Chapter Text
Everybody wants to know the truth
In my arms is the only proof
I've hidden my heart behind the bedroom door
Now it's open, I can't do no more
I'm telling you baby you will never find another girl
In this heart of mine
Look into my eyes, can't you see they're open wide?
Would I lie to you, baby? Would I lie to you? (Oh, yeah)
Don't you know it's true, girl, there's no one else but you?
Would I lie to you, baby?
Would I lie?
-Would I lie to you, by Charles and Eddie
Call my baby lollipop
Tell you why
His kiss is sweeter than an apple pie
And when he does his shaky rockin' dance
Man, I haven't got a chance
I call him, lollipop, lollipop
Oh lolli lolli lolli, lollipop, lollipop
Oh lolli lolli lolli, lollipop, lollipop
Oh lolli lolli lolli, lollipop
Sweeter than candy on a stick
Huckleberry, cherry or lime
If you had a choice he'd be your pick
But lollipop is mine
Lollipop, lollipop
Oh lolli lolli lolli, lollipop, lollipop
Oh lolli lolli lolli, lollipop, lollipop
Oh lolli lolli lolli, lollipop
Crazy way he thrills me
Tell you why
Just like a lightning from the sky
He loves to kiss me till I can't see straight
Gee, my lollipop is great
I call him, lollipop, lollipop
Oh lolli lolli lolli, lollipop, lollipop
Oh lolli lolli lolli, lollipop, lollipop
Oh lolli lolli lolli, lollipop
Lollipop, lollipop
Oh lolli lolli lolli, lollipop, lollipop
Oh lolli lolli lolli, lollipop, lollipop
Oh lolli lolli lolli, lollipop
Lollipop
-Lollipop by the Chordettes
“A farm, Laoshi?” Lan Zhan tries hard not to sound as outraged as he feels.
“A farm,” his tutor nods.
Lan Zhan presses his lips together, takes a breath. “And -, the British Library?”
“I’m afraid that placement is no longer - available.” He at least has the decency to look regretful.
Lan Zhan sighs. He can’t make a fuss. He mustn’t. But he’s rarely felt more disappointed. This is why he’d chosen this programme. Why he’d chosen this university. It’s the only reason he’s here. He could have been accepted at a far more prestigious institution. “A Wen?” He says.
His tutor looks down at his desk. “I couldn’t possibly say.”
Lan Zhan knows he has to get out of the room before he says something unwise. Some cogs will always turn at the expense of others, and it's not good to get yourself caught in the spokes.
“The farm has a library that needs cataloguing,” his tutor says. “That’s the purpose of the placement.”
“I’m afraid I must go,” Lan Zhan says. “My apologies. I have another meeting -.” He gets up.
“You’re a good student, Lan Wangji,” his tutor says. “It’s a good placement.”
Lan Zhan nods and turns to leave. At the door he turns back. “Where is it?” He asks.
“East Anglia,” he says.
“Where the devil is East Anglia?” Lan Huan asks, when he calls him that same evening.
“I don’t know,” Lan Zhan says, feeling dejected. “It’s not to be found on a map.”
“Well I’m sure they can’t simply have made it up,” Lan Huan tells him.
Lan Zhan sighs, “and the family name is Jiang. They must be Chinese. I’m going abroad to be immersed in the language and they’re sending me to a Chinese family.”
“Well it might be of some comfort Zhan Zhan. Lord knows it makes me feel somewhat reassured.”
“Well that’s the main thing,” Lan Zhan mutters.
“It will mean you need to be assertive about speaking English. You know how you hate to be assertive. It will be good for you,” Lan Huan says, in a rather pointed manner, Lan Zhan thinks.
“Mn,” Lan Zhan says. He wants to be annoyed, but really he’s just feeling more and more anxious about the end of term approaching and this next chapter beginning.
Mian Mian drives him to the airport. Neither of them want to spend unnecessary money on parking so she can’t stay longer than fifteen minutes when she drops him off, and they must say goodbye for the year in the parking lot.
He kisses her on the lips, and she leans into him, rubbing his back gently.
“I’ll miss you,” he tells her. “But this year is going to fly by.”
She pushes herself away, and nods. “I know you’re disappointed, but I think you’re going to have a good time,” she says. “Maybe even better than at a stuffy old library in the middle of London.”
He nods. He’s tried to hide his feelings from her, so she won’t worry, but she’s always been astute.
“Lan Zhan -,” she says. Pauses.
He waits. She looks so pretty in the amber evening sunlight. Like a postcard.
“I think - you - we, should have - fun, while we’re apart, don’t you?”
Lan Zhan nods, frowning. He definitely thinks that. He would hate for her not to enjoy herself while he’s away.
“You know -,” she says, frowning now. “Experiment -. I -,” she stops, looking a little blank.
Lan Zhan nods, more vigorously, to reassure her. He’s going to have all sorts of new experiences, and he doesn’t want her to feel like she’s just waiting for him to get back, doing nothing. “Of course,” he says.
She squeezes her lips together, nods, and brushes a tear away from her cheek.
“Don’t cry,” he says, running his thumb over the same track, even though it’s dry now. “We’ll be together again soon.”
She clears her throat. “Message me when you get to the farm,” she says.
Lan Zhan has brought a couple of his favourite novels in English to get himself into the language ‘zone’ on the flight, but he finds his mind wandering in a way it usually doesn’t. He’s jittery, probably from all the tea he’s drunk, but he’s also nervous.
A little online investigation into the mysterious ‘East Anglia’ suggested it was an area of historical interest covering a number of eastern counties in England. But he has very little idea of where his farm is in the midst of this. He keeps panicking he’ll be in the middle of the rural part of an island in the middle of an ocean in the middle of nowhere with no recourse to escape.
He thinks back to his last conversation with Mian Mian. There was something about it he feels that he’s missed. But he doesn’t know what. They’ve been going steady for almost a year, and he knows his uncle wonders about marriage. Maybe it’s something to do with that.
Somehow his mind always slips away when it wanders onto this topic. But it’s comforting to think of her - she's been a security blanket to him nearly all of his life -, and he finally manages to fall asleep.
Still, he’s restless, in his uncomfortable seat. He dreams of large empty houses with endless stairs and corridors. He’s lost and he can’t seem to find his way out. Everyone is speaking a language he can’t understand.
—
Lan Zhan is disorientated and a little nauseous from bad sleep when he lands at Heathrow, and he stumbles as fast as he possibly can through passport control and baggage claim. He washes his face in the bathroom while he waits for the carousel to kick off. Everything smells unpleasant.
There’s a tall and imposing man waiting for him at Arrivals. Lan Zhan supposes it’s a Jiang son, but he soon discovers he’s mistaken.
“Nie Mingjue,” the man says, holding out his hand for Lan Zhan to shake.
Lan Zhan isn’t used to different accents in English, and this one is unfamiliar, but it’s clear enough. “Hello,” he says.
Nie Mingjue doesn’t say much except to enquire about his flight, and they walk in relative silence to where his car is parked, for which Lan Zhan is grateful.
“You should sleep,” Nie Mingjue tells him as he straps himself in. He switches on the radio, a talk channel that sounds a lot more like the English Lan Zhan is used to. He closes his eyes in obedience.
Lan Zhan meditates for much of the journey, except when curiosity gets the better of him and he wants to peek at the landscape. As they drive on, it becomes flatter, more expansive - big, wide fields either side of the motorway, bizarre and strong smells that somehow permeate the closed windows.
The roads become more windy and quiet as the journey goes on, trees and smaller fields either side, and he’s grateful when they finally pull into the farm, so he can get out of the car and breathe in the air. It’s fresh. Fresher than the air around Heathrow. If a little - rustic. He takes deep, reviving breaths.
To the left of him is a pathway to what looks like a maze of red brick square and modern-looking cottages. In front of them, the path leads up a gentle hill, and he can’t see beyond the ridge. To the right, a huge black wooden barn looms before an imposing farmhouse. The noise of clucking poultry is overwhelming as they walk up the paving stones to the house.
Nie Mingjue takes Lan Zhan’s suitcase and lets him into a porch area where they remove their shoes, greeted by a cacophony of yapping dogs behind a second door, and a woman’s voice, yelling at them in Chinese.
Lan Zhan feels a twinge of anxiety, but Nie Mingjue seems unconcerned as he opens the door.
A small woman is tugging on the collar of a tiny but excitable creature, “Behave Kuai Kuai,” she yells in a voice Lan Zhan thinks would make him tow the line immediately. Other dogs of various shapes and sizes surround him but mostly just to sniff him. He hopes that’s all. He’s not familiar with dogs.
A kindly looking gentleman bats one of them down who’s trying to mount Lan Zhan’s leg as he walks towards him with open arms.
Lan Zhan leans awkwardly into his gentle but firm hug, feeling a little weak as he’s buffeted by the man’s back slapping.
“Welcome, welcome,” he says, in English. “We’re so pleased to have you with us.” He grins widely at Lan Zhan. “Tea -, tea,” he says.
Over tea at an enormous kitchen table, Lan Zhan discovers that the couple - Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan, have three children, none of whom are present. Their eldest is married and living in Lincolnshire, wherever that is - Lan Zhan doesn’t get an impression of whether it’s near or far - and, of the two boys, the youngest is away at university and the middle will return tomorrow from a trip. Farm business apparently. There’s a lot of tutting about this one.
Yu Ziyuan tries to speak to him in Chinese but she’s hushed each time by her husband. “English, English,” he says. “The boy’s here to study.”
Yu Ziyuan looks sternly at Lan Zhan. “The children can barely speak a word of their own tongue anyway,” she says.
Lan Zhan is worried she’ll be disappointed in him. He would understand if she was looking forward to chatting with him in her own language. Perhaps he can indulge her a little at some point. When he’s more confident in English, he'll worry a great deal less about speaking Chinese.
They ask him straightforward questions about his home, his family, his programme of study, and he’s grateful for the ease of the conversation.
The tea is strong and milky, and Lan Zhan feels he can’t point out his potential issues with dairy. Jiang Fengmian practically forces him to eat a sugary chocolatey biscuit as well, but Lan Zhan has no time to worry about the after effects as he’s whisked upstairs to his ‘room’ by Nie Mingjue, against the background sounds of the still-barking dogs.
He thanks Nie Mingjue for carrying his suitcase, feeling a little silly about it. Normally he’s the case-carrier but this man is apparently made of muscle.
The room is large and light. They’ve left the window open despite the cool of the evening air, and the thin net under-curtains waft and dance prettily in the breeze.
“You can get settled in before supper,” Nie Mingjue tells him.
Before he turns away, Lan Zhan asks him, because he’s been dying to know and no-one has said. “What do you do here?”
“Farm hand,” Nie Mingjue says, and smiles at him before closing the door.
Farm hand. Lan Zhan turns over the phrase in his head, all sorts of pictures flying through about what that might involve. In his imagination it’s a lot of lifting heavy objects and driving crop machinery. Maybe milking a cow. Although he hasn't seen any evidence of dairy.
He sits down on the large bed in the centre of the room, and stares out of the window for a moment. He can hear a shutter banging from somewhere inside the house.
He opens his suitcase, but becomes distracted by an opening at the side of the room. There’s no door, and he can walk straight through to a second room. It’s clearly lived-in. There are clothes all over the floor, the desk chair and apparently trying to escape the wardrobe. There’s an open bottle of cologne alongside a laptop and piles and piles of paper at the desk. It smells sort of funky.
He returns to his room quickly, hoping he hasn’t transgressed any boundaries.
A door at the other side of the wall turns out to open into a bathroom, with another door leading to the same interconnecting room.
It’s a bizarre set-up. Perhaps the other room used to be used by one of the sons. He hopes it’s the one who’s not coming back, otherwise he will have no privacy to speak of.
He freshens up a little, and has just started unpacking when he’s summoned for supper by a loud call from the floor below, dogs barking at full volume as he heads down the stairs. He hopes it’s just excitement at a new house guest but he has a worrying suspicion this is just what it’s going to be like the whole time.
Supper is an immensely rich beef and kidney stew with a buttery pastry crust. It’s clearly been an effort to prepare, and Lan Zhan doesn’t feel he can point out his unfamiliarity with meat. He promised himself he would adjust to whatever he was given while he was a guest at their house, he just hadn’t expected it to be quite this different. He does as best as he can, and Jiang Fengmian smiles at him, clearly pleased with his appetite, so Lan Zhan knows it’s the right thing to do, and even commits to a second helping.
Nie Mingjue wolfs down his food, consuming in such a volume Lan Zhan can’t help but sneak looks at his progress. There’s something immensely compelling about it that he can’t quite put his finger on. He’s a striking man indeed.
Lan Zhan answers some more questions about himself, and hears a little about the library he’s here to catalogue.
“I’ll show you tomorrow,” Jiang Fengmian tells him, as if it’s a huge treat to look forward to, and - for Lan Zhan - it really is. “You must be tired. We insist you have an early night tonight.”
Lan Zhan’s grateful. He’s noticed, as tiredness has set in, he can only understand around 80% of what’s said, and it’s harder to produce the right words.
He finishes unpacking upstairs before he remembers to message Mian Mian. It’s been such a whirlwind of chaotic and new events since he arrived, and that’s what he tells her by text. He decides against phoning her. He can’t quite get his head around what time it must be in China in his exhausted state. In spite of an uncomfortable stomach, he falls into a deep sleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.
—
Lan Zhan is awoken by a loud cockerel crow as it’s only just becoming light, and the house already sounds busy. He realises he forgot to ask about what schedule he’d be expected to keep, and so he showers quickly and heads to the kitchen. The dogs snuffle and mumble around him excitably, but it's nothing like the onslaught of yesterday.
There’s a strong smell of coffee and breakfast, and the other door of the kitchen is open to a large dining room where small tables are set, presumably for the bed and breakfast guests which he knows form a large part of the business of the farm.
There’s no-one there, but food is set out including a large fruit bowl. He heads towards it, thinking an apple will be exactly what he needs, when Jiang Fengmian appears at his elbow with two steaming plates of bacon and eggs, and he has no choice but to tuck in with him in the kitchen.
The additional background noise to this morning is the wild chattering and occasional whistles of a large grey parrot in a spacious cage that Lan Zhan remembers had a large cloth over it the night before. He’d never have guessed what might be underneath it.
“Please excuse his rudeness,” Jiang Fengmian says.
Lan Zhan realises he must have been staring. He shakes his head. “He’s beautiful,” he says, meaning it entirely.
“He’s called Eddie,” Jiang Fengmian says. “Wei Ying insisted when he was only six. We still don't know why, but we went with it because we'd only just got him as well - Wei Ying I mean.”
Eddie the parrot speaks like he is answering the phone, “Hello Jiang residence?” he says. “Hello?” Lan Zhan is so delighted and it must show on his face, as Jiang Fengmian gives him a quiet, private sort of smile.
To his great relief, it seems the immediate plan is a walk around the farm. Lan Zhan desperately needs to walk off all the fatty food he’s so unused to, and it’s a wonderfully crisp morning for the time of year. Or -, well -, Lan Zhan assumes it is.
Jiang Fengmian waves his hand at the clucking barn, reeling off a number of - presumably - poultry names Lan Zhan has never heard in English before, apart from chicken, obviously. He sees now there are a few separate large stalls inside the massive space, which each contain different sorts of birds.
“- mostly just for eggs,” he catches Jiang Fengmian finishing, and he realises he’s been distracted by the sounds and colours. He thinks he likes the guinea fowl the most, but he’s got a lot more time to make his mind up.
“We'd let them roam the yard all the time,” Jiang Fengmian says, “only they'd just be fox food at night.”
They take a tour of the cottages, and Lan Zhan is pleased to hear that he might be able to help a little with the cleaning and laundry rotations that take up so much of the family’s time. He feels so keenly that he wants to be useful. He feels an odd twinge of something -, maybe even approaching pleasure -, for the first time, that he’s not just going to be stuck in a stuffy library all day. Mian Mian had been right after all. She must know him better than he thinks.
Nie Mingjue joins them for a tour of the farm.
Watching him as he strides in front of them in Wellington boots, hands folded behind his back and taking in the fresh air in deep, hearty breaths, Lan Zhan thinks he looks like a different person than when he first met him - in his element.
Lan Zhan has never really understood wellies before, but now they sort of make sense. Now he sees Nie Mingjue in them.
Most of the active farm produce is from arable, but most of the profit is bed and breakfast and other ventures. Jiang Fengmian tells him that foot and mouth disease put pay to dairy, which they feel grateful for, in many ways, now, although it obviously nearly took them under. It's hard for Lan Zhan to understand the ins or outs of it.
Nie Mingjue has to leave them shortly after he’s joined them to get to work, while Lan Zhan and Jiang Fengmian take a long walk around the property, including the woods behind. It’s delightful.
Lan Zhan has some downtime when they get back to the farmhouse, before Jiang Fengmian calls him and they go out to meet Nie Mingjue on the land with shiny packets of foil and a large flask of tea.
It turns out that in the foil are grotesquely doorstep-style sandwiches, with stodgy white bread cut thicker than Lan Zhan has ever seen, with a tough crust and packed dense with ham, mustard and pickle. They share the flask of tea, which Lan Zhan worries is terribly unhygienic, but he ends up having to take deep draughts anyway, to get down the sandwich.
It does taste nice - in a way -, it’s just hard to chew and swallow. In contrast the tea is a weird combination of bitter, mouth-hooveringly dry tannin and strong, sweet milk. The English do have odd customs.
Lan Zhan supposes part of his job will be preparing lunch time sandwiches and flasks of tea for farm hands and he says so. Jiang Fengmian and Nie Mingjue seem to like that a lot, and they laugh happily. Lan Zhan doesn’t remember being this socially successful before.
Lan Zhan adjusts his speed as he and Jiang Fengmian stroll back to the house, and his mind wanders to his Uncle. He doesn’t see him as often as he’d like since he’s been at university. Or his brother for that matter. He doesn’t like to think of it. He feels like this year will give him space to consider these things in his own time. He hopes so.
Finally he’s introduced to the library. Lan Zhan takes in a breath as they enter. It smells wonderfully of old books and he’s delighted to find it’s in complete disarray.
“We haven’t had the time or resources to manage it,” Jiang Fengmian tells him. “We’re so pleased you’re here.”
On the shelves are largely old English tomes in no sort of order at all, and then there are boxes and boxes filled with Chinese books. An ancient-looking laptop sits on a desk, by a large window. Jiang Fengmian points to it. “My son will help you when he’s able.” Lan Zhan assumes he means with the cataloguing. He’s relieved. It will be no good at all if he develops a system that doesn’t work for the family, and he’s never been all that comfortable with computers. Especially ones that look like they originated in the last century and might burst into flames at any moment.
Jiang Fengmian leaves him to get familiar with the space and the books, and Lan Wangji feels at home for the first time yet.
He gets wonderfully caught up, only surfacing what must be hours later as he hears the loud call for supper and accompanying dog chorus from the other end of the house. His stomach grumbles loudly at him, smarting as he gets up, and it doesn’t feel like hunger. He silently prays for some fresh and simple food on the way to the warm kitchen, but unfortunately it’s steak and potatoes. He scans the hob in the hope of some other at least root vegetables in a pot but to no joy. He’s aware, to Europeans, the steak might be considered to be cooked to perfection but to him it just seems half raw, and the buttery, cheesy potatoes simply indigestible. He gets through it but, for the first time, he feels slightly panicky about how he’s going to continue to survive the food. The conversation is still easy enough but he finds himself distracted, trying to plan sufficiently polite conversations about it.
Yu Ziyuan is going out to a women’s institute meeting, whatever that is, and Jiang Fengmian leans conspiratorially towards Lan Zhan. “I thought we might watch television,” he says, as if it is the height of transgression.
Lan Zhan excuses himself to freshen up after the meal and hunts through his bag to see if he has any medication for indigestion. He doesn’t remember packing any, he didn’t think of it, but it’s possible Mian Mian might have for him because she thinks of everything.
He wants to call her, but he also doesn’t want to bother her. She won’t be able to do anything about it, so the urge is silly.
He would have a hard time describing how his stomach feels if anyone were to ask, but it’s a little like it’s tied itself up into tight knots and is trying, slowly but surely, to strangle itself. He once accidentally flicked onto a space film on television where aliens grew inside people, and he imagines he feels just like the man did before the alien burst out of him and into the freedom of the outside world.
He tries the bathroom cabinet and breathes out in relief when he finds a cheery if scuffed looking pack of red tablets that almost certainly are for stomach complaints. As it crumbles chalkily in his mouth, the tablet tastes like the right sort of thing until it lands inside and feels like it’s merely contributing to the turmoil. A mint in a coke bottle.
He goes back into the bedroom to grab his washbag so he can try a relaxing bath, and jumps with shock to find a man leaning on the door frame between the rooms.
“Hi,” the man says, grinning widely at him and standing up to walk over, holding his arm out.
Lan Zhan presses his hand to his heart, “hi,” he stutters. He moves uncertainly to shake his hand.
The man’s hand is cool and firm. His long fingers grip Lan Zhan’s in an arresting way and Lan Zhan doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so handsome before. It must be something in the water, given the whole - Nie Mingjue - thing - as well.
His long hair is tied back in a high ponytail and his clothes are very black and very tight. It sets him off wondering about the washing powder.
“Put that back down,” the man commands, pointing to Lan Zhan’s washbag. “You’re coming out with me this instant.” He looks Lan Zhan up and down. “You’re not getting into your pyjamas yet,” he says.
Lan Zhan puts his washbag down on his bed stupidly, and the stranger immediately grabs his hand to pull him through the other room and out towards the stairs, pulling him down them roughly, with no consideration for his musculoskeletal integrity.
“But - Jiang - Fengmian -,” Lan Zhan attempts, as he tries not to trip over his feet and fall to his death.
“Oh, he’s fine,” the man turns and smiles back at him. “He and Mingjue like to watch terrible trash together.” He turns his head to shout at one of the rooms Lan Zhan has yet to go in as he yanks him quickly past. “I’m taking Lan Zhan,” he yells.
Lan Zhan is worried they won't hear what with the lord TV blaring out of the room and the dog noise.
“I’m Wei Ying, by the way,” he tells Lan Zhan outside, as he points to a tiny rust bucket of a car by the gate. “Get in.”
Lan Zhan has barely fastened his seatbelt before Wei Ying is pelting down the road at surely far too high a speed and talking at him even faster. He can’t seem to stop squirming in his seat, which, if it’s anything like as uncomfortable as Lan Zhan’s, he can understand. Lan Zhan absolutely cannot pick up a lot of the words to understand them fully, and his heart is in his throat. He grips onto the dashboard for dear life as the engine strains loudly at them every time Wei Ying changes gear.
He does manage to pick up a few fragments.
“I’m sorry we’re sharing - you’re in Jiang Cheng’s room.” Wei Ying has to shout over the noise of the sputtering engine. “There aren’t any other options, since every spare inch of space has to be taken up with paying guests or we’ll go under. My poor sister - they all have to fit in there when they visit. Absolutely no privacy.” He laughs loudly at this and Lan Zhan thinks he certainly doesn’t seem the sort to think very much about privacy. “I’m adopted,” Wei Ying tells him, apropos of nothing, “Jiang Cheng and I are practically the same age but I’m never going to let him forget he’s the youngest.” He throws his head back and guffaws at this one and Lan Zhan wishes he’d concentrate on the road. Not that there appears to be anyone else on it.
Wei Ying pulls off a dramatic turn at high speed that almost has the contents of Lan Zhan’s whole body in his mouth and they’re suddenly in a large bumpy field, no road apparent, where Lan Zhan can see there’s a temporary fairground and circus tent set up over a large area. His stomach groans audibly after Wei Ying cuts the engine, and Lan Zhan quickly presses his hand to it, embarrassed, as if that will do anything useful.
“Hungry?” Wei Ying says. “You are going to love candy floss,” Wei Ying says, clapping his hands excitedly, and then immediately pushes open the car door.
Lan Zhan doesn’t like to tell him the only reason he hasn’t eaten candy floss before is because he doesn’t eat refined sugar. He thinks, in Wei Ying’s head somehow, Lan Zhan is a special Chinese alien who has no clue as to British customs, and Wei Ying’s going to introduce him to them all. Lan Zhan thinks he will be satisfied if it’s his life’s work for the next year not to disappoint him, and he has no clue why.
Wei Ying drags him straight to a candy floss stand to buy Lan Zhan a stick, and looks expectantly at him until he starts to eat it.
“See?” Wei Ying says, “SEE, Lan Zhan?” he nods excitedly, and Lan Zhan nods back, slowly.
“Are you -?” Lan Zhan starts, proffering Wei Ying the stick and hoping he’ll take it from him. He thinks it might be the first thing he’s said since they left the farmhouse.
“Eugh, no,” Wei Ying says, shaking his head. “Hate the stuff.” He shudders.
Lan Zhan almost drops it as Wei Ying screams.
“Huaisang,” he yells, “HUAISANG -.” He jumps up and down, waving urgently. “You are going to love Nie Huaisang,” Wei Ying says, behind his hand to Lan Zhan, and Lan Zhan marvels at how confident he is about what Lan Zhan will love when he's barely met him.
Lan Zhan hasn’t even told his girlfriend of almost a year that he loves her, and he’s not sure if he does yet, so he thinks they’re either dramatically two sides of a culture divide or a personality one, possibly both.
Lan Zhan hasn’t quite caught who Nie Huaisang is, except he assumes it might have something to do with Nie Mingjue. But, when he turns around, the man who greets him is almost Nie Mingjue’s polar opposite.
“Hi,” he says to Lan Zhan, voice dry, “Wei Ying has been immensely excited about your arrival.”
Wei Ying whacks Nie Huaisang hard on the arm. “No I haven’t,” he says. “Oh my god NIE. HUAISANG. You have to hear his accent, it’s adorable,” Wei Ying squeezes his hands together. “Say something Lan Zhan.” He grins at him. “Go on.” He presses himself up close to Lan Zhan and squeezes his arm.
Lan Zhan is starting to feel weirdly faint. “Uh -. Hello,” he says.
Wei Ying screeches, pushing himself off Lan Zhan. “Aaaah -,” he says, “adorable.”
Nie Huaisang rolls his eyes at Lan Zhan, sympathetically. “Adorable,” he says to Wei Ying.
Lan Zhan wants to be annoyed at Wei Ying, he really does, but he just can’t. In fact he feels annoyed with Nie Huaisang for being so sarcastic about it. Wei Ying reminds him of Jiang Fengmian, even though it seems they are not related by blood, and Jiang Fengmian has been so kind to Lan Zhan. He fears he’s becoming hopelessly and unconditionally attached to them all even though he barely knows them.
It’s a strange feeling and he’s not used to it.
Certainly he doesn’t typically favour someone so completely incontinent with their speech. And emotions. And enthusiasms.
“Eat your candy floss, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, voice strict. “He loves it,” he says, shaking his head at Nie Huaisang in apparent disbelief.
Lan Zhan has no choice but to eat it until he can discretely throw the remains of the stick into the nearest bin as soon as Wei Ying is distracted.
It doesn’t take long. Wei Ying is hunting around the fairground with his eyes. “Ride strategy,” he says to Lan Zhan, mysteriously. “Beat the queues. Win at fairgrounds.”
He takes Lan Zhan’s hand and pulls him towards a mini-rollercoaster and Lan Zhan is lost to a whirlwind of rides. At first it’s surprisingly fun. Lan Zhan is shocked to find he quite enjoys most of them, until it all goes wrong on the teacups.
They looked so innocent, and Lan Zhan is charmed. It feels somehow very English to be sitting in a teacup. But he’s failed to realise the primary movement is spinning - quite fast - and in different directions, and it’s definitely not going to work for him at this current time.
He smiles at them politely as they disembark, and excuses himself, managing not to run until he’s hopefully hidden by the crowds. He makes it just in time to be sick in a portacabin of toilets at the edge of the fair, mercifully almost empty, perhaps because of its location. The terrible smells in the place and the visceral sense-reminder of all the rich and unfamiliar food he’s ingested means it’s quite hard to stop, but eventually there doesn’t seem to be anything left.
He pushes open the door and rinses out his mouth at the sink, checking himself in the mirror. Perhaps a little pale, and a little ruddy in the cheeks, but he knows it will die down soon and he will look normal enough. He has one of those lucky complexions. He winces. His stomach is sore, and he strongly suspects there will be diarrhoea in his future, but that is a problem for tomorrow’s Lan Zhan. Right now he is pleased that he feels cleared out. Almost cleansed.
He jumps as a warm body leans up against him, and his nostrils are filled with a smell of alcohol.
“I was completely fucked too,” the random leaning girl slurs at him. “Tactical puke.”
“Mn,” Lan Zhan says. He’s never heard the term ‘tactical puke’ before, but he gets the general idea.
“You’ve got pretty eyes,” she says, apparently mesmerised by them. Then, somewhat inexplicably, “I can’t do my eyes -,” and her forehead crumples as she begins to weep.
“There there,” Lan Zhan says, rubbing her back. “There now,” he says, more strictly.
She straightens up and starts to fuss at herself in the mirror and Lan Zhan gets her a tissue for her to blow her nose on from the toilet stall.
When they’ve both dabbed at her face with cool water to calm it down, Lan Zhan discovers that the problem is that she’s still a bit too drunk to hold her eye pencil sturdily enough to do her wings, and so Lan Zhan ends up doing it for her. It’s not something he’s done before, but he turns out to be naturally very good at it. He’s no idea how they manage to navigate this in English except there’s not a lot of language involved.
She smiles back adoringly at him.
He buys her three bottles of water when they get out of the toilet, and makes her drink one of them before directing her to locate her friends. It takes a while.
“Make sure she drinks these two as well, and no more alcoholic drinks,” he tells them sternly. “For any of you.” He doesn’t think they can be much more than sixteen. “And you need to get home before ten,” he adds, for good measure.
They just blink at him.
“What’s your name?” His leaning friend asks.
“Lan Zhan,” he tells them primly. “Now I really must be going.”
“I love you Lan Zhan,” she calls after him as he walks away.
Lan Zhan finds Wei Ying and Nie Huaisang hanging out at the game stalls. Sweetly, it seems they’ve not gone on any rides without him.
“Are you OK Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying says, his face a picture of concern, “you looked a little green.” He winces.
“I am fine,” Lan Zhan tells him. He will not allow his stupid stomach to humiliate him. “I helped a drunken girl to locate her friends so that she would be safe.”
Nie Huaisang looks like he’s not trying very hard to suppress a laugh.
“Adorable,” Wei Ying whispers, staring at him, clutching his hands together at his chest and turning gently from side to side.
Lan Zhan feels he needs to reclaim some of his pride, and fortunately they are at a stall where you shoot arrows at targets to win prizes, and Wei Ying keeps screaming directly at a gigantic, fluffy plush unicorn which is one of the rewards.
“Oh you are so CUTE,” he yells at it. “You are CUTER than Lan Zhan even.”
Lan Zhan shoots three bullseyes in quick succession and asks the stall lady to give the unicorn to Wei Ying. He doesn’t want the embarrassment of having to give it to him himself.
Wei Ying takes it, already distracted by the big wheel. “Oh pleeeeease can we?” He says, fluttering his eyelashes at Nie Huaisang.
Nie Huaisang folds his arms and frowns. “Fine,” he says.
In the queue, Wei Ying pushes the unicorn at Lan Zhan. “I shouldn’t hog your unicorn,” he says.
Lan Zhan shakes his head, unable to take it back. “It’s for you,” he tells him quietly.
“Oh,” Wei Ying says, hugging the unicorn closer. And then he’s oddly silent for the rest of the wait. The unicorn won’t fit in his lap under the bar in the carriage, and he makes a fuss of getting Nie Huaisang to pay for an extra ticket, and sits it proudly next to him before the stallholder brings the bar down on them.
It means Lan Zhan has to sit next to Nie Huaisang, and he’s already anxious enough about his stomach, but it turns out to be a wonderful ride. They have a stunning view across the flat fields as the sun sets and Lan Zhan’s breath is quite taken away.
“You know he could have easily shot those bullseyes himself, don’t you,” Nie Huaisang tells him.
“Mn,” Lan Zhan says. He doesn’t know anything about Wei Ying at all.
He looks ahead to Wei Ying in the carriage in front of them, top of his head visible, alongside the horn of his unicorn. The way he’s moving, Lan Zhan thinks he might be talking to it.