee is perpetually lukewarm so she doesn’t scald her mouth. “I look terrible.”
“You look fine,” Zhang Rishan says, taking his own sip of coffee, which he impressively does not make a face at. He sets up the cup down on the table with no indication of ever picking it up again. “You look like you’ve been working.”
“So terrible,” Liang Wan says. She yawns widely. “And we were supposed to be going out tonight.”
“You got called in,” Zhang Rishan repeats, a reassurance he’s already said three times, but it hasn’t managed to stick yet. “It’s fine. We’ll take a rain check.”
“I’m still sorry.” Liang Wan reaches out and entangles her fingers with his. They’re very long, and strong, and give really good massages. Lord, what she wouldn’t give for Zhang Rishan to give her a foot rub right now. “I’d much rather be spending time with you.”
“You are spending time with me,” Zhang Rishan points out.
Liang Wan rolls her eyes. “It’s not the same! We haven’t seen each other in two weeks, and you have to leave again tomorrow. This was our only chance.”
Zhang Rishan presses his lips together in the way that he does when he’s trying to think of something to say and can’t find it. It puffs his cheeks out a little bit, makes his eyes go ever-so-slightly wider. It’s cute. Liang Wan would never tell him that, of course, because then he might stop doing it, but it’s cute.
Liang Wan’s right, of course. Zhang Rishan has been out of the country for the past couple of weeks on some sort of Jiumen business that he’d tried to explain to her, but Liang Wan had gotten lost when he’d started bringing up the 1950s. They’d made plans to meet up for the evening before he had to go and do some sort of tomb artifact authenticity confirmation thing, but then Liang Wan had been called in to work yesterday, and hadn’t left yet due to a slew of accidents, illnesses, and hypochondriacs making their way through the hospital, which means that their date has been indefinitely postponed until Zhang Rishan gets back, and who knows how long that’s going to take. Tombs are notoriously unpredictable.
“You’ve spent time with me at work,” Zhang Rishan says finally.
“What?” Liang Wan asks. “No, I haven’t.” She looks at Zhang Rishan, who’s eyes are sparkling, which means he’s teasing. “Gutongjing doesn’t count!”
“I was at work,” Zhang Rishan says, “You dropped in.”
“Not on purpose!” Liang Wan exclaims. “I had no idea you were going to be there.”
“So this is better,” Zhang Rishan says. “I came on purpose.”
“You’re obnoxious,” Liang Wan tells him. “See if I ever treat you to hospital dregs again.”
“I was the one who bought the coffee,” Zhang Rishan points out.
“Yes, but I’m the delightful company,” Liang Wan retorts.
He squeezes her hand. “You are.”
Her pager goes off, and she groans. “Ugh. I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“Don’t worry,” Zhang Rishan says. He stands up and comes around the table to kiss the top of her forehead, and she hugs him around the waist. “We’ll be together again soon.”
“Not soon enough,” Liang Wan mumbles into his stomach. She’s being pouty, but fuck, she’s exhausted.
“I’ll hurry home,” Zhang Rishan promises.
“I’ll hold you to that,” Liang Wan says, just as her pager beeps a second time. “Okay, okay. I really do have to go.”
“Do your best,” Zhang Rishan says quietly, and she kisses him before turning to head back to her office. She doesn’t bother to look behind her, because she knows Zhang Rishan will watch until she gets to where she is going safely.
Twelve hours later, when she finally gets off, she finds breakfast waiting for her at her apartment. There’s no note to accompany it, but she doesn’t need one.
It’s not the date she wanted, but at least the coffee’s good this time.
3.
“Look!” Liang Wan squeals, clapping her hands to her cheeks. “Piglets!”
Zhang Rishan is behind her, but she can hear the appreciative hum he gives to the piglets, which is what they deserve, so Liang Wan grabs him by the hand and drags him into the pen.
A petting zoo was not originally on her list of Date Ideas but one of her coworkers had taken her kids there the weekend before and said it was nice and quiet and full of fluffy animals, and if anyone needed to be around some fluffy animals, it was Zhang Rishan. And also Liang Wan, alright? Sue her, she wanted to hug a sheep, and if she secretly was looking forward to watching Zhang Rishan hold a baby pig, then that was her business. Work was stressful.
She squats down next to the group of piglets, balancing her weight as she runs her fingers over the soft pink skin. The piglets are not as muddy as television claims, just a little dusty.
“Zhang Rishan!” she says. “Pet a pig!”
Zhang Rishan dutifully leans down and gives the pig a gentle pat.
“It’s nice,” he offers.
“They’re so cute!” Liang Wan holds out a handful of the pellets she had purchased at the gate, gasping as two of the piglets start eating out of her hand, small snuffling noises coming from them as their wet noses nuzzle her palm to successfully root out the treats. “I want one. Zhang Rishan, I want a pig.”
“Pigs require a lot of upkeep,” Zhang Rishan says. “I don’t know if your apartment is equipped for a pig.”
“He can live at your house,” Liang Wan replies.
Zhang Rishan raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know if my house is equipped for a pig.”
“Spoilsport,” Liang Wan says. The piglets snort, disappointed that their treats are gone, and wander off in search of more, so she stands up, brushing her hands off. “What would your house be equipped for?”
“Not animals,” Zhang Rishan tells her, lacing their fingers together even though Liang Wan’s palms are covered in pig saliva. “Or college students.”
Liang Wan rolls her eyes. “They break one vase and you say they’re banned forever. Su Wan still feels bad about it, you know.”
“It was a good vase.”
“You bought it at a flea market for twelve dollars,” Liang Wan says.
“Yes, but I liked it,” Zhang Rishan tells her.
She gives his hand a squeeze and looks at the brochure that the gate attendant had handed her. “Should we go to the chickens next?”
The only answer is a little tug on her hand. She looks at Zhang Rishan, who appears to be looking over his shoulder, though his chin is tucked down toward his chest, which is not necessarily the best vantage point, but Zhang Rishan has good eyes.
“Did you see something?” she asks, peering around him to try and see what it is. “Like the sheep?”
“No,” Zhang Rishan says. “Nothing.” He nods down the path. “Chickens?”
“Chickens,” Liang Wan affirms.
The chickens are great, little fat balls of feathers that run around their pen and cluck dolefully at the children who attempt to pet them with their little hands, though they are appeased when corn is scattered on the ground in front of them. Liang Wan finds a chick—which is one of the cutest things she has ever seen in her life—and puts it in Zhang Rishan’s cupped palms. He stares down at it like he’s never seen a chick before, his eyes a little wider than normal, lips curled slightly upward.
She manages to take a picture before he notices, and immediately sets it as her lockscreen.
The chick peeps in Zhang Rishan’s hands and he walks over to the henhouse, crouching to set the chick gently on the ground. It runs away, heading straight for a particularly hefty kernel of corn that a small child has just tossed toward them, but Zhang Rishan stays crouching, his shoulders hunching up by his ears for a moment, and then he comes back.
“Did you miss the chick already?” Liang Wan teases him.
Zhang Rishan just looks at her.
They go through the rest of the petting zoo, pen by pen. Liang Wan tries to milk a cow. A goat bites Zhang Rishan’s wool trench coat. A camel spits at them. They take pictures with straw hats on and hoes in their hands, next to a wooden windmill. It’s cheesy and silly and Liang Wan loves it.
Zhang Rishan, however, she’s not too sure about. He seems fine, going along with whatever she wants to do, but he seems more distracted than normal, jumpier. She keeps finding him turned away, stopping in the middle of paths while she runs on ahead, and it’s frankly making her paranoid. What if the petting zoo is actually a cover for the mafia or something? She wouldn’t be surprised, honestly. Zhang Rishan’s world is a strange one, but she would like to have one date without members of the Jiumen dropping in or people with guns coming after them or zombie crab-bug-things trying to eat their flesh.
Zhang Rishan doesn’t say anything, though, and Liang Wan knows that he would tell her if there was really something wrong, so she tries not to worry as they come to the last part of the petting zoo: the horses.
The petting zoo people really went all out on the pony set, probably because kids love ponies. The horses are separated into stalls built out of bales of hay, a red-checked gingham backdrop spread out behind them. The horses all look lovely and gentle and Liang Wan can’t wait to stroke their velvety-soft noses.
She’s almost there, almost has a horse within reach, when she realizes that Zhang Rishan is no longer close behind her. She turns back and finds him standing at the very edge of the pony exhibit as though it’s a minefield.
“What are you waiting for?” she asks. “Come on.”
Zhang Rishan just stares at her. His eyes are slightly narrowed, and if she looks carefully, she can see cracks beginning to form in his carefully cultivated composure.
She sighs. “What is it? If you don’t like the petting zoo, we can leave.”
“No,” Zhang Rishan says. “It’s not t-that, I—”
And then he sneezes.
Twice.
Liang Wan feels her mouth drop open. “Zhang Rishan,” she says slowly, “Are you allergic to horses?”
“No,” Zhang Rishan says with as much dignity as he can muster. He sniffs, swallows, doesn’t look at her. “I am, however, allergic to hay.”
“Oh my god,” Liang Wan says. “Oh my god.”
Zhang Rishan glances at her through his eyelashes, and now she can make out the reddened edges of his eyes, sticky tears slowly gathering in the corners. “I’m sorry.”
Her boyfriend is an idiot. “You could have said something.”
“You liked the piglets,” Zhang Rishan says, and sneezes again.
Liang Wan closes her eyes for a brief second to marvel at the universe and her place in it, then goes and wraps her hand around Zhang Rishan’s arm, leading him away from the bales of hay stacked high around the horses. “I think I have antihistamines in the car.”
“Oh, thank god,” says Zhang Rishan.
4.
“Liang Wan!” Li Cu exclaims, jogging up to her, his bangs flopping around his face. “You made it!”
Liang Wan waves brightly at him. Yang Hao is stretching a little further down the field, wearing the same jersey as Li Cu. She can see Su Wan sitting in the bleachers, playing a game on his phone and scowling at the screen.
“It’s the championships!” Liang Wan tells Li Cu. “I couldn’t miss it.”
Li Cu blushes, just a little. “It’s not that important. It’s just a rec league.”
Liang Wan ruffles his hair. “My didis are playing! Of course it’s important.”
“Stop,” Li Cu says, shoving her hands away. “Where’s Zhang-ye?”
“He’s coming,” Liang Wan says. “I’m going to make him eat a hotdog.”
Li Cu looks like this is the best thing he’s ever heard. “Sick!”
“Ya Li!” Yang Hao yells. “Get over here and finish stretching! If you pull a muscle I’m not going to be sympathetic.”
“I have to go,” Li Cu says. “Enjoy the game!”
“Good luck!” Liang Wan calls after him.
She climbs into the bleachers, plopping down next to Su Wan, who has moved on from his game and is trying to take good shots of Yang Hao and Li Cu as they lean out over their knees.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi,” Su Wan replies, tongue in between his teeth.
Liang Wan sets her bag down next to her in the bleachers, waving away a moth that flits past her face on its way to incinerate itself in the bright field lights. “You didn’t want to play soccer?”
Su Wan makes a face. “If I never run again, it’ll be too soon.”
Liang Wan snorts. “You and Hei-ye go on ten-mile jogs every weekend.”
“That’s different,” Su Wan insists. “That’s important field training. For missions.”
“Sure,” Liang Wan says. Then she stands up from her seat, waving her arm wildly above her head. “Zhang Rishan!”
“Oh no,” Su Wan says, “Am I third-wheeling you guys?”
Liang Wan ignores him in favor of throwing her arms around Zhang Rishan, who has made his way over to them from the bottom of the stands.
“Hello,” he says, and kisses her.
Liang Wan beams at him, then blinks at his outfit, because Zhang Rishan is wearing a three-piece suit to a rec soccer match. “What’s this?”
“It’s my casual suit,” Zhang Rishan says, which, fair, it is.
“Have you ever even been to a sporting event before?” Liang Wan asks.
“Yes,” Zhang Rishan says, “And I wore a suit to that one too.”
“Oh, really?” Liang Wan says, “What was it? Polo? Golf?”
“The 1988 Summer Olympics,” Zhang Rishan says smoothly, and Su Wan chokes. Zhang Rishan side-eyes him.
“Sorry,” Su Wan says, “I think I swallowed a bug.”
“You should be careful,” Zhang Rishan tells him. “They’re attracted to empty spaces.”
Su Wan goes red. “Hey!”
“Don’t be mean!” Liang Wan says. “Or I’ll make you buy all the concessions.”
“You were going to do that anyway,” Zhang Rishan says.
The game gets underway, then. Li Cu and Yang Hao’s recreational soccer team is small, but they’re pretty good, as far as Liang Wan can tell. She enjoys jumping up and down in the stands and shouting whenever they make a good pass or score a goal, and helping Su Wan take action shots. Zhang Rishan always claps politely in lieu of shouting, which for him is rousing approval.
At halftime, Li Cu and Yang Hao wander over to them in the stands, looking sweaty and tired, plastic water bottles in their hands.
“You guys are great!” Su Wan exclaims, flushed with excitement. “That’s feint was awesome, Ya Li!”
“Thanks,” Li Cu says, squirting a stream of water into his mouth.
“And Hao-ge!” Su Wan says, grabbing his friend’s hand in excitement. Yang Hao’s eyes go wide. “Your footwork is so good!”
“O-oh,” Yang Hao says. He tries to squirt water into his mouth like Li Cu, but accidentally sprays himself in the face.
Liang Wan rolls her eyes at this fantastic display of teenage competence. “It’s a good game.”
“Yeah,” Li Cu says, passing Yang Hao the towel he has draped over his shoulder so he can wipe the water out of his eyes. “It’s fun.” He turns to Zhang Rishan. “What do you think?”
“The other team’s defense is strong,” Zhang Rishan says. “You should make sure to watch their number 17 especially. He seems particularly brutal.”
Li Cu tilts his head at him. “Okay. Yeah.”
Liang Wang grabs Zhang Rishan’s arm. “Hot dogs!”
Su Wan sticks his tongue out. “Ew.”
“Good luck, Zhang Rishan,” Li Cu says. “Hot dogs are a common man’s food.”
“I’m sure I’ll survive,” Zhang Rishan says drily, and they clomp down the bleachers (well, Liang Wan clomps. Zhang Rishan basically glides everywhere he goes) and over to the concession stand.
Liang Wan orders them each a hot dog, a sausage clouded in fluffy white bread, like it’s wrapped in a blanket. The worker passes them over, lying in a nest of white paper, and Liang Wan grins as she spreads mayonnaise over the top of hers.
“Try it!” she exclaims.
Zhang Rishan looks at the hot dog doubtfully, but courteously bites the end off, chewing thoughtfully.
“What do you think?” Liang Wan asks through her own mouthful, almost moaning at the salt-sweet flavor that explodes across her tongue.
Zhang Rishan swallows. His face remains impassive but the way he glances down at the rest of the hot dog tells her everything that she needs to know.
She laughs. “It’s an acquired taste. I think you have to eat them as a kid to really enjoy them now.” She takes the rest of his hot dog from him, stacking it on top of her own. “I’ll take this one, President.”
“Your service is commendable,” Zhang Rishan says.
They wander back over to the bleachers just in time for the referee to blow his whistle, signaling the start of the second half of the game.
The teams were tied at half-time, 2-2, which means that both are playing with renewed vigor, blocking and passing and dribbling with even more precision than in the first part of the game. Liang Wan finds herself on her feet with Su Wan more than once, cheering when a someone makes a particularly good play.
Li Cu, specifically, is on fire. His technique isn’t the best on the field, and he makes some stupid mistakes, but that’s made up by his sheer stamina and quick-thinking. Liang Wan supposes that tomb raiding and fighting off cults would have to be good for other things too, but he’s kind of amazing on the field. Yang Hao has a little less speed, but he’s very good at coming up behind other players and kicking the ball away from them.
Eventually, Li Cu gets the ball, gets an opening, and takes it, sprinting down the field as quickly as he can, leaving the other team floundering in his wake. He aligns the ball with the goal and prepares to shoot, just as he’s barreled into by the opposing team’s #17 and they both go crashing to the ground, ball flying away down the field, the other players chasing after it.
“Aw man,” Su Wan says, letting his arms flop down at his sides from where he had raised them in the air in excitement. “That was gonna be so cool.”
“Next time,” Liang Wan says, patting him on the arm.
“Liang Wan,” Zhang Rishan says, and there’s a note of urgency to his voice.
Liang Wan looks back at the field, just as the referee blows the whistle. #17 has picked himself up off the grass and is trotting back over to where his team is huddling, but Li Cu remains lying on the field, making no attempt to get up. Liang Wan thinks she can see him moving, but she’s not sure.
“Shit,” she says, loudly, just as the rest of the crowd falls into shocked whispers. She rushes down the bleachers and onto the field, Zhang Rishan right behind her, keeping other people from crowding them with his presence alone. One of the referees tries to stop her, but she just pushes him aside. “Move, I’m a doctor.”
They run across the field. Yang Hao is next to Li Cu, now, steadying him as he sits up, which is a good sign, but Liang Wan won’t be reassured until she sees for herself.
“What hurts?” she asks, dropping to her knees next to Li Cu, eyes scanning his body for damage.
Li Cu has one leg up, the other stretched out in front of him. “Ow,” he says, “Ow, fuck.”
“Your ankle?” Liang Wan guesses, and when Li Cu nods, moves her examination there. Li Cu’s foot is already swelling in his shoe, red and inflamed, which is not a good sign. She presses down lightly, and Li Cu hisses.
“I’m going to try and rotate it, alright?” Liang Wan tells him, lifting his leg up gently and slowly tipping his toes to one side.
“Ah, shit!” Li Cu exclaims, pressing back against Yang Hao, who squeezes his shoulders sympathetically. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“Okay,” Liang Wan mutters. “So not great.” She runs her fingers along the sides of his ankle and sighs. “I don’t think it’s broken, just a bad sprain, but we should go get it x-rayed to make sure.”
Li Cu scowls. “Damn it.”
“It’s okay, Ya Li,” Yang Hao says. “We’ll be fine.”
“Do you think you can walk if we help you?” Liang Wan asks.
“Yeah,” Li Cu grunts, which is about the answer that Liang Wan expected. “Just help me up.”
She and Yang Hao get Li Cu to his feet, but all of their progress is almost undone when Li Cu puts the barest hint of weight on his ankle, and almost sends them all tumbling.
“That would be a no,” Liang Wan sighs. “Damn it. Um…”
“Can I?” Zhang Rishan says.
Li Cu gives him a confused little nod and then yelps, because Zhang Rishan has gathered him up behind the knees and around his back and scooped him up, bridal style. Li Cu links his hands around Zhang Rishan’s neck frantically as the President of the Jiumen strides off the field as easily as if he was carrying groceries, Yang Hao and Liang Wan having to jog to keep up.
“Ya Li!” Su Wan calls anxiously from the edge of the field. “What happened?”
“I’m good!” Li Cu yells back at him. “Take care of Hao-ge, okay?”
Su Wan nods seriously, even though Yang Hao looks perfectly capable of taking care of himself, just as a referee jogs up to them, seemingly put out that a very handsome man and a brilliant doctor are kidnapping one of the players. “What’s going on?”
“We’re taking him to the hospital,” Liang Wan says, jabbing a thumb at Li Cu, who is starting to look a little shell-shocked. “You should red card that #15.”
“Right,” the referee says slowly. “Who are you?”
“Doctor Liang,” Liang Wan says. “This is my assistant. We’re leaving now.” She points Zhang Rishan forward, and he moves past the ref, careful not to jostle Li Cu too much.
“We’ll win for you!” Yang Hao calls after them.
Li Cu gives him a weak thumbs-up over Zhang Rishan’s shoulder.
Zhang Rishan’s extremely expensive car is waiting in the parking lot, looking out of place among the soccer vans and the beat-up cars of college students, and Li Cu blanches when Liang Wan opens the door so Zhang Rishan can set him in the backseat.
“Your seats are leather!” he cries. “I’m all sweaty. And grass-stained.”
“It wouldn’t be the worst thing that’s come in contact with these seats,” Zhang Rishan says, and deposits Li Cu in the car without another word.
The drive to the hospital is familiar, Zhang Rishan guiding the car smoothly around the turns while Liang Wan gives Li Cu painkillers from her bag and texts Wu Xie.
Ya Li got hurt during the soccer match. I’m patching him up at the hospital. We’ll drop him off later.
She hands Zhang Rishan her doctor’s badge to scan at the parking lot, letting them into the employee’s only section, which is much closer to the main hospital entrance than the regular guest parking. They pull in and Liang Wan starts running through the list of things to do while Zhang Rishan gets Li Cu out of the backseat, where he’s been being very quiet. He’s snagged a wheelchair from near the entrance, which is thoughtful of him, because Liang Wan doesn’t think Li Cu would appreciate being carted through the hospital like a damsel.
Since she’s technically not on duty, and not a radiologist even if she was, they check Li Cu into the ER. It’s quiet tonight, which is nice, so a nurse comes out and drags Li Cu back to get his ankle x-rayed, while Zhang Rishan and Liang Wan are left in the waiting room.
“Sorry,” Liang Wan says. “That’s another date ruined.”
“Not ruined,” Zhang Rishan says, putting his arm around her and letting her lean into him. “I had a hot dog and got to watch you do your job.”
“You hated the hot dog,” Liang Wan points out. “And you’ve seen me do my job a hundred times.”
“I like watching you help people,” Zhang Rishan says simply. “You’re a very good doctor, Liang Wan.”
Liang Wan smiles, turns a little so that she’s nestled more snugly into Zhang Rishan’s side. He smells slightly like grass.
At that moment, there’s a commotion at the front of the waiting room, because Wu Xie has burst through the doors, followed closely by Wang Pangzi. Wu Xie’s eyes sweep over the room before landing on the pair, and he runs over, ignoring the fact that this is actually a hospital and running is definitely not what polite, normal people do.
“Where is he?” Wu Xie demands. “What happened?”
Zhang Rishan looks up at him, nonplussed. “We’re indoors. Don’t shout.”
“He’s fine,” Liang Wan says quickly when Wu Xie opens his mouth to shout some more. “He got knocked over, sprained his ankle. At least, I think it’s a sprain. He’s back getting x-rays now.” She frowns at Wu Xie. “I told you we would drop him off.”
“You can’t just text me that Ya Li is hurt and expect me not to come,” Wu Xie protests.
“I said it was fine,” Wang Pangzi grumbles. “Xiao Liang is a literal doctor, Tianzhen. But you made us come anyway.”
“What parts of ‘Ya Li’ and ‘hurt’ do you not understand?”
Liang Wan is about to tell them to stop bickering, but she’s cut off by the appearance of Su Wan and Yang Hao, who are both out of breath. Yang Hao has a sports bag over his shoulder and Su Wan is holding two phones, one in each hand.
“Mr. Wu Xie, sir!” he says, waving one of them wildly. “Ya Li left his phone at the field. I was trying to text you, but it won’t let me unlock it, and I didn’t know your number, but he’s not dead, I promise!”
“Yeah, thanks, Su Wan,” Wu Xie says. “I already know that.”
“Oh good,” Su Wan says, handing the phone over. Liang Wan can see a string of text message notifications covering the entire screen, all of them marked with Wu Xie.
Wang Pangzi starts laughing. “Don’t you think you went a little overboard, Tianzhen?”
“No!” Wu Xie exclaims, looking like he’s either going to start tearing the hospital apart or pulling his own hair out. “I went the exact right amount of board. Not overboard, not underboard, just board!”
“Is he okay?” Su Wan whispers loudly to Yang Hao.
“I think maybe no,” Yang Hao whispers back.
“Wu Xie,” Zhang Rishan says suddenly, which actually gets Wu Xie to pause, hands in his hair. “Li Cu is fine. You don’t need to worry.”
Surprisingly, that seems to be what calms Wu Xie down the most. “Oh,” he says. “Okay.” He exhales loudly, then sits down in one of the waiting room chairs. “Sorry.”
“It is normal for new parents to worry excessively about their child’s health,” Zhang Rishan says and Liang Wan howls.
Wu Xie turns bright red. “Wha—no—I’m not—”
“What’s going on?” Li Cu’s voice says, and they all turn to see him balancing on crutches nearby, injured foot wrapped snuggly.
“Ya Li!” Wu Xie exclaims, hopping up again, Zhang Rishan’s comment entirely forgotten. “Are you okay? What happened? What do you need? Pangzi brought the van so we can load up anything. Are you hungry? Who did this? Pangzi also brought the machete.”
“I’m fine, Wu Xie,” Li Cu says exasperatedly. “Stop.”
Wu Xie gnaws on his lower lip, hands hovering in front of Li Cu.
“What was the verdict?” Liang Wan asks.
“Not broken,” Li Cu reports. “Doctor said it was just a bad sprain. You were right.”
Liang Wan smiles, pleased. “I usually am.”
“Ya Li!” Su Wan exclaims, nearly vibrating in place. “I’m so sorry!”
“For what?” Li Cu asks. “You didn’t even do anything.”
“Exactly,” Su Wan says, looking miserable.
Li Cu rolls his eyes. “Did we at least win the game?”
“Uhh,” Su Wan says, “About that.”
“I punched #17 and got us disqualified,” Yang Hao says happily.
“What?!”
“Fuck yeah, kid,” Wang Pangzi says approvingly, giving Yang Hao a fist bump.
Li Cu just groans. “I wanna go home.”
“Yes!” Wu Xie pipes up. “Home! Good idea. Let’s go home. Pangzi, do you want to pull the van up to the front doors?”
“Or Zhang Rishan can carry him again,” Su Wan offers.
Li Cu shakes his head rapidly. “No. That’s okay.”
Wu Xie is looking at Zhang Rishan strangely. “You carried him.”
“Wu Xie.”
“Yes,” Zhang Rishan says, his facial expression not changing in the slightest. “He couldn’t walk.”
“Oh,” Wu Xie says. “Well. Thank you.”
Zhang Rishan just nods, but the way he’s tilting his head seems pleased.
“I want to die,” Li Cu announces, burying his face in Su Wan’s shoulder. Su Wan pats the top of his head sympathetically.
5.
They thought the restaurant was going to be safe. Zhang Rishan had convinced everyone else to leave the building for the evening, even the cooks, because he was fine with making dinner. Xie Yuchen had been slightly put out, because he was in the middle of rehearsal when Zhang Rishan had made the request, and Luo Que apparently did not trust them on their own, but Zhang Rishan had finally texted Liang Wan saying, We’re clear, and she had come over at seven.
And it’s nice. It’s really nice. Zhang Rishan is wearing a black turtleneck and trousers which might have been a boring outfit on anyone else, but Liang Wan thinks it makes him look soft and smooth and satiny. She tests this theory by wrapping her arms around his waist, hugging him from behind as he stirs some sort of sauce in a pot on the stove.
“I’m busy,” he says.
“Me too,” she replies and doesn’t move. The cooking smells amazing, and Zhang Rishan smells even better, which sounds a little weird, but doesn’t stop Liang Wan from burying her nose in between his shoulder blades.
After a while, he flexes his back muscles in a gentle attempt to shake her off. “I need to plate this.”
“I’ll just eat from the pot,” Liang Wan tells him, and laughs at the wrinkle that appears above his nose. “Fine, I’ll get the drinks.”
She grabs the ice bucket with the bottle of wine in it that’s been chilling on the counter and takes it out into the restaurant’s seating area. Most of the lights are turned down, because it’s only them, but there’s a table set up close to the stage, candlelit and with flowers at the center. She puts the bucket down on the side, uncorking the wine and pouring it carefully into each of the two glasses set there.
Zhang Rishan appears a moment later, two plates with rice balanced on one arm and a steaming serving bowl in the other. The food smells heavenly, and Liang Wan can’t help but kiss him after he’s set their dinner down properly.
“When did you get to be such a good cook?” she asks. “You live in a restaurant.”
“I’ve had a lot of time to practice,” Zhang Rishan says quietly, and she knows he doesn’t mean the normal amount of time that people have, because he’s lived far longer than that.
“Mm,” she hums lightly, because this is a date, and they’re not allowed to be sad on a date. “Let’s eat.” She pulls out Zhang Rishan’s chair for him, smirking at the affronted look he gives her when he sits down, and then plops eagerly into her own chair, spooning some of the sauce, meat, and vegetables from the serving bowl over her portion of rice.
They eat mostly in companionable silence. Liang Wan’s already updated Zhang Rishan on work, and he’s already complained about the latest nonsense the senior members of the Jiumen have gotten up to this week, so there isn’t anything pressing that they have to discuss. They can just sit together, enjoying the way the candles flick light across the room.
That is, until Zhang Rishan sets his fork down a little too harshly.
“What?” Liang Wan asks, anxiously, because Zhang Rishan is looking a bit too focused on something in the distance, and that’s setting her nerves on edge.
“There’s someone in the restaurant,” he says, pushing his chair back and getting to his feet, near silently. “Stay here.”
“Are you sure it’s not just someone who came back early?” she asks weakly, because she doubts it, but it would be nice if they didn’t have to worry about their dinner being ruined by assassins or hostile Jiumen leaders or ghosts.
Zhang Rishan shakes his head. “They tripped the alarm,” he says, which is unexpected, because Liang Wan has not heard anything remotely close to an alarm. “I’ll go. Stay here.”
“You said that already,” Liang Wan grumbles, but Zhang Rishan has already slipped into the shadows, stepping so lightly that if she hadn’t watched him go, she wouldn’t know that he was even still in the room. If he’s even still in the room. She doesn’t think he could get to the door that fast, but Zhang Rishan is ever-impressive.
She sits in the dim-lit silence for a bit, but now it’s oppressive rather than comfortable, so she ducks down under the table with a steak knife. No use in being caught off-guard if their mysterious visitor decides to visit the dining room.
There’s a crash from outside, and something shatters. Liang Wan jumps under the table and holds her breath, trying to make out voices or screams or something, but everything is quiet again. She chews on her lip a little, which doesn’t serve to make her less nervous, so she decides to climb out from her hiding place and retrieve the fire extinguisher hanging on the wall, tiptoeing out into the hallway as quietly as she can.
It turns out that she doesn’t need to be quiet because the two people in the hall are currently very distracted. Zhang Rishan is hanging by one arm from the doorframe, planting his feet against his attacker’s chest to send him stumbling backward before dropping neatly down to the ground himself. The intruder is holding a crossbow—a fucking crossbow, what the fuck—which doesn’t seem to be loaded. The reason for that, Liang Wan quickly finds, is because the crossbow bolt is currently sticking out of Zhang Rishan’s shoulder, which, typical.
His assailant whips another bolt into the crossbow and fires. Zhang Rishan dodges it expertly, but it throws him slightly off balance, which means that the other person has enough time to duck into his space, forcing him back with a series of sharp kicks. Zhang Rishan flits back and forth between them and tries to punch the guy in the face, but he does have a crossbow bolt in his shoulder, and while this is all very interesting to watch, Liang Wan just wants to have dinner.
“Hey!” she shouts. The attacker turns toward her, Zhang Rishan jumps out of the way, and Liang Wan lets the fire extinguisher rip, showering their visitor in a spray of white foam.
They choke, a sort of strangled squeak erupting from the mass of white, and stumble backward, which gives Zhang Rishan just enough of an opening to judo flip them onto the ground, chopping his palm against a pressure point in their neck, and the assailant goes limp.
Liang Wan lowers her weapon and blows a stray strand of hair from her face. “What the fuck.”
“Common assassin,” Zhang Rishan says, standing up cautiously while keeping his eyes on the unconscious person in front of them. “I think.”
“Assassins are common now?” Liang Wan says. “Fantastic.”
Zhang Rishan doesn’t answer that, instead taking the opportunity to yank the bolt from his shoulder.
“What the fuck!” Liang Wan exclaims, just as he tosses it out the window and into a bush, and two of the restaurant security employees burst through the doors.
“What happened?” one of them asks. “We got the alarm and came as quickly as possible.”
“The situation has been taken care of,” Zhang Rishan says smoothly. “Please alert Yin-laoban and have Luo Que question the intruder.”
The two employees nod, a little hesitantly.
“You’re both okay?” the other asks.
“Fine,” Zhang Rishan says curtly. “We’ll be returning to our meal, now. I trust there won’t be any more disturbances.”
“No, sir,” the security guards mumble, and set to work restraining the unconscious person, while Zhang Rishan gracefully leads Liang Wan back to the dining room.
Liang Wan has enough self-control to wait until they’re at least out of earshot before she’s grabbing a cloth napkin from one of the tables and pressing it to Zhang Rishan’s shoulder. “How many times have I told you to stop pulling things out when you get stabbed by them?”
Zhang Rishan winces at the pressure, just a pull of his eyebrows, but he doesn’t say anything.
Liang Wan rolls her eyes. “I know, I know, they can’t know you’re injured, ever, or they’ll revolt, but seriously, babe, you have got to stop doing this. You’re going to give me an ulcer.”
“I’m the least stressful aspect of your life, actually,” Zhang Rishan says.
Liang Wan snorts. “If only that were true.”
“Are you alright?” he asks her.
Liang Wan nods. “It was kind of fun, actually. I didn’t know that people could make that kind of noise when sprayed with a fire extinguisher.” She frowns. “Dinner’s going to be cold, though, which is disappointing. You did such a good job with it.”
“It shouldn’t be too cold,” Zhang Rishan says, a little confused. “We can finish up.”
Liang Wan looks at him incredulously. “We’re not waiting to patch up a bolt hole in your fucking arm. Not even to eat dinner.”
Zhang Rishan has the decency to look at least slightly sheepish, but Liang Wan knows he wasn’t actually kidding. That’s the problem with Zhang Rishan, she thinks. He’s very, very sweet, but only in ways that make her want to murder him.
“Come on,” she says, “Let’s go to your office. I’ll bandage your shoulder and then we can get shitfaced on the liquor in Yin-laoban’s cabinet.”
Zhang Rishan nods. “I could use a drink.”
+1
“Fancy meeting you here,” Liang Wan drawls.
Zhang Rishan looks up from where he’s smooshed himself into a tight airport corner seat, playing something on his phone—is that Sudoku? Wow. Liang Wan didn’t even know people under sixty played that anymore; but then again, she supposes Zhang Rishan is older than that.
He’s sitting under a sign advertising their plane’s departure to Changsha, as well as large blaring characters that read FLIGHT DELAYED DUE TO INCLIMATE WEATHER.
“Liang Wan?” Zhang Rishan asks. “What are you doing here?”
Liang Wan shrugs. “I was supposed to be flying back from the conference today, remember? What are you doing here?”
Zhang Rishan raises his eyebrows to the flashing sign. “Waiting for the snow to stop.”
Liang Wan yanks her suitcase forward, sitting down next to him. “You were supposed to be home already.”
“Something came up,” Zhang Rishan says slowly, and now that Liang Wan is looking, she can see the tired lines around his eyes, how his shirt is just slightly wrinkled, which means that it was a pretty important something, and not easily dealt with. “I wasn’t able to catch a flight until today.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Liang Wan commiserates. “You could be home right now instead of stuck in the airport with me.”
“It’s not the worst,” Zhang Rishan says. He clicks the power button on the side of his phone, turning off the game.
“No?”
“It was worse when you weren’t here,” he says.
Liang Wan nudges his shoulder playfully. “Shut up.”
Zhang Rishan raises an eyebrow at her and deliberately clicks his teeth together.
“You know I didn’t mean it,” Liang Wan tells him. “Please don’t stop talking to me, I’ll be so bored.”
“You’ll be bored anyway,” Zhang Rishan says. “We’re snowed in at an airport.”
Liang Wan considers this. “In that case, I propose a date.”
“A date?” Zhang Rishan asks, looking skeptical. “Our dates never go as planned.”
“That’s why this one will involve minimal planning,” Liang Wan says, standing up and holding out her hand. “Minimal chance of things going wrong. An airport date. Dinner and a movie!”
“Where are we going to find those?” Zhang Rishan says.
Liang Wan spins in a slow circle. “There’s tons of restaurants around here. And I downloaded a bunch of Netflix movies onto my phone for the flight. There we go! One date, piping hot.”
Zhang Rishan looks like he’s thinking about it for a minute, then sighs and stands up. “Piping hot?”
“Yes,” Liang Wan confirms, before entwining their fingers together and leading him down the terminal to scout out some particularly greasy and way-too-expensive airport food. “Just like you.”
Zhang Rishan doesn’t say anything, but from the way he squeezes her hand, she knows that he’s happy.