Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In China, there resides a certain ancient family, and its name is Lan. For centuries, it led all the nation’s greatest scholars, and they say it had three thousand rules and that not a single member of it had an ugly face. They say a lot of things. The family still lives in China…but it also lives in the United States, in suburban Michigan, and the next head of the family is stuck eating a sandwich he had to pick the turkey out of because his school doesn’t seem to understand the concept of vegetarian food. 

Lan Huan knows that bread and lettuce aren’t exactly nutritious but his other option was Flaming Hot Cheetos and he isn’t quite ready to die just yet, no matter how much Meng Yao insists that they aren’t spicy. Lan Huang doesn’t trust that damn cheetah with those damn sunglasses—it has something to hide and he refuses to let it wreak havoc on his digestive tract.

He says as much to Meng Yao, who just rolls his eyes as he hands Lan Huan some gummy bears. “It’s not that spicy,” he insists, again. He tacks on a look of complete and utter exasperation, as if Lan Huan is being the unreasonable one.

Lan Huan just pointedly looks at the Nie Mingjue voodoo doll whose leg is still sticking out of Meng Yao’s backpack. Meng Yao primly ignores him, continuing, “It’s all about tolerance. The more you eat it, the easier it will get.”

“Like the flu?” Lan Huan asks.

“No. Like…running a marathon.”

“So, absolute misery, only delivering satisfaction upon its completion?”

Meng Yao frowns at him, then starts to dig through his backpack. The Nie Mingjue voodoo doll falls to the floor and Lan Huan imagines his best friend at home, rolling off the bed and too sick to actually realize what had happened. Meng Yao puts the doll back into his backpack without a sound. Lan Huan takes another bite of his sandwich and gags on the lettuce.

Eventually, Meng Yao emerges again with a bottle of hot sauce that he slides across the table. “It’s made from jalapenos,” he explains, pointing to its label. “Start putting a bit on everything you eat. It’s a great way to start.”

Lan Huan just stares at it with horror. “Meng Yao, you know you can’t pull out—”

“Hot sauce!” a voice shrieks. Lan Huan closes his eyes and counts in his head, T minus five seconds to impact, four, three, two—

The table jerks so hard that Henry and Henriette’s Jalapeno Hot Mess tilts over and lands on its side, and Lan Huan’s plate goes sliding off the table. His sandwich is still in his hands and he suddenly wishes that he had placed it on the plate so that he’d have an excuse to not eat it anymore. He sighs, turns, and pastes a smile onto his face. “Ah, Wei Ying, it’s nice to see you here.”

The moment Wei Ying recognizes him, his face falls. “Oh,” he says. “You.”

“Me,” Lan Huan agrees. One would think that Wei Ying would be more scared of his boyfriend’s older brother, but Wei Ying isn’t scared of anything—other than dogs—so Lan Huan isn’t exactly surprised. “What are you doing here?”

Wei Ying’s eyes narrow in on the hot sauce which is rolling in lazy circles on the table. “Jalapenos?” He snorts. “What, little baby can’t handle any spice?”

Well, yes, but Lan Huan is not going to admit it—and especially not to Wei Ying, of all people. “Don’t you eat lunch with my brother?” he asks, shoving the hot sauce back onto Meng Yao’s side of the table. “He might get lonely.” Which may actually happen.

Wei Ying raises an eyebrow. “Oh, don’t worry,” he says, projecting his voice loud enough for the entire room to hear, “my Lan Zhan’s having the time of his life discussing your weird-ass Donald Duck fixation with Nie Huaisang.”

Meng Yao’s spoon falls out of his hand. Silence falls over the cafeteria. Lan Huan is sure that if he looks away, he will make eye contact with Lan Zhan’s horrified eyes from across the cafeteria—and probably Nie Huaisang’s amused ones, as well. Which is completely not fair, by the way. Lan Huan forces himself to keep smiling pleasantly as he looks Wei Ying right in the eyes. “And I’m sure ‘prodigy’ of yours is having a splendid time tracking down your dear protege.”

There are audible gasps. He hears a strangled scream from someone he assumes is Jiang Cheng. If it were possible, Wei Ying’s face would probably be going red from rage, but he stays just as pale as ever, though his glare speaks volumes. “Oh, I’m onto you, Lan Huan,” he hisses before promptly racing out of the cafeteria, screaming “Xue Yang, you piece of shit!” the whole way.

Lan Huan, satisfied, goes back to his food. His lettuce sandwich is still in his hands. He suddenly feels a lot less satisfied.

“Was bringing Xue Yang up really that good of an idea?” Meng Yao asks, voice strained.

Lan Huan’s fingers go right through the sandwich as he grits out, “If he can play dirty, then so can I.”

“Lan Huan, the you from middle school would have been horrified,” Meng Yao says, grinning lightly.

Lan Huan says, “The me from middle school would also call you out on that stupid voodoo doll of yours, wouldn’t he?”

Meng Yao silently zips his backpack up and that’s that.

One can keep track of who Wei Ying hates by monitoring which students have been opening their lockers only to get drenched in approximately five gallons of blood. For example, Jin Zixuan and Wen Chao are drenched every day. Lan Zhan, Jiang Cheng, and Nie Huaisang are never drenched. Meng Yao has been drenched once or twice, along with Nie Mingjue.

Lan Huan has been getting drenched once every two weeks since the seventh grade, so he has a system worked out: he asks Lan Zhan to hold onto three spare outfits, all of which fit snugly into that giant duffle bag he likes to call a backpack, and—after wading through the red liquid to gather the materials he needs—he makes the trek from his locker to the boys' locker room, where Lan Zhan silently hands him a change of clothes.

Lan Huan has mastered the art of taking a quick shower and can find himself spotless in under two minutes.

And he has never figured out who cleans up the trail of blood he leaves behind, but both Lan Zhan and Meng Yao insist that it isn’t them, Nie Mingjue doesn’t even know how to properly sweep a floor, and Lan Huan doesn’t actually have any other friends. He chalks it up to the poor invisible custodian, Mr. Han, who really should get paid more. 

Anyway, after the encounter in the cafeteria, Lan Huan isn’t surprised to get drenched in blood. His locker-neighbor, Jason Knight, jumps away a bit, then sighs. “Why does it always catch me by surprise? Ah, whatever. You good, bro?”

Lan Huan spits a bit of blood from his mouth into the blooming puddle on the floor. “Yes, I am,” he says. “Good luck on your stat test.”

“Thanks! Good luck getting cleaned up!”

“Thank you,” Lan Huan replies with a nod. From farther down the hallways, he hears a high-pitched scream. A glance reveals it to be the new girl, Wang Lingjiao, passed out on the floor.

Someone nudges her. “Is she alive?”

“I’ll take her to the nurse,” Wen Chao, also drenched in blood, volunteers. And, well, no one can think of any real reason to argue, so Wen Chao drags Wang Lingjiao’s body across the tiled floor in the direction of the nurse’s office.

Lan Huan shrugs and heads to the boys' locker room. There is a very specific sequence of events that Lan Huan’s bi-weekly clean up follows. The steps are numerous but very clear in order to ensure maximum efficiency. Something that is most definitely not anywhere in the steps is Nie Huaisang standing in the boys' locker room instead of Lan Zhan.

Lan Huan stares for a moment, perplexed, before suddenly realizing that he’s drenched in blood, smelling like a butchering disaster…and alone with Nie Huaisang. He wonders what he’d done in his past life to deserve this. Surely, he couldn’t have been so…so evil as to warrant this! Probably not actually. It’s more likely that Lan Huan just murdered someone out of sheer obliviousness, or even let an actual murderer walk free due to his own sheer stupidity. Maybe he’d hosted the Zodiac Killer in his house and didn’t notice a damn thing. The possibilities are endless.

He clears his throat. “Huaisang,” he says brightly, “where’s A-Zhan?”

Nie Huaisang shrugs. “Making out with Wei Ying in a broom closet.”

So this is what true betrayal feels like. Not that it’s Lan Zhan’s fault, of course, since he’s always been weak to that damn boyfriend of his. “Well played, Wei Ying,” he hisses to the sidewall, “well played.”

Nie Huaisang’s phone stays up, covering the bottom half of his face. “Say, Lan Huan,” he says, “why don’t you get cleaned up? I’ve heard that Ms. Meng’s class is a nightmare…”

Fair point. As much as Lan Huan hates to admit it, Meng Yao’s mother is the strictest teacher he’s ever had. Then another thought slaps him across the face. “You have my clothes?”

“I do! I managed to snag them from Lan Zhan’s bag!” And suddenly Nie Huaisang is trying to shove his spare change of clothes into his hands, and Lan Huan has to lean sharply backward so that he doesn’t get any blood on it. Nie Huaisang yelps, sheepish, and says, “Oh, right, the blood…” Lan Huan doesn’t care, though. His eyes zero in on the stack of clothes. Presented proudly at the top of the stack are Lan Huan’s Donald Duck boxers.

He would pay someone to kill him right now.

Nie Huaisang doesn’t pay them any attention but he must have noticed them! What should he do what should he do what should he do what should he do—

“I’ll just set the clothes on the bench, then!” Nie Huaisang continues. “You go on!”

Never has Lan Huan taken the option of escape faster. He drops his supplies on the bench before booking it into the showers and drawing the curtain closed, peeling his clothes off, and turning the shower on like a dying man. This is fine, he reasons as he scrubs himself down. After all, Nie Huaisang is too…non-confrontational to say anything about the boxers, so he won’t embarrass Lan Huan any further. Of course, there is no greater embarrassment than your crush finding out that you own (one pair of!) Donald Duck underwear, but Lan Huan has decided to pick his battles.

He’s still drying his hair with a towel when he opens the shower curtains, only to be faced with Nie Huaisang’s piercing stare. Lan Huan closes the curtains. He is naked and he expected Nie Huaisang to have already left, but nope, he is still sitting next to his clothes, and he has seen Lan Huan naked.

Today has not been a good day.

Slowly, Lan Huan wraps the towel around his waist—why isn’t it big enough to circle his wait? Is there a fabric shortage he’s unaware of?—and once again opens the shower curtains, keeping his eyes on his clothes as he reaches for them intently. Before he’s able to grab them, Nie Huaisang’s hand wraps around his forearm, stopping his progress with terrifying force.

Lan Huan looks up. Nie Huaisang stares back. Lan Huan says, “Huaisang, I—” Nie Huaisang stands up and takes a step forward. Lan Huan instinctively takes a step back. Then Nie Huaisang is walking right toward him, and what is Lan Huan supposed to do but back away, even as his arm is still being held?

And then his back hits the wall and Nie Huaisang’s hand moves from his arm to resting on the wall beside his neck as he leans in. Here’s the thing: the top of Nie Huaisang’s head comes up to the bottom of Lan Huan’s chin. Still, no matter how tiny Nie Huaisang is, he’s no less intimidating, and so distracting that it takes Lan Huan a full five seconds of silence to realize something: Lan Huan has been kabedoned. By his crush. In the boys' locker room. While he’s essentially naked. Lan Huan thinks he’s going to die.

“Lan Huan,” Nie Huaisang says, as casually as ever, “I helped you, didn’t I?” He uses his other hand to tap his phone against Lan Huan’s collarbone.

Lan Huan.exe has stopped working.

How does one speak English? How does one make sounds that others recognize as human speech? Lan Huan’s mouth defaults to, “Yes.”

Nie Huaisang raises an eyebrow. “Good. Then you can help me, yes?”

“Yes,” Lan Huan says immediately. 

Nie Huaisang pulls back, face bright and phone (on his collarbone, it was on his collarbone!) in hand. “Great! Put on your clothes and you can get to class!” And then he just walks out of the boys' locker room, as if he hadn’t just completely robbed Lan Huan of the ability to speak.

He reaches up and touches his collarbone and decides that, even if Nie Huaisang is going to ask his help hiding a body, it was definitely worth it.

As far as he can tell, there are two types of Lan: the kind that has the latest smartphone, and the kind that still walks around with an iPhone 5. Lan Huan is of the former category, and Lan Zhan is of the latter. To be fair, though, Lan Huan would probably also be of the latter category if the entirety of seventh grade never happened, but seventh grade has scarred him so thoroughly that he will never escape its clutches.

So, Lan Huan always has the newest iPhone model, and his uncle never refuses to buy it for him because Lan Huan’s grades are always top-notch, so all is well.

The problem is, Lan Huan isn’t exactly intuitive when it comes to technology, and it would be too embarrassing to ask Lan Zhan who, despite his old phone, seems to just know what to do with these things. He has resolved to just. Not use his phone, ever. It has yet to come back and bite him in the butt…until now, when Nie Huaisang texts him. You see, no one texts him—not Lan Zhan, not Meng Yao, not Nie Mingjue, no one. This is for a very good reason which he has never explained to anyone, but they have all respected him.

He has never informed Nie Huaisang of this, and so when Nie Huaisang texts him in between classes, his first instinct is to text him and ask him to stop, but the thought fills him with such pain that he lets it be. So, now he’s actively texting someone for the first time in five years.

This is fine. Everything is fine. He forces himself to swallow another one of Meng Yao’s gummy bears that he’d saved from lunch.

His conversation with Nie Huaisang goes like this:

Huaisang: Lan Huan!!!!

 

Hi

 

Huaisang: How are you??

 

I’m fine. You?

 

Huaisang: Nice

Huaisang: So about that favor

Huaisang: You know meng yao’s voodoo doll

 

Yes

 

Huaisang: Help me get rid of it

Huaisang: It’s been causing brother too many problems

 

I see

Well, A-Yao does seem to take pleasure in stabbing it with the closes utensil

He stole a fork out of my hand once

 

Huaisang: Hahaha

Huaisang: I’ll get him for that

Huaisang: Can I come over to your place after school??

Sure

And so, that was that.

The unspoken rule of the Lan household is that, if Lan Zhan or Lan Huan want to bring someone over they have to ask Lan Qiren first. So, in between sixth and seventh period, Lan Huan shoves himself into a broom closet close to his classroom and pulls out his phone, dialing his uncle’s number and waiting anxiously as it rings.

Lan Qiren picks up within three seconds. “A-Huan, is everything alright?” he demands.

Lan Huan blinks. “Um, yes? Is something wrong at home?”

There is a pause, then, “No.” Lan Qiren sounds hesitant. “Why did you call me?”

“I was wondering if I could bring someone over after school.”

“You finally have another girlfriend?” Lan Qiren asks.

Lan Huan immediately scowls at the phone. “What? No. Why would you think that?”

“Meng Yao and Nie Mingjue always tell me themselves when they’re coming over, so it couldn’t be them,” Lan Qiren says. “And the only other person you’ve ever brought over is that ex of yours.”

“That is…” True, actually. “Whatever. Can we stop talking about this? Let’s stop talking about this.”

Lan Qiren hums contemplatively on the other end. Lan Huan knows that his uncle takes a while to make decisions, so he leans back to rest his back against the wall, only to hit something that is most definitely not a piece of custodial equipment. Lan Huan turns around with a strangled scream and his uncle demanding, “A-Huan, what’s wrong?”

In the dim light, he finally makes out a form. It’s a good bit shorter than him and much slighter as well, and something about it is familiar…oh. “Mo Xuanyu?”

Mo Xuanyu stares at him blankly, then says, “Backing into someone is rude.”

“You didn’t even tell me you were here.”

“I thought you knew.”

“How was I supposed to know?”

“You couldn’t sense my presence?”

“…no?” How is Lan Huan supposed to answer that?

Mo Xuanyu brightens up. “Oh, good!”

Lan Huan is pretty sure that he’s lost the conversation. Sighing, he gathers as many Senior Vibes as he can manage and tells Mo Xuanyu, “Scram.” Mo Xuanyu is a sophomore who will probably listen to him, but he’s also Wei Ying’s “apprentice” so, really, it’s a fifty-fifty chance.

Mo Xuanyu squints at him intently, then shakes his head and shoves his way out of the broom closet, muttering something. Lan Huan sighs and pulls his phone back to his ear. “Ah, sorry about that, Uncle. But can I bring someone over?”

Lan Qiren responds, “Yes.” 

“Thank you.”

The resulting silence is awkward, with Lan Huan waiting for his Uncle to end the phone call (as is appropriate). However, what he gets instead is Lan Qiren tentatively saying, “You know, she was good for you. Why did you break up with—”

Lan Huan hangs up the phone.

Back in China, the Lan family owns a sprawling, beautiful estate called the Cloud Recesses. Lan Huan has vague memories of spending summers there as a child, before he started to spend summers doing a multitude of extracurricular activities that required him to stay in the United States. 

Lan Huan lives with his uncle and brother in a relatively large apartment in suburban Michigan, so, you know, that’s a bit of a large difference. 

Nie Huaisang knocks on the apartment door three times in a kind of off-beat rhythm that is almost definitely from some pop song that Lan Huan has no knowledge of. He has half a mind to go and figure it out—watching hours of YouTube, if he must—but decides that, perhaps, that would be overkill. He forces himself to smile pleasantly as he unlocks the front door. “Huaisang, come in.”

Nie Huaisang waltzes in without a care. He’s been over before, of course, by virtue of being Nie Mingjue’s younger brother and Lan Zhan’s best friend, but him being invited over by himself by Lan Huan is something completely new. It makes Lan Huan feel off-kilter in a way that leaves his stomach awash in anxiety. Okay, so maybe “awash” isn’t a good term. Perhaps “under a tsunami of anxiety”? “Drowning in a typhoon of anxiety”? Closer, but not quite.

Nie Huaisang smiles at him brightly. He greets Lan Huan and Lan Qiren—Lan Zhan is doing Mathletes right now—before promptly dragging Lan Huan up to his room and slamming the door shut behind them. “So,” he says, “let’s do this.”

It takes Lan Huan a good moment to remember why, exactly, Nie Huaisang is here. “Right. So, why are you so concerned about the voodoo doll? It’s better than A-Yao actually taking his stress out on Mingjue, you know.”

“It would be,” Nie Huaisang agrees lightly, “if the doll weren’t effective.”

Lan Huan freezes. “No,” he immediately denies. “A-Yao wouldn’t use an actual, working voodoo doll on Mingjue!” That would be…mean! That would be so completely horrible! Surely not even A-Yao—who doesn’t hide his darker side from Lan Huan nearly as well as he thinks he does—wouldn’t intentionally cause Nie Mingjue any (major) harm! The idea is so unthinkable. Of course, Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao don’t get along very well, but Lan Huan doesn’t get along with Wei Ying and they’ve managed to coexist pretty well! …other than the whole “get drenched with blood every other week” thing, but that’s beside the point. Bottom line, he can’t imagine Meng Yao stabbing that doll of his even while knowing it would make Nie Mingjue feel like he’s been stabbed!

A terrible thought suddenly occurs to him. “Is that why Mingjue is ‘home sick’? Is he suffering from the voodoo doll?”

“Oh, no, he’s just a little bitch who can’t handle the flu shot.”

Ah. “Fair enough. But still, Huaisang, is the voodoo doll really that bad?”

“It visibly affects him,” Nie Huaisang intones. “I see Meng Yao stab the doll and then Brother…Brother…” He looks away, blinking away his own tears.

Lan Huan’s stomach drops. “What was the most serious one?”

“On his leg. Meng Yao cut it off and sewed it back on—” right, Lan Huan remembers that day…it was a weird lunch period— “and Brother couldn’t stop itching his leg!” What?

Lan Huan stares at him. “What do you mean ‘itch’?”

“I mean he itched it so bad that it started bleeding! And whenever Meng Yao stabs that stupid doll of his, Brother gets so itchy! It’s painful to watch him, Lan Huan! We have to put an end to this.”

Lan Huan puts his head in his hands and makes himself take a deep breath in, and then another out. “Huaisang,” he says tightly, “did you just get me all worked up over Mingjue getting itchy?” Please say no, please say no, please say no, please—

“It’s a travesty!”

Lan Huan thinks that Wei Ying wouldn’t mind killing him as long as he asks nicely. Sure, Lan Zhan would try to stop him, but there’s only a fifty-percent chance that he’d succeed. The only successful distraction would be making out with Wei Ying, and his brother’s imminent death may or may not make Lan Zhan less horny—he doesn’t know for sure, but he does know, thanks to a very horrifying incident where Lan Zhan forgot to wipe his search history, that Lan Zhan finds anything even remotely related to Wei Ying unbearably hot. Lan Huan dearly wishes he could forget the whole ordeal (especially the Google search “how to have hot ghost sex” which has been forever seared into his brain). It all depends on how horny his brother is, then. 

He decides to place the idea on the backburner for now. “Huaisang,” he says firmly, “you scared me. Don’t do that.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you!”

“Huaisang…”

Nie Huaisang pouts and Lan Huan stares at him and thinks, ‘This is the boy who kabedoned you in the boys' locker room.’ His brain helpfully supplies him with the image of Nie Huaisang leaning up toward him, phone tapping against Lan Huan’s collarbone, and Lan Huan immediately forgets about whatever he was thinking of. “Um.”

“But you’ll still help me, right?” Nie Huaisang asks. “I helped you, it’s only fair.”

“Yes,” Lan Huan says because he can’t get anything else out of his mouth right now.

Nie Huaisang smiles. “Good. Now, first thing’s first—we need to figure out how to neutralize the doll! But to do that, we need to go to whoever gave it to him.” It’s at this point that Nie Huaisang falls into an expectant silence. Lan Huan is still trying to shove the feeling of Nie Huaisang’s phone out of his mind. Nie Huaisang’s smile falls at his continued silence. “Didn’t Meng Yao tell you where he got the doll?” 

Lan Huan, finally back in control of his own body, frowned. “No,” he says, “and I didn’t want to ask him, really.”

Nie Huaisang blinks. “Okay,” he says. “I guess we have to figure it out on our own, then.”

“I can ask Meng Yao now,” Lan Huan offers.

Nie Huaisang immediately shakes his head. “No! He’ll realize that we’re on to him!”

How? How would Meng Yao realize that they’re onto him just from asking him where he got the voodoo doll? Lan Huan almost asks, but then he sees the fire burning in Nie Huaisang’s eyes and realizes that it would be pointless. Sighing, he says, “Then how will we do this?”

“Come on, Lan Huan! Think! Who are the only people that could make a voodoo doll?” Nie Huaisang demands. And, well, fair enough. They get to work.

There are exactly four people that Meng Yao could have gotten the voodoo doll from: Xue Yang, Mo Xuanyu, Wei Ying, and Wen Ning. Since Wei Ying hates Lan Huan, Mo Xuanyu does everything Wei Ying says, and Wen Ning is Wen Ning, they decide to try their luck with Xue Yang…who may or may not be a psychotic murderer, but that’s beside the point.

Xue Yang is a sophomore who lives in a cardboard box behind the town Olive Garden, subsisting off of old pasta, breadsticks, and the occasional shrimp scampi. Usually, though, he’s stuck eating salad, and today seems to be one of those days, since he’s chewing dispassionately on some lettuce when Nie Huaisang and Lan Huan make their way into his cardboard box. He looks up, eyes wide, before narrowing in on Lan Huan.

Lan Huan promptly finds a bowl of Olive Garden salad shoved into his hands. “You’re vegetarian,” Xue Yang says, “you eat it.”

Lan Huan stares down at his salad and wonders why everyone seems to think it’s all he eats. Widely varied vegetarian food exists, and just because some people eat obscene amounts of bacon for breakfast each morning doesn’t mean that there’s no other food. Why does he always get rabbit food shoved at him when he goes out to eat? It isn’t fair—he doesn’t force people to eat just beef jerky whenever they come to his house. Hypocrisy, he figures. Ugh.

…he still eats the Olive Garden salad, though.

Xue Yang leans back, resting against the wall of his cardboard box—which is surprisingly roomy, by the way (the chandelier is a nice touch)—and says, “Well, what’s brought you to my humble abode?”

Lan Huan figures it would be a bit more humble without the floating fireplace, but he just swallows down an olive and responds, “Do you make voodoo dolls?”

Xue Yang’s grin intensifies. “Hoo boy, who managed to screw up so bad that you, of all people, want to torture them with a voodoo doll?”

“No—wait, what do you mean ‘you of all people’?” Lan Huan demands. “I can use a voodoo doll if I want. I’m not scared.” He brandishes his fork like a sword, ready to cut down his enemies.

Nie Huaisang pats his arm reassuringly. “Yes, I’m sure you could, but you’re too nice to actually do it,” he explains. “Like, you’re Lan Huan: the Nice Kid. You help everyone, you’re friends with everyone, you participate in so many school activities. Who would think you’d get a voodoo doll?”

Lan Huan stares at him blankly. Since when has he been someone who’s “friends with everyone”? His friends are: Lan Zhan, Nie Mingjue, Meng Yao, and maybe Nie Huaisang. That’s it. And Lan Zhan may not even count, since he’s Lan Huan’s brother. So, he has three friends, maybe. He used to have more, of course, but that was back in middle school and—that’s beside the point. Bottom line: “What?” He stands. “I can get a voodoo doll of someone, if I want!” He has an idea for who, actually…but it would be an absolutely terrible idea, not to mention Wei Ying would hate him even more if he ever found out.

But. He can still do it. Just to prove to himself that he can.

Nie Huaisang tilts his head to the side. “Wow, is there really someone you hate enough to get a voodoo doll of them?”

And his plan shatters, because the truth is: no, he does not have anyone he hates enough to get a voodoo doll of. He has someone in mind, of course, but he doesn’t hate them—never has, never will. His potential voodoo doll would sit on his nightstand without ever being touched a single time. Rigidly, Lan Huan sits back down, silent.

Xue Yang grins. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” While Lan Huan curls his hands into fists, Xue Yang turns and looks at Nie Huaisang. “You, on the other hand, I believe wholeheartedly. Who’s got on your shit list?”

“Ah, we’re not looking for voodoo dolls,” Nie Huaisang says, “we’re just wondering if you’ve ever supplied one to Meng Yao.”

Xue Yang snorts. “Yeah, no. The thing is, I can’t make functional voodoo dolls. I’m working on it…but I can’t yet. Go ask Wei Ying or Wen Ning about that kind of stuff. I can help with other things, though—curses and hexes, whatever you want.”

“Ah, no curses. We just wanted to know where Meng Yao got the voodoo doll from,” Nie Huaisang replies pleasantly. “…but maybe I’ll come back in the future.”

Xue Yang grins. “Great! Now, get out—I have something cooking in the back room and you two may or may not die in agony once it awakens.”

That was more than enough to get Lan Huan and Nie Huaisang climbing out of Xue Yang’s cardboard box. Unfortunately, it’s not until they’re already a good block away and Lan Huan realizes that he’s still clutching the salad tightly in his grasp. “Dang it,” he hisses.

“It’s just salad,” Nie Huaisang points out.

“Salad is all I ever get to eat when I go outside. At least Olive Garden has vegetarian pasta…” Olive Garden has a lot of vegetarian options, actually, and being able to customize meals is incredibly helpful…but sometimes Lan Huan wants to eat out at someplace other than Olive Garden or, like, Pizza Hut. Sighing, he resigns himself to finishing his salad and tries not to think too much about his conversation with Xue Yang.

He fails.

Chapter Text

Two weeks after the start of seventh grade, one could find Lan Huan smiling brightly. No longer single—he had a girlfriend, and he was so incredibly happy. Two weeks before the end of seventh grade, Wei Ying called him out on “talking shit in the boys’ locker room” and threatened to “beat your face in, you son of a—”

No more ice cream for Lan Huan.

It is common knowledge that Mo Xuanyu is better at the whole dark magic business than Xue Yang, but he never does anything without Wei Ying’s permission, so going to him is useless. Wei Ying himself will never help Lan Huan, even if Nie Huaisang asks him, so their only option left is Wen Ning. Problem: Wen Ning is a bit of a wild card. With Wei Ying, at least, you can rely on him to do the most absolutely inconvenient thing at any given moment, but Wen Ning swings all over the spectrum. At times, he’s so kind and sweet that you can only think of him as a cinnamon roll, and at other times it becomes very apparent that all the bullying he went through in elementary and middle school has not left him and he’s still an incredibly spiteful person.

It’s a game of chance, going to him for help. Hopefully, you’ll catch him in a good mood.

Lan Huan and Nie Huaisang do not catch him in a good mood.

During her freshman year, Wen Qing commandeered the school’s extra science lab and made it very clear that it was her’s, and the only reason anyone should go in was to ask her for help. The next year, when Wen Ning arrived at school, he joined his sister in her science lab, taking half of it for his own use.

Wei Ying breaks in and hangs out every now and then, much to Wen Qing’s chagrin (though, she can’t do much when the target of her ire can lose his corporeal form whenever he wants to) but, generally, people only go to the Wen Lab for specific reasons. Lan Huan and Nie Huaisang have a very specific reason, so they see no reason to not knock on its door.

When the door swings open, they find themselves face-to-face with a very disheveled Wen Ning. He squints at them, stares blankly at the lights, and then sighs and ushers them inside. “Lan Huan,” he says, voice painfully scratchy—from disuse, probably, “Nie Huaisang. What brings you here?”

“Ah, I can tell that you’re preoccupied,” Nie Huaisang says, eyeing the squirming gray mass of…something…squirming between some prongs on Wen Ning’s desk. It manages to wiggle free. Wen Ning blandly takes a carving knife and stabs it into the mass, which lets out a hoarse scream before going limp. His expression does not change. Nie Huaisang continues, “We’ll make this quick.”

“Go on,” he says.

“Did you give Meng Yao a voodoo doll?”

“No,” Wen Ning replies shortly. “I specialize more in the matters of life and death—linking life forces to inanimate objects are part of Wei Ying’s repertoire. Anything else?”

The gray mass has started moving again, screaming and reaching toward Lan Huan, who lets his curiosity get the best of him. “What is that?” he asks.

Wen Ning stares at it. “A manifestation of negative emotions, I think. I don’t know—like I said, it’s not really my forte. Wei Ying wanted me to play around with it.” He turns a blank stare to Lan Huan. “…you take it.”

Lan Huan blinks. “What?” And Lan Huan finds a writhing, squishy, gray mass shoved into his hands. It curls around the middle and pointer fingers of his left arm, snuggling close, and Lan Huan repeats, “What?” The mass snuggles closer.

Wen Ning, as monotone as ever, says, “Consider it a gift.” Then he bodily shoves both Lan Huan and Nie Huaisang out of the Wen Lab, ignoring their screeches. “Thank you for your business.” And so the door is slammed shut.

Nie Huaisang stares at it, then at the gray mass. “It needs a name,” he decides, because of course he does. “How about Bob the Blob?”

Bob the Blob bobs up and down in agreement, and who is Lan Huan to disagree with it? Nie Huaisang grins. “Looks like we have a child, now, Lan Huan.”

For the second time today, Lan Huan is absolutely sure that he’s going to die.

Both Lan Huan and Nie Huaisang collectively procrastinate on confronting Wei Ying—for good reason, of course. There is a very real chance that he’ll turn them away once he finds out about Lan Huan’s involvement in the ordeal.

During this period of procrastination, Bob the Blob grows from the size of his thumb to the size of his palm, and it keeps trying to curl up on Lan Huan’s middle and pointer fingers, and he tolerates it right up until it feels too warm, too heavy, too real. People touching him there is Not Good, for Reasons. He makes sure to pry it off and explain, very gently, that it cannot do that anymore.

His blob child proceeds to continue to do it, so the next time Lan Huan pries it off, he’s firmer. It still does it. The final time he pries it off, he yells, “Stop touching my hand!”

That is what his brother opens the door to. Lan Zhan stares at him, then Bob the Blob, and goes, “Oh.” He walks in and closes the door shut behind him. “Is Baobei giving you a hard time?”

His little brother has already named Bob the Blob, and he’s named it Baobei. It makes sense, of course—Wen Ning did mention that Wei Ying had given it to him, and Lan Zhan seems to know everything that Wei Ying does, so of course he already knows about Lan Huan’s blob child. Lan Huan states very clearly, “This is Bob the Blob, your nibling.”

Lan Zhan pauses. “I apologize.”

“You are forgiven.” He goes back to Bob the Blob. “It’s grown quite a bit.”

“It grows in conjunction with negative emotion.”

“Then it would grow less if it stopped touching my hand.”

“Boundaries are important,” Lan Zhan says patiently to Bob the Blob, who immediately lets go of Lan Huan’s fingers and shrinks away. “Good child,” Lan Zhan says.

Lan Huan’s blob child promptly scurries up his arm and rests itself atop Lan Huan’s head, which is arguably worse. “Come down,” he says sharply. Bob the Blob clings on tighter and Lan Huan just sighs. “Disobedient child.”

“What is so bad about it, Brother?” Lan Zhan asks, blinking up at it.

Lan Huan frowns. “I don’t like it touching my hand or my head.”

“Why?”

“No reason.” Many reasons, actually. But they can broadly be categorized as one reason that Lan Huan refuses to think about. Oh, but now he’s thinking about it, isn’t he? He’s thinking about the way she would stroke his hand and pat his head and— “Bob,” Lan Huan says, immediately gripping Bob the Blob, “do not go on my head, either!”

Bob the Blob lets out a whimper and Lan Huan immediately hugs it close as an apology. Lan Zhan observes it all with a critical eye, then says, “Brother…she was very kind. It is okay to miss her.”

And it’s definitely not his fault, but his words were the exact wrong thing to say. So, Lan Huan says, “A-Zhan, I need to be alone for a bit.”

Lan Zhan’s face twists up in an expression that Lan Huan approximates to “hurt and concerned” but leaves without a protest. Bob the Blob curls around Lan Huan’s middle and pointer finger, and he thinks.

Jiang Yanli was actually the one who asked him out. The thought of dating her hadn’t even crossed his mind before then, but he wasn’t against the idea when she brought it up. And, with a smile, Lan Huan got his first (and only) girlfriend at the age of twelve. They did the normal couple things, dating as well as middle schoolers could, and even his uncle found it somewhat amusing.

To be honest, Lan Huan doesn’t remember much of their time together. Though it mattered at the time, the feelings have long since faded away.

By the end of the school year—exactly two weeks beforehand—Lan Huan was once again single, and he entered the boys' locker room mere minutes afterward. Wei Ying floated in a few seconds later.

Lan Huan left the boys' locker room with his fate sealed.

Now, he stares at Bob the Blob and whispers, “Just…don’t touch my fingers or face, okay?”

Bob the Blob nuzzles into his chest, and Lan Huan counts that as a win.

The next day, at school, Lan Huan is eating quietly with Meng Yao—Bob the Blob set in his backpack so it doesn’t try to steal a bite—when someone places a bottle of lemonade next to him. He blinks at it, perplexed, then looks up. His eyes widen in delight. “Mingjue!” he says. “You’re back!”

“Yeah,” Nie Mingjue says, slumping into his seat. “That flu shot really screwed me over.”

Lan Huan nods sympathetically. “They can be rather strong, yes.” Nie Mingjue is odd like that—he can handle chopping wood and battling whatever monstrosity Xue Yang sets loose on the town just fine, but even a slight cold will have him out of commission for a week at least. “But you’re feeling better now?”

“Yes,” Nie Mingjue agrees. His eyes aren’t on Lan Huan, though. Instead, he’s staring intently at Meng Yao, who’s grip on his soup spoon is so tight that his knuckles have faded to snow-white.

Bob the Blob tries to crawl out of his backpack, so Lan Huan shoves it back inside. “We’re all back together, now,” Lan Huan says sunnily. “Isn’t this nice?” It is not nice. Meng Yao still has that Nie Mingjue voodoo doll shoved into his backpack and Nie Mingjue still looks like he’s going to pummel Meng Yao if he so much as looks at him funny. They used to be best friends—better friends with each other than with Lan Huan, in fact. But, of course, that was all back in that nebulous timeframe where things were Somewhat Okay, but now they are firmly out of that timeframe, so Lan Huan is caught in an endless tug-of-war between the two of them, desperately trying to keep his balance.

It is not going very well, as evident from the voodoo doll, but he is trying. Bob the Blob grows to the size of his hand, which is something he can sense—a feature that is horribly unhelpful in managing anxiety, if you ask him.

Meng Yao says, “Nie Mingjue. I see you’re doing well.”

Nie Mingjue responds, “And I see you’re still a piece of shit.”

Meng Yao lets out a deep breath, then sends him a tight-lipped smile. “And I see that you’re still a—”

“How about we eat?” Lan Huan asks. “Come on, eating is fun! Nutrition! Fueling ourselves for the rest of the day!” Lan Huan smiles and he looks down at his food. It is another lettuce sandwich that he had to pick the turkey off of. Meng Yao has been too preoccupied to give him gummy bears. The lemonade Nie Mingjue bought him is his least favorite brand. Lan Qiren still doesn’t understand why he would bring lunch from home.

Lan Huan would really like to cry right about now, but he forces himself to finish eating. “Mmm, nutritious.” Lies, all of it. He eats anyway.

He’s rewarded for his efforts by Nie Huaisang who, after lunch, corners him and drags him off. “We need to meet Wei Ying,” he says. “Soon.”

“Didn’t you eat lunch with him?” Lan Huan asks. “Really, you can ask him—”

“No!” Nie Huaisang denies. “Wei Ying is very straightforward! He bails out at the slightest hint of deception, and he can sense these kinds of things, you know. Ghosts can do that.” He waves his arms around cryptically, and his phone accidentally smacks Lan Huan’s chest. Memories from the locker room grip him. He might faint.

Nie Huaisang continues, “We have to be sneaky about it! We have to—”

“Ask my brother, perhaps?” Lan Huan asks vaguely. “Wei Ying listens to A-Zhan.”

Nie Huaisang stares. “Lan Huan,” he says, “you’re a genius! I knew I liked you for a reason!” He reaches up and pulls Lan Huan down for a quick, tight hug, then grabs his arm and starts dragging him to Lan Zhan’s next period.

…well then. Nie Huaisang “likes” him? The thought brings a grin on his features. He can work with that.

The orchestra teacher, Mr. McHugh, isn’t all that interested in actually, you know, teaching. Luckily, the entirety of the orchestra is largely self-sufficient, doing their own work and planning their own events. Lan Zhan once explained the proper procedure for getting Mr. McHugh’s approval for anything: slipping the paper in front of him, saying very clearly, “Sign,” and then watch as Mr. McHugh signs his signature without even looking away from his computer.

So, of course, he doesn’t care when two students walk into his classroom. Actually, he probably doesn’t even notice them. Vaguely, Lan Huan wonders if he should report such an obvious oversight to the administration.

…nah.

Lan Zhan is sequestered in the strings section, messing with a metronome with narrowed eyes, when Lan Huan and Nie Huaisang ambush him. “Hey,” Nie Huaisang says sweetly, “Lan Zhan, we need a favor.”

There is a very real possibility that the only reason Lan Zhan doesn’t proceed to elbow them both in the rib cage is because Nie Huaisang is his best friend and Lan Huan is his older brother. He lets himself be hauled out of his chair and into the hallways, where he taps his foot in time with the metronome. “What happened?”

“Did Wei Ying ever give A-Yao a voodoo doll?” Lan Huan asks.

Lan Zhan stares into the distance, eyebrows furrowed, but eventually manages, “No, I do not believe so.”

“Oh,” Nie Huaisang says.

“But, if you’re concerned, all life-binding magic can be neutralized by flames,” Lan Zhan says.

“How do you know that?”

“Wei Ying told me.”

Oh, well, fair enough. Nie Huaisang smiles. “Ah, we’ll let you get back to your violin now—”

“Viola,” Lan Zhan says, and it’s almost a hiss. “I play the viola.”

Nie Huaisang stares at him, and then a look of unbelievable sorrow falls over his face. “Oh, Lan Zhan…you poor thing…”

“The viola is valid!” Lan Zhan yells before sharply turning his back to Nie Huaisang and walking back into the orchestra room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Nie Huaisang bursts into delighted giggles once Lan Zhan is out of hearing range. “I’ve been calling his viola a violin since sixth grade and he always gets so mad! It’s amazing!” He gestures to Lan Zhan who is typing aggressively on his phone, probably to tell Wei Ying about how horribly callous Nie Huaisang was being to him. Wei Ying will, of course, lightly pet his head and curse Nie Huaisang’s name. It really is too adorable to see.

Nie Huaisang eventually calms down, grinning up at Lan Huan. “Well then, we can defeat the doll with fire, so now all we have to do is get the doll. That’s gonna be on you, okay?”

“What?” Why him? He can’t sneak at all! How is he supposed to steal Meng Yao’s Nie Mingjue voodoo doll from right under his nose? This is not a plan meant for him, who, according to his martial artist younger brother, always “projects his movements”. Bob the Blob echoes his anxiety by wiggling around in his backpack. He does his best to project all of these thoughts to Nie Huaisang.

Nie Huaisang seems to understand because he just waves Lan Huan’s concerns away. “Don’t worry, you won’t be doing anything especially reprehensible! Just distract him and leave the rest to me!”

And now Lan Huan faces a dilemma: help distract Meng Yao and possibly end up getting caught and losing his respect…or not do it and face Nie Huaisang’s sad gaze for the rest of his days. The decision of course, is an easy one—especially with Nie Huaisang smiling up at him so brightly.

The problem with trying to drag Meng Yao’s attention away from his bag is that he never actually lets his bag be. When Lan Huan talks to him, it’s under his arm; when Lan Huan forces him to turn and do vigorous activity, it still stays close to his body; when Lan Huan starts an in-depth conversation, Meng Yao puts it in his locker and shuts the door. No matter how much Lan Huan and Nie Huaisang try, the doll stays safely out of reach. Not even Lan Huan actively trying to take the bag—out of sheer frustration, of course—works! Meng Yao ends up tugging it back to himself with twice the force, his smile not shifting an inch!

Bob the Blob is very disappointed in its Uncle Meng.

Three days after deciding to steal the voodoo doll, Lan Huan makes another blood-covered trudge to the boys’ locker room where Nie Huaisang sits on the bench. He tries not to look as panicked as he feels.

“Lan Huan,” Nie Huaisang says with a sigh, “this isn’t working.”

“I know,” Lan Huan agrees, setting his stuff down and heading into the showers, drawing the curtain behind him. He’s brought his own, bigger towel this time, so he’ll be completely covered when he steps outside. Everything should be fine…and then Nie Huaisang keeps talking to him. While Lan Huan is showering. Why.

“So I was thinking,” he says, voice loud enough to be audible over the spray of the shower, “we need to up our game. We need to get more intense, regardless of the potential consequences. You know, A-Huan?”

“Yes!” Lan Huan says, even though he can barely hear him.

“So, I have an idea,” Nie Huaisang replies. “Let’s break into Meng Yao’s house.”

Lan Huan promptly slips on the tile, tilting backward, his head colliding loudly with the floor. Vaguely, he hears Nie Huaisang’s panicked yell, but all he can do is clutch his head and grit his teeth through the agony. Eventually, the waves fade away and Lan Huan opens his eyes to find Nie Huaisang, drenched, leaning over him. “Are you alright?” he demands.

Lan Huan groans and mutters, “Yeah, yeah.”

“Here, get up. Are you dizzy?”

“No.” It just hurts. Lan Huan remembers the summer of sixth grade when Nie Mingjue dared him that he couldn’t jump down from the top of the tree in Nie Mingjue’s yard. Lan Huan insisted that he could. Suffice to say, he one hundred percent could not. “Just…give me a minute.”

Nie Huaisang nods, supporting him as he stands, and it takes another few moments for Lan Huan to realize an incredibly important fact: he is naked. As in, completely, birthday-suit naked. Perhaps this will be the time that some passing deity will take pity on him and put him out of his misery.

…nope. Lan Huan immediately pulls away and laughs, “Thanks! I’ll just…continue my shower…” There’s still blood stuck in patches all over him. This is an absolute disaster.

Nie Huaisang leans closer, concerned. “Are you sure? You really should go to the nurse…”

“After I get washed up!” Please take a hint, please take a hint, please—

“I’ll help! My brother sometimes gets sports injuries so I’ve learned how to do it!”

What. The. Fuck.

Lan Huan grabs him by the shoulders and turns him around, escorting him out of the showers. “I’m fine,” he insists one last time before pulling the curtains closed.

He decides to take a very cold shower.

Breaking into Meng Yao’s house proves impossible, and for good reason: though he and his mother don’t live in the same house as Jin Guangshan, they do live in the same incredibly-expensive apartment complex, as per the agreement reached from Meng Shi’s court case against Jin Guangshan. Being able to break into the virtual fortress is predictably impossible. So, Nie Huaisang and Lan Huan construct a Plan B.

The Meng-Lan-Nie tri-weekly sleepover has been a tradition between the three of them since the sixth grade, when Lan Huan first introduced his Home Ec tutor-turned-friend to his childhood friend. The two of them hit it off spectacularly and, before everything went so spectacularly wrong in the summer after seventh grade, Lan Huan started the tradition. 

They have never stopped, even after Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao had their falling out, and this week, it’s Meng Yao’s turn to host them.

There is a very strict set of rules when it comes to visiting Meng Yao’s apartment: 1) Bring your own damn supplies. 2) Never get noticed by Jin Guangshan. Ever. 3) If you manage to catch Jin Guangshan’s notice, immediately deploy Lan Huan, who Jin Guangshan finds the least reprehensible of the trio, and put his incredibly boring rants about the history of cheese to good use. 4) If Lan Huan is not available, deploy Jin Zixuan, who is always willing to help Meng Yao in an effort to somewhat make up for the years of trauma he’s managed to collect. Not necessarily effective, but his heart’s in the right place. Finally, and most importantly, 5) always be kind to Meng Shi. Bonus points if you bring her a gift.

Lan Huan has three stacks of Lan Zhan’s homemade cookies—the least he can do for a woman who’s about to have four kids dumped into her lap instead of three. Well, hopefully. The plan is for Nie Huaisang to pester Nie Mingjue until he brings him along to the sleepover, and considering Nie Huaisang’s skills at pouting, there is an almost one hundred percent chance that he will be showing up. And, of course, Meng Yao and Meng Shi both genuinely like Nie Huaisang, so they won’t protest to him staying over.

With that in mind, Lan Huan has asked Lan Zhan to prepare his special cinnamon spice cookies, to which his brother stared at him blankly. “The last time you asked me to bake these, it was for Jiang Yanli.”

Lan Huan sighed. “I need enough cookies to make up for dumping another child onto Ms. Meng. Cinnamon spice is appropriate.”

“Brother. Take lost children to the authorities. Please.”

“I never said anything about lost children. Nie Huaisang just—”

“Ah,” his brother interrupted. “I understand now.” And then he just walked into the kitchen and started to pull out his supplies, leaving Lan Huan wondering what the heck that was all about.

It took Bob the Blob’s (imaginary) eyes giving him a pointed look before it finally clicked, Lan Huan’s face went red, and he ambushed his brother, insisting, “It’s not like that, I swear!”

“Sure,” his brother said simply before proceeding to make the cookies in the shape of little hearts. The disobedience! The nerve! (Lan Huan still shoved three into his mouth before his brother reminded him that he was supposed to give them to someone, but that’s beside the point.)

October in Michigan is…not fun, to say the least. However! Lan Huan has come prepared with several layers to keep him from freezing to death. While the wind eats away at him at the front gates, he dares not move an inch—he always has to walk in with Nie Mingjue to make sure Meng Yao doesn’t immediately kick him out on sight. Not that he would immediately do that, but the fact that Lan Huan can’t guarantee anything is rather telling.

When Nie Mingjue does finally arrive, Lan Huan immediately feels sweet relief from the knowledge that he could finally go inside. In fact, he even decides to pre-emptively give him a cookie because this is just that great…until he realizes something: Nie Mingjue is alone. As in, without Nie Huaisang, who was supposed to help him steal the voodoo doll. Shit.

Lan Huan makes sure to keep his smile firmly intact while he indulgently offers some cookies to Nie Mingjue, who just shakes his head. Lan Huan says, “A-Zhan made them.” One is shoved into Nie Mingjue’s mouth before Lan Huan even finishes his sentence.

“How come your brother cooks so well when you can barely make cereal?” Which is a massive overstatement! Lan Huan is perfectly average in the cooking department, it’s just that when you compare him to his brother, his meals are of vastly lower quality. It is very much not indicative of his actual quality of cooking, thank you very much! So, he would very much appreciate it if people stopped dramatically tackling him when he offers food to children.

Meng Yao certainly did not help with the issue when he recounted the tale of how badly Lan Huan failed at doing his laundry upon his first attempt, back when Meng Yao was still merely his tutor. It was just some torn clothes, nothing serious! (Though, it did prompt Meng Yao to ask if he was in any sports. Lan Huan, horrified, made it very clear that he was a band kid, not a jock…even if he participated in three sports.)

But that’s beside the point. All that matters is that Lan Huan can, in fact, cook, and Nie Mingjue is walking away too quickly for Lan Huan to comfortably correct him. No more cookies for Nie Mingjue. Lan Huan hugs the stacks closer to himself as he follows.

“Say, Mingjue,” he says, “you seem a bit on edge. Is everything alright?” He actually doesn’t look too bad, but there is a good possibility that he’s had an argument with Nie Huaisang…specifically about coming here. Perhaps Nie Mingjue will give him information, if Lan Huan is stealthy enough. Maybe he should have signed up for AP Psych—then he’d be able to wring the info out of him.

Nie Mingjue just snorts. “Huaisang begged me to let him come along.”

Ah. Lan Huan had forgotten that Nie Mingjue wasn’t especially invested in keeping secrets from him—or in general, really. Well, that’s all the more convenient. “Why didn’t you let him?” Because that would have been very, very convenient.

Nie Mingjue frowns. “You always said this sleepover was just the three of us. That’s why Wangji, Huaisang, and all of Meng Yao’s assorted siblings were never invited, isn’t it?”

Lan Huan seals his eyes shut and wishes that his past self would stop making such logical decisions—they’re getting rather annoying. Well, whatever. He’ll have nine weeks before the next sleepover at Meng Yao’s apartment and that’s more than enough time to figure out a more fool-proof plan to approach this. He makes sure his smile is still intact and then forges on forward.

Nie Mingjue and Lan Huan find Meng Yao hanging outside his front door, periodically throwing around nervous glances, phone clutched tightly in hand. Aren’t the Powerball lottery numbers supposed to come out soon? Meng Yao usually reserves the entire day for staring intently at his phone, but today the drawing date has managed to fall upon their sleepover. Lan Huan predicts for Meng Yao’s phone to never leave his hand…which is incredibly convenient, actually. Not that he can do much without Nie Huaisang at his side, but it’s still good information to tuck away for the future.

The thought makes Lan Huan smile brighter. Meng Yao smiles back and tries to grab a cookie. Lan Huan steps away. “Your mother gets first pick,” he reprimands. He spies Meng Yao’s eyes narrowing onto Nie Mingjue’s mustache which, yes, still has cookie crumbs in it. Lan Huan forces his mouth to maintain its shape. Meng Yao does not comment and Lan Huan decides to afford him a few points for that—not that it cancels out the whole “bought a voodoo doll of your ex-best-friend” thing but, you know, baby steps.

Meng Shi is sequestered away in the kitchen, simultaneously cooking some dinner and grading the latest AP Stat tests…which must be some kind of health-code violation, but Lan Huan does not dare say a word against a woman who is both wielding a kitchen knife and a red pen. And, no matter what rumors anyone spreads behind her back, everyone has to admit: she’s incredibly talented. College-educated, master-chef level, ambidextrous, child-rearing sensation…who also adores Lan Zhan’s cookies, and thus adores Lan Huan. Ah, to have talented siblings.

Meng Shi greets both Lan Huan and Nie Mingjue with a kiss on the forehead before snatching up the cookies and dashing back into the kitchen, where she will probably eat half the stack before distributing it out to the three of them. In other words, business as usual.

The first official Meng-Lan-Nie sleepover was held at Nie Mingjue’s house in the sixth grade, and its main highlight was when Nie Huaisang ran face-first into Nie Mingjue’s door, resulting in a heavily bleeding nose and a quick doctor’s visit. Lan Huan thought nothing would top it. He turned out to be wrong.

You see, Lan Huan almost misses Nie Huaisang’s text because a) he’s still not used to texting, and b) Meng Yao and Nie Mingjue are having a staring contest over the remote to see who will get to choose the movie they watch (it will be Lan Huan; it is always Lan Huan). He only feels the soft buzz and the faint ping! out of sheet dumb luck. He observes his phone. His eyebrows furrow.

Huaisang: I made it!

Mingjue will be mad

Huaisang: He doesn’t have to know

He’ll notice that you came

Huaisang: Just don’t make a scene when you let me in

Huaisang: Also can you let me in

This is a gated community

Someone will notice

Huaisang: No the gate was easy

Huaisang: You can see me right??

Huaisang: Let me in

…what? Lan Huan’s eyes snap up. 

Meng Yao and Nie Mingjue are preparing to arm wrestle over who gets to choose the movie. Meng Yao will lose. Usually, this is when Lan Huan steals the remote and sets up whatever movie he wants while those two are competing, but this time he’s too confused trying to figure out what’s going on. 

And then he hears it: a faint tapping, barely audible over Meng Yao’s cries of pain as his hand is shoved into the table. Lan Huan glances in the direction from which it came. There, standing on the other side of a window a good three stories high, phone in one hand and gripping the wall with the other, is Nie Huaisang. He smiles nervously.

Lan Huan sets his phone down and puts his face in his hands. Meng Yao demands a rematch. And Nie Huaisang…is unbearably hot.

Well, crap.

Chapter Text

There are many things to appreciate about Meng Yao: he’s dependable (in regards to Lan Huan), he’s kind (to Lan Huan), and he’s smart (which he makes known to Lan Huan). At the present moment, Lan Huan prays to any deity that will listen that Meng Yao will be dependable…as in, he will dependably be more interested in trying to claw Nie Mingjue’s eyes out than in whatever Lan Huan is doing.

(Side note: praying is only to be done in extreme cases, since in this specific corner of suburban Michigan, you never know what, exactly, will decide to answer your prayers.)

Lan Huan briefly considers texting Nie Huaisang and telling him—very frantically—to find another window…you know, one that doesn’t open into the living room where Meng Yao and Nie Mingjue would have a clear view of him? However, Nie Huaisang’s phone promptly slips out of his hands, tumbling down three stories…hopefully into a convenient bush, probably onto cold, hard concrete. The expression of pure anguish on Nie Huaisang’s face suggests the latter.

That option gone, Lan Huan tries to frantically gesture to the left, where the rest of the apartment is. Surely Lan Huan will be able to sneak into one of the rooms and open the window there? But no, Nie Huaisang simply stares at him in confusion, and then—oh Lord, why—proceeds to tap harder on the window. Lan Huan pounces forward and messes with the locks on the window, glancing behind him to ensure that Meng Yao and Nie Mingjue are still at each other’s throats. Good.

He undoes the locks, ready to slide the window open…and then a voice asks, “Lan Huan?”

Lan Huan whirls around, spying Meng Shi squinting at him in confusion. He wonders if there’s a wikiHow article on what to do if your friend’s mother finds you trying to sneak another friend into her house—through her window, no less. There probably is, now that he thinks about it. Lan Huan immediately says, “I can explain! I was—”

She interrupts him, which is nice since he didn’t really have an excuse planned out. “Trying to open the window?” she guesses. “Well, I suppose it does get hot in here with those two fighting all the time.” Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao don’t seem to notice the subtle jab thrown their way, still wrestling. Nie Mingjue is winning, right up until Meng Yao elbows him in the neck.

Lan Huan has bigger things to worry about, though: he whirls around, only to find Nie Huaisang missing entirely. Oh. That…is mildly alarming. It also explains why she isn’t freaking out about the child standing outside her third-floor apartment’s window. Lan Huan turns back around, pasting his warmest smile onto his face. “I suppose it does, Ms. Meng.”

Meng Shi walks closer, conversationally saying, “Lan Huan, if you were always hot, you should have told me! Here, let me help!” And then she walks over and yanks the window open.

Fact: Lan Huan’s preferred temperature range is, on average, hotter than most peoples’. Fact: even Meng Yao’s properly heated apartment is a bit too cold for him. Fact: if he stands in front of the open window for too long, he will probably turn into an icicle. He forces his lips to stay in their warm smile—and wishes it was warm enough to stop his shivering. The things he does for Nie Huaisang.

As Meng Shi walks back away, Lan Huan immediately leans out the window, eyes wide and frantic, searching in horror—and then he spots him. Nie Huaisang is hanging off the window ledge by just his hands—visibly strained, but still managing. Lan Huan stares at him blankly. “You…have good grip strength.”

“Of course I do,” Nie Huaisang wheezes out, grunting in pain as he tries to pull himself up from his position. Lan Huan has half the mind to help him, but the truth of Nie Huaisang’s grip strength still has him stunned, and all he can do is watches Nie Huaisang’s fingers flex, wishing (with too much shock to be embarrassed) that Nie Huaisang wasn’t wearing such a heavy coat. Eventually, when Nie Huaisang throws him a panicked look, Lan Huan finally manages to shake himself back to awareness enough to reach over and haul him up with his right arm, his left keeping him stable on the window frame.

As Nie Huaisang collapses inside, he stares at Lan Huan with blank eyes. “…You’re strong.”

Yes, well, Lan Huan does go to the gym, but Nie Huaisang is the one whose fingers could probably shatter steel. Lan Huan nearly says as much, but then Nie Mingjue lets out a triumphant roar and Lan Huan finally remembers to shove Nie Huaisang behind the sofa, safely out of sight.

Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao are too preoccupied to notice anything else—Meng Yao horribly disheveled from their wrestling match, Nie Mingjue not even winded—but more importantly, Meng Yao is frantically scrolling through his phone, probably checking the lottery numbers, and—

Ah, yes, the face of Crushing Disappointment, one Meng Yao wears every time the numbers aren’t right. With a frustrated groan, he lets the phone drop onto the coffee table before collapsing onto the sofa, face first, not at all concerned about how it looks.

Nie Mingjue sighs and uses one arm to scoot him over before snapping up the remote and choosing whatever movie strikes his fancy. Normally, this is around the time Lan Huan starts gently guiding them into whatever movie he wants to watch, but now he just anxiously eyes the sofa. Nie Huaisang is still sequestered behind it, trying to go undetected, and it’s going astonishingly well.

As Nie Mingjue scrolls through Netflix and Meng Yao holds back his tears, Lan Huan slowly, unremarkably, walks toward the edge of the sofa and discreetly points left. Nie Huaisang, on his hands and knees, brows knit in concentration, nods his head and mouths a single word: Distraction.

Lan Huan seals his eyes shut, sends up a prayer to his ancestors asking for forgiveness, and then blurts the first thing that comes out of his mouth: “So, I might like guys.”

Nie Mingjue glances over at him with astonished eyes and Meng Yao momentarily pops out of his position to stare at him. There is a beat of silence, during which Lan Huan feels his face go unbearably hot, mostly due to one reason, which Nie Mingjue handily summarizes: “Lan Huan, we know. We talked about your celebrity crush last week.”

His celebrity crush—from middle school, dammit!—was, in fact, a man, something neither Nie Mingjue nor Meng Yao had commented about. Instead, they both, in a rare show of cohesion, ganged up on Lan Huan and made pressing observations such as “His fashion sense is abysmal” and “His personality is atrocious” and “Wait, isn’t he in prison for doing cocaine or something?”

Truly terrible friends.

In Lan Huan’s defense, all that he really cared about was the man’s face—and he did have quite the face—and middle school Lan Huan was an idiot.

So, Lan Huan clears his throat. “Yes, well, now you know for sure.”

The silence makes him squirm until Meng Shi cheerfully bursts into the living room and asks, “Who wants hot chocolate?”

Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao are immediately on their feet and in the kitchen, leaving Nie Huaisang clear to scuttle across the living room and into the hallway. Lan Huan yells a quick “I’ll be there in a moment!” and goes right after him.

The first thing Nie Huaisang says after his perilous escape is, “You’re gay?”

“Bi,” Lan Huan corrects. After all, he had dated Jiang Yanli in middle school, and. Well. Whatever. “…Huaisang, I’ve been out for a while.”

“Have you been?” Nie Huaisang asks vaguely.

The answer he receives is not, at all, vague. “Yes.”

“Oh.” Nie Huaisang sighs, fiddling with his phone. “Sorry, I should have known.”

Well, yes, but also no, but Lan Huan doesn’t feel like getting into that. He redirects his brain to a more pressing topic. “How did you get to a three-story window?”

“Uh. I climbed?”

“You climbed,” Lan Huan echoes dumbly. “You could have done anything, and you climbed!” Why is that so hot? Lan Huan thinks he’s going to die.

Nie Huaisang waves him away. “My brother taught me—he keeps saying that I’ll have to take care of the town one day, and I’m like, ‘No, no, that’s your job.’ And he keeps saying—”

I won’t be here forever, I’ll go to college eventually! And then Nie Huaisang will say, Oh, with what money? And then it goes on and on and on because this is a conversation that Lan Huan has heard many, many times, and it always unfolds the exact same. “Yes,” Lan Huan says, cutting it when it becomes clear that no additional information will be learned today, “right, I should have known.” He sighs. “Okay, whatever. You’re here. Go look for the doll and I’ll keep Mingjue and A-Yao out of the hallways.”

Nie Huaisang grins. “You’re a fast learner.” And then he takes off running, leaving Lan Huan behind.

Great.

It’s when Lan Huan is cuddled up with a miscellaneous penguin plushie on the couch, still staring anxiously down the hallway, hot chocolate in hand, that Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao decide to ruin his day. “So,” Nie Mingjue says conversationally, “about your sudden revelation that you like men.”

Ah, right—that. Not his best idea, but it was the first thing that came to his mind back when he was faced with nothing as inspiration but Nie Huaisang. Face heating, Lan Huan murmurs, “I was being silly. Forget about it.”

“You were not,” Meng Yao says, very calm and very patient. Nie Mingjue doesn’t send him his standard look of seething rage, just a look of tolerable one, and Lan Huan very suddenly realizes that they discussed this—that they intended to gang up on him and pry his secrets out of him, to make him face the mortifying ordeal of being known.

What terrible friends! “Guys, I’m bi. We know this.”

“Oh, we know,” Nie Mingjue mutters. “The way you stare at my brother is evidence enough, thank you very much.”

Lan Huan chokes on his hot chocolate. “What?” What staring? He doesn’t stare at Nie Huaisang an abnormal amount or anything! He stares at him for a perfectly reasonable amount of time, which he also does to everyone else! He knows because he’s timed it before and perfected the art of not staring for too long. He lets his incredulousness be known through his seething huff as he takes another sip from his mug. This is ridiculous. This is slander.

“You’re not denying it,” Meng Yao points out, looking like he’s having far too much fun with this.

“I didn’t think I’d have to!” Lan Huan protests.

“You don’t have to,” Meng Yao agrees, “because it’s true. Lan Huan, we love you, we really do, and we want you to stop lying to yourself.”

There’s not much lying to himself that Lan Huan can do when his heart went doki-doki after being kabedoned in the boys’ locker room, but he is taking that secret to the grave, dammit! He glares at the far wall, internally decrying the injustice of it all.

Nie Mingjue snorts. “Whatever. If you’re going to be like this, at least be less obvious.”

Oh. Ah. Nie Mingjue is mad at him for liking Nie Huaisang, which Lan Huan knows because he can’t remember the last time Nie Mingjue openly disagreed with him (for some topic other than Meng Yao). Immediately, Lan Huan is filled with mortification at the reminder that Nie Mingjue is Nie Huaisang’s older brother, and…and…

Lan Huan buries his face into his sweater, which is doing nothing to keep out the cold from the open window. Even Meng Yao and Nie Mingjue are both shivering, but they both care more about Lan Huan’s comfort than their own, so they aren’t saying a word like the stubborn morons that they are, and everything is definitely not going as planned.

Meng Yao huffs out a laugh. “There you go.” Nie Mingjue makes a reluctantly agreeable grunt. There will probably be a precious few minutes of silence before they start a wrestling match over something inane again.

Lan Huan surges to a stand, slamming his mug of hot chocolate down onto the table. “I don’t have to stand for this.” And then, without preamble, he marches deeper into the house, leaving his best friends and their death matches behind him.

Well. They should be sufficiently distracted now. It’s time to find Nie Huaisang.

Nie Huaisang is rummaging through the laundry room when Lan Huan finds him, muttering psychotically to himself. “It’s got to be here,” he says. “Where else could it be?”

“…You haven’t found the doll?” Lan Huan asks, astonished. After all, voodoo dolls do tend to be very noticeable, in his personal experience.

Nie Huaisang turns to him, surprised, before tugging him into the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him. “I haven’t found it,” he agrees, then pauses. “It might not be in the apartment.”

Lan Huan stares at him, horrified. “I froze the living room for nothing?” He’s still shivering, wondering why Meng Shi had let him open the damn thing in the first place—surely there are laws against leaving windows open during an autumn evening in Michigan?

Nie Huaisang scowls. “No, no, this is a good thing. Now we know that he doesn’t keep it here when he knows my brother is coming over, but I don’t think he would keep it too far away from himself…” He taps his nails on the granite counters, the click-click-click drawing Lan Huan’s memories to the window edge once again. “It’s got to be somewhere in the Koi Towers apartment complex…” He pauses, the clicks ceasing with him, as he tilts his head and considers something.

“Okay,” he says finally, “I have a plan. We’re both going to search as much of Koi Towers as we can manage.”

“What?” Lan Huan takes a deep, sharp breath. “Huaisang, they will notice if I leave—”

“Koi Towers is too big for me to search all on my own, and you know your way around better. It will be more efficient if we search together.”

“How am I supposed to just…just go? What will I say?” Lan Huan demands. He likes it here! He likes Meng Shi’s cooking and Meng Yao’s thinly veiled threats and Nie Mingjue’s very open ones! He definitely wants Nie Huaisang to be happy—the thought makes his chest flutter—but surely—

“Please?” Nie Huaisang asks.

Lan Huan’s stomach folds inside out before he sighs and whispers, “Fine. I’ll do it. Give me a second to figure out how to…” He waves his hands vaguely.

It’s moments like these that make him wish he wasn’t merely the nephew of a Chinese immigrant, but actual old Chinese-Michigan blood, because then there would have undoubtedly been some sort of oddness settling into his veins and making him…well, more. More powerful, like the Nie, he guesses. Or maybe as distant as the Wen that live on the hill overlooking the town, or the Jiang whose land no trespasser ever comes back from…or even the Jin and whatever the heck is going on with them that Lan Huan hasn’t managed to puzzle out yet.

Lan Huan doesn’t even have the option of living in a cardboard box behind an Olive Garden, creating horrible monsters to terrorize the town. He’s just…Lan Huan.

Oh, well, when he puts it like that, it’s suddenly much more depressing than he originally thought it was.

Sighing, he tells Nie Huaisang to not come out until Lan Huan makes a sufficient enough distraction, and then slinks out to the living room, where Meng Yao and Nie Mingjue are having a staring contest. Meng Yao’s eyes twitch, obviously red and burning, but he still manages to keep them open. Very dedicated, apparently.

Lan Huan declares, “I’m going for a walk. Alone. To…think about my feelings. About Huaisang.” Much to his horror, it actually works, and Nie Mingjue waves him off while Meng Yao makes an aborted gesture, probably in an attempt to do the same, only to realize that significant movements will probably provoke a blink.

And so, Lan Huan is safely outside the apartment, staring at a pensive Nie Huaisang. “You’re feelings about me?” he asks.

Nope, nope, nope, he is most certainly not having this conversation. “It’s an inside joke,” he lies hastily. “It makes more sense with context.”

Nie Huaisang considers it. “Well, tell me later then.” Lan Huan nods but knows that he will never, ever tell Nie Huaisang the truth, because he’s not a masochist like that.

“Anyway,” Lan Huan says, “why don’t you take the even apartment buildings, and I take the odd?”

“Sure,” Nie Huaisang agrees easily. “You’ll head over one building, then?”

“Yeah,” Lan Huan agrees. “The layout of the area is pretty simple so you shouldn’t get lost.”

“I’ll call you if I do.” Lan Huan stares at him, then down the hallway to the window leading outside, where there is a broken phone somewhere, lying sadly on the ground. Nie Huaisang follows his line of sight and then winces. “You know what, it’ll be fine.”

“If you say so,” Lan Huan mutters. And that’s how he finds himself walking dully through the autumn evening’s air, entering apartment building thirteen—which is a terrible choice for naming an entire apartment building, by the way. What kind of man is Jin Guangshan, forgetting that doing this is surely asking for something to go very, very wrong?

He settles for sighing quietly to himself, closes his eyes, and steps foot into building thirteen of Koi Towers. There is no real difference in doing so, but the mere air here feels charged, forbidding in a way that makes his skin crawl. It’s at the moments like these that Lan Huan usually pulls out his phone and listens to some music, or perhaps a podcast, to take his mind off the creepy crawlies. Now, he has to divert his full attention to the hallways.

Building thirteen is just as large as building twelve, and its layout seems to be the same, so Lan Huan sets forth.

It takes him ten embarrassing seconds to realize that he doesn’t know where to look. Surely Meng Yao wouldn’t leave a voodoo doll lying around on the ground in the middle of the hallway? With growing dread, Lan Huan realizes what he has to do.

Carefully, he knocks on the door of apartment number thirteen-oh-one. For a second, nothing happens, and he knocks again, at which point the door finally opens. On the other side is a young man, dressed head-to-toe in Jin brands, who looks a remarkable amount like Jin Zixuan.

“Jin Zixun,” Lan Huan greets amicably. The sound he receives in return is just a grunt, but he soldiers onward. “Ah, did A-Yao happen to—”

Jin Zixun scoffs. “I’m not going to talk about that bastard!” he yells before slamming the door shut in his face.

Well. It’s not as if Meng Yao would entrust something so precious to Jin Zixun of all people, anyway, so he supposes this isn’t a loss. Sighing to himself he walks over and knocks on the door to apartment number thirteen-oh-two. This time, there is a loud clatter echoing on the other side before a woman’s bright voice calls, “It’s open!”

Lan Huan handles the doorknob and realizes that it actually is open, so he turns and pushes. The apartment is…bear. Unrenovated. Not a hint of furniture to be seen, and the one spot in the kitchen that he can make out from here seems equally as empty. It still sounds like someone is cooking, playing a TV show that Lan Huan doesn’t recognize on a television that doesn’t exist. “Come in!” the same woman’s voice calls, only much closer now.

Lan Huan nods to himself and slowly pulls the door shut instead of stepping in. He doesn’t intend to die just yet, so he goes to apartment number thirteen-oh-three.

This time, no one answers, but the door creaks open by itself, inviting him into the endless black abyss on the other side. Lan Huan once again finds himself slamming the door shut. Surely this is some kind of health code violation? He should ask his uncle to speak to Jin Guangshan about it.

There are six apartments on one floor, three on each side, so he turns and knocks on apartment thirteen-oh-four. This time, an actual person opens the door—and, even better, it’s someone Lan Huan knows. “Luo Qingyang,” he says, letting out a sigh of relief. “It’s you.”

“It’s me!” Luo Qingyang agrees cheerfully. “How did you get here, of all places?”

“I was at A-Yao’s,” Lan Huan explains, “for a sleepover. Luo Qingyang, can I ask you a question?”

“I don’t see why not,” she says.

“Did A-Yao happen to give you a doll to look after?”

“Uh. Not that I know of? I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Lan Huan assures. “I will keep searching. Knocking on doors is bound to get me somewhere.”

Luo Qingyang’s eyes immediately widen in horror. “No! Are you asking to get killed? You can’t just go knocking on—” Her expression shutters. “Did…did you go in order?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, wow. I’m sure the residents in oh-two and oh-three weren’t very welcoming, huh.” She says it weakly.

What can Lan Huan do but agree? “Well, oh-two seemed rather intent on me entering, actually. Oh-three wasn’t…well, they opened the door.” Into the underworld, probably, but Lan Huan decides not to dwell on that part.

Luo Qingyang makes a vaguely astonished noise. “What? They actually wanted you to come in?” She acts as if the idea is absolutely preposterous, and Lan Huan can’t tell if it’s an attack against his character or an attack against her neighbors’. If the latter, then he wonders if she should really be saying such things in the middle of the hallway, where anyone can listen in.

Rather than pointing that out, Lan Huan just asks, “What do you mean?”

“Like—nothing ever happens to you! Other than Wei Ying and the blood, I mean. But, like, you’re Lan Huan!” Yes, that is what’s written on his birth certificate. She must see the confusion on his face because she continues, “You know…you’re, like, untouchable!”

He’s heard people say that about his brother, certainly, but he’s quite sure that this is the first time anyone has said it about him. “Sure,” he agrees, somewhat doubtfully. Hadn’t he always been approachable? In middle school, he’d had many friends. Nowadays, he has nowhere near that many, but he’s friendly enough. No one seems intimidated to do projects with him or anything…but is “untouchable” really how people think of him? Maybe he needs to work on it more.

With that in mind, he decides to change the subject. “Thank you for telling me,” he says eventually. “I’ll keep going, now.”

“What? Did you not hear what I said about getting killed?” Luo Qingyang demands. “Going around and knocking on doors is a disaster waiting to happen, especially in this building!”

Lan Huan feels his lips pull slightly downward into a frown. “What should I do, then?”

She rolls her eyes as she snaps up her coat. “I’m coming with you.”

Oh. “I really can’t trouble you like this,” he insists, but Luo Qingyang storms stubbornly passed them all.

“It’s not any trouble. Besides, I need to make my presence known, anyway—you know, assert dominance and all.”

Lan Huan does not, in fact, know, but he moves to the side, anyway, watching as she walks confidently past him and to the elevator. He…really hadn’t expected her to actually help. He and Luo Qingyang can’t, exactly, be considered more than acquaintances. Her best friend (and relative due to some unspecified relation) is, after all, Jin Zixuan, also known as the current boyfriend of Jiang Yanli, his ex-girlfriend. He has nothing against either Jin Zixuan or Luo Qingyang (in fact, he has a strange sort of kinship with Jin Zixuan, who also gets drenched with blood on a regular basis, but that’s beside the point) but he never expected Luo Qingyang to actively help him.

A pleasant sort of feeling settles in his stomach, and it takes him an embarrassingly long three seconds to figure out that it’s joy. He follows Luo Qingyang into the elevator obediently, a small smile tugging at his lips.

The button Luo Qingyang presses is for floor two, but the elevator stops in between the two stories and slowly creaks open. Lan Huan is met with a long, dark corridor with a single, flickering light. Luo Qingyang calmly presses the “Close Door” button and Lan Huan decides not to comment.

Afterward, the door finally opens on the second floor, and Lan Huan steps off the elevator, not realizing how tense he’d been until he no longer is. Licking his lips, he asks, “What was that?”

“A thing,” Luo Qingyang dismisses, waving her hand. “I told you that it’s dangerous to go around by yourself.”

Well, that isn’t ominous or anything. But, suddenly, the cold grasp of fear encircles his heart as he demands, “Are all the buildings like this?”

“Um, not all of the buildings do this much hosting, but they all definitely do some.”

“Huaisang is searching building twelve on his own,” Lan Huan whispers in horror. “Oh, I—I should go and stop—”

Luo Qingyang snorts. “He’s a Nie, he’ll be fine.”

Intellectually, Lan Huan does know that Nie Huaisang is a Nie and thus should, theoretically, be fine, but he’s also Nie Huaisang, who hates physical activity of any sort…and, then again, he’s also Nie Huaisang, who hung easily off a window ledge using only his fingers. Maybe he will be fine. Still, Lan Huan wishes that he was able to warn him.

He settles for sulkily following Luo Qingyang. She takes to knocking on doors for him, sweetly asking her questions to the person—or the not-person—on the other side. Sometimes, she simply closes the door once it opens, and others, she doesn’t knock at all.

Lan Huan is left to wonder, once again, what is up with the Jin.

On floor five, Lan Huan finally acknowledges, “This is going to take too long.”

Luo Qingyang sighs. “Well, do you have an idea where the doll might be?”

Where would Meng Yao hide a voodoo doll? Well, it’s not in his apartment, and he doubts that Meng Yao would entrust it to some random person (or not-person). Luo Qingyang just shakes her head and ventures onto the next door, which is opened by a child around the age of six, of ambiguous gender, smiling daintily up at Luo Qingyang. She says pleasantly, “A-Fu, did anyone give you a doll to take care of?”

A-Fu giggles. “No, but I have other dolls.”

Luo Qingyang’s smile doesn’t move an inch. “Ah, then how about you run along and play with them.”

“Do you want to play with me?” They sound incredibly hopeful.

“No,” Luo Qingyang says.

A-Fu shrugs. “Suit yourself.” And then they slam the door shut in Luo Qingyang’s face. Lan Huan was unaware until now that children can have such strength, but also Lan Huan has the sneaking suspicion that A-Fu is not, in fact, a child.

“Dolls?” he asks vaguely.

“Dolls,” Luo Qingyang agrees. She does not elaborate. Lan Huan decides not to ask.

It’s not until Luo Qingyang is about to knock on a door under which an endless stream of water runs, flowing directly into a fenced-off, incomplete elevator channel that seems to be running vertically from the top to the bottom of the building. Or perhaps it’s actually completely finished. Either way, Lan Huan isn’t keen on finding out, and he manages to think of a reason to not have to find out. “What if,” he says, “A-Yao hid the voodoo doll in Jin Zixun’s apartment?”

Luo Qingyang frowns, hand a finger-width away from knocking on the door. “Jin Zixun would never agree to that.”

“Yes, but what if A-Yao hid it there without telling him? And he retrieves it after Jin Zixun goes to school every day?” Jin Zixun is, after all, part of the debate club and tends to arrive at school much earlier than his peers.

Luo Qingyang considers. “Well, I suppose it’s possible…”

Lan Huan’s phone buzzes and he’s so startled that he nearly slips and falls on the liquid—which, he realizes with a vague terror, is definitely not water. Scrambling, he pulls out his phone, realizing that Nie Huaisang has texted him.

Huaisang: How far have you gotten???

 

I’m still in building thirteen.

Huaisang: Really?? I just finished here!! Is this too much???

 

No! I actually have an idea of where A-Yao put the doll!

Huaisang: Oooo where?!

 

Jin Zixun’s apartment.

And that’s how Lan Huan finds himself thanking the heavens that Jin Zixun both lives on the ground floor and leaves his window unlocked. Luo Qingyang, who has been forced to rope Jin Zixun into a long conversation, seems less than pleased with this entire setup, but Lan Huan isn’t exactly having the time of his life, either, so she has refrained from actually mentioning it.

Lan Huan is not special in any manner, but he’s quiet enough when he tries to be, so Jin Zixun remains unaware of the intruder making his way into his apartment. It may take crawling behind Jin Zixun’s (massive) sofa, but Lan Huan does eventually manage to reach the entry to the hallway—after entering it, he should be in the clear.

But then he actually turns and faces it, and stares.

In front of him lies a hallway so long that he cannot see its end, as it fades away in some terrifying endless monotony, shrinking into the distance like some demented hotel room. The doors lining its hallways are similarly endless. Lan Huan closes his eyes and takes a deep breath—to prepare himself, but all he ends up getting is a single thought floating through his head:

Goddammit.