It’s a gray autumn morning, and Song Lan just wants to savor the moment.
Part of the Where We Come Alive ficlet series.
Song Lan blinked blearily into the grayness of a rainy autumn morning, the sound of raindrops drumming steadily on the rooftop and windows. He stretched beneath the warmth of the covers, the air just beginning to turn chilly as winter tried to sink in. With a yawn, Song Lan made to get out of bed, but a soft sigh and a warm body pressed against his back stopped him.
“Zichen,” came a sleepy sounding mumble.
One corner of his lips tugged upwards as Song Lan turned. Tucked snugly under the quilt was Xingchen, only his head visible above the bedsheets. Dark strands had come loose from his braid, curling about his face. He must have spoken in his sleep as Xingchen made no other sound or movement as Song Lan shifted closer. With slow movements, he wrapped his arms around Xingchen; he pressed a kiss to Xingchen’s brow before tucking that dark crown beneath his chin. With a quiet sigh, Song Lan closed his eyes, absentmindedly combing his fingers through Xingchen’s hair.
He liked mornings like this, lazy mornings with Xingchen curled against him and still half asleep. They rarely had a chance to linger in bed most days; even after the Olympics were over, it had been a whirlwind couple of months moving back to Boston and both house and school space hunting - not to mention that long promised wedding to plan. Song Lan sometimes missed those slow weekend mornings during their academy days, when they had no classes or practice to attend, no obligations. It was just them, alone in their dorm, enjoying the early morning hours and each other’s company.
Another sleepy mumble of his name drew Song Lan out of his thoughts. This time, Xingchen began to shift into wakefulness, lashes fluttering against his cheeks before opening sleepily. A slow, soft smile spread across his face as he caught sight of Song Lan in the gray morning light.
“Hi,” he murmured softly.
“Good morning,” Song Lan replied. Unable to resist, he leaned in to claim a slow, sweet morning kiss. His next words were murmured in a low voice, lips brushing lightly against Xingchen’s as he spoke. “So, what kinds of plans do you have for today?”
“We still have half the house to unpack.” Xingchen’s laughter in answer to the face Song Lan made was a cheerful echo through the room.
“How about option two?”
“What’s option two?”
A sly grin formed on Song Lan’s face as he whispered low into Xingchen’s ear. “You, me, breakfast in bed.”
“And who is going to be the one to make said breakfast in bed?”
“I didn’t mean that kind of breakfast.”
For a moment, Xingchen simply stared at him, eyes narrowed as he scrutinized Song Lan’s face. With one finger, he playfully tapped Zichen’s temple.
“One track mind,” Xingchen teased.
“Just looking to savor the morning,” Song Lan retorted gently.
“I don’t object, but we do have plans to look at some space for the school, remember? And don’t forget that endorsement deal meeting.” Xingchen fell silent at Song Lan’s agonized groan. He didn’t protest as the arms across is back tightened and Song Lan buried his face against Xingchen’s neck.
“Don’t ruin my morning,” he said, voice muffled by Xingchen’s shirt. Song Lan sighed at the feeling of fingers gently combing through his hair.
“We have time, Zichen. We have all the time in the world now.” The kiss was soft, loving, as Xingchen pressed his lips to Song Lan’s temple. “Just us.”
He pulled back just enough to lift his eyes and catch Xingchen’s gaze, slow smiles forming on both their faces.
“Together,” Song Lan said before he captured those lips again. The rain continued on, drumming rhythmically against the window as they traded kisses and savored the moments.
22. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”
He felt those eyes on him again, as he so often did. Nie Mingjue smiled to himself as he stood in the break room, fixing his morning coffee. He stretched while he waited for the cup to brew and tried not to laugh when he caught the soft gasp of his favorite not-so-secret admirer.
Once his coffee was done brewing he selected one of the sweeter coffee pods and put that in, brewing it for the man who still had his eyes fixed on Mingjue’s back.
He turned around and leaned against the counter, meeting those eyes from across the hallway.
A huff and an annoyed shake of his head, the haze of disinterest falling across his face as he turned back to his work. His little fox’s tail ruffled at being caught staring.
Mingjue did laugh then and got that ice cold glare that always made his pulse jump.
He walked across the hall with his two mugs of coffee.
“Mr. Nie, I see you’ve invited yourself in.”
Mingjue placed the mugs next to one delicate hand, before leaning over the man trying to keep such a fierce frown on his face.
“Mr. Nie,” he breathed into his husband’s ear. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice. Something on your mind?” He breathed in the fresh, citrus scent of Yao’s shampoo. “Distracted this morning?”
“Get out of my office,” his husband said through a fixed smile.
“Is that what you really want?” Mingjue asked as he slid his hands up Yao’s arms to rest on his shoulders, thumbs massaging his nape. “You seem a little tense.”
“I wonder why,” his little fox hissed.
Mingjue couldn’t wait to see what he’d do in the name of this particular revenge.
“I suppose I should leave you to your work,” he said, as he stepped back.
A delicate, but strong, hand shot out and held him place.
“Close the door and then finish what you started.”
“Please. You must remember to say ‘please,’” Nie Mingjue said. “It is the magic word.”
“Now,” Nie Yao ordered. “Before anyone else arrives.”
On a special day, Xiao Xingchen receives a special letter.
Part of the Where We Come Alive ficlet series.
Dear Xingchen,
Surprised? I hope so. You’re probably wondering ‘what is Zichen thinking, writing me a letter like this?’ That’s the whole point - to get you thinking about me. Not a difficult feat since I’m sure you don’t think about anything else.
I’m just kidding. That was pretty corny, wasn’t it? (Don’t tell David, I’ll never live it down.)
But in all seriousness, I wanted to write you a letter like this. I’ve wanted to for a while. Deep down, I guess I’m a little bit sentimental. So here goes, first things first:
Happy 21st birthday, Xingchen. I wish with all my heart I could be there with you on this day.
I miss you, every single day. The texts, the phone calls, I look forward to them. But it’s not the same. I spend months looking forward to breaks so that I can see you; when they come, I just want to spend every single day, every single minute with you - as much as you can stand it. But it’s not the same.
I miss our days at the academy, but I know we can’t have those days back. Time moves forward, so all I can do is weather the separation and look forward to the next time I can see my favorite hello again.
And I have so much to look forward to. I can’t wait, Xingchen. I can’t wait until the next break. I can’t wait until graduation. I can’t wait until ‘I do’. But you’re worth the wait, you always will be.
I love you, Xingchen. I say it all the time, but I don’t ever feel it’s enough. I love you. I love you. I love you.
Happy birthday, my dearest. Until I can see you again.
With all my heart,
Zichen
Alone in his dorm room, Xingchen wiped at the tears with the frayed cuff of his gifted hoodie as he set the letter down. He sank down onto his bed, waiting for the tears and the heaviness in his chest to settle, eyes fixed on that folded correspondence. The weather had changed recently, turning dreary and cold, and it made Xingchen miss Song Lan in profound ways as memories of academy days resurfaced - often unbidden. And then the letter had come, arriving exactly on his birthday. He didn’t think Song Lan had intended for it to arrive on the exact day, but it had and it made Xingchen miss him all the more.
Reaching for his phone, Xingchen checked the time and did a few quick calculations. His fingers tapped out a simple, three word message before he sent the text off. He knew Song Lan was in class, but the chime of an incoming text sounded a few moments later. There were no words in response, just a blurry picture hurriedly and discretely taken. Xingchen had dozens of better photos of Song Lan, but this one touched him deeply.
Wiping one last tear away, he gave a small smile before tucking the letter safely into his planner and packing for fencing practice.
(Note: MXTX never mentions Xiao Xingchen’s birthday, but I always imagined it coincided with Mid-Autumn Festival.)
When Xiao Xingchen becomes overwhelmed, Song Lan knows just what he needs.
Part of the Where We Come Alive ficlet series.
When Xiao Xingchen emerged from his history class, Song Lan was waiting for him with a checkered flannel blanket draped over one arm and a secretive smirk on his face. Just as the last bell tolled and the student body raced off to enjoy the start of their weekend, Song Lan took Xingchen’s hand and began heading in the opposite direction, straight towards the wooded perimeter of the academy grounds.
“Zichen, you know students aren’t allowed in the woods without permission,” Xingchen chastised gently.
“I got permission,” Song Lan called back. He reached back to wrap his free arm around Xingchen’s shoulders, tugging him closer as the pair of them wove between students. “I asked the Headmaster last week.”
“And he said yes?”
“Of course he said yes! It’s not like I said I wanted to set a bonfire or anything.”
“Zichen…”
“I have zero intention of starting any kind of pyrotechnics today. I have other plans.” Song Lan refused to say more, pressing his lips together as he continued to maneuver them both across school grounds. Xingchen had little choice but to follow in silence and wonder.
By the time they reached the edge of the school perimeter, it was quiet. Even if there wasn’t a mass exodus of students currently ongoing, this area of the academy was always calm and peaceful. Stepping up to a large maple, Xingchen closed his eyes and took a deep breath, listening to the wind as it rustled the leaves overhead. Feeling something brush against his cheek, he opened his eyes and smiled at the sight of red leaves swirling in the wind as they fell around him.
“That’s a better look on you.”
Xingchen turned to find Song Lan had spread out the blanket; he sat cross legged in the center of the checked pattern, uniform tie and blazer discarded, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows in the slightly warm weather. That smirk was still present but softer as he held out his hand in a silent question.
It took only two steps for Xingchen to arrive at the edge of the blanket. Dropping his bag with a heavy thud, he sank to his knees onto the soft flannel. Xingchen remained still as Song Lan reached towards him, fingers moving to loosen his tie and slip it over his head. Those same fingers undid the top buttons of his shirt before sliding to the back of his neck. Dark tresses cascaded down his back as Song Lan undid the low bun of his hair, the strands catching in the autumn breeze.
“You’ve been working too hard,” Song Lan said in a low cadence. His thumb rubbed the bridge of Xingchen’s nose, smoothing out the skin between his eyebrows.
“There’s a lot to do,” Xingchen murmured.
“I know. Midterms, the match against Andover, and you have a dance coming up. But you need to relax a little.” Sure, strong hands moved to Xingchen’s shoulders, kneading the muscles at the junction to his neck.
“You always know what I need.” Xingchen didn’t resist as Song Lan pulled him into his lap, cradling him close as those fingers continued to comb through his hair.
“I’m actually a really selfish person, you know,” came the reply. “I did all this so I could have a bit of enjoyment.”
“So you’re saying you don’t love me?”
“I am merely saying that my intentions are not entirely altruistic. Besides…” Song Lan’s voice dropped as he whispered, voice just audible over the breeze. “…I can’t help but love you.”
Xingchen made a small humming sound as he lifted his chin, pressing his lips to Song Lan’s for a slow, soft kiss. The fingers in his hair fell still, that hand cradling his head and holding him in place as the kiss continued. Xingchen felt himself drowning in the familiar dance of lips and tongues.
He would never tire of this, of being with Song Lan, of trading kisses and whispers and touches. Never in his life, never in a million years.
“Selfish or not,” Xingchen murmured after they parted, “thank you.”
Instead of answering, Song Lan pressed another soft kiss to his lips before hugging Xingchen close. Those fingers began combing through his hair again as Song Lan held him, humming a nameless tune as the leaves continued to fall in in cascades of red around them.
Someone’s skewed sense of taste gets him into trouble now and again.
Part of the Camp Fire Tales From Cloud Recesses ficlet series.
The family reunion of sorts was going just fine. Lan Xichen and Jingyi had come over from the Berkshires with Lan Zhan after the end of Friday classes. The plan was for the Lan-Weis, the Jin-Jiangs, and the Song-Xiaos - along with Xichen, Jiang Cheng, and a couple of Nies in tow - to spend a bright, warm autumn day together. It was a playdate of sorts for all the kids, chasing each other and Sugar around the huge backyard while the adults talked and relaxed, forgetting for one day work and other troubles.
Everything was going fine, until…
“Wei Wuxian! Who let you into the kitchen?!”
“Of f…fudging course,” Jiang Cheng muttered. With an irritated sigh, he handed Jin Ling off to his father before following Xichen, Mingjue, and Lan Zhan into the house. In the large kitchen, they found Jiang Yanli at the stove, shaking her head as she stirred a pot of soup. “What did he do now?”
“See for yourself,” she replied with a wave. The four men followed her gesture to witness the standoff occurring across the kitchen isle. On one side, Xingchen was busy putting the finishing touches on what looked to be a pie. Song Lan stood next to him in a protective stance, an apple in one hand ready to throw.
“I was only trying to help,” Wei Wuxian protested from the other side of the kitchen isle. “You know, spice things up a bit.”
“Cinnamon,” Song Lan ground out through his teeth, “nutmeg, all spice. Cardamon. Sugar, a little bit of salt. That’s what you put in apple pie. Not chili powder.”
“Or sriracha powder,” Xingchen murmured as he finished with the pie crust and dusted off his hands.
“Maybe a little?” Wei Wuxian asked.
From the other side of the kitchen, Jiang Cheng let out an exasperated groan and hung his head. Xichen turned to his brother, some silent conversation passing between them before Lan Zhan gave a small shrug.
“Seriously?” Mingjue asked. “What is wrong with your sense of taste?”
“Just trying to make things interesting,” Wei Wuxian said.
“Oh, interesting,” Song Lan huffed. He still hadn’t relaxed his posture, ready to chuck the apple in hand at a moment’s notice. “Like the time you snuck into the camp kitchens and spiced up the mashed potatoes?”
* * * * *
“Baked chicken, mashed potatoes, steamed broccoli, wheat rolls, ambrosia salad.” Jiang Cheng made a face as he read off the Cloud Recesses lunch menu. There wasn’t anything wrong with the menu, per se, but all the food sounded very bland considering the camp’s stinginess with seasonings.
“Streamed broccoli again?” Nie Huaisang bemoaned from behind him. “Isn’t this what we had for lunch yesterday? Where’s the variety?”
“It’s a healthy menu,” Lan Xichen argued as he and Lan Zhan lined up behind Huaisang. “A properly proportioned dose of lean protein, fiber, complex carbohydrates, and vitamins and minerals needed for growing adolescents.”
“Are you or are you not a teenager?” Jiang Cheng asked. “You need more than just rabbit food when you’re growing.” He gave Xichen a once over, eyes roaming him from head to feet. “Especially since it looks like you just had another growth spurt.”
A faint color brightened Xichen’s cheeks at the comment and Jiang Cheng’s scrutinizing gaze. Before he could respond, he was interrupted by a loud groan and the appearance of Nie Mingjue at his elbow, Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen appearing shortly after.
“Chicken again?” he groaned. “Can’t we have some beef or something? Xichen, please talk to your uncle about the choices. I’m sure my dad could draw up a contract for some organic meat or something for the camp.”
“And the academy, please,” Song Lan interjected. “There’s a lot of athletes to feed. A steak now and again will do us some good.”
Xichen could only give a nod as they proceeded through the lunch line, more campers and counselors appearing after them. None of them spoke again as they accepted the food ladled onto their trays.
“Um…” Huaisang blinked down at the scoop of mashed potatoes that dropped onto his tray. “Why are they red?”
Whispers of curiosity and wonder flittered through the campers as everyone stared down at their serving of potatoes and the distinct red coloring they sported.
“That is new,” Xingchen said.
“Is that…paprika?” Mingjue asked, poking at his potatoes with his fork.
“Maybe someone decided to spice things up,” Song Lan said. With a shrug, he lifted his fork and took a bite. One moment, his face was expressionless as he chewed; the next, his cheeks had turned bright crimson as a coughing fit overcame him.
“Zichen?!” Xingchen called in alarm. His fork clattered onto his tray as he dropped it, food forgotten as he began speaking to Song Lan in a low soothing tone as he rubbed his back.
The sounds of surprise, shock, and pain started sounding throughout the cafeteria. In some far corner of the room, someone began to hiccup. Huaisang had gone pale before reaching for his glass of juice, chugging the liquid down in a matter of seconds before fanning himself furiously. Mingjue’s grip on his fork had before so tight the metal was beginning to bend. Xichen was experiencing the same uncontrollable coughing fit as Song Lan, face and neck turning pink with his efforts. Lan Zhan seeming unphased but his ears had gone an alarming shade of red.
Jiang Cheng blinked in confusion at the commotion around him before glancing down at his tray. Dark eyes narrowed suspiciously as he took a tentative taste of the potatoes. A deep frown pulled at his lips as the numbness began to overtake his tongue.
“He did not,” Jiang Cheng muttered.
“Who…” Song Lan choked out before another fit of coughing overcame him.
“Eh…they could be better.”
All heads turned to Wei Wuxian, who had suddenly appeared at Huaisang’s side. He was calm, sanguinely eating the mashed potatoes as if there were not moans of pain and curses sounding all around him.
“What?” he asked, chomping noisily on some broccoli. “It’s just a little seasoning.”
“What kind of seasoning?” Mingjue ground out, voice hoarse as if he had been yelling all day. Large beads of sweat had formed on his brow as he pawed at the front of his chest.
Wei Wuxian shrugged, his fork making a scraping noise as he scooped up the last of his potatoes. “Red savina…no, wait, that’s the wrong color. Ghost pepper, I think.”
“How many did you use?” Xingchen asked. Although he sounded calm, his eyes were wide with a look akin to fright.
“Three…four maybe.” He gave another little shrug before using the last of his wheat roll to mop up what of left of his food.
Horror slowly crossed everyone’s faces as they watched Wei Wuxian push his empty tray aside before pointing at Huaisang’s.
“Are you going to eat that?”
* * * * *
“They were still a little bland,” Wei Wuxian argued.
“You added four whole ghost peppers!” Song Lan nearly shouted. At the other end of the kitchen, Yanli blinked in confusion as identical expressions of revulsion passed over Xichen, Mingjue, Jiang Cheng, and even Lan Zhan’s faces. “Half the camp had indigestion and Wen Ning had the hiccups for three days straight!”
“Please don’t remind us,” Mingjue mumbled, one hand rubbing at his chest as he remembered phantom pains.
“They were still a little bland,” Wei Wuxian repeated. “Maybe I should have used Reapers instead.”
Before Song Lan could speak, Jiang Cheng stomped over to his side. Grabbing that bright red apple, he lobbed it at his brother, the fruit smashing into the floor as Wei Wuxian ducked.
“Why are you like this?!” Jiang Cheng asked, not for the first time in their lives.
“Do not throw fruit in my wife’s kitchen!” Jin Zixuan’s voice echoed from the outside.
“But…”
“Out!”
Everyone froze at the sound of Jiang Yanli’s shout, heads slowly swiveling in her direction. She stood with one hand on her hip, the wooden spoon she had been stirring with brandished in her hand like a sword ready to strike. There was a fury in her eyes that made each of the men shrink back when her gaze fell on them.
“Out, all of you,” she ordered, pointing to the door with that spoon. “If you’re not helping, then leave. My kitchen, my rules.”
“But sis…” Wei Wuxian tried to protest. He darted behind Lan Zhan as Yanli leveled her gaze on him.
There was another moment of silence until, starting with Jiang Cheng, one after another they left until only Xingchen remained. With a sigh, her gaze softened as Yanli turned to him, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Boys, all of them,” she murmured. “Now, really, ghost peppers? Four of them?”
“Unfortunately,” Xingchen said with a shrug.
“Did he try to spice up anything else?”
“Well…there was the incident with tapioca pudding.” As the soup simmered and the pie baked, filling the kitchen with their enticing scents, Xingchen regaled Yanli with stories of that fateful summer no counselor or camper - or their taste buds - was likely to forget.
(There is absolutely no point to this story. I just felt like writing it. And I miss them.)
Dawn was just breaking, rose gold rays stretching over the still slumbering city. Perhaps it was the sunlight that woke him, perhaps it was something else; whatever it was, the moment Xiao Xingchen opened his eyes, he forgot the rest of the world. He let out a low sigh as a soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips, eyes fixed on Song Lan as the morning sunlight highlighted his sleeping face. For a moment he didn’t move, simply taking in the sight before him. Ever so slowly Xingchen raised himself on his elbows, a loving expression on his face as he gazed down at his husband.
Song Lan slept on his stomach, his face half buried into his pillow. The sheets had pooled about his waist, sunlight flittering over the bronzed skin of his back while his muscles slowly rose and fell with his breaths. His hair was mussed from sleep, the front strands long enough to curl across his brow and just brush his eyes. There was the beginning of light shadows below Song Lan’s eyes from long days of pouring over paperwork as they worked to get their fencing school ready to open.
Reaching forward, Xingchen lightly pressed the tip of his finger to the arch of Song Lan’s cheek. His touch was whisper light as he began to trace Song Lan’s features, his fingers moving in random patterns. With each touch, each breath Xingchen could feel a warmth in his chest growing. It didn’t matter how long they had been together, Xingchen never grew tired of seeing his Zichen first thing in the morning or hearing his laughter echoing through the house.
A warm breath breezed across his palm, an unintelligible murmur sounding as dark lashes began to flutter. A moment later, Song Lan blinked blearily into the light. His gaze slowly focused, a smile playing across his lips.
“I never get tired of seeing that,” Song Lan murmured, voice still thick with sleep.
“Of seeing what?” Xingchen asked.
“You.”
He had become accustomed to hearing such words from Song Lan, but Xingchen could still feel the warm flush on his cheeks. He shook his head, the loose strands of his hair waving with his movements. Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to the corner of Song Lan’s lips and felt the warm sigh across his cheek.
“Flatterer.”
“If I can’t flatter my husband, then what is the point?” The pillow muffled most of his laughter as Xingchen delivered a punch to his shoulder, his blush darkening. The room brightened as morning drew on; with a resigned sigh, Song Lan stretched before rolling onto his back. “I guess it’s time to rise with the day.” His movements stilled at the hand to his arm and the soft gaze fixed on him.
“Not yet,” Xingchen murmured. The bed shifted with his movements, his head coming to rest on Song Lan’s shoulder. Xingchen released his own sigh as an arm wrapped around his back, hugging him close as he felt a kiss to his brow. “Not just yet,” he repeated, eyes fluttered closed again.
They had to rise soon, another long day of preparation. But, for the moment, it was simply them and the warm morning light.
Xiao Xingchen’s cold nature gets the better of him, time and time again.
Part of the Where We Come Alive ficlet series.
“Xingchen?” Song Lan called from the top of the stairs, his voice echoing slightly through the house.
“Yes?” came the answer from somewhere in the vague vicinity of the kitchen.
“Have you seen my hoodie?”
“Which one?”
“A Stanford one. Red with white letters. Got a hole in the left cuff and one of the drawstrings looks like it’s half chewed.” A moment of silence answered. “It’s not really half chewed, not by me anyway. Little happy accident with an overly friendly German Shepard.” Song Lan turned, heading in the direction of his brother’s room. “I swear, if David stole it and is stretching it out…”
“David doesn’t have it,” Xingchen called back. His voice sounded closer, the creak of the floorboards indicating he was headed towards the stairs.
“Did my uncle put it in the wash? Maybe Joaquin did; it’s his turn to do laundry.”
“No, they didn’t.”
“Then who…” As Song Lan made his way back to the landing, he looked down to find Xingchen standing at the bottom of the stairs. He was gazing up a Song Lan with an embarrassed expression, wearing the aforementioned hoodie. He averted his gaze, fidgeting with the hem of the garment as Song Lan slowly scrutinized him. “Are those my sweatpants?”
“And wool socks,” Xingchen mumbled.
A knowing smirk tugged at Song Lan’s lips as he began to descend the stairs. “I bet you’re also wearing one of my shirts.” He plucked at something poking out from under Xingchen’s neck. “A Lan Academy one by the color. All bundled up, I see. A little cold, are you?”
“Well…”
Song Lan let out a laugh as he wrapped Xingchen in his arms, pressing a kiss to his brow as he leaned back against the railing. “I know you brought some of your own winter gear back from Notre Dame.”
“They’re in the wash,” Xingchen replied.
“I doubt all of them are. What gives?”
Xingchen didn’t reply right away as he rested his head on Song Lan’s shoulder, heaving a small sigh. “I just…I miss you.”
“I’m right here.”
“I know, and I get to spend Christmas and the New Year with you. But then, after that…”
“Back to the usual.” The way Song Lan said those words was almost as if he felt a measure of longing. The separation due to college was only temporary, he kept telling himself; once they graduated, there wouldn’t be anything separating him and Xingchen. But there were times in which the mere months apart were long and difficult, days in which they both missed the simplicity of their academy past.
“It won’t be long,” Song Lan murmured. One hand cradled Xingchen’s face, thumb flicking lovingly over his cheek. “Soon enough.”
“I know.” Xingchen’s eyes fluttered closed as Song Lan leaned in. They shared a long, slow kiss in the hallway, leaning against one another for balance.
Their moment was interrupted by the loud bang of the door, familiar voices sounding shortly after as the smell of pancakes and sausages wafted by.
“This is your twenty second warning!” David’s voice bellowed through the house.
“You had better be awake and decent!” Sam yelled, heavy footsteps emphasizing his words as he stomped through the kitchen. “Don’t blame us if you’re caught with your pants down!”
“Please be wearing pants!”
“I will kill them,” Song Lan muttered in a low voice. His face broke into a smile at Xingchen’s quiet laughter.
He took a moment to smooth the hair from Xingchen’s face and pull the hoodie more snuggly around his neck before taking hold of Xingchen’s hand. Song Lan pressed an affectionate kiss to his knuckles before towing him towards the kitchen and the ensuring bickering match with his brothers over breakfast.
After decades, Lan Yi reunites with the love she had to give up in order to continue the family legacy.
This story follows @antiquecompass Jiang Cheng and the Lans, and is part of the A Long And Happy Life series.
The young woman who walked up the Nie Residence drive was tall and slender, a kind smile on her face as she took each step with purpose. Lan Yi had spent enough years as the Lan Academy headmistress to be able to identify one of the academy students on sight.
“Madam Lan,” the woman said, sinking almost instinctively into a polite, formal salute. “I’m Song Yating. Uncle Cheng asked if I would drive you today.”
Lan Yi gave her an acquiescing nod before following Yating to the waiting car.
“Jiang Cheng is your uncle?” she asked once they were maneuvering through the Boston streets.
“No,” Yating admitted. “But I’ve known Sizhui and Jin Ling since we were all kids. Our parents would take turns watching all of us, so I’ve just gotten used to calling all the adults in my life aunt and uncle.”
“I see. And where is Jiang Cheng?”
“Headmaster Lan and Sizhui asked if he would accompany them to oversee some last minute preparations for the alumni event. He sends his apologies, but would like to note that this is a better arrangement.”
“And why is that, my dear?”
“Because Baoshan Sanren is my grandmother. And she is currently waiting to see you at my parents’ school.”
Ah, now Lan Yi understood why Yating had seemed familiar to her, more so than just another academy student. There had been something about Yating’s bearing that had been nagging at Lan Yi, and now she could see it clearly; though they weren’t blood related, Yating had the confident stride in her demeanor that could only have been from being brought up under Baoshan Sanren’s strict but loving tutelage.
The traffic was light that day, and in little time they had arrived at their destination. Yating led Lan Yi into a building with a modest brick exterior, the sounds of clashing blades greeting them as they entered a wide space divided into four fencing strips. An épée match was occurring on one of the strips, the students in their white uniforms gathered around to watch, faces a mixture of delight and concentration. From the sidelines, Song Lan observed everything, arms crossed over his chest, eyes flickering left and right with the movement of the fencers.
“Hi, Dad,” Yating said, stepping to his side. Raising herself on her toes, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Is she…”
“In the office,” Song Lan replied. He tilted his chin in the direction before giving Lan Yi a polite nod in greeting.
As she followed Yating towards the glass windowed office, Lan Yi could feel her heart rate rising as she caught her first glimpse of Baoshan Sanren in almost four decades. She was still the woman Lan Yi remembered - a little older and rougher around the edges, but still full of strength and beauty as if time had slowed for her. She sat alone behind the office desk, sipping a cup of tea (Lan Yi wondered if she still favored a strong oolong) as she flipped through some book.
“Hi, Aunt Baoshan,” Yating greeted cheerfully as she entered the office. Baoshan Sanren’s face broke into a smile as Yating leaned over to press a kiss to her cheek.
“How’s my sweet girl?” Baoshan Sanren asked. “Are you getting enough sleep with the archery competition coming up? Your fathers had better be feeding you properly or I will have some words with them.” Her smile widened at Yating’s laughter; a moment later, it withered a touch as her eyes fell on Lan Yi, who lingered in the doorway.
“I’ll leave you two to talk.” After pouring another cup of tea, Yating gestured Lan Yi towards a seat. The office door closed with a click behind her as she left.
For some time they didn’t speak, sitting across from one another, two cups of steaming tea untouched before them. Despite being unable to take her eyes off of her before, Lan Yi now found herself unable to look directly at Baoshan Sanren. Her gaze strayed, flickering back to the fencing strips where Yating now stood next to Song Lan, the two of them conversing quietly.
“She said she is your granddaughter,” Lan Yi said. Mentally, she berated herself; this wasn’t how she wanted the conversation to start.
“Yating is one of many, yes,” Baoshan Sanren replied matter-of-factly.
“I heard your son had won Olympic gold years ago.”
“He did. But he…” Baoshan Sanren made a gesture in Song Lan’s direction. “…is my son-in-law.” The pair of them watched as the épée match ended, the fencers shaking hands before removing their masks. Xiao Xingchen shook his hair free, a happy smile on his face as he walked towards Song Lan and Yating. “That’s my baby boy.”
“He looks like Cangse.” Lan Yi remembered a young girl with a bright smile and equally bright dreams. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to offer her condolences when she heard of what happened to Cangse and Wei Changze - not after how things had ended between them.
“He does.” Those dark piercing eyes turned way from Xingchen and his family to finally settle on Lan Yi. “But you didn’t ask me to meet to talk about my family.”
“No, I didn’t.” Silence stretched between them again, the only sounds to be heard were the mock matches occurring on the strips. “I’m sorry,” Lan Yi said after some time.
“I don’t need an apology,” Baoshan Sanren said. There was no anger in her voice, no reproach. She sat calmly, that gaze still lingering on Lan Yi. “It’s not an apology I want to hear, A-Yi. I just want to know why.”
“You know why.”
“I’m not sure I do. You never were one to follow convention. I can understand you giving into the Elders and taking the position of headmistress. You loved that school - still do, probably. You loved those students and wanted the best for them. I know why you did your duty. But what I don’t understand is why did you…” Even after all the years, she couldn’t bring herself to say it, to ask the question that lingered between them.
Why did you let me go?
Closing her eyes, she could picture them back then. She could still see the crestfallen expression on Baoshan Sanren’s face when she told her it was over between them, the day she had to say good-bye to the beautiful fencer she had fallen in love with. That face had haunted her all through the years, and Lan Yi would never forgave herself for being the reason she saw tears in Baoshan Sanren’s eyes for the first time ever.
“I didn’t want to,” she admitted, her voice low with the slightest tremble from emotions she had been holding in. “The Elders - they told me I had a choice. Either I ended it with you myself, or they would do it for me. I was going to be headmistress one way or another, but I couldn’t be with you at the same time. They wouldn’t allow it.” Her fingers curled into fists, manicured nails biting into her palms. “Even after all that, they forced me out when all I did was try to help the students. All I wanted was to make sure they all received the education they deserved. It wasn’t good enough for them, so they forced me into retirement and replaced me like I was nothing.”
“A-Yi…”
“For a long time, I was angry. I was angry at the Elders for being such stuck up pricks who cared more about their clan reputation than the students. I was angry at them for forcing me to do things I didn’t want to do ever since I was a child. But mostly…” There were tears in Lan Yi’s eyes as she finally held Baoshan Sanren’s gaze. “I was angry with myself, for giving into them and letting you go. You were the best thing to ever come into my life - and I let you go.” Her voice faded as the tears came, ones she had been holding back for years.
Wordlessly, Baoshan Sanren stood and claimed the seat next to Lan Yi. She reached over and grasped Lan Yi’s hand, intertwining their fingers.
“You could have called,” she said softly. “You could have told me.” She didn’t flinch at the almost hysterical bark of laughter Lan Yi released.
“How could I? After leaving you, hurting you. You should be angry with me.”
“I was, but that was a long time ago. I had children to raise so I had to move on. After I heard that you were no longer headmistress, I tried to reach you. Nobody would tell me where you were. Qiren…I could see he wanted to tell me, but he never did, always dutiful to the end. I thought, perhaps, you’d come and find me. So I waited.”
“And now here we are. Maybe it’s too late for us.”
With a sigh, Baoshan Sanren gazed out the office windows. Yating had moved to a far off corner and was speaking excitedly into her phone. Song Lan had remained where he was, watching his students practice, his face a mask of stern concentration. Beside him, Xingchen leaned against him, head against Song Lan’s shoulder, his body posture relaxed and content.
“Song Lan would have waited forever for Xingchen,” she mused quietly. “He made a promise when they were at the academy to wait until Xingchen was ready, until he had fulfilled his dreams. They spent some time apart, waiting and dreaming for that day. They were lucky that it came so soon in their lives. Song Lan used to tell Xingchen ‘you’re worth the wait’.” The beginnings of a smile crossed her face as Baoshan Sanren pressed a kiss to Lan Yi’s temple. “It’s not too late, A-Yi. I’m here, and I’m ready to try again - if you are.”
She could feel the anxiety lessening, replaced with a warmth she never thought she would experience again. With a nod of her head, Lan Yi tightened her hold on Baoshan Sanren’s hand.
“Then let’s try again, Baoshan. Come with me to the alumni gathering. Let’s show those pricks how miserably they failed.”
“That’s my girl. I missed that spitfire spirit.”
Raising their clasped hands, Lan Yi pressed a kiss to the back of Baoshan Sanren’s knuckles. They spent the next few hours getting to know each other again, reminiscing about the past and catching up. It felt almost as if no time had passed, as if they were never separated. And, if they had any say in the matter - which they did, a lot to say in fact - they were not to be parted again.
