Chapter Text
Wei Ying and Lan Zhan continue to text, on and off, throughout the week. Wei Ying blows up Lan Zhan’s phone with long, flailing streams of consciousness; Lan Zhan sends back thoughtful, considerate replies that include proper punctuation and paragraph breaks. Wei Ying has even started wearing pants with pockets to work, just in case her phone buzzes during the day. It’s a good thing that baggy pants are coming into style, otherwise Wen Ruohan is going to scold her for ruining the lines of her outfit.
“Well, well, Wei Ying. Congrats on the Coolsculpting! Or is it the mom jeans that’s hiding your pooch? What are you looking at your phone for?”
Wei Ying sighs audibly and makes sure the cameraman captures her exaggerated eyeroll. Wen Chao, son of Wen Realty Group founder Wen Ruohan, has spent his life being an unmitigated PR disaster for the Nepo Baby community. His full time job is, ostensibly, selling luxury apartments at Wen Realty. His job performance is hampered by the fact that he has been permanently banned from interacting with a number of co-op boards and real estate developers. Nie Huaisang insists that he’s a great reality TV villain, a perfect foil to Wei Ying, but Wei Ying would prefer that he serve his symbolic function much further away from her. Ideally on the other coast; perhaps on Selling Sunset or Selling the OC.
“I’m looking at the fake pap shots from after your last Equinox session,” she says without looking in his direction, “you should think twice about that Gymshark ambassadorship, by the way. Those bike shorts do no favours for your VPL.”
Wen Chao, predictably, sputters. “What VPL! I don’t wear underwear to the gym!”
“Ew,” Wen Qing says, deadpan, as she walks past. She has the best comedic timing. Wei Ying doesn’t know how nobody else seems to notice that.
“Ew indeed,” Wei Ying says as she pockets her phone and turns around. “You know this is gonna air, right? Gymshark should fire you for publicly associating their products with your ball sweat.”
“I don’t have—and those aren’t fake pap shots! Jiaojiao and I get papped all the time!”
“Alexander Skarsgård goes to your Equinox, I think the paps have better things to catch than your gross PDA.” Wei Ying sniffs haughtily and pointedly leaves Wen Chao in the reception area to follow Wen Qing towards the back. Not her wittiest work, but Wen Chao makes himself look so dumb that she emerges the winner every time by default.
Unfortunately, as soon as she enters the VIP Lounge (mahogany-panelled, because Wen Ruohan has the aesthetic sensibilities of a triad boss), Wei Ying is faced with none other than Wen Chao’s wilier brother. Wen Xu is, as usual, dressed in an ostentatious Savile Row suit and sprawled on the dark leather sofa in his signature elegant-but-relaxed pose, ankles crossed and holding a stylus like a cigar. Wen Xu is painstakingly cultivating a reputation as a serious businessman slated to take over his father’s real estate empire: his portfolio of developer relationships and City Hall contacts runs deep, and he seems to have inherited his father’s talent for being unbelievably slimy in a way that nobody could actually prove. He also likes to position himself as the more enlightened of the two brothers, the type that appears at Planned Parenthood galas (probably because he ushered his ex-girlfriend there for an anonymous abortion that he didn’t have to pay for) and shops at the Park Slope Co-op (even though he’s definitely paying his nanny to work his mandatory co-op shifts). Wei Ying has been keeping those facts in her back pocket for a year, just in case she ever needs him to take a PR hit.
"Wei Ying," Wen Xu greets her pleasantly with a smile. Wei Ying smiles back, but she isn't fooled. Much like how people who anthropomorphize smiling dogs get bitten, people who anthropomorphize Wen Xu get a knife in the back.
"Wen Xu, I heard congratulations are in order for the new permits for the tower in Washington Heights," she says.
Wen Xu gives a satisfied hum. "Yes, I am very honored by the opportunity to solve the city's housing crisis."
Wei Ying narrows her eyes, but Wen Xu is very good at appearing as if he truly cares about the housing crisis. Wei Ying would need much more proof in order to call his bluff on-camera. She pats him on the arm and walks over to the large conference table next to the window, which is currently only occupied by a vaguely green-looking Wen Ning.
"A-Ning, how are we doing?" Wei Ying plops down next to her work bag, which looks identical to the Céline tote that she was photographed purchasing from the boutique last month but is, in fact, a high-tier counterfeit sourced from an auntie on WeChat. She sold her authentic bag to a discreet consignment store as soon as the replacement came in, but not before writing a heartfelt ode to the tenure of Phoebe Philo on Instagram.
Wen Ning lifts up his face and gives Wei Ying his big, panicked doe eyes. "Wei-jie! Thank goodness you're here. I've been running open houses for the Murray Hill penthouse for three weeks, but nobody is even putting in an offer!"
"Hmm," Wei Ying puts on her mentor hat, "what's the demographic of people who've talked to you?"
"People in finance, so they should have the money," Wen Ning says sadly. "I don't know why they don't want to buy from me."
"Where have you been advertising your open houses?"
"Just around the neighborhood, like bars and gyms and stuff."
"Ah," Wei Ying sighs, "that's your problem. Most finance guys living in Murray Hill are just getting started. They're in that stage where they cope with 80-hour work weeks by checking out nice things they tell themselves they'll one day afford. They're not serious buyers and half of them are going to move to Connecticut by the time they're ready to invest in real estate."
Wen Ning looks disproportionately crestfallen. Wei Ying immediately feels a bit bad for her little truth bomb.
"A-Ning, it's not a bad thing.” She says encouragingly. “Make a good impression, give them your card, and tell them that you have a wide range of properties around the city, including starter homes. Make sure the option to sort by price is easily available on your listings page, and maybe one or two of them will start thinking about buying, especially since other apartments will look much more affordable in comparison to the penthouse. Just don't spend so much time on the ones who come in groups, those are never serious. Especially if they all have matching Patagonia vests, got it?"
"Wei Ying, you can't reveal on camera that we have cheap apartments in our portfolio," Wen Xu says irritably, not even looking up from his iPad.
"Sorry for giving A-Ning good advice," Wei Ying retorts. "The Netflix money isn't what keeps us afloat and we all know it."
The cameraman behind her sighs. Wei Ying rolls her eyes. "Okay fine, I'll do this spiel again but not say the part about starter homes, alright?"
"But keep the Patagonia soundbite," Wen Xu interjects, pointing at Wei Ying with his stylus.
The cameraman nods. Wei Ying gets to work.
Soon enough, it's the weekend, and Wei Ying finds herself genuinely excited about her outing with Lan Zhan. Not that her enthusiasm has any impact on her time-keeping skills: at 2:25, she's scrambling up the stairs of the Met, once again in her Repettos and a mini dress. The dress she picked this time is black, in deference to the concept of autumn, even though the weather hasn't quite caught up yet.
Lan Zhan is sitting at the top right corner of the stairs, out of the way of the crowd, tote bag squished next to her feet. She has her e-reader in hand and the blankest look on her face.
"Lan Zhan!" Wei Ying exclaims when she reaches her, "look at you, hanging on the Met steps! Are you cosplaying a Gossip Girl character?"
Lan Zhan looks up. She's—God—wearing delicate silver wire-framed glasses that contrast pleasingly with her eyes. "Which Gossip Girl character do you think I am?"
Wei Ying lets out a surprised laugh. ”You know about Gossip Girl? Since when?"
"My brother is a fan. I have seen a few episodes in passing," Lan Zhan says and puts away her book, giving Wei Ying the full force of her gaze, which is not dampened at all by those glasses. "Which character do you think I resemble?"
“Um," Wei Ying says weakly, taken off guard, because truthfully, she’s a bit distracted by Lan Zhan’s outfit. In defiance of both the weather and New York City’s grime, Lan Zhan is in an honest-to-God suit, stark white and perfectly pressed. Somehow, she doesn’t look like a corporate drone, which Wei Ying always does whenever she’s in a suit. "Well, you don't dress like a Serena, I guess you're a Blair by default?"
"Really," Lan Zhan says, looking mildly amused. "You think I could be a Blair?"
"Maybe if I buy you a headband?" Wei Ying hedges. "You're definitely not a Jenny either."
"No," Lan Zhan confirms. "I am not. Nor a Vanessa.”
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying says, delighted. “You really do know your Gossip Girl! Well, Gossip Girl’s world isn’t wide enough to accommodate Lan Zhan’s perfect outfits.”
“If I were forced to pick a fashion icon, I would pick Chuck.”
“…huh.” Wei Ying tilts her head. “I never thought about that, since he’s a guy and all, but I kind of see the vision. I mean, you got the suits and the sweaters, you’re just more picky about colors.”
“My ge is quite insistent about retaining a cohesive color palette for the band, and it is simply easier for me to follow the color palette across my entire wardrobe than to differentiate between use cases and occasions.”
“So that’s why you guys are always dressed like you’re at a funeral! I was wondering about that, since it doesn’t really fit the whole rock music thing,” Wei Ying taps her lips, forgetting that she had put on lip gloss, so now her finger is all sticky, ugh. “Oh, no, wait—tons of Western rock bands dress in all black, like they’re going to a funeral! Hey, does that mean your fashion decisions are also a nod to your musical syncretism?”
“I am honestly not sure,” Lan Zhan admits, “but I will tell ge about this the next time we speak. If he has not thought about it before, I am sure he would be glad to incorporate it into our band lore.” She pauses, “unless you want to retain ownership of your idea?”
“Lan Zhan, you little pedant! How sweet of you! Nah, you guys can have this lil bit of marketing consulting for free, courtesy of Wei Ying!”
“I appreciate Wei Ying’s pro bono services,” Lan Zhan says. Wei Ying giggles and offers a hand to Lan Zhan again. After dusting off her scarf and repacking her tote bag, Lan Zhan follows Wei Ying into the museum.
“Apologies,” Lan Zhan frowns when she sees the line. “I did not realize the queue would be so long. I should have purchased the tickets while waiting.”
“Aiya, save me some face, Lan Zhan! I come late and I get rewarded with free tickets? Good thing I’m not your kid, I’d turn out to be the most spoiled princess in all of Manhattan if that’s the kind of standard you set! But fear not, Lan Zhan, I planned ahead!” Wei Ying opens her tiny wallet-on-chain and pulls out her phone, which takes up the bulk of the bag. “I bought tickets online. You paid for way too much stuff last time!”
Lan Zhan is staring at Wei Ying’s phone. “You…bought tickets for me?”
Wei Ying winks. “Duh, what kind of shoddy tour guide would I be if I let you waste away the afternoon in line with a bunch of tourists?” She moves towards the entrance to the galleries, holding out her phone to scan the QR code. “But there is a catch. If you buy tickets online, you can’t take advantage of the pay-what-you-can option available to all New York residents. Not an issue for me these days, but I have fond memories of coming here and paying zero dollars back in college!”
Lan Zhan makes a considering noise. “Most museums in London are free for everyone, so this is something I am also not accustomed to.”
“Ah, New York,” Wei Ying sighs dramatically. “It costs you money to bleed here, I swear. Anyway, not to racially profile you, but let’s start at the Asian Art gallery?”
“Mn.” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying is 60% sure that there’s a little smile playing at the corner of her lips.
The afternoon proved to be productive: Wei Ying manages to show off everything she learned from that one art history class in college, and Lan Zhan dutifully listens to her rambles about topics that only tangentially have to do with art (Lan Zhan, next time I'll take you to the Natural History Museum and you'll see how ridiculous it is that some things are considered art, yet others are considered natural artifacts!).
On their way out, Lan Zhan slows her steps by the gift shop. Wei Ying plows on ahead for several feet before she realizes that Lan Zhan is no longer next to her.
"Lan Zhan, do you want to go in?" Wei Ying spins around. "I love the gift shop, I'm happy to go with you!"
Lan Zhan nods hesitantly, but as soon as they enter the shop, she makes a beeline for the postcards.
“Are you sending one to your family?” Wei Ying asks, idly passing her hands over the wall of smooth cardstock.
"I like to collect a postcard from every museum I go to, ideally of a piece that resonated with me in some way."
"That's such a nice tradition," Wei Ying says, "how many postcards have you collected so far?"
Lan Zhan stops for a moment, then shakes her head. "I'm afraid I don't remember."
"That's Mrs. Worldwide for you!" Wei Ying teases, "you've been to so many museums you can't even count them all!"
"I like museums," Lan Zhan mutters. Aw, is she embarrassed?
"I think it's cute!”
Lan Zhan pretends not to hear her and picks up a postcard of Sargent's Madame X.
"Ooh, nice pick!" Wei Ying says. She does remember Lan Zhan taking a second look at the painting in the American Wing, when Wei Ying herself was lamenting her blisters on a nearby bench. "Hey, I'm basically wearing the same dress, except mine is way shorter, haha. You know, when this painting was first exhibited, people called it vulgar and obscene! One of her straps was falling off, like this," Wei Ying demonstrates by pushing the thin ribbon strap off of her left shoulder. "They thought it was so scandalous, the idea that her tit could fall out. How times change, right?"
"Mn," Lan Zhan says brusquely and practically speedwalks over to the accessories section. "I would like to pick out a present for my brother and my uncle."
"Oh! I can help!" Wei Ying plucks a postcard from the wall and moseys over as well. She finds Lan Zhan staring at a row of scarves—Monet, Van Gogh, William Morris; silk, linen, wool—with single-minded focus.
"Is your brother a scarf guy?"
"Mn."
"You have to get blue or white, right? I mean that kind of limits your choices."
"Mn," Lan Zhan says, then points to a white rectangular scarf with blue vines embroidered along the edge. "What do you think of this one?"
"It fits your dress code," Wei Ying muses, then takes a closer look at the label. "Ah, no. This one is inspired by The Cloisters, which we haven't been to yet. It would be cheating!"
"Oh?"
"Yes! Let me take you to The Cloisters next time, we can see that weird unicorn tapestry and walk up a ton of stairs and get roast chicken afterwards."
"Let me know when you want to go." Lan Zhan says, still focused on the scarves. Before Wei Ying could blurt out something ridiculous—such as what about tomorrow—Lan Zhan picks up a scarf patterned with Qing-era butterflies and shows it to Wei Ying. Upon Wei Ying's approval, she folds it neatly and drops it into the basket with her postcard. She then walks to the glass display cases in the middle of the room, which contains a veritable cornucopia of jewelry.
"Are you looking for something for your uncle?" Wei Ying follows. One of Wei Ying’s favorite pastimes is to hang out in shops and judge their wares, as if the salespeople cannot hear her. "I mean, I don't know him, but fair warning that most of this stuff is like, plated so they won’t last. Which is a pity, some of these designs are really cute, look at those snake hoops! Those enamel bangles are pretty but obviously they're still no Frey Wille." Lan Zhan makes an inquisitive sound, so Wei Ying elaborates: "they make enamel and 18k pieces inspired by certain art motifs. I went into a fugue state when I was in Vienna a few years ago and spent way too much money on a necklace for my sister and cufflinks for my brother, but Jiang Cheng is a Philistine and kept on pronouncing it 'free willy' with a German accent."
Lan Zhan gives a delicate little snort.
"I know, I know! Anyway, I promised myself I'd stop buying costume jewelry unless it's like, a local artisan I can promote on Instagram, and I'm not talking about brands that send a bunch of gold vermeil shit to influencers and market themselves as 'demi fine' yet charge hundreds of dollars for a shitty necklace, which I think is just taking advantage of people who aren't familiar with fine jewelry, you know? Especially since most of those people tend to come from lower class backgrounds!”
"Mn," Lan Zhan began meandering away from the jewelry display halfway through Wei Ying's little rant, and is now standing in front of a display of Monet umbrellas. "Would you say these umbrellas are a worthwhile purchase?"
"Hmm," Wei Ying pretends to think it over. "My verdict? Respectable."
Lan Zhan lovingly puts an umbrella in her basket. At the checkout, Lan Zhan looks questioningly at Wei Ying when she also rings up a postcard. Wei Ying shrugs and grins. They make their way out of the gift shop, past the entrance hall with the vaulted ceilings, and once again into the afternoon sunshine. The day is not quite as bright as when they first arrived, but the pavement and the stone buildings still carry the warmth of the early September sun.
"There's a really great cheesecake spot a few avenues that way," Wei Ying points eastwards. "Do you wanna try?"
"Lead the way."
Wei Ying grabs Lan Zhan's wrist, then abruptly drops it. "Oh! Before I forget!" She exclaims, and hands the little Met-branded paper bag in her hand to Lan Zhan. "Here! A souvenir of me."
"For...me?" Lan Zhan's eyes are wide.
"Aiya, jiejie, you make me feel like I'm not nearly nice enough to you, if a little postcard makes you so surprised!"
Lan Zhan does not respond. She opens the bag carefully and her eyes are now focused on the postcard.
Wei Ying scoots closer. "It's from the Asian wing! It's basically modern, since it's from the end of the Qing dynasty. They reminded me of us, you know, because of the way we're dressed." Indeed, the postcard features two bunnies, one black and one white, with long flowing ears.
"I..." Lan Zhan does not finish her sentence, instead clearing her throat. "I appreciate it, Wei Ying. I...like rabbits."
"You do!" Wei Ying beams. "I like rabbits too! Very good in a cassoulet." At the nakedly appalled look on Lan Zhan's face, Wei Ying bursts into giggles. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding!"
"Hm," Lan Zhan says, skeptical, and carefully places the postcard back into its paper bag, then tucks it into her tote, as if to protect the 2D bunnies from Wei Ying's appetite.
Wei Ying giggles again and latches onto Lan Zhan's arm. She skips down the steps while Lan Zhan attempts, and fails, at walking normally without extricating herself from Wei Ying.
Wei Ying
thx 4 walking me home again i had a rly good time
ik its last min but do u wanna go to the cloisters tomorrow
Lan Zhan
Yes. What time?
Wei Ying
3pm??
Lan Zhan
I will meet you there at 3:20.
Wei Ying:
LAN ZHAN 🙀🙀
Wei Ying does not like to toot her own horn (well, actually, that’s a baldfaced lie; Wei Ying is aware that she should say that she doesn’t like to toot her own horn, but the reality is that she’s very fond of horn-tooting and has plenty to toot about). Nevertheless, she knows she’s been a fairly popular girl since she was young, and she has never had a dearth of friends, female or male or otherwise.
But Wei Ying hasn’t really had a friend like Lan Zhan before. Lan Zhan is so reserved, so mild-mannered, so boring at first glance; Wei Ying suspects that she would’ve hated her in high school. But Lan Zhan is also so smart, so funny, so easy-going despite that wooden, inflexible demeanor. Wei Ying is, inanely, reminded of the first time she was given a Rubik’s cube. It was shortly after she had arrived at the Jiangs’ home, back when they were still in Wuhan. She spent two days talking to nobody until she solved it, then she spent another week studying it from all angles until she could solve it regardless of the starting permutation. Jiang Cheng was so mad that she got there first, he threw a fit.
Unfortunately, she is no longer a child and can't spend all her time with her shiny new toys: she’s a full grown adult, and she has one job as a realtor and another job as the plucky little orphan on TV. (She once threatened to get a perm and dye her hair to look like Annie; Nie Huaisang thought about it very seriously, then told her that nobody would ever find her body if she goes through with it. Wei Ying was left more disconcerted with the knowledge that if Nie Huaisang had decided the Annie hair was a good idea, she'd be getting a perm tomorrow.)
Speaking of her job as Plucky TV Orphan: Nie Huaisang urged Wei Ying to come to his office first thing in the morning, so Wei Ying reluctantly treks her way to midtown. When she opens the door, she's greeted by the view of Nie Huaisang vibrating like a little dog again.
"Nie-ge," Wei Ying says, cautious, but keeps her body language relaxed to show that she comes in peace. She sprawls promptly on Nie Huaisang's plush sofa.
"Wei-jie!" Nie Huaisang rises from his very expensive Herman Miller chair and buzzes over to her. "You won't believe what I've got!"
"I think I can guess," Wei Ying says dryly. "Something about the dating show?"
"Wei-jie, you're too smart—" Wei Ying rolls her eyes at this transparent flattery. “How did you guess? Here! Here!" Nie Huaisang swipes his iPad Pro from his desk and brandishes it like a weapon. "You'll see! We're gonna do something that has never been done before!"
Wei Ying highly doubts that, but she keeps her mouth shut. Nie Huaisang sits down on the couch next to her and unlocks his tablet, which is open to a Keynote presentation. The first slide contains an uncanny AI-generated picture of Wei Ying in front of a group of racially diverse men in wuxia costumes. The Suitors, written in a vaguely familiar font, is emblazoned across.
"’The Suitors?’" Wei Ying narrows her eyes. "Wait, is this the font from The Tudors?"
"Yes!" Nie Huaisang beams. "East meets West!"
"Hmm," Wei Ying says neutrally. "Nie-ge, I thought you had better taste than to use AI art. You called it soulless slop literally last week."
Nie Huaisang waves his hand dismissively. "It's just for you. For the actual proposal, we'll need to do a photoshoot."
“Or you can put that Photoshop subscription to good use,” Wei Ying suggests. Nie Huaisang, as expected, ignores her. He swipes to the next page, which is filled with succinct bullet points, and begins to narrate.
"The Suitors is an innovative dating show for the modern age. Headed by a diverse cast, the show integrates modern sensibilities with the romance of days bygone. With all the buzz around the announcement of Shonda Rhimes’ diverse adaptation of Bridgerton, The Suitors is perfectly suited to the zeitgeist."
Next slide. "Each season of The Suitors will be headed by an existing reality TV star looking for love. We will recruit fan favorites from the hottest new media, such as Selling Manhattan, Keeping Up With the Jins, and Love Island. Each debutant or debutante will come from a different culture, and the challenges, visuals, and setting of the season will be based on the cultural background of the star!"
Wei Ying is, in spite of herself, now intrigued. So that's the reason for the wuxia outfits!
The next slide is titled Case study: Wei Ying from Selling Manhattan. Nie Huaisang elbows Wei Ying with a little "that's you!" Wei Ying laughs, because sometimes Nie Huaisang's enthusiasm is genuine and it's infectious.
"Wei Ying is the plucky underdog heroine of the Netflix hit, Selling Manhattan. Three years ago, she began working at the notoriously insular family-run realty firm owned by Wen Ruohan. Over her time on the show, Wei Ying has distinguished herself with her wit, humor, optimism, and spine of steel and become a firm fan favorite. She has four million followers on Instagram and is a marketing powerhouse. Wei Ying is not your average reality TV star: yes she's got the beauty, yes she's got the Botox, but she's also got the brains! She's an Ivy League-educated woman of color, a first-generation immigrant, and a former Wall Street financier. Who will prove worthy of such an impressive debutante?"
Wei Ying does not voice any humble womanly protestations at such a fawning biography. She knows what she’s about.
"Men who wish to impress Miss Wei will have to do it the old-fashioned way!" Wei Ying hasn’t even finished groaning at the pun before Nie Huaisang plows on. "This series will be filmed at Hengdian Studios in China, which has elaborate sets and beautiful costumes to invoke the best of Ancient China. Each Suitor will have to learn and compete in the traditional Six Arts of the perfect Chinese gentleman, including archery, calligraphy, music, and equestrianism! Every week, the top three contestants will win a date with Miss Wei, and the lowest-ranked contestant will be eliminated. The winner of the competition will also win Miss Wei's heart!
“But—" Nie Huaisang pulls up the next slide, which has the words A FEMINIST TWIST emblazoned in all caps. "There is a feminist twist! Miss Wei herself will also be competing and learning the six arts. How the suitors interact with her, and whether their skills measure up to hers, will all play into her decision. The Suitors will not be a show that places a woman in the position of a damsel. Instead, she will be evaluating her suitors as equals."
Nie Huaisang pauses. "What do you think?"
Wei Ying is, she's reluctant to admit, quite impressed. It's a fresh idea, and it brings some cultural diversity to the reality TV sphere. "How do you plan to continue the show?"
"Ah," Nie Huaisang pulls up the next slide, which is indeed titled Subsequent seasons: a cultural journey around the world. "You, Wei Ying, will host the later seasons. Each new debutant or debutante will take us for a spin in their home culture, and we will film on-location and adapt the challenges to relevant rituals from their own cultures. It's Bridgerton meets Parts Unknown!"
"Huh," Wei Ying sits back, pensive. She should not have expected anything else from Nie Huaisang: of course his proposal is stylish, ambitious, and totally new. He's even shrewd enough to know that Wei Ying would have a hard time saying no to a show that purports to highlight underrepresented cultures within reality TV, which is one of the few ways in which she bothers to live her values in this industry. Plus, she loves to roam and travel, and sneaky Nie Huaisang has built them an excuse to go globe-trotting.
"It's a pretty good idea, Nie-ge, I gotta say I'm impressed," Wei Ying says. "What do you think are the chances of a network investing in this?"
"Well," Nie Huaisang says, pulling back his beam, "I pitched it to E!, and Netflix, and NBC so far. NBC seems the most interested, but I still think Netflix or E! are better fits. Nobody wants to subscribe to Peacock.”
Wei Ying hums in acknowledgement. “You think it’ll come down to the budget? Or do any of them seem especially aligned with your vision?”
Nie Huaisang sighs gustily. “I think some of them don’t quite get it. They think it’s complicating a tried and true formula, which is pretty people manufacturing their own drama.”
“Consider approaching the producers behind travel shows as well as the reality TV stuff,” Wei Ying advises. “Maybe they’ll think it’s a step down, but if you refine the pitch a little and take out all that stuff about me being a social media powerhouse, I think maybe some of them would bite and be willing to collaborate.”
“Wei-jie, this is why you’re my favorite collaborator.”
“Uh huh,” Wei Ying says skeptically. “We both know Meng Yao is the true golden calf around here.”
“I’m just lucky,” Nie Huaisang insists. “Look at me, I landed the smartest, most charismatic stars in the biz!”
Wei Ying rolls her eyes and makes sure Nie Huaisang sees it, but, well—she can’t say she’s not pleased.
Wei Ying tells Lan Zhan about the dating show the next time they see each other, nestled on one of the benches on the High Line. Wei Ying thinks the High Line and Chelsea Market are hopelessly overrated, but as the weather lurches into October, she begrudgingly admits that Lan Zhan should probably see it at least once, while the gardens still have something in them, and develop her own opinion (in accordance to Wei Ying’s, of course, because she also has taste).
They just came from an Andy Warhol exhibition at the Whitney, packed with people to an unholy degree, and Wei Ying needs time to decompress before braving the crowds at Chelsea Market again. Lan Zhan put up no fight whatsoever against this plan, and Wei Ying is quite positive that Lan Zhan is no fan of crowds either. If nothing else, more people means more opportunities to get smudges on her pristine white clothes.
“That sounds like an exciting premise,” Lan Zhan says. “It is also a potentially lucrative one. Cultural institutions that otherwise have no interest in reality television may be interested in investing in the project.”
“Yeah, Nie Huaisang knows what he’s doing,” Wei Ying says grumpily. “You know he loved to pretend to be this bimbo dandy type back in college? He never let anyone forget that he was a legacy student and any time someone asked him a question, he’d say ‘IDK! IDK!’ and promptly escape. But make no mistake, he’s sharp.”
“My brother is very fond of him.”
“Oh yeah!” Wei Ying sits up, “your brother is on Keeping Up With the Jins!” At Lan Zhan’s tiny, polite grimace, Wei Ying cackles. “I know, I know! Not your scene, do you even watch reality TV?”
“Not a lot,” Lan Zhan says, which is frankly more than what Wei Ying expected.
“I guess you’d find it antithetical to like, your whole personality,” Wei Ying muses.
“I do not understand commodifying one’s intimate relationships in such a way.” Lan Zhan says primly.
Wei Ying bristles a little at this comment. Lan Zhan did say, a few weeks ago, that she did not look down upon Wei Ying, but what is a dating show if not “commodifying one’s intimate relationships?”
“Gotta get that bag, right?” Wei Ying says, trying to keep her tone light.
Lan Zhan frowns a little. “My brother has no need for this type of publicity. I am sure the presence of Nie Mingjue makes the situation more tolerable, and vice versa, but he must be extraordinarily fond of Meng Yao to continuously expose himself on television.”
Wei Ying tries to be sympathetic. For all that Selling Manhattan is not too preoccupied with the dignity of its subjects, Keeping Up With the Jins takes it to another level. Just last week, Meng Yao had an explosive argument with Nie Mingjue that Lan Huan had to hastily mediate, and Meng Yao’s teary face was plastered across all sorts of tabloids speculating whether Lan Huan is winning once and for all. Team Nie Mingjue on Twitter has taken a heavy blow and the ship wars have gotten very ugly.
“I saw that there was some kind of huge fight last week,” Wei Ying says. “Is your brother okay?”
Lan Zhan sighs, a tiny little puff of breath that dissipates quickly into the chill autumn air. “He is concerned about both Meng Yao and Nie Mingjue,” she says. “It is a complicated situation in the best of times, but de-escalation is so much more difficult in front of a camera crew. Nie Mingjue has never been one to censor himself, but ge is the opposite, and he has taken it upon himself to manage both his own and Nie Mingjue’s images on the show. He is very stressed.”
Wei Ying makes a face. “I can only imagine,” she gripes. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that the American public is no longer subjected to Jin Zixun’s stupid face every week, but it seems like Keeping Up With the Jins has just been about airing dirty laundry for the past couple of years. Sure, it’s entertaining, and Meng Yao is a little sneak, but for people like your brother, and Nie Mingjue…”
“Yes,” Lan Zhan says, her hand fidgeting a little before abruptly stopping, “in the matters of the heart, the stakes are much higher. I cannot imagine putting on a performance while also attempting to start a relationship.”
“Well, a job is a job,” Wei Ying says, somewhat inanely. “It’s not like I wasn’t exploiting myself in finance either, it’s just a different set of performances for a different set of people.” She shakes her head. “Ah, but that’s still different. It must seem quite silly to you, when you’ve made a living off of something you actually love.”
Lan Zhan is quiet for a moment, and Wei Ying turns her head to look at her. Lan Zhan’s brows are knitted in what Wei Ying now knows to be her thinking face. “I know not everyone is fortunate enough to pursue what they love, and every career, including my own, has trade-offs. But I think…” and now Lan Zhan hesitates, as if choosing her words quite carefully. “Wei Ying. You are in a better position to do what you love than a lot of people.”
“Well!” Wei Ying reacts with a jolt that surprises her. “Sorry I sold out, I guess, but some of us don’t have the money to just do whatever we want. I went into IB for the cash and I went into reality TV for the cash, too. If you don’t want to associate with a vapid reality TV star—”
“No!” Lan Zhan interrupts, which is so uncharacteristic of her that Wei Ying allows herself to be cut off. “I apologize, that is not what I meant.”
Wei Ying makes a disbelieving noise.
“Wei Ying, I just meant…you are educated, you are smart, you have some resources—”
“You met me two months ago. You know nothing about me,” Wei Ying snaps and sits up abruptly. The bench is suddenly feeling very cold and unyielding under her body, and the sunlight, which felt so inviting and warm just a few moments ago, is getting in her eyes. She sneaks a glance at Lan Zhan, who is now looking at her with eyes that could be borderline described as frantic, when graded on the curve of all of Lan Zhan’s micro expressions. Distantly, Wei Ying thinks that such an expression doesn’t belong on Lan Zhan at all, who should be serene and unflappable.
Lan Zhan shakes her head determinedly. She takes a deep breath. “Wei Ying, please allow me to organize my thoughts.” Wei Ying does, though she still looks at Lan Zhan suspiciously. The minutes tick by in the tense silence.
Finally, Lan Zhan speaks. “I am sorry. I did not mean to denigrate your profession.” She swallows. “If you are happy with your decisions, then I am happy too. I just gleaned that you may not be entirely happy, and I was just trying to tell you that you deserve to pursue something that is meaningful to you, should the opportunity arise. I will support you. You are talented enough that I am sure you will be successful.”
Wei Ying deflates. “Ah, Lan Zhan,” she sighs, “I don’t know. I mean, my job is fine. I guess the whole dating show is closer to something I’d find meaningful than Selling Manhattan, at least, even though it’s pretty oblique and sounds like a cope and is obviously not much in the grand scheme of things, you know? Like, diversity on the screen, blah blah blah, it’s not nothing.”
Wei Ying glances at Lan Zhan again, who still seems to be holding her breath. “Aiya Lan Zhan, I’m not mad at you!” She reaches out with a hand and scratches under Lan Zhan’s chin. Lan Zhan’s still immobile like stone, but her eyes seem a little less tight. “I wouldn’t do the dating show just for the money, okay?”
Lan Zhan nods. “If you need money,” she says, “I can help you.”
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying wails and throws herself horizontally on the bench. “You can’t say stuff like that! What if I take advantage, huh? What if I demand that you buy me a big house and give me an allowance?”
Lan Zhan says nothing, which is her equivalent of a shrug.
“Fine, if you wanna show off so bad you can buy dinner,” Wei Ying grouses and then pops up. She extends a hand to Lan Zhan. “I want tacos.”
Later, when Wei Ying is sitting at the little table in Chelsea Market that she had to fight a crowd of teenagers to claim, she suddenly wonders if Lan Zhan was serious when she—what the fuck—offered her money? Lan Zhan is not one to exaggerate, so what the heck did that mean?
Her thoughts are interrupted by Lan Zhan returning with a giant platter of tacos and quesadillas, smothered in red and green salsa with multiple chilis on the side for good measure.
Wei Ying spots Lan Zhan picking at a tiny corner of the platter. “What are those?” Wei Ying asks around a mouthful of (delicious, juicy, flavorful) pork.
“I got cactus tacos and a quesadilla.” Lan Zhan says, spooning guacamole on top of her tacos. “I have never had cactus before.”
Wei Ying groans. “The nopales are the worst! They taste like nothing! They’re only there to swindle vegetarians! You sure you don’t want to try my pork or beef?”
Lan Zhan shakes her head. Wei Ying huffs. “Alright, next time.”