Within a Forest Dark - Chapter 1 - Vulpeculate - 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭

Chapter Text

He was alone.

He did not know why, only that he was. He did not know where, only that it was empty, and wide, the sky large and yawning above his head, grey clouds heavy like an oncoming storm. The land stretched before him, an endless field without a mark to denote space, to denote time. This was not a place, he thought. Not a real one. He was here. Again and again, he was pulled here.

Cold, wet, a splash on his cheek that was not a tear. It was snowing, white flakes floating through the air like ashes, collecting on the ground and covering it in a shroud.

He closed his eyes, tasting the scent of burnt autumn on his tongue, the last lingering gasp of the dying season.

In the trees, he thought, but he did not know why. There were no trees to be found here, no forest or copse that could explain such a thought. He had forgotten again. Had he ever even known?

“A-Zhan.”

A whisper behind his ear, the suggestion of presence. The fine hair on his neck rose to attention, his skin flushed with sudden cold.

Then, before him: “Lan Zhan.”

His breath caught and stuck in his chest, and he froze over. Before him, behind him. Wrong. Wrong.

“Lan Zhan!”

Mrs. Reid smiled when she cried.

Lan Zhan passed the woman another tissue as she raised a hand to her nose. Her eyes screwed shut, forcing tears down her cheeks in twin rivers.

“I’m sorry,” she said, blowing her nose gently into the tissue. “I’m—ugh, I’m making such a mess.”

“There is no need to apologize,” Lan Zhan said, though Mrs. Reid’s next sob nearly drowned out his words.

It was not that she smiled, not truly. Mrs. Reid—Sarah, she has asked him to call her Sarah—had a peculiar habit of twisting her mouth into the facsimile of a grin, even as she cried. It was not unpleasant. It was simply as though her body was trying to hide the immense grief her eyes could not deny. Lan Zhan had once overheard a mother tell her daughter, tucked away amongst one of the children’s stacks at the library, that little girls did not look pretty when they cried. Lan Zhan felt surprised to hear such a thing coming from a parent his own age. Surely such harmful comments had died away with his parents’ generation’s approach to child rearing?

Sarah had, undoubtedly, been a victim of such comments before.

“Ah,” she said, her eyes turning to the ceiling as she attempted to quickly blink away the lingering tears. “I really…really didn’t think I was going to do this. Honestly, I didn’t think there was anything left in me to cry anymore.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hummed, moving slowly to refill her teacup on the coffee table between them. “It is impossible, what you are going through. There is no way of telling exactly how one would react. Certainly you cannot blame yourself for feeling.”

Sarah let out a huff of a laugh, a small wet thing that, at least, seemed real. “I blame myself enough, Lan Zhan. That won’t stop. That’s—ah, I guess that’s kind of the problem, right?”

Lan Zhan knew Sarah was seeing a therapist. It was one of the first things she had told him as they had settled into his sitting area. She had said it almost defensively, as though she were justifying her reasoning for being there at all. She was seeing a therapist. She had spoken with her pastor. She was not crazy, only—and her eyes had watered up then—desperate. Desperate for answers, for a sign, anything that could help. She had brochures for support groups, a Facebook group that made her feel a bit less alone, a husband that, despite his own grief, was her rock and support through the entire process. She was a good woman. They were a good family. She was not crazy.

Had been. Had been a good family.

Until Sarah’s daughter Ava went missing. Right from her bed, in the middle of the night. The security alarm on the front and back doors of their suburban new build had not even gone off. They had only just moved into the house a year before. Ava had only just celebrated her third birthday.

Until the local police could not find her. They had searched, dogs and search parties and even helicopters up over the escarpment, their beams of light washing through the trees and over the cliffs, searching, searching. It had been a twenty-four-hour news event, local and even more, catching the attention of the national channel. Ava Reid had disappeared from her bed, in a town that was safe for families, good for children. Nothing bad ever happened there.

Until. Until.

Two weeks into their search, when the entire town was lit with fear and more care for the panicked family than Lan Zhan had ever seen be pulled together, a body was found.

Found horribly dismembered in the creek that split the town in two, that fed all the way to the lake. Animals, the police had said. And yes, it certainly had looked that way, when Lan Zhan had read the police report.

It had not been her. It could not have been her, not with the size of the body. This one had to have been at least eight, and male. The identification process was slow, and in the end it had been a child who had gone missing from a neighbouring town the previous summer. Ava Reid still had not been found, and that had been January. It was August, now. Now, the case was infamous, not only due to the incongruence of such a horrible thing happening in a small town, but because it was the second time a child had disappeared from their home in the area, seemingly without a trace.

So Lan Zhan knew she was seeing a therapist. And, he knew it had only been a few weeks.

Still, Lan Zhan would have hoped that the therapist would have needled some of those worst, most cloying beliefs from Sarah’s head.

“What is important is that you know it is not true,” Lan Zhan replied simply, watching Sarah’s hands shake as she raised the freshly filled cup of tea to her lips.

“Yeah,” she sighed, and then laughed again. “Well, I’m probably not the only person who’s cried on your couch, at least.”

Lan Zhan offered her a small smile. “No, definitely not. Still, I am sorry that I could not provide you with any clarity.”

Sarah was already shaking her head. “No, no. I didn’t expect–well. I’m…disappointed. I had hoped…but, it’s better this way, right? That’s what they say in movies, anyway. She’s…ah, she’s with God. She’s got to be. That’s…that can be enough for me.”

Lan Zhan pressed his lips together and said nothing. Whether Ava was with God, or elsewhere, he did not know. It was, at least, unlikely that she was alive. Despite what many would believe, Lan Zhan was not especially attuned to whatever realm came after this life, whatever waited after one’s spirit left this earth.

What he did know, however, was that Ava was not here. She did not linger, not anymore. There was nothing, no message to pass on, no final words.

Ava was not a spirit, did not cling like a shroud to the living. Sarah had been left alone.

On her way out, Sarah thanked him for his help, despite his failings in being able to provide any sort of answer. He allowed her to squeeze his hands, and though her skin was a bit dry, he did not mind. He wanted to ask if she had been sleeping enough, though he knew the answer without needing the words. The deep pits of her eyes, the glassiness of her eyes. It touched something inside him, her grief. An empathy that, as it always did, made him remember, made him small and afraid again. He could have dug more, could have pulled the truth through her touch. He knew how, he had done it before. But he did not want to. Did not need to. She had been forthcoming enough, without any intervention by the spirits that guided his work.

Still, when she turned away, but before she passed through the threshold that would take her out of the Lan family home, he traced a sigil in the air. It was, perhaps, a foolhardy effort. Not worth his time, Uncle would have likely said. Superstitious, unproven to do anything at all. There was nothing to protect her from, no lingering trace of darkness clinging to her like trailing seaweed in shallow, murky waters. Many of these meetings were the same, more of an outlet for grief-stricken people than an opening of an avenue of true investigation. Uncle had called himself a grief-counsellor, after all. Still, it felt right. Perhaps it could keep the nightmares away, if nothing else.

When Lan Zhan was very young, he sat in the front pew of a Christian church, his fingers twisted into the rough cotton of his suit pants. They were itchy, and strange, and nothing like his mother had ever made him wear, nothing at all. He did not like them. He had bit Uncle when he had tried to force Lan Zhan into them, bit Uncle until it made him curse in sounds that were unfamiliar to Lan Zhan’s ears. But then Brother had cried, so Lan Zhan had let Uncle go, and had allowed the suit to be pulled onto his shaking limbs, and he had not said another word.

That church, that pew. It was hard, and big, the seat digging into his knees, his feet dangling, too far from the ground to reach. Uncle was up there, and so was Brother, but Lan Zhan did not want to. He did not want to go up there, not where they were. There were candles, and people, and singing, but Lan Zhan did not want to.

“It’s okay,” the man said, the one who had spoken for a long time, the one who had rested his hands on wood and closed his eyes. “You’re alright, son. You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to.”

Lan Zhan wanted to say that if that were the case, he wanted to leave. He did not want to be here at all. He wanted to be at home, in his bed with Tuzi, and his softest yellow blanket. He wanted his Mommy to sing to him that song that she said her Mommy sang to her when she was little, the one about the rabbit and the moon. The one he’d named his rabbit for, after Mommy taught him to say the word.

He wanted to be home, but home was dark. It was cold. The windows were eyes, and the door was a mouth, and every time he went outside, and turned his back, he wanted to run, run, because it was looking at him. He wanted to go home, but he was too afraid.

Just like he was afraid now. Brother was on the stage, and he was crying. Lan Zhan had never seen his big brother cry, not like that, not even when they found the cat in the yard, not even when it hadn’t meowed like it was meant to.

“You can stay here with me, Zhan,” the man said, and he sounded nice, so even though Lan Zhan didn’t want to be there at all, he didn’t mind if the man sat with him, so he nodded.

For a little while, the man didn’t say anything, and all Lan Zhan could hear was the soft music that was playing, and the people around them murmuring. Every so often, he could hear someone cry. He didn’t cry. He was too cold. He didn’t want to get sick, didn’t want to make himself sick. Uncle told him, if he didn’t stop crying, he’d get sick. He didn’t want to, not again.

“Do you understand what has happened?” The man asked after a while, after Lan Zhan had finished counting the lines in the pattern on his suit pants. There were sixteen, he thought. He could only count up to twenty, so he was pretty sure.

“Zhan,” the man said, and Lan Zhan looked up, staring just past the man’s eyes. He said Lan Zhan’s name wrong. “Do you understand what happened?”

Lan Zhan nodded his head.

The man sighed and placed one large hand on Lan Zhan’s upper arm. “I’m very sorry, kiddo. It’s not easy to lose someone like this.”

Lan Zhan didn’t lose her. He knew exactly where she was, it just—it was wrong. She was wrong.

The man seemed to be looking for something, waiting for something. Maybe he wanted Lan Zhan to talk. Lan Zhan didn’t want to, and the man said he didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want, so he stayed quiet.

Someone sniffed behind him, shifted in place. Lan Zhan could hear it, the sound of cloth rubbing together. It reminded him of the sway of curtains, socks on carpet.

He didn’t lose her. He didn’t.

Since he was promoted to director five years prior, the first week of September was a busy one for Lan Zhan. There were two kindergarten classes at the elementary school, and everything important in the town was located within a few blocks of each other on the main road, so there was no reason why the teachers there shouldn’t walk their little ones down to visit the library. Lan Zhan had ensured that children’s programming was a focus in the list of priorities presented to the Board. There were so many young families in town, and they needed a place to come to learn, and be. Thus, the kindergarten visits began, starting with an orientation in the children’s first week of school.

It was perhaps a poorly kept secret that it was one of Lan Zhan’s favourite times of the year. He did not mind.

MianMian’s class was mostly composed of wide-eyed, adorable children who had very obviously never seen the insides of the library before. The stacks, to these little ones, were as equally towering and intimidating, as they were captivating. Lan Zhan took great joy in watching their little faces light up as he showed them the row of books that were about barnyard animals, a crowd pleaser that had never failed him yet. There were also, of course, those children who were frequent visitors already, and took great pleasure in bossing their peers around. One boy, this time, was loudly whispering to another that all the books had different homes because of the “Dewey Deck Bell System”, and looked very proud indeed to have remembered such an important fact.

Beside him, MianMian stifled an escaped huff of laughter into her fist, and Lan Zhan had to tamp down on the urge to smile.

After showing the children to the area that was designated for young readers—a space that was bordered by low shelves; dotted with floor cushions and low, child-sized tables—and letting them have some time to roam free and explore, Lan Zhan took a moment to hang back and catch up with MianMian.

“Yeah, it’s not a bad group, but who knows?” She said with a sigh, crossing her arms as she looked over her class with an appraising eye, almost as though sizing up livestock. “A few days is nothing. Give me at least a week and then I’ll figure out their quirks. Every year there’s at least one little cleptomaniac. I’ve got my money on little Michael Hughes over there. See him in the corner? Sticky fingers, I’m telling you.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hummed, unsure what exactly it was about Michael that caught her attention, until he watched him peek around and then shove a small board alphabet book into his jacket pocket. “Ah,” he said, sighing.

MianMian snapped her fingers. “Gotcha.”

“It is fine,” Lan Zhan told her, as she moved to apprehend the would-be thief. “I will take him aside after and speak with him. I do not wish for him to be uncomfortable here.”

MianMian let out a little laugh. “Fine, your house!” she said, tossing her hands in the air.

They were quiet for a little while, enjoying the relative quiet of the children. They were doing quite well, apart from the one minor theft. There had not even been an argument over who could sit on the large, shiny cushion that children often saw as the ultimate prize. It was a good group. MianMian was right.

The thought caused a knot to form in his throat.

It took another moment to realize that the sadness he felt, the loss, was not only coming from him.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes. Navigated the dark, found where his line began and ended. MianMian was there, hurting. It was like smoke left in the air once a candle is doused, the suggestion of the real thing. Impossible to explain, and he had tried. So many times. So many.

It didn’t matter, in the end. It was not important that he be believed. More dangerous that he try.

“Ava was meant to be in my class this year,” MianMian said, her voice uneven.

Blinking his eyes open, he found MianMian staring at her class, her eyes red. When she caught him looking, she turned away, rubbing her face with her hands.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “Oh, this sucks. That poor girl. And her family, god.”

“It does,” Lan Zhan said, “suck.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Ugh, hold that thought.” She leapt forward, reaching between a pair of little girls who were moments away from tearing the pages out of a picture book. “Hey! Gentle with the books, alright? Mr. Lan isn’t going to let us come back if you’re all acting like monkeys in the zoo!”

He allowed himself, for just a moment, to sit in the shared grief of it. Remembered Sarah, and the way her hands had shaken as he’d spoken to her. Remembered the very first mention of it on the local news, how he had sat in his living room with the lights off and tried, hard, to connect with something that could tell him the truth. Remembered how exhausted he had felt, after, when there was nothing but his five senses, nothing but air.

MianMian’s eyes were still shiny when she rounded the kids up for story time, but she was smiling again. Brave, admirable. Lan Zhan had liked her practically as soon as he’d met her.

The children had learned how to sit cross-legged in their first few days of kindergarten, how to stay quiet as they listened to her speak, as she set the ground rules. A dozen little faces staring up at him after she introduced him, curious at the concept of a new, interesting adult.

For a moment, he paused.

The child was sitting amongst the others, smaller than most of the other boys and sitting more still. His dark eyes seemed huge in his pale face, his hands folded carefully in his lap as he looked at the surrounding shelves in awe.

Lan Zhan frowned, unsure of what had drawn his attention. Narrowing his eyes, he—

“Mr. Lan! Ready?”

He inhaled sharply, turning to meet the bright smile of MianMian, who had one hand on her hip and the other holding a children’s book, offering it towards him expectantly.

“Mn,” he said, taking a seat on the stool he’d placed at the head of the round carpet. He shrugged the feeling off, taking in each child in turn. Nothing. He was sure it was nothing.

After, he asked MianMian about the boy.

“Oh, that’s Yuan,” she explained, somewhat distracted, as she organized the children into a neat row and clipped their wrists to the walking rope. The boy in question was near the front of the line and seemed to be listening intently while a little girl chattered about the story Lan Zhan had read aloud to them. “He’s new, like extra new. He and his dad just moved here from China over the summer. Something about work, I guess, but whatever the case, I’m glad! He’s such a sweetie, and his dad’s a giant flirt, but he’s fun.”

Lan Zhan raised an eyebrow at this, and Mrs. Luo laughed. “Not in a bad way, I promise.”

Turning his attention back to the boy—Yuan, Lan Zhan asked, “How is he doing?”

MianMian tilted her head, considering. “Good, I would say. I’ve requested an assistant for a bit of extra help with him, just because he doesn’t know much English quite yet, but it's amazing how fast the little ones can learn. I’m thinking of putting my daughter in French because of it—but ah, we’ve got a few years to go.”

Her attention was drawn away as a few of the children started twisting in the rope, and Lan Zhan took that as his sign to leave her to it, waving a quick goodbye before returning to the circulation desk.

You are cold. You are so, so cold.

It was not uncommon to find new families in the children’s area during the first few weeks of the new school year. It was aspirational, similar to a New Year’s resolution—parents determined to carve a new section of their routine, a time to spend together if they could find it. The most common story Lan Zhan heard was the dinner, library, bath, and bed routine. It was one that Lan Zhan thought admirable. He liked that the library was a place families could come to, could feel comfortable facilitating their children’s learning and growth.

Lan Zhan had, of course, spent many, many hours hidden amongst the stacks, his nose buried deep into one book or another, tracing their spines with careful fingertips and learning the filing system by heart. It had not been once, or even twice, that Lan Huan had been sent to search for him when Uncle had sought to return home. Each time, Lan Zhan had huffed upon his discovery, and each time Lan Huan had laughed and ruffled his hair, even as Lan Zhan pouted and plead for just five minutes more.

The library was quiet in a way that did not feel oppressive, not like Uncle’s office, the one that had stood on the corner of the main street. There, amongst the other partners of the law firm, Lan Zhan had felt enclosed into himself, surrounded by the clatter of typing on old keyboards and the fervent focus of busy adults. There had only been the one front window there, as the office had once been converted from a storefront. Lan Zhan had spent some time there too, following the patterns dust made in the thin slice of sunlight that fell across the lobby.

The library was big, and bright, and loud with whispers, with the gentle scrape of pages against each other. Children’s laughter quickly muffled, though not losing its joy. So much knowledge that no one could ever grow bored. A forest whose trees bore stories they yearned to tell.

Lan Zhan smiled at a couple who moved to the town several years prior, their youngest having just turned five. They were teaching him—quietly, though on occasion he shouted his success—how to match letters and words with their pronunciations. In the meeting room behind the children’s area, a student volunteer was running a workshop for elementary students on creative writing. The sun was setting behind the treeline that edged the parking lot, visible from the wall of windows on the far end of the building, casting light across the carpet in large swaths of gold. More busy than it would be in the coming months, where resolutions dropped away and only the regulars hung on, but still tranquil. Still a place of peace, of safety.

He heard the words drift across the room like they were meant for him.

“Yuan-er, you have to learn this, okay? Think how happy Pretty-laoshi will be if you can say what you ate for dinner, eh? What do you think?”

Lan Zhan stopped in place, the cart he had been using to collect discarded books squeaking to a stop.

“I say ‘good morning’ to her, she was happy.”

“Aiyah, you can do a little more.”

Lan Zhan did not mean to stare. His eyes were pulled to the farthest table from him in the children’s area, somewhat secluded in the short rows of shelves that housed picture books and beginner chapter books for beginner readers. There, a familiar boy sat across from a man Lan Zhan’s age, his dark hair pulled back in a messy plait. He was tall, his legs far too long for the child seat he had twisted himself into. There was an array of books between them, some scrap paper, and the largest disposable cup of coffee Lan Zhan had ever seen.

They were speaking Mandarin. He had not heard it since Uncle moved back to Shanghai, not here. Not in person like this. Lan Huan preferred to speak English.

Lan Zhan did not mean to stare, and yet.

As though the man could feel Lan Zhan’s eyes on him, he turned, his mouth in a thin line as he took in Lan Zhan standing there. Lan Zhan felt his ears heat, and he swallowed. Should he introduce himself? He had not seen this man around before, and Mrs. Luo had mentioned that Yuan was new to town. Could this man be his father?

“Sorry,” the man said flatly, this time in English. “Are we being too loud?”

It took Lan Zhan a moment to understand how this could have been perceived, to recognize the wariness in the man’s gaze. The little boy, Yuan, had fallen silent, his eyes fixed on the picture book before him. Eli goes to school! the front cover cheerfully announced, where it lay splayed between them, its contents face down like a bird with its wings thrown wide open. When he did, he felt something in his stomach twist.

“Mn,” he hummed, shaking his head. “No. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable. I believe you share a similar dialect with my mother’s family.”

Something eased in the man’s expression, his shoulders dropping from where they had risen around his ears. “Oh,” he said, blinking. A smile, something close to friendly, appeared as though through dark clouds. “Are they from Wuhan?”

“Huanggang.”

The smile grew, and the man twisted full around in the chair completely, ignoring what must have been a terribly uncomfortable ache in his back. “Hi neighbour,” he said, once more in the tones Lan Zhan remembered from his childhood.

“Hello,” Lan Zhan answered. “Hello again, Yuan.”

The man raised his eyebrows, surprised, while Yuan darted behind him, his cheeks flushed, though he immediately peeked his nose around the man’s arm so that he could keep his eyes on Lan Zhan.

“Ah,” the man said, “how—”

He cut off. Yuan was tugging at the sleeve of the man’s hoodie, his eyes imploring. The man turned to look down at him, his eyebrows raised. “What is it?”

“Shushu reads stories,” Yuan whispered, as though it were a great secret that he was sharing, and then ducked behind the man’s arm when he caught Lan Zhan looking.

“Ah, does he now?” The man asked, amused. He turned back to Lan Zhan, head tilted just so. “I think I’ve figured it out now. This little one hasn’t been able to stop talking about the nice uncle who read about the little family of turtles since his class came to visit last week. That wouldn’t happen to be you, would it?”

Lan Zhan felt his ears heat. “Mn,” he agreed. “It was story time. A way to introduce the new classes to the library. To encourage them to read, as well.”

The man let out a little laugh, perhaps a bit too loud for the muted hum of the library. “Ah, oops,” the man said, though by the grin the remained he didn’t truly seem to mean it. “A-Yuan doesn’t need any encouragement, I promise. I can’t seem to get a hold of enough books to satisfy him.”

“I would be happy to make recommendations,” Lan Zhan replied, maybe too earnestly, because the man laughed again. He felt embarrassment swell within him, looking down at the table instead of at the man’s warm, glinting eyes.

“Such dedication for even the smallest of patrons,” the man exclaimed, and Lan Zhan felt that embarrassment change, turn softer. Maybe he was part of the joke, too. “No, I—I’d appreciate it. We’d appreciate it, wouldn’t we, Baobao? Should we let Gege pick some more books for us? Hm?”

“Mn!” Yuan agreed. He turned his gaze to Lan Zhan, who found himself caught by his undivided attention. “More…please more turtles, Gege?”

Lan Zhan found himself quite unable to do anything but follow his request, basking as he was in the bright curiosity in Yuan’s eyes and the charm in the man’s smile. “I will do my best,” he told them both. He could not help but see another child there with them, wanting nothing more than to read anything and everything he could get his hands on. Could not help but remember the adults that had nurtured his desire for learning, for knowledge.

He had never stopped. Not here, in the sunlit stacks and rows upon rows of reference material; nor in the locked room in his house, in the place where knowledge beyond the accepted understanding could be found.

“I’m Wei Ying,” the man said. “And I suppose you’ve already met YuanYuan.”

“Lan Zhan.”

Yes, the library was a place of learning. A place of knowledge. And, most importantly, it was a place of new discovery.

That night, when Lan Zhan arrived back at home and opened his laptop, he found an email waiting from Haiyan.

Zhan-er,
Hello from Lima! This week I found something new that I think you’ll find interesting. Now, my plan was to follow down the coast after I left Chimbote, but I could resist a peek at the mountains so I ended up quite a bit off the path in a little place called Huaraz, right at the foot of them. Well, I say little, but it’s really five times the size of home! Anyway, I got caught up in a bit of a mess, there was this young woman who’d become really quite ill, and I ended up right in the middle of a priest and a shaman who couldn’t quite decide on how best to deal with her. She did see a doctor, A-Zhan, don’t worry, and really they had it all quite under control when I got there. But I couldn’t help but do some digging to see if there was anything I could do, and I found this wonderful book on Latin American folklore that somehow I didn’t already have! Did you know there is a spirit that preys on beautiful young women? It’s called El Sombrerón, and don’t worry, if it was there it left me alone (I hope you’re not laughing A-Zhan!!). I bought the book and it’s on its way to you, though I can’t imagine it will be there any time soon. You let me know when you get it! I think it will be a wonderful addition.
I was already so behind that I couldn’t stay, but I made the shaman and the priest both promise to keep me updated. And, of course, I’ve attached more pictures for you, and some postcards are in the mail with the book.
I hope you’re well, my dear. I’ve sent a message to your brother as well, though he only gets pictures, no presents.
All of my love,
See Also
Bone-Tired - Mister_awesomesauce - 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia Issue July 2016 - Top Gear South Africa Champagne & Stars - ChloeIsNobody, laurlovescookies
Aunt Haiyan

Lan Zhan smiled as he settled into the comfort of the couch, pulling a throw blanket over his legs before he began to click through the pictures. Haiyan had recently bought a new camera that she was ecstatic to try out, that cast the images in a grainy, highly saturated light that appeared almost like film. The mountains were truly beautiful, and Lan Zhan did not blame her for taking the trek out of her way. In one picture, Haiyan stood with her back towards them, on the side of a dirt road that weaved behind her, past a tea house and beyond, up towards the rolling grassy hills and snow-capped peaks.

Hello Auntie, he thought, taking in her brilliant smile, her sun-tanned skin. She’d chopped her hair off since the last time she’d sent a picture of herself, the dark hair tucked behind her ears, no longer than her chin. Around her eyes were deepening crows' feet, smile lines she called them.

The Lans did not dig their own roots into the soil of the town. Haiyan had founded and left those in their care.

In the early nineties, Lan Zhan’s mother had left home in Vancouver to study physics at the University of Toronto. Haiyan, a little older, was there doing graduate work in religion part time. He’d heard the tale repeated over and over. Haiyan told it again each time she visited, it seemed, though sometimes the details changed. A man from the east end who’d gotten involved with a psychic in order to gain wealth who, in turn, had gotten in over her head in her attempts to communicate with a lucky spirit. First it had been signs of a break-in, police called to find no evidence, and then belligerent banging on the walls.

As it happened, Lan Zhan’s mother had been his neighbour. Lan Zhan’s mother, who complained to her friend, who told an acquaintance, who passed the information along to Haiyan, who showed up at her door one morning, and insisted on taking a look around, since the man wouldn’t allow her in. Paranoid, Haiyan had once said, and so damned foolish. Messing around with things they don’t understand. And you know what happened to him!

The house came later. Much later, after Haiyan and his mother had both finished their studies, after his mother had met his father, a man who came to Canada on a work visa, who decided to stay. After, Lan Huan and Lan Zhan were both born and starting to walk, to crawl, and needed more room.

The roots had taken after Haiyan’s grandparents moved to the small town an hour from the city. In the dip between the great lake and the towering escarpment, a slow, quiet town where families could feel comfortable and safe. It was a good place, and more importantly, it was one that could be well protected.

Lan Zhan did not remember the first time he had entered the locked room on the second floor, the one his parents referred to as the library. He was told by Uncle once that he had been far too young, in that way of his that was heavy with disapproval. He remembered better the first time Uncle showed it to him properly, explained what could be touched, what was best to be kept behind the glass cases. Explained the books he should read if he wished to stay knowledgeable. Taught him the difference between fiction and reality, and where the two met and crossed.

That had been after, of course. After Haiyan had gone, leaving the care of the home and, more importantly, its contents—the collection of decades and generations of those who understood the truth of what lay in the dark—in the hands of his parents. After his parents…after they were gone, too.

Lan Zhan did not mind it, taking up the task that had been his parents, Haiyan’s, her family’s before him. He did not mind the visits from the priests, did not mind the emails and calls he would receive from those across the region, the country. Did not mind sitting with people like Sarah Reid, and trying to piece together what could be the truth, what the police could never find, could never know. Uncle had kept a close relationship with the pastor of the local church, a man who had his eyes opened to the truth when he was a young man, when he had lived here, and every so often Lan Zhan would field referrals that were sent his way. He was a librarian by trade, and by calling. He wanted to help. Lan Huan had not wanted to stay. Indeed, he had left the house, the town, the first chance he could get. Uncle had moved back to China shortly after Lan Zhan turned eighteen.

Haiyan, deep into her third glass of wine in the late evening of one Chinese New Year, nestled amongst the couch cushions as Lan Zhan struggled to keep his eyes open and Lan Huan snored loudly from his place on the floor, his back against Lan Zhan’s legs, said, “I’ve got to do it, you know? Got to do all the living she should have. All of the helping. That’s why I go.”

They came back.

It seemed that with every shift, he found the small family somewhere in the stacks, or sitting at the small tables in the children’s section, or sprawled out on the run, surrounded by books. Wei Ying had been right, Wei Yuan seemed to adore books, and was careful with them in a way that was unfortunately becoming more rare in children his age. They would arrive each day after school would end, and stay until the light began to shift in the sky. Wei Ying would escort them to the circulation desk, chattering softly to Wei Yuan the whole way, and lift the boy up in his arms so that he could greet Lan Zhan and offer him the books they would take out for the evening, only to bring them back the next day for new selections.

On the weekend, Wei Ying caught him in a brief conversation after asking about the new releases selection, and Lan Zhan was happy to offer his favourite.

Later, just before lunchtime, when they came to check out for the day, Lan Zhan’s choice was on the top of their stack, a sly grin rounding Wei Ying’s cheeks as he pushed his library card across the counter.

On one afternoon, he took a walk to the coffee shop on the main street during his break, and found the place quite crowded. It was not large, built out of an old auto shop and renovated to be somewhat worthy of pictures for social media, if a bit dated. As it was the only independent coffee shop with the added bonus of seating—the only other place in town being a drive-through chain—in could be quite crowded throughout the day.

He found Wei Ying crammed into a corner between the back wall and a group of young teenage girls who could only have been skipping class. He had a pair of bulky black noise-cancelling headphones on, and he was hunched low over his laptop, squinting in the dim light of the back of the room.

While waiting at the bar for his tea latté, Lan Zhan watched the girls take turns sneaking looks at Wei Ying, watched them giggle and whisper to each other. Wei Ying was, well. Lan Zhan could not ignore, any more than it seemed those girls could, that he was lovely to behold. At one point, Wei Ying noticed the staring, and sent them a quick, polite smile before he turned back to his work, his eyes widening briefly in awkward disbelief before he pressed them closed and rubbed at his nose with the back of his thumb.

“Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying nearly knocked his mug over as he startled, blinking up at Lan Zhan from over his computer. It took a moment, but he lifted a hand to push the headphones back from one ear. Something discordant and loud was playing from it, far louder than had to be advised for hearing health.

“Hi, Lan Zhan,” he said, and it took barely a moment for that crooked smile to appear, for his eyes to brighten. Lan Zhan ignored the flutter in his stomach at the sight of it. “Whatcha doin’ here? Aren’t you working?”

Lan Zhan stood awkwardly for a moment, his eyes darting to the chair across from him.

“Oh!” Wei Ying darted forward to pull his laptop back, shutting it closed with a loud clack that made Lan Zhan wince internally. “Sit, sit down, silly man!”

He did, ignoring the scowling girls beside him. “I took a late lunch,” he explained after taking a sip from his to-go cup. He took in Wei Ying’s laptop, the frayed notebook lying open, the page covered in scrawling characters and what he thought might be some kind of formula. “Are you…”

“Mm, working? Yeah. Trying.” Wei Ying let out a laugh.

“I do not believe I have asked what you do.”

Wei Ying leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “I’m a software dev. Uh. Contract? Freelance.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan nodded. “I suppose that has allowed you to move freely?”

Wei Ying had been tapping the top of his laptop with his fingertips. Suddenly, he stopped. “Yeah,” he said, and Lan Zhan thought that maybe his smile had become a bit tighter, sharper. “I’ve been very lucky.”

Lan Zhan felt something of a shift in the mood and wondered if Wei Ying had been offended. Just then, a group of construction workers came through the front door, bringing with them an additional layer of noise and chaos. Wei Ying was looking at them when Lan Zhan turned back, his eyes slightly glazed over, his smile thin. Dread, maybe. He had the look Lan Zhan had seen in new parents, ones who hadn’t slept more than a few hours at a time in weeks. Lan Zhan suddenly didn’t quite blame him for the volume of his music.

The reason for his greeting floated back up to the surface. “Wei Ying, is there a reason you are working here instead of at home?” He asked. He hoped this was not too personal. He felt he was on a careful balance, unwilling to say what could be construed as judgemental.

Wei Ying blinked and returned his attention to Lan Zhan. He blew at a strand of hair that had fallen out of the clip that was holding his long hair back. “A-Yuan and I live up on the hill. It was—well. I can afford the rent, but it’s really…”

Lan Zhan thought he might understand. The houses on the top of the escarpment could be spacious and help their own charm, but there wasn’t much more than farmland up there. He remembered Wei Ying saying, in their first meeting, that he had moved here from Wuhan. He wanted to ask what made him move here, what drew him to such a small town, barely a blip on the map. What made him upturn his entire life in such a major city on the other side of the world, for a country house overlooking a small town, distant and—

And lonely.

“It must be quite the adjustment,” he said, careful, “from what you are used to.”

He would not ask more. He would only—he would listen to what Wei Ying wanted to share. He surprised himself with how much he wanted to listen.

“You could say that,” Wei Ying agreed, lifting his mug to his lips only to frown when he found it empty. “Tian-ah, I might as well give up. Look at that line.”

There, Lan Zhan thought. “If…you would want,” he began, watching Wei Ying’s expression closely, “you are welcome to come back with me. I know it is still not…it is quiet, too. But perhaps not so…” He did not say, lonely. He did not say, I do not like the idea of you, puttering around in an empty house, waiting for your child to return.

“Ohh?” Wei Ying raised an eyebrow, leaning forward into Lan Zhan’s space. “An offer from the boss himself. Tell me, Gege, what kind of VIP services can I expect from such a personal invitation to an important library facility such as yours?”

Helpless under the weight of his wide, glittering eyes and the shameless grin that lay beyond them, and utterly unwilling to show it, Lan Zhan leaned forward himself. He could not help his own tiny smirk as Wei Ying’s eyelashes fluttered, as his lips dropped open just so. “There is a staff coffee machine,” Lan Zhan told him, pitching his voice low to not be overheard, “that you may use, free of charge.”

We Ying went still, and then his eyes went impossibly wide, and then he fell back into his chair, laughing so loudly he drew the attention of every other patron in the room, and Lan Zhan didn’t mind it, not at all.

Wei Ying liked to talk.

Sometimes, when his thoughts seemed to run faster than his tongue could catch, he would stumble over his words, snapping his fingers until the correct one came. His Chinese was so much more informal than Uncle ever spoke, and Lan Zhan found himself picking up new phrases when Wei Ying couldn’t find the right words in English to express exactly what he wanted to say. He found himself, not for the first time, though perhaps the first time he felt it so intimately, grateful to Uncle for insisting that he and Lan Huan retain their language. He wondered what it would have been like to only experience Wei Ying within the boundaries of the man’s second language, when his mind so clearly wanted to express itself in both.

He had to prevent himself from staring when Wei Ying got truly passionate about something. When he would pause and look around with a blush, when he realized he had gotten too loud.

“It’s nice,” he’d said once, when he was loitering around the circulation desk as Lan Zhan processed returns. “Mrs. Luo doesn’t speak any Chinese, you know. It didn’t really pass down, I guess, since her grandparents came over here. It’s nice to—ah. Lan Zhan, ah, it’s nice to have someone understand.”

Lan Zhan had been required to pause what he was doing, to prevent an error. Had been required to stem the sudden swell in his chest, the one that said: I’d like to understand you better. Understand you completely, if you’ll let me.

It surprised him, the strength of the feeling. Surprised him almost as much as the sheer fact that he was allowing Wei Ying to distract him, to talk and bother and prod while they were both meant to be working. He did not quite know what to do with, did not recognize the shape of it. So, for now at least, he put it away.

Wei Ying had taken to working in the library nearly every day, showing up mid morning and planting himself at the table Lan Zhan had showed him to, that first afternoon, the one that had a pretty view of the trees and the old, out of service rail road tracks from out the wide windows. It was also, completely coincidentally, near enough to the circulation desk that they could speak without causing too much of a disturbance, especially since the desk was closer to the entrance, where more noise was expected, anyway.

By lunchtime Wei Ying’s focus would waver, and he would pace (“It's not pacing, Lan Zhan, ah, I’m actively meditating!”) around the front lobby until Lan Zhan could go on break. They would share a meal together, after which Wei Ying would cram as much work he could manage into the afternoon some days, while others he would follow Lan Zhan around as he completed his own tasks, sometimes trying to help re-shelve books until he was swatted away.

Wei Ying would have to leave for a short time to pick up Wei Yuan, but most days he would return, and Lan Zhan had the growing delight of seeing them interact, seeing them both become comfortable, at ease amongst the books.

Late in September, Lan Zhan was re-shelving books in the reference section when he felt a tug on his pant leg.

Wei Yuan had grown bolder in the past few weeks, grown more comfortable wandering away from his father, in speaking with Lan Zhan. Privately, Lan Zhan felt a strange sense of pride that he was seen to the child as someone safe enough to approach, that the library was something like home.

He always made sure to give the boy his full attention, to crouch down to his level so they could speak face to face. He did not want to appear imposing to him, did not want to be anyone but who he was, who he wanted to be. “Yes, A-Yuan?”

“Gege reads me?” He asked, offering Lan Zhan a first reader’s chapter book.

Lan Zhan looked back at the cart. He still had some returns to complete, and there was still the volunteer scheduling to be done, but…it could wait for tomorrow. “Yes, A-Yuan, I can read to you.”

Wei Yuan beamed and took hold of his wrist, allowing him to stand upright before he gently tugged him along, back towards the children’s area. “Read to me. Thank you, Gege!”

Wei Ying was waiting for them with slitted eyes and a wry grin. “What do we have here?” He asked, his voice sing song, though a little hoarse.

“Gege reads to me,” Wei Yuan told his father seriously, who laughed and messed up Wei yuan’s fluffy head of curls.

“Does he now?” Wei Ying asked, and blinked slow and warm at Lan Zhan.

“If you do not mind,” Lan Zhan said, taking a seat at the small table, though he spread his legs out to one side rather than attempt to fit them under the truly very short table. Wei Yuan immediately pulled a chair over, sliding it as close to Lan Zhan’s side as he could without sitting directly in his lap.

“Well, I won’t stop you,” Wei Ying said, waving his hand lazily. “Go on, then, read my son a story. A-Yuan can probably use a break from my voice, anyway.”

Lan Zhan didn’t think about how he, at least, would certainly rather hear Wei Ying read aloud, from just about anything at all. He only took the book from Wei Ying’s offering hand, eyed the way Wei Yuan had twisted all the way around in his seat to give Lan Zhan his undivided attention, and began to read.

Lan Zhan got through three books in total, the first one on frogs, the second and third each from a series about two children who can slip through time. While he read, Wei Yuan was quiet—an avid listener as Lan Zhan weaved the stories into the air. He had never given much thought to whether his voice was pleasant to hear. He was always a quiet child himself, preferring to read in silence somewhere where others would not see him, would not disturb him. He did not mind reading to Wei Yuan, to Wei Ying, did not mind the way his throat had gone sore from the use—more speaking than he would normally do in a week. Lan Huan had told him once that he worried Lan Zhan would not speak at all, if not for their weekly phone calls. Lan Zhan had told him, in clipped tones, that working in a library required some degree of customer service and there was, of course, the children’s story time. Such a truth had not born away Lan Huan’s worry, covered discreetly by brotherly cheer.

At some point, Wei Yuan had come to rest against his side, and Lan Zhan had grown very still, not wanting to disturb him. The weight at his side was unfamiliar, but…not unwelcome. Lan Zhan had always liked children, enjoyed their curiosity, and wondered at their easy trust. Wei Yuan seemed simply content to listen to the stories, as Lan Zhan told them, asking fewer questions than most children. It made Lan Zhan wonder just how much Wei Yuan understood the stories, even as he knew that the child had been learning English very quickly. It had come up very briefly, and just the once, that Wei Yuan was adopted. It had seemed almost that Wei Ying had not meant to say it, and he had gone silent, his eyes flashing to Lan Zhan, observing, assessing. When Lan Zhan had only hummed, he had continued to speak. The moment passed, though the topic of conversation had become more general, less personal.

The library had grown very quiet, the patrons around them departing for the night. The evening lights had long since clicked on, and only the sounds of flipping papers remained, the distant murmur of voices as several high school students checked out, their arms weighed down with their laptops and stacks of books.

Lan Zhan shut the last book gently, looking down at Wei Yuan. “I’m afraid I must close up for the night.”

Wei Yuan blinked up at him, his dark eyes like crescents as the evening wore on. “Done?”

“For today,” Lan Zhan agreed. He glanced towards his companion. “Wei Ying—”

Wei Ying, who had been quiet himself, uncharacteristically—though Lan Zhan was unsure if he could claim to know such a thing, not yet. Instead of his normal ramble about one subject or another, Wei Ying had also kept his attention focused, his mouth pursed into a gentle grin as he listened to Lan Zhan talk about the neighbourly behaviour of toads. Lan Zhan had lost focus after some time, had become enraptured by the stories, by the weight at his side, and therefore he had not noticed when Wei Ying had rested his head on his folded arms, when he had shut his eyes, when he had nodded off entirely.

It was not, strictly, against the rules to sleep in the library. When Lan Zhan was younger, and a great deal more stuck up than he had gratefully grown into now, such a thing had irked him. Libraries were a place for study, for reading. A place of control. Those who slept on the tables, or made too much noise, or spread their things out with too much confidence, surely must have been displaying poor manners, must have had little respect for the library’s purpose. That Lan Zhan, the one that could be harsh without realizing, could cut when others came too close, had craved the order he found there.

He wondered suddenly, watching the rise and fall of Wei Ying’s back as he slept, his eyelashes fluttering against the pale, thin skin below his eyes, what Wei Ying would have been like as a teenager. Had he been bright, smart-mouthed and troublesome? Had he been charming and smart, had his teachers liked him? Did he have lots of friends? He must have. Wei Ying seemed exactly the type to collect people, to attract them to him with the intensity of his smile.

Would he have liked Lan Zhan? Would he have seen him?

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said now, as gently as he had spoken with Wei Yuan. He flattened his hands on the table, willing the tingling to go away, the urge to reach out. He could see it so clearly in his mind: his fingers tucking back an errant strand of hair, trailing up to cup Wei Ying’s cheek, his thumb brushing across a sharp cheekbone.

Wei Ying shifted, his plush lips falling open around a sigh. “Mmmm,” he groaned, his eyes fluttering open. “ZhanZhan?”

Something low in Lan Zhan’s stomach swooped at the rasp of his name in Wei Ying’s soft, sleep-hazed mouth. He pushed it down, down. “I am here.”

Sitting up slowly, Wei Ying looked around, his face contorting in confusion as he blinked, sticky and slow in the dimmed light. “Oh, Lan Zhan, I—what—what are we doing?”

There were deep, thumbprint bruises painting the delicate skin beneath his eyes. Something was smudged on his jaw, where stubble had begun to form, a dusting of shadow.

“I was reading,” Lan Zhan told him, after a moment of hesitation. “You fell asleep.”

With a hitched breath, Wei Ying stood, and Wei Yuan followed silently. “Ah, sorry, sorry,” Wei Ying said, flustered.

“There is no need,” Lan Zhan said, feeling somewhat as though he had taken a wrong step at the top of a staircase, his foot falling through open air.

“Sorry, I—” He was not looking at Lan Zhan. His fingers were curling and uncurling around the sleeves of his sweater. Wei Yuan was quiet, watchful. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

There was a heaviness to him, something that had hovered around at the periphery. Something Lan Zhan had noticed but not thought much of. It was more present now. It begged for acknowledgement.

Lan Zhan was helpless against it, helpless but to try to lift at least some of it, at least for one evening. “Wei Ying,” he asked, as the man was tucking Wei Yuan’s arms into his puffy blue jacket, “do you have plans for dinner?”

Wei Ying did not stop in his ministrations, digging into the pockets of Wei Yuan’s jacket to recover a small fuzzy hat. “Hm, don’t know,” he said, distracted, tugging the hat onto Wei Yuan’s head and giving his cheek a gentle pinch. “Ah—I think I have some noodles leftover. I’ll figure it out. No, YuanYuan it’s cold. Cold. You need the hat.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan repeated, a bit more insistent this time. “Can I—I would like to have you both over, if you would like that. I can cook.”

This made Wei Ying stop. With a crooked eyebrow, he asked, “You want to…”

“Dinner.” Why had Lan Zhan made this so awkward?

“Ahh,” Wei Ying said, looking at Wei Yuan, and then the clock on his phone, and then back at Lan Zhan once more. “Uh, I—you know what? Sure, why not? Aiyah, Lan Zhan. You’re so…”

He didn’t finish his sentence. Lan Zhan was grateful for it. “Mn,” he said, a little faint. “Follow me, it is not far a drive.”

Wei Ying liked the house. He made that clear immediately in the way that he laughed at the creaking planks of the front porch, the way he traced his fingers over the ornate wood banister in the front hall, the way he poked his head into every room available to him on the main floor. Wei Yuan, his little shadow, followed suit; copying his Baba as he danced from door to door, compliments tumbling off his tongue like the falling golden leaves of the old maple tree in the front yard.

Lan Zhan could not help but feel that the house liked him, too. Could not help but feel that he liked him there, liked them both there. The halls seemed more full in their presence, the rooms more inviting from the perspective of a—a friend.

Wei Ying touched his arm as he passed him by to lead Wei Yuan into the living room, a smile on his face that made the corners of his crinkle. Private, intimate. Something Lan Zhan had not seen before.

He did not bother to say, make yourselves at home. He did not see the need, not when his home seemed to do it for him.

He had not prepared in advance for guests, but he kept his kitchen well stocked, and therefore it was not a hardship to cook something good for Wei Ying and Wei Yuan. He ushered Wei Ying away, refusing the help that was offered, preferring instead to allow Wei Ying the rest he so obviously needed. The thought of being able to take care of him, at least in the small way, made something within him fit together, soothed an urge he didn’t fully understand.

He was nearly done, the timer on the stove down to its last minutes, when he had the distinct feeling that someone was watching him.

“It is almost done,” he said, not turning around. He waited for a reply, only—

Nothing. But the feeling had not left.

A chill washed across his skin, leaving gooseflesh in its wake.

“A-Zhan.”

He turned, setting the towel back down on the counter, and froze.

There was a woman. Just there, in the doorway. Her hair clipped back high the way he remembered, in one of his father’s old university sweatshirts. Her face—he couldn’t remember it, why could he never remember it? Why was it that all he could see of it, as though the rest had been painted over, wiped away, was—

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying was smiling. “It smells amazing in here. Look at you!”

Look at you, Lan Zhan thought, blinking the moment away, unsure of what had transpired. Wei Ying was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. He looked—he looked far too good, in Lan Zhan’s home, and Lan Zhan had to swallow down something that was growing too loud inside of him, growing too big to ignore. He was wearing the spare set of slippers Lan Zhan kept by the front door, and he looked so tired, but content. Comfortable. From the living room, Lan Zhan could hear a cartoon playing, something he didn’t recognize.

“You shouldn’t have brought them there. Not there. You don’t know—”

It was fine. This was a safe place, the safest place he knew. Uncle had made sure of that.

Lan Zhan took a deep breath. Released it, along with the memory that had stirred against his wishes. Returned Wei Ying’s smile as best as he knew how.

“Dinner is ready.”

Lan Zhan insisted on sending Wei Ying home with a tupperware container of leftovers, despite his protests. Wei Yuan had eaten more than Lan Zhan could even believe was possible for a young child, and Wei Ying had teased him, but told Lan Zhan in a tone that ached with pride that he was a growing boy.

“Thank you,” he’d said, standing on the porch as they made to leave, Wei Yuan dozing on his shoulder. “For the food. And. Well, you still should have let me do the dishes, Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan had tilted his head towards the sleeping child pointedly, and Wei Ying had laughed; soft and real, even as he tried not to disturb his son. “Good night, Lan Zhan.”

“Good night, Wei Ying.”

Now, the house was dark. He stood in the kitchen and looked out the window into the backyard, watched the trees sway in the growing breeze. Wei Ying had just texted to let him know they’d made it home okay, as Lan Zhan had requested. It had thrilled him, a little, to see Wei Ying’s contact pop up on his phone screen. Wei Ying had made a face when Lan Zhan had asked for his number, had smiled impishly as he typed it into Lan Zhan’s phone, and then used to to send a little heart emoticon to his phone.

“Don’t be a stranger?” He’d said, pressing the phone back into Lan Zhan’s waiting hand, holding there for a beat longer than he had to.

His phone buzzed again, now.

Wei Ying
all snug
getting stormy out there ☂️
Lan Zhan
I hope that you and A-Yuan did not get wet.
nope! toasty dry
rain’s just trying to pound my roof in lmao
thanks again for dinner
it was really nice of you
There is no need. Good night Wei Ying.
sweet dreams lan zhan 🖤

In the weeks that followed, Lan Zhan had the pleasure of hosting the small family at his home for dinners several more times. With each day, Lan Zhan became more comfortable with the near-constant presence of another in his space, with the noise of a child, the mess. Wei Ying was bright and loud, but he was tired most days, lethargic. He blamed it on the stress of work, causing poor sleep. More and more frequently, he would fall asleep while Lan Zhan read with Wei Yuan in the evenings before the end of his shift. Lan Zhan did not mind it, though he worried. If the only thing he could do for them at that time was to provide a home cooked meal once or twice a week, a safe place to bring A-Yuan where Wei Ying could rest, that would have to be enough. For now.

Lan Zhan had not expected it. Any of it. And, he supposed, he was happy. Greatly so. Enough even that his brother noticed during a call, when only the mention of Wei Ying’s name was enough to draw up some older brotherly instinct that Lan Huan swore he was born in possession of.

“A-Zhan,” Lan Huan said, sounding familiarly smug in one of their calls, “is that a smile I hear?”

“No.” He supposed he never had grown out of his stubbornness, even now as a fully grown man. There were certain things that could never fully be left behind, when it came to family.

Halloween fell on a Friday that year, and MianMian along with the other teachers had arranged to take the classes “trick-or-treating” around the local businesses during the afternoon. Lan Zhan had regrettably been pulled away into a meeting with the board during their visit and could not greet them.

Wei Yuan must have said something, as near the end of his shift he received a text from Wei Ying, confirming that he wasn’t too busy for a special visit.

“I am a pumpkin!” Wei Yuan told him proudly not twenty minutes later in the front lobby, and Lan Zhan, unable to help himself, smiled down at the little boy.

“You are,” Lan Zhan told him seriously. “A very good one.”

Wei Yuan beamed, and Wei Ying let out a little coo, the sound of his phone camera clicking away as he took what had to be dozens of the same image. It seemed the sound had reminded Wei Yuan of his father’s presence, as he looked at him, a little surprised, and then his eyes narrowed before turning back to Lan Zhan. He gestured up at him, a little hand beckoning as though to say, come closer.

Lan Zhan, amused and curious, knelt down to his level. “What is it?”

Wei Yuan shifted in place, his eyes flicking back and forth between Lan Zhan and Wei Ying, before he took a step forward, closer to Lan Zhan so that he would not be overheard. “It’s Baba’s birthday today.”

Wei Yuan had never been the most discreet of whisperers, and Lan Zhan, amongst the surprise of the new piece of information, heard Wei Ying let out a groan.

“Yuan-er, you little devil,” he whined.

Lan Zhan looked to the other man, feeling a little amused but still, surprised? Indignant? “Wei Ying.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, letting out a huff. “I really don’t like making it a big deal, you know? Plus, it’s Yuan-er’s first real Halloween, it’s special. We’re going to meet MianMian in her neighborhood to go get some major candy.”

It made sense, fit the understanding that Lan Zhan had built of who Wei Ying was, what he wanted. What he didn’t. “Is it not also special for you?”

“Well, I do like the decorations.”

“Baba.”

“Aish, shhh you! Spilling all your poor Baba’s secrets.”

“May I take you to dinner?” Lan Zhan asked, his fist clenched tightly behind his back. “Tomorrow?”

“Oh, Lan Zhan, you really don’t have to,” Wei Ying protested, his lips forming into a pout.

“I do not,” Lan Zhan agreed, bravely looking away from the curve of his plump bottom lip, “but I want to.”

It fell silent between them, as Wei Ying gnawed at his bottom lip, contemplative. Lan Zhan wanted to know what he was thinking, wanted to un-spool the thread of his thoughts, to understand his hesitation. It was something that friends did, wasn’t it? To celebrate a birthday in such a way? No matter that he could have offered to cook instead, could have simply wished him a good day, asked if he had any plans. There was a line he was hovering over, determine where he could and could not cross, what would be deemed appropriate, allowed.

Was it, actually, a date? Would Wei Ying think so?

Was that what Lan Zhan wanted it to be?

Wei Yuan was looking back and forth between the two of them, his pumpkin costume rustling as he shifted. “Me too?” he asked, and the tension burst, suddenly, as effective as popping a balloon.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan said, relieved and…not disappointed. He would be so fortunate to spend another evening with them both, but. It was a different thing indeed, to have time with Wei Ying only. “Of course, all three of us.”

Perhaps it was better that they would not be alone. Wei Ying was giving him a look he hadn’t seen before, something honey-sweet and sparking with kindling heat. “That’s nice, Lan Zhan,” he said. “That’s really nice. How can I do anything but accept?”

“…mn. I will see you tomorrow,” Lan Zhan promised. Wei Ying rolled his eyes but still looked pleased, turning to usher Wei Yuan away. “Wei Ying?”

With a long-suffering sigh, Wei Ying stopped. “Yes, Gege?”

“Happy Birthday.”

Wei Ying scrunched his nose up and stuck his tongue out, and then he laughed, taking Wei Yuan’s hand in his and swinging it as they began to walk away. “See you tomorrow Lan Zhan.”

There had been one day, during their lunch break, that Wei Ying had poked around his leftover takeout container at some admittedly sad looking noodles and complained generally about the food landscape of the town and specifically about its inability to provide him with the strong enough chili oil he needed to ward off the chill of the changing seasons.

“Sometimes you really just want to burn your tongue right out of your mouth, you know?” He’d asked, after half-heartedly chewing on a length of stewed carrot.

Lan Zhan, who did not know, only hummed. But he made a note of it. He made plans in the privacy of his own mind.

The door to the restaurant chimed when Lan Zhan pushed it open, jingling lightly as he took a step to the side to hold it open for Wei Ying and Wei Yuan. Wei Ying sent him a sidelong glance as they passed through into the foyer, though Lan Zhan noticed the way his mouth tilted up at the corner.

The entrance was barely big enough for all three of them to stand. There were a few antique wooden chairs crammed into the corner, and the host station was next to the archway that led to the dining area. The front windows had been long covered by heavy, velvet curtains, and the whole place was infused with dim, warm light.

“Zhan-er,” a woman called, and then there was another body jostling into the space, a middle aged woman no taller than Lan Zhan’s sternum. “It’s been—oh, who is this?”

“Auntie Min, this is Wei Ying and Wei Yuan,” Lan Zhan explained, gesturing to each of them in turn. “They moved here in the summer from Wuhan.”

“Ah, my sister lives in Wuhan with her husband,” Auntie Min exclaimed, clapping her hands together as she took in her guests.

“Your restaurant is lovely,” Wei Ying said, smiling brightly, and even though he towered over her, he somehow seemed like a little boy seeking treats before dinner time. “Such a pretty sister surely makes the tastiest food.”

Auntie Min laughed heartily, reaching out to pat him on the arm. “I don’t need your flattery, trouble. Lan Zhan knows I make sure my customers are well-fed.”

She showed them to a table towards the side of the dining room, and handed them menus that were curling at the corners, and had more than one addition or correction made in blue pen over the fading Chinese and English words. Wei Ying traced his fingers over them, a private look on his face, his chin ducked down.

“It’s good Gege?” Wei Yuan asked, pretending to read his own menu, his eyes narrowed into a comical squint.

“Mn, yes. It is all very good.”

When the server came by to set a pot of tea on the table, the young son of the owners, he scrunched his nose at Wei Yuan, gaining a giggle in response. He asked if Wei Ying wanted baijiu with his meal, who declined with a small shake of his head, looking down at the table with a slight smile.

Lan Zhan ordered an assortment of dishes, keeping Wei Ying’s tastes in mind along with the needs of a young child, as well as his preference for milder fare.

“Thank you, Auntie,” Lan Zhan murmured sometime later, as he took one of the larger bowls from her hands into one of his own, then passed it to Wei Ying, who had already begun to arrange the dishes to allow for space.

He rarely had the occasion to come into the restaurant to stay, more often stopping in to pick up takeout orders. The size of the menu always surprised him. The vast array of dishes from the regions of China the owners had lived in before immigrating to Ontario. Bright, spiced noodles and baskets of dumplings; glazed chicken with chilies; small plates with an assortment of fried vegetables; Americanized egg rolls and sweet and sour pork.

At the centre, a pot of steaming, fragrant lotus root soup.

Wei Ying looked gorgeous in the low light of the restaurant, his eyes wide with delight as he took in all the food, as he portioned the best pieces onto Wei Yuan’s plate, and then Lan Zhan’s. There were new piercings in his ears, ones that glittered when he moved his head, and the thick burgundy turtleneck he’d chosen under his usual worn leather jacket made his eyes seem to gleam like silver pools.

He was mesmerizing. He was—

He was not eating.

It had taken Lan Zhan far too long to notice, and once he did, he felt his stomach lurch. How had he not paid attention to the fact that there was nothing on his place, even as he seemed to be focused on making sure Wei Yuan ate, chattering along a chain of light subjects as he went?

He had to rectify this. Setting his chopsticks down, he used a serving spoon to dish some pork into Wei Ying’s plate, and then some rice. He added an egg roll and a few pieces of the fried vegetables that looked particularly crispy and good.

While Wei Ying was still not looking, he used the ladle to pour a small portion of the soup into the bowl at his place setting. The sound of the ladle against the side of the soup pot caught his attention.

“Oh, he said, looking down at his plate, at the bowl. “I guess I—mm, it does look good, doesn’t it?”

It took him a moment to pick up his chopsticks. Beside him, Wei Yuan had fallen silent, watching his father.

Wei Ying picked up a piece of the pork, put it in his mouth. He made an appreciative sound, but—

Wei Yuan put a hand on Wei Ying’s arm. “Baba?”

Wei Ying swallowed. It looked painful.

“All good,” he told Wei Yuan with a grin.

“I should try this, too, right?” Wei Ying said, gesturing to the soup and picking up his spoon, and he was smiling but, his voice was higher than normal. Thin.

Lan Zhan did not quite know what to say. “If you would like. It is one of my favourites. Lotus root and pork rib—”

Wei Ying dropped the spoon.

It clattered onto the table, sudden and sharp in the mellow din of the restaurant. Lan Zhan could not help but notice the low conversations around them drop away completely, could not help but feel the attention drawing near.

It didn’t matter, of course. Not when Wei Ying—

The chair protested as Wei Ying shot up, the front legs hitting the wooden floor with a loud rap. Wei Ying, his face ashen, one hand raised up to his mouth, his eyes bulging, stumbled away from the table. He nearly collided with the server, who braced him on the shoulder, before he wrenched himself away and made it out of the dining area and out the front door.

The entire world was holding its breath.

Wrong. Wrong.

He was out of his chair before he’d even made the decision to move. The server was there immediately, offering to sit with Wei Yuan, and Lan Zhan thought he might have thanked him but, but he wasn’t sure. He could only think of getting out, getting to him, faster, faster—

Lan Zhan found him at the edge of the parking lot, retching violently into the grass.

He took a step towards him, froze when he let out a frustrated growl.

“Get lost,” Wei Ying snarled, then his face dropped when he turned, when he saw that it was Lan Zhan standing behind him.

“I’m—” Wei Ying choked, a hand raised to cover his mouth, his eyes puffy and red. “I’m sorry. Sorry, Lan Zhan, I—”

“No.” Lan Zhan was already shaking his head. He hesitated for only a moment, before reaching into his pocket for a folded up pack of tissues, offering it forward. “Please, do not apologize.”

Wei Ying let out a noise, sharp and wet and ugly. “f*ck,” he whispered, taking the tissue. He turned his head away, but Lan Zhan could still hear him spit into the wad. “f*ck, f*ck me.”

“It is alright,” Lan Zhan said, low and soft.

A sound, maybe a laugh.

“Just need a minute,” he reassured, his voice light. Strained.

“Please, take all the time you need.”

Wei Ying wheezed a breath, and then dug into the pocket of his jacket, fishing out a pack of cigarettes and a cheap blue lighter.

Lan Zhan had never seen him smoke before. His hands shook as his thumb slid over the lighter.

He took a deep drag and then let it out, shifting from one foot to the other as he tilted his head to the sky, eyes closed.

“This isn’t—I,” Wei Ying tried, cigarette between his lips as he took another quick draw, “I f*cked this. I just—wanted to spend more time with you. f*ck.”

“Nothing is ruined. I meant to ask,” Lan Zhan began, seeing his opportunity, a chance to offer reassurance. “Would you and Wei Yuan like to spend the day with me tomorrow? You mentioned you had not hiked along the trails behind your house yet. I thought Wei Yuan might enjoy seeing the fall colours before they disappear.”

“You really want another round with this?” Wei Ying teased, his grin slanted in a way that Lan Zhan didn’t recognize.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan affirmed, and frowned when Wei Ying’s grin went hollow and then thin, his lips pressing together tightly. He did not know what exactly he could have said wrong, with barely a sound.

“Right,” he said, and barked a laugh, his face hardening.

“Wei Ying—”

“It’s been nice so far, right?” He asked, an edge forming in his voice. “I’ve been—we’ve been having fun. It’s been—” He choked, tossing the cigarette down and grinding it beneath his boot. “I’ve been trying so hard to make it easy. You deserve—you deserve easy, and simple. But you don’t know me. And I don’t want to tell you. I don’t want to.”

Lan Zhan thought that, if he hadn’t known Wei Ying for nearly two months now, he may have misunderstood. It was true. He didn’t know Wei Ying, not really. He wanted to, but.

It didn’t matter.

“I know you are a good father,” Lan Zhan said, quiet yet so loud in the nearly empty lot, on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. “I know that life is rarely simple and easy. I know what I want, and it is not that. I know that I do not want you to force yourself to do anything you do want to do.”

Wei Ying’s fingers were wrapped so tightly around the bottom of his leather jacket they were shaking, glowing bone white under the buzzing streetlight. “What do you want?” He asked, hoarse.

Slowly, telegraphing his movements so that he did not startle him, Lan Zhan drifted forward, took those hands between his own, held them carefully to keep them warm. Wei Ying let him.

“To finish dinner,” he said. “To take you home. To see you tomorrow. Really you.”

“Really me,” Wei Ying repeated with a scoff. He still did not pull away.

“I would have no one else,” he said truthfully. Maybe it was too much, too honest. His heart felt displayed garishly in his chest, beating staccato. He could not, however, allow Wei Ying to be vulnerable alone.

Wei Ying’s breath left him in a rush, one hand tugging out of Lan Zhan’s grasp to cover his face. “Aiyah, warn a man.”

Lan Zhan felt the tightness that had wrapped around his chest loosen ever so slightly. “Mn,” he hummed, the beginnings of a smile curling at his lips. “Next time.”

Wei Ying and Wei Yuan lived in a house that had not quite been abandoned, on a street that wasn’t quite dirt. It took Lan Zhan barely any time at all to make the drive; winding his way up the narrow, steeply climbing road whose sharp turns had caused enough accidents to earn it a closure during many of the winter storms.

There was another, safer road on the other end of town to go up the escarpment, though it would take a longer drive. It would not make a difference for Lan Zhan, who had already decided that he would make more of an effort to come to Wei Ying’s place instead of having them over to his, so that A-Yuan could go to sleep, and Wei Ying would not have to worry about getting him home.

Wei Ying’s house was tucked back away from the road, nestled in the trees that marked the edge of the forest. It was two stories, with faded white siding and a shallow, worn covered porch. A separate garage sat a few metres away, though Wei Ying’s little black sedan was not parked inside.

Lan Zhan parked beside it and climbed out, closing his door as gently as he could. Across the road, the field stretched out beneath the hazy sky, dotted by patches of dead grass, a copse of trees in the far distance.

It was still early, only just past nine. There was a good chance that they were not yet awake, if Wei Ying’s lethargy in the mornings as he trudged into the library was any indication.

Just then, however, the front door to the house opened, and a little boy came running out.

“Hi Gege!” Wei Yuan greeted with a radiant smile, his arms outstretched. He hit Lan Zhan’s legs with an oof, and then grinned up at him. “We’re going on an adventure!”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agreed, resting a hand on top of his head, smoothing down the mess of short curls. “Where’s Baba?”

“Present,” chimed a low voice, and Wei Ying passed through the doorway, closing and locking the door behind him. He was sporting a thick fleece zip-up jacket, a toque, and a haggard expression that was all too familiar on his handsome face. Lan Zhan raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. It was not nearly as cold as they would expect to have in late November, but there was still a chill, and whenever Lan Zhan touched Wei Ying’s skin, he seemed ice cold. He was prone to wearing heavy sweaters when working, thick socks on Lan Zhan’s wooden floors.

“Good morning,” Wei Ying murmured, rubbing at his eye with the heel of his palm. Just as he let out a yawn, Lan Zhan remembered a key factor, and lifted his hand to offer a to-go coffee cup.

“Oh, hello gorgeous,” Wei Ying moaned, clutching the coffee possessively between his two hands and holding it up to his face. “Ohhhh.”

“I thought it might help,” Lan Zhan told him, impossibly endeared to the silly display. “I understand that mornings are…”

“Hng,” Wei Ying grunted as he took a sip from the cup. “If it wasn’t for A-Yuan I think I might prefer to be nocturnal.”

“One would only have bats for company,” Lan Zhan told him solemnly.

“I think I’d make a hot vampire, don’t you?” Wei Ying asked with a wink, chomping at the lid of the cup.

Lan Zhan questioned why he found this so charming, and could not manage to find an answer. “Mmmm,” he intoned, as non-committal as he could manage. He did not say that the vampires he had read about, the ones that had truly been encountered as opposed to those in popular fiction, were not often lauded for their physical attractiveness.

“So?” Wei Ying asked, shifting from foot to foot with a bit more energy than he’d met Lan Zhan with. “What’s the plan? Will you be our all-knowing forest guide today?”

“If that is what you think of me,” Lan Zhan told him. He moved back to his car, and Wei Ying followed, watching as he opened the door to the rear seat and pulled out his backpack. “I have packed some sandwiches and snacks for us to have a picnic. There is an easy trail that starts nearby and loops back around to bring us back. It is a good trail for beginners, not too hard for A-Yuan. Or you.”

“Hey now, I used to—” Wei Ying started, but cut himself off, his eyes darting away. “Yeah, that’ll be good.” He turned to fuss over Wei Yuan’s little puffy coat. “You ready, YuanYuan? You have to listen, okay? You have to stay where Baba and Gege can see you, promise? We’re safe, but it can be dangerous if you wander off when you don’t know what’s around you.”

“Promise,” Wei Yuan replied, though he looked a bit distracted, his excitement and attention focused on the woods beyond them. Lan Zhan wondered if Wei Ying often let him play back there, as long as he stayed close.

“A-Yuan,” Wei Ying said, this time more serious.

Wei Yuan looked at him now, attentive. “Promise, Baba.”

“Good.” Wei Ying let out a sigh and then smiled. “Come on Lan Zhan, lead the way.”

The deeper they got down the trail, the darker it became; the air growing thick with fog that painted the world in a dreamlike, eerie haze. Lan Zhan watched as Wei Ying captured pictures of the thin, shedding trees, the fall of their leaves a sunset blanket over the earth. It was incredibly quiet this far in. Muted, the sound of the world around them muffled by nature, as though the fog itself was a barrier and then had entered into an enchantment that fought to keep them.

“It’s so pretty,” Wei Ying murmured, when they reached a gap in the trees, where an outcropping of rocks denoted the edge of the escarpment. He had a vice-like grip on Wei Yuan’s hand, but neither of them seemed to mind. On a clear day, they would have been able to see right over the town, onto the shimmering lake beyond. On the best of days, they might see the Toronto skyline—the skyscrapers jutting out into the bright blue sky. Now, the fog prevented any visibility at all, and while it might have disappointed some, Wei Ying seemed enchanted. “Creepy.”

“Mn.”

They walked, and Wei Ying was not quiet, but he was subdued, talking from one subject to the next with less exuberance than he would usually display. Lan Zhan enjoyed listening to him, though he wondered how much of it was Wei Ying truly wanting to talk, and how much was him filling the silence. He hoped that Wei Ying did not feel that he needed to entertain him. He would need to ask, to clarify that his presence was enough. Another time.

“Lan Zhan.” He was pulled to a stop, Wei Ying’s fingers tugging at his jacket. When he looked, Wei Ying had gone sheet white, his eyes alight with fear.

“What—” Lan Zhan turned, only to find that Wei Yuan—

That he was gone.

Wei Ying took in a startled breath. “A-Yuan?” He called, frantically looking around.

There was a hush around them, a stillness. Lan Zhan looked ahead of them, up the path, into the trees. He turned to check behind them. Everything seemed frozen in place, immutable. Suddenly, the trail that seemed to welcome them in, to spark interest and delight, seemed to be there only to watch, to witness their confusion, their panic.

It was—it did not seem possible. It could not be possible that he was there one moment, and gone the next.

“I don’t—where—” Wei Ying’s voice had gone shrill, breathless. “A-Yuan?! A-Yuan! Where are you?”

Something stirred in Lan Zhan’s gut, unpleasant and aching. “A-Yuan!” He too called. He had…he had just been there, just been between them. Hadn’t he? Had he fallen behind? Lan Zhan spun in place, trying to see every part of the forest at once. He was so little, he have been anywhere, could have wandered off while they were just talking, if he had gone when they were just distracted for a moment–

Just then, up the trail, came a little sound. An oof.

Wei Ying deflated, releasing Lan Zhan’s arm and tearing forward. Lan Zhan followed, his heart racing.

Wei Yuan was seated in the dirt, tucked behind a fallen log that, even if he had been standing, would have nearly dwarfed him. He looked up at them when they came to a stop, blinking innocently as though he had not scared them both half to death. “Hi,” he said. “I found frogs.”

Indeed, he had. There were two of them huddling beneath the log. Beside him, Lan Zhan felt Wei Ying shaking from where their shoulders were pressed together. “That’s…A-Yuan, what did I tell you? Didn’t I tell you not to wander off?” His voice was even, clearly trying not to show the panic that was still thrumming through him. Lan Zhan was surprised at the extent to wish he himself wanted to rush forward, to ensure that the little boy was okay, to touch him and make sure he was safe. He could only imagine how that feeling was amplified in Wei Ying, could only imagine the restraint it took not to act upon it, to not place his anxieties on his son.

“I…” Wei Yuan seemed to notice, for the first time, where exactly he was. “Oh,” he said, and his eyes were suddenly round with sorrow. “Sorry, Baba. Sorry.”

Wei Ying smiled, his eyes turning to crescents, even as his body still shook. “You know not to do it again. Come here, quick, give Baba a hug.”

He did, popping up quickly to get to his father, and for the rest of the walk he stayed close, one hand either in Wei Ying’s or Lan Zhan’s, describing aloud everything he saw as best he could, and beaming at the praise Wei Ying showered him with.

There was a small lookout platform that they used to stop for a quick lunch, but did not stay long. There was no visibility here, either, and it was becoming chilly as the wind picked up. By mutual unspoken decision, they began to turn back, taking the loop around that would bring them to the clearing where they started their journey.

When they breached the treeline, it was as though stepping into a different season, a different world. The sun had no cover to reach through, no fog to burn away, and thus the clearing was practically glowing with the afternoon light, the trees lit up scarlet and brilliant gold. Across the clearing, maybe a hundred meters away, there was a platform to climb that, in clearer weather, would no doubt serve as the perfect lookout off the edge of the escarpment, all the way across town to the glittering lake water in the distance. Here, untouched as it was, the grass still felt damp with dew, and Lan Zhan’s heart raced when Wei Yuan slipped while running too quickly across it, though the child quickly righted himself with a giggle and continued.

Wei Ying walked beside Lan Zhan, letting out a low chuckle. “Don’t worry, he’s tough. A couple of scraped knees won’t kill him.”

Lan Zhan hummed, but couldn’t seem to put aside his anxiety, especially after what had occurred on the trail. The sudden shock of absence, of wrong, that he had felt when he had looked down to find that Wei Yuan was no longer beside him…it was distressing.

“Lan Zhan ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying teased, bumping their shoulders together. “What are you thinking about, hm? Far too serious for such a nice day.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agreed, and tried instead to focus on the warmth of the sun on his bared skin, the gentle ache in his feet from the walk, the tingle of his arm where Wei Ying had touched him. He took in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of fresh air, the beginnings of decay, something smokey and nostalgic that couldn’t be anything but the approaching autumn.

“It’s quiet, ah,” Wei Ying said. His face was tilted to the open sky, but his eyes were closed. His profile was nearly backlit, and he looked in that moment so radiant, Lan Zhan felt the urge to trace the shape of it with his fingers. “It’s so quiet up here. I thought I wouldn’t like, not…well it’s not perfect. It used to be so loud back home, so many people. I feel like—if I didn’t have to take A-Yuan to school, if I didn’t come and bother you all day, I would never see a single other person.”

Lan Zhan had not known Wei Ying for long. He had not learned what truly brought him here, to a tiny town on the other side of the world, if it had been for any reason at all really apart from truly random. He did not know what had pushed him away from Wuhan. There were things that Lan Zhan wanted to ask, wanted Wei Ying to tell him, but he wouldn’t. He had read the answers in the set of Wei Ying’s jaw when he was in a car, in the way his fingers sometimes shook when he was tired. He found them in A-Yuan’s gentle, solemn compassion, in the way the child had taken Wei Ying’s hand yesterday in the restaurant when it seemed as though Wei Ying would not be able to swallow.

There were things that Lan Zhan wished to know, things that he could guess, and then there were the things he was sure of.

Wei Ying was good. Wei Ying was lonely.

And Lan Zhan could not help himself, not when he had known good, lonely things before. Not when Wei Ying looked at the sky like he could fly away into it and never return.

“I prefer people,” Lan Zhan told him, his voice soft. “I think it is important to not be alone. Not when—you do not need to tell me, but I recognize grief.”

Wei Ying paused, his fingers braced around his opposing forearm. “Who did you lose?”

“My parents,” he said, “when I was very young.”

Wei Ying did not apologize, as most others often did, and Lan Zhan was grateful for it. He didn’t react much at all, in fact, his eyes remaining fixed on the treeline. “Me too. Uh, mine too.”

Lan Zhan did not expect to find such a thing in common with him. He found himself, with no small bit of guilt, grateful to have met someone else who could understand. “We were…my brother and I. We were alone for several days. Before we were found. Before Uncle was called.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying said, sharp on an inhale. “Oh, no. Lan Zhan, ah.”

“It has taken me a long time to feel comfortable alone,” Lan Zhan explained. “To feel comfortable with silence. I do not mind it, now. Still, I prefer to fill my life with…more.”

More was perhaps the only word that encompassed it. More, he thought, as he watched Wei Yuan dance amongst the grass, as the remnants of Wei Ying’s laughter echoed amongst the trees, even subdued and—and changed, in some intrinsic way since last night. It was no less breathtaking, no less intoxicating.

“Lan Zhan.”

“Mn.”

Wei Ying took a breath, licked his lips. Looked up at the sky, and then back down to the earth. “I owe you an explanation for what happened at the restaurant. You—you deserved better than me—than me losing it on you.”

Lan Zhan faltered. “You do not owe me—”

“My sister made that soup all the time.” Wei Ying’s eyes were wide, vacant things. He was rubbing at his forearm absently now. “She died. Last year.”

“Wei Ying.”

“Her husband, too. Would’ve been her—” Wei Ying’s chest heaved, and he wrenched his head to the side, his neck cracking with the force of the movement. Lan Zhan hummed, out of step and filled to bursting with concern, unsure if any attempt to show it would be accepted. “Ah. Her—her son. He would have—f*ck.”

“Wei Ying.” It could not be helped. Lan Zhan stopped, grabbing Wei Ying’s arm so that he could not lurch forward, could not move away. His grip was gentle, but firm, when he used it to turn Wei Ying towards him, to look him in the eye. “You do not need to tell me this.”

“Oh, I—” Wei Ying choked, “I do. I do. I had to say it. I haven’t. I haven’t said it.”

Wei Ying was right. It was very quiet up here. To Lan Zhan, living alone was not a hardship. Not when it was his mother’s home that Lan Zhan chose to stay. Not when it was his mother’s gift that kept him there. He had become accustom to silence, to stillness. His world was lines and numbers, pages in books, inky fingers from date stamps. Home was careful walls, was the checking of locks. Home was a library of his own, was his father’s collection of old records, Haiyan’s eclectic art pieces. Home was a series of things, of memories; mementos of other people, remnants of lives that had been snipped off, cut away. It was not a hardship, for he was not alone. Though he could be, despite what he told his brother, what he told Uncle during their weekly video calls, lonely.

For Wei Ying, he did not think the same thing was true. Wei Ying—who had come from a city of millions, who strained against the hush of the library, who seemed to work anywhere but his own home—lived now at the top of the hill, amongst the unending sky and deep, ancient woods. Disconnected, removed from any sense of familiarity. Severed from anyone who knew him, anyone who knew his story, for even Lan Zhan could not claim to know him, could not claim to understand his situation, what exactly had led him here.

Lan Zhan thought that, maybe, it must be a hardship indeed.

Wei Ying was breathing hard but steady, his fingers tightened into claws around the sleeve of his jacket. His eyes had closed, and he seemed to be repeating something over and over under his breath. It took Lan Zhan a moment to realize that he was counting to four, over and over.

Lan Zhan stayed there, pressed in close. He did not move, did not say a word. He only matched the pace of his breathing to Wei Ying’s, brought his other hand—the one that was not still holding on to him, that would not let him ago unless he asked—to settle against his back, to stroke the soft fabric there.

Only when Wei Ying’s chest was no longer heaving, only when his eyes had cleared and he was smiling tiredly up at him, did Lan Zhan pull away.

They walked in quiet for some time, following along the path that traced along the shallows of the woods. Wei Yuan picked his way through the brush ahead of them, climbing over lifted roots, bending down every so often to touch an interesting rock, or pick up and then toss a handful of crumbling, russet leaves.

It took nearly no time at all to arrive back at the back of Wei Ying’s property, a familiar sight after their long morning. Lan Zhan was used to such treks, and it had not been a difficult hike—could indeed have barely been called a hike at all—but he could tell that Wei Ying was tired. Would have been tired, even if not for the moment in the clearing. He could only imagine how he felt now, though he had an idea.

When they came to a stop, the back steps into the house behind them, the tall, spindly birch trees of the woods before them, his idea was confirmed.

“Do not apologize,” he said, just as Wei Ying opened his mouth to no doubt do as such. He did not want to hear it, not now. He couldn’t.

Wei Ying’s lips fell open further, and then he pressed them together, something very soft weaving through his gaze. “Thank you, then.”

“No thank-yous either.”

This, miraculously, got him a laugh, though it came out jagged, uneven. “Aiyah, this man. You’re really a stickler, you know? Telling me what I can and can’t do, left and right.”

Lan Zhan would not smile. He would play, if Wei Ying wanted him to. “You do not listen, anyway.”

For a moment, Wei Ying’s eyes went a little dark, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. Just a moment, but it was enough to pull Lan Zhan’s attention.

But.

He couldn’t. Not now. Not when—Wei Ying was. Vulnerable. Upset. He couldn’t.

Lan Zhan turned away. “Where is A-Yuan?”

He heard a shuddering breath beside him. He didn’t look over, didn’t know if he could handle what he would find. “Over there, see?”

Wei Yuan was squatting in the dirt, several rows deep into the treeline. Wei Ying had his arms crossed over his chest, watchful even as he smiled indulgently. The drop-off was not close enough to be a risk for the boy, but Lan Zhan understood why it would make Wei Ying nervous. Wei Yuan had a habit of running off, not maliciously, but in the absent way that many children his age could act. It would not take much for him to bolt, something shiny perhaps, or the movement of an animal. He had already disappeared once today. Lan Zhan did not want to see it happen again.

“There’s a lot more space for him here, I’ll give it that much,” Wei Ying allowed, and Lan Zhan gave in to the urge to turn back, finding a twist to Wei Ying’s expression that Lan Zhan knew was nostalgia—a memory surfacing. “We, uh…the apartment we lived in. Before. It was pretty cramped. Always hot. But, ah! So much room for little rabbits to hop around! It’s—oh, what is it, Baobao?”

Lan Zhan turned away to see Wei Yuan approaching through the trees, picking through the roots and fallen branches with practiced care. His face bore something like excitement, or perhaps wonder. It was a curious look, a determined one. A little boy looking for answers.

He was holding something in his hands, his fingers tracing a pale, worn edge.

“Found it,” Wei Yuan said, gesturing to his treasure with a little shake of his hands. “Look what I found, Baba.”

Wei Ying hummed and knelt down before his son, any bittersweet hint of the past long gone from his smile. “My son is such an excellent finder. Look at you! What is it, show Baba?”

Wei Yuan smiled, bright like a tiny star, and Wei Ying beamed right back. The space in Lan Zhan’s heart fluttered, his ears growing warm. He had the overwhelming urge to kneel in the dirt next to Wei Ying, to wipe the bit of mud from Wei Yuan’s cheek. He remained standing, remained a step away.

He watched with a small bit of genuine curiosity as Wei Yuan’s fingers relaxed their clutch, as they revealed a flat, white shape, caked with flaking mud and bits of dead leaves.

It was no larger than Wei Yuan’s palm, as therefore Lan Zhan could not immediately guess as to its origin. However, there was a strange feeling in his stomach as he realized what it could be.

“YuanYuan,” Wei Ying said, his voice gentle. Lan Zhan knew that it was he, and not Wei Yuan, that could see the way his smile had become fixed. “Can Baba hold it?”

Wei Yuan frowned, appearing for a moment to believe that his father was tricking him. His fingers, Lan Zhan saw with a detached unease, wrapped tightly around the piece of bone before withdrawing, handing it over with a small pout.

“I found it,” Wei Yuan repeated petulantly, shifting in place when Wei Ying remained silent. He tilted his head, the pout falling away as wide, innocent eyes took its place. “I think it’s pretty. I’ll keep it on my shelf? With the shells? It will be nice there.”

“Mmm,” Wei Ying hummed, not looking away from the bone in his hand.

Lan Zhan wondered, then, if Wei Yuan knew what death was. If he had ever experienced it. Certainly, Lan Zhan knew that Wei Yuan had been adopted. Once, when Wei Ying had been plied with a heavy dinner and some tea, he had told Lan Zhan, simply, as though an afterthought, that Wei Yuan’s parents had passed away. A sliver, another page in Wei Ying’s book. That did not mean, however, that Wei Yuan had understood it. Lan Zhan did not know how old he had been, or if they had died of natural causes. Had it been an accident? An illness? Something more nefarious? Had Wei Ying known them?

Did Wei Yuan understand that he held the remains of something that had once been alive in his hands? Did Wei Ying want him to know?

“Thank you for showing me,” Wei Ying told his son, looking up to grant him a reassuring smile. “Look, this isn’t something we should keep in the house, alright? It’s very dirty, and sometimes things we pick up in the woods could make us sick. I will take you to find more shells soon, deal?”

It looked as though Wei Yuan wanted to argue, but he was a well-behaved boy. He was willing to accept a change that he was not happy with, if it was explained to him. Children were like that, more that most adults were willing to believe, or allow. It was yet another reason why Lan Zhan enjoyed them, looked forward to their visits to the library. Their minds were not yet set in stone, eager to learn and brilliant with creativity. Wei Yuan nodded, and began to ramble about the beach, his mind flitting to the next exciting thing.

Wei Ying smiled as he listened, his fingers a mirror of his son’s, wrapping almost entirely around the bone, keeping it out of sight.

Lan Zhan followed Wei Ying and Wei Yuan back to the house, watching as Wei Yuan skipped up the back steps to the screen door that led into the kitchen. Wei Ying was trailing behind him, his hands dug deep into the pouch of his hoodie. He stopped before he could climb the steps, and Lan Zhan stopped beside him.

Wei Yuan pulled open the door and paused, turning to look at them. “Baba, coming?”

“Sure thing, kiddo,” Wei Ying called back, toeing his sneaker into worn gravel. “You go inside and watch your show, alright? I wanna talk to Lan Zhan for a few minutes.”

Wei Yuan scooted into the house without another thought, calling a “Kay!” over his shoulder. The screen door banged shut behind him, and Wei Ying winced.

“I keep telling him to be careful with that,” he sighed, and then closed his eyes, turning his face down. “Ah, Lan Zhan, we’ve gotta go check and see if there’s anything else left that little wanderers could find.”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan hesitated, made unsure by Wei Ying’s reaction, the way he had gone pale at the sight of the bone in Wei Yuan’s hands. “Are you…I can go, if you—”

But Wei Ying was already waving him away, the bone now held at his side. “No, no, I’m not squeamish. Just, you know. Hope the critter died of natural causes. Don’t need any wolves or mountain lions lurking while I’m trying to make a living.”

“I do not believe mountain lions frequent these parts,” Lan Zhan told him as they began to walk back once more to the treeline.

Wei Ying let out a little huff and rolled his eyes. “It really is boring around here, huh, Gege? What kind of self-respecting mountain has no lions? Where do they even live, huh?”

“They are adaptable to many climates,” Lan Zhan allowed.

“Ha!” Wei Ying crowed. “Bet the whole damn cliff’s infested, then. Shows what you know.”

“Ridiculous.”

Wei Ying’s laugh floated across the grass, disappearing into the haze of the air, the shadow of the trees. It was quiet now, without Wei Yuan’s chatter and little steps, quieter for his absence. Wei Ying, in contrast to what Lan Zhan had expected, did not seem quite up to carrying out his usual babble, allowing the space between them to lapse into silence that was not uncomfortable. Lan Zhan counted with the pace of their footsteps, leaves crunching beneath their shoes.

“The tree that stands above the others will be the one blown over,” Wei Ying murmured, and then offered a teasing, wide-eyed grin to Lan Zhan. “Stupid saying. There’s nothing out here bigger than these trees. You scared?”

As they passed through the treeline, Lan Zhan kept his eyes trained on the ground, tracing the path that Wei Yuan had followed. “We hiked here, often. Nothing to fear.”

“Sure, sure, my Lan Zhan isn’t scared of anything,” Wei Ying said, each word bobbing along like a melody. Lan Zhan felt his ears heat for what had to be a record of daily occurrences. He wondered if Wei Ying had even realized what he said at all. No doubt, he hadn’t. It was Lan Zhan’s fortune to exist in a world where Wei Ying was at his side and utterly, hopelessly Wei Ying.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan disagreed after a moment, after he had banished my Lan Zhan from beneath his ribcage. “Untrue.”

“Ahh, what could it be, then?” Wei Ying asked, putting on a real show of pondering the question. “Let’s see…snakes? Fire? Nasty school teachers? Ah, no? Hmm…bugs?”

Lan Zhan turned away from him.

With a laugh, Wei Ying took a co*cky step forward, advancing through the brush. “Interesting, interesting. Sounds like I’ve hit a nerve, hm? Oh no, I think I see one now, Lan Zhan, I—”

Wei Ying, who had walked ahead, who could only have reached where Wei Yuan had been playing by now, set his foot down, and under it came a crack.

He froze.

“Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying did not turn, his back to Lan Zhan. Something in the set of his shoulders set a knot in Lan Zhan’s throat. “I, uh…think I found something.”

Lan Zhan took in a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. There was nothing unnatural, nothing wrong, about the remains of an animal. Nothing at all. This was nature. It was better here, better where the body could be absorbed by its home, its nutrients feeding back into the circle. Lan Zhan remembered, when he was very young, driving with Uncle and seeing a cat on the side of the road, tire marks clearly imprinted on its side. It had been very dead, and very alone, and Lan Zhan had wept uncontrollable, silent tears in his seat, staring the thing down, while Uncle had stood outside and called animal control.

What had struck him most, he knew from decades of living in his own heart and mind, was how alone it had been, at its end. How very, very scared it must have been.

Lan Zhan did not like to think of such things, even as he surrounded himself with knowledge and truth that was so deeply rooted in loss. The dark things of the world preyed on grief, snuffed out bright lights. There was endless loneliness in the world, a bottomless abyss of hurt for those dark things to feed off of. Still, he preferred to remember the good things, small as they were. The promise that this animal that had left their body behind had once walked through these trees, had once had a full life. It was enough.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hummed, after a silence he knew had stretched too long. He swallowed, his throat clicking. “Step back.”

Wei Ying complied slowly, and once he was away he crouched down, one hand coming to rest in the dirt. “Here, Lan Zhan. Come’ere.”

He looked so like Wei Yuan had, then. A child digging in the dirt. Small, in a way. Not small, distant. Untouchable, like he would fade into the lingering sun that cast rays of light between the tree cover. Lan Zhan, being suddenly unable to stop himself, took a step towards him, and then another, and then his hand was resting on Wei Ying’s shoulder quite without his own consent.

Wei Ying shifted in place, but did not shake Lan Zhan off. His head tilted slightly, and for a moment, it seemed as though he might—but then he straightened again, his gaze fixed on the ground before him. “Look. There’s more here, see?”

Lan Zhan did see. It was small, whatever it had been. Larger than a rabbit, or even a cat. A dog, perhaps? A yellowing, arched bone, what could only have been a rib, curved up from the earth. He knelt down next to Wei Ying to look closer.

There was something in the dirt, half buried in with the bones. At first, Lan Zhan thought it might be a tuft of fur, or a bit of plastic. And, after a moment, he realized that it was indeed plastic of a kind. It was a red material, shining dully in the dim light, something that must have once been a tag sticking up like an errant leaf.

“Wei Ying—” Lan Zhan started, but he was too slow to stop Wei Ying’s hand, to stop him from tugging at the material, a piece larger than Lan Zhan had expected, a shape taking form that was familiar, that was known.

“f*ck!” Wei Ying gasped, and dropped the jacket, falling back and landing in the dirt.

The police lights were near blinding now that the sun had gone down, casting eerie shadows onto the trees and the siding of Wei Ying’s house. It was cold now, far colder than it had been when the sun was up, and Wei Ying had been standing at his side. Wei Ying, who had long since gone inside to calm Wei Yuan, who had become nearly hysterical in his panic when the police had arrived. Another thing Lan Zhan wondered about, another thing he would not ask.

It was not the time, not at all.

Lan Zhan had spoken with the officer in charge as his partner questioned Wei Ying, had watched carefully as Wei Ying had shown the officer proof of his flights, the timing of his lease on the house. The body…the child, Sarah Reid’s child, Ava, had been missing long before Wei Ying had moved to the town. Had, according to the comments the senior detective had made upon seeing the remains, likely been dead nearly as long as she had been missing.

Lan Zhan, who had gone very cold from the moment he had realized exactly what they had found, in the woods beyond Wei Ying’s yard, thought of Sarah now. Thought of how she had sat in his kitchen, desperate and exhausted. He knew that she had come to him as a last resort, something she herself had admitted. She had not expected to gain any knowledge, for Lan Zhan to be able to help in any meaningful way. And, indeed, Lan Zhan hadn’t, though when he’d seen her at the grocery store or the library lately, she had at least seemed to be more well rested. He had done that small bit for her, after all. It was a strange thing, to lose hope. A difficult, painful thing. He thought that, though Sarah Reid likely had no psychic ability to speak of, perhaps she had known even still.

Perhaps, when the officers would go to her door later that night, it wouldn’t come as too great of a shock.

Perhaps this was only a self-soothing thought of his own.

Lan Zhan watched as the section of the woods was cordoned off with police tape, spoke with the officer about what had occurred, how they had come across the remains. He remained outside as the coroner arrived, as the remains were carefully assembled and taken away. He took the contact information Wei Ying would need, took down the details of when Wei Ying would need to go to the station to give a statement. It had to have taken hours, though Lan Zhan felt that very little time had passed at all. A blink, and it was dark. Another, and the police had gone, leaving the yellow crime scene tape behind like fresh scars. It was as though Lan Zhan were walking through a dream, the reality of it shifting as it followed its own rules, its own nature. Just that afternoon, Wei Yuan had been playing, Wei Ying had smiled and laughed. The woods had been a place of exploration.

Now, they appeared as though a gaping maw. An echo of loss. A threat.

Wei Ying and Wei Yuan, inside, kept safe and warm. Metres away, the death of a child. These were facts that Lan Zhan could not reconcile.

He was unsure how long he had been standing there, staring off into the dark. Longer than was likely normal, longer than could be explained. Something inside him could not be moved, could not be swayed to leave his post. He was to keep watch, to stand between whatever had…to be there. To see.

An animal, the coroner had said. A large one. Had to have been.

Lan Zhan, still and silent in the driveway, did not believe it.

It came quietly, the feeling. Something like the wind, like a draft. When Lan Zhan was a teenager, there had been a partial solar eclipse, something the entire town had been eager to witness. Most had escaped their jobs, their classes, for the afternoon for a chance to see it, to take part in something that the whole world awaited. When the sun had become a crescent in the sky, and then very little of anything at all, Lan Zhan and Uncle had both gotten terrible headaches. He remembered it well. More than that, however, Lan Zhan remembered how the temperature of the world had dropped so suddenly, the wind picking up and yet the birds falling silent, the world holding its breath as an anomaly occurred.

Wei Ying’s yard felt very much like that, so sudden and out of place Lan Zhan felt as though he had lifted his leg to climb a stair, and found only empty air instead. A swooshing wrongness.

There, next to Wei Ying’s shed, just at the edge of his property where the treeline began, there was a smudge.

The woods were very dark now, so much so that Lan Zhan could hardly see the shapes of the trees themselves. It would have taken a flashlight to cut through it, would likely have taken more. And still, still, the smudge was darker. It could have been—it had to have been a trick of the eye, had to have been the remnants of the grief of the day, the sorrow. It could not be, that there was…that there was a spot of black that was—full. That was not simply the result of the night. That was not real.

Lan Zhan blinked. The smudge did not fade.

Instead, it took shape, something that could have been a branch, or an arm. A shifting in the woods, a change in the nature of the shadow.

Watching. There were eyes, and it was watching.

He could not move, could not breathe, not with its gaze on him. He could not feel his feet under him, nor the ground beneath him.

Then, a snap.

Lan Zhan whipped his head towards the sound, and then startled at his ability to move once more. He turned, bracing himself, ready to see, ready to—

But. The smudge, the figure, whatever it may have been, was gone. The wind picked up once more, and in the distance, an owl called into the night. The earth beneath him took a deep breath, and continued to turn.

Had it even been there to begin with?

“Lan Zhan?!”

Lan Zhan startled, his entire body jolting hard, his teeth grinding together painfully. He gasped in a breath, turning to where Wei Ying was standing on the back porch, his eyes wide with panic.

“What?” Lan Zhan asked, his tongue heavy and stupid. “What is it? A-Yuan?”

Wei Ying stared, his expression shifting into incredulity. “Lan Zhan,” he repeated, voice still higher than it should be, higher than it was when he was happy. “I was calling for you. You were just—god, just get inside, okay? I can’t stand to be out here.”

There was a light on inside, the kitchen light. Lan Zhan wondered, again, just how long he had been out here. There was a tinge in his fingertips, a sting on his cheeks, that told him it had been longer than he would have liked. Than he had realized.

“Mn,” he said, blinking slowly as Wei Ying shifted on the porch, as the rotting wooden beams protested beneath him. “I am coming.”

Wei Ying insisted on making him tea before Lan Zhan drove home. Lan Zhan had thought about asking Wei Ying to come home with him, to come down the mountain and—but Wei Yuan was in bed. Wei Ying had told him, hands shaking around his own mug of black coffee, exactly how difficult it had been to get him to fall asleep, for Wei Yuan to allow Wei Ying to leave him alone. Lan Zhan thought of how there must be something there, something beyond a simple childish fear of such a serious situation, of change and chaos. He did not pry.

Wei Ying had assured him they would be fine, though it did not seem that he had plans to sleep anytime soon. Dark circles had formed beneath his eyes, and Lan Zhan yearned, with a painful intensity, to rest his thumbs in the divots, to brush them away with his lips. There was a fear and sorrow radiating from this house, one that Lan Zhan could hardly breathe around.

He didn’t see Wei Ying, or Wei Yuan, for days after that.

Within a Forest Dark - Chapter 1 - Vulpeculate - 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī (2024)

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