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Write Me a Way (But Don’t Write Me Off) [Chapter 3]
Title: Write Me a Way (But Don’t Write Me Off)
Fandom: The Untamed | Modao Zushi
Pairing/Characters: Jiang Cheng / Lan Huan, Jiang Cheng & Wei Ying, Lan Huan & Lan Zhan, background Wei Ying / Lan Zhan
Rating: NR (probably T?)
Warnings: idiots in love
Word Count: 2,376 words, 3 / 5 (Chapter Directory)
Summary: Modern college AU, set ~somewhere???~. Lan Huan slowly finds himself falling for Jiang Cheng, who is (maybe) related to Wei Ying, who is (definitely) dating Lan Zhan, and none of them are (probably) in the mob.
When Lan Zhan tersely asks for permission to invite Wei Ying to stay with them over the weekend, Uncle’s face is more wooden than the trunk of the apple tree he is tending, but he says, “Very well.”
Lan Huan still isn’t sure how Uncle feels about Wei Ying. Certainly, Uncle disapproves of everything from Wei Ying’s general playboy demeanour and attitude to his chicken-scratch penmanship, and in the beginning it seemed unlikely that someone as lively and untamed as Wei Ying would be interested in settling down with Lan Huan’s quiet, stolid brother; Uncle was very aggressive in arguing that Wei Ying was playing with Lan Zhan’s feelings, and once the terms of the prank or dare had been seen through, where would Lan Zhan be then? But as the weeks have passed, Wei Ying has only grown stickier, and Uncle has softened on the subject after increasing exposure to Lan Zhan’s tiny, shy smiles, which previously hadn’t been seen since the death of their mother.
Lan Zhan nods in response and returns to weeding the gentian bed.
Nothing about this scene should be troubling, but Lan Huan finds his breaths coming short and fast, and his hands are shaking. Lan Huan doesn’t mind Wei Ying coming over. He doesn’t know why he suddenly feels as thin as spun glass, like the lightest touch will shatter him. Logic, he reminds himself, and he forces his breaths to deepen. What will happen when Wei Ying comes over? He will be friendly and loud, and Lan Zhan will be delighted, and Uncle will be irritated. Uncle will cloister himself in his study to avoid Wei Ying, and Wei Ying and Lan Zhan will lose themselves in one another, and Lan Huan—ah.
Lan Huan will be alone.
Now that he’s seen its roots, the length of this issue no longer seems as frightening. Lan Huan is used to being alone, and he can occupy himself for the weekend. He can meditate, and garden, and play his xiao, and study. He still needs to write his next nature poem.
At the thought of his poem, Lan Huan’s still-shaking hands freeze. Perhaps… perhaps he needn’t be alone after all.
It takes him a moment to find the words, and a moment longer to be brave enough to voice them. It’s not that he thinks Uncle will be angry at the request, but the thought of breaking character is daunting. He clears his throat. “Uncle, may I also invite someone over? Not for the whole weekend, but to study?”
Lan Zhan and Uncle both stop what they’re doing to stare at him. Lan Huan ducks his head under their scrutiny and returns to weeding the herb beds. He’s nervous enough that he accidentally pulls some chives instead of the Bermuda grass he was aiming for, but oh well, no loss there.
“I have no objection,” says Uncle finally, his tone careful. “Who is this friend?”
“He’s actually a friend of Wei Ying’s,” says Lan Huan, and Uncle’s face darkens. “He’s also in my nature poetry class, and we’ve agreed to study together.”
“Jiang Cheng,” says Lan Zhan, his expression complicated.
Lan Huan nods and spitefully uproots another chive.
“It’s good to have study partners,” says Uncle, not sounding particularly approving. “Invite both of them over for lunch and dinner on Saturday, and Wei Ying can stay the night.”
Lan Huan smiles in response, but the conversation has made his stomach tighten, and so it’s his polite social smile that he gives Uncle now. Uncle’s frown deepens, but he says nothing more.
Lan Huan has never texted anyone before other than Uncle and Lan Zhan. He holds his phone carefully as he taps out a message. Dear Jiang Cheng, this is Lan Huan from nature poetry. Would you consider coming over this Saturday to study? My brother will also invite Wei Ying.
Lan Huan stares at the message contemplatively. He removes the “dear,” then adds it back in. He clarifies that “lunch and dinner will be provided,” then wonders if that is a superfluous statement. Of course they’ll feed him. Oh, he should probably add a time. But what if that time is inconvenient and convinces Jiang Cheng not to come? How can he make it clear that the specific times are flexible?
You are welcome over at any time, Lan Huan types out. He bites his lip, scanning over the message. He removes the “dear” again. The message sounds so stiff. It’s not how Lan Huan wants Jiang Cheng to think of him, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. Maybe he should add a smiley face?
He tries to click into the menu, but he ends up sending the message instead.
He stares down as the message status changes from Sending to Delivered. It’s fine, really. The message was complete. There were no embarrassing errors. And yet, Lan Huan’s throat is filling with burning, rising bile, and his hands are shaking so hard that he drops his phone onto the table.
What if Jiang Cheng thinks the message is presumptuous? They’ve barely spoken, and now Lan Huan is inviting him over? He’s vaguely aware that other people, people who aren’t Lans, have house parties with near strangers, but Lan Huan can barely imagine that. And Jiang Cheng might think Lan Huan’s awkward texting is too strange, that he’s too weird to put up with.
Uncle comes into the room, and nods at him absently before his eyes narrow at the sight of Lan Huan’s phone on the table, screen now dark, while Lan Huan sits with nothing else at hand. Lan Huan knows that his own face is calm, and though his posture is stiff, well, that is how Lans are taught to sit. The tenseness of his muscles is hidden by the drape of his button-down, and the shaking of his hands by the way they’re clasped together on the surface of the table. Once, Lan Huan would have been able to simply give an empty smile and let Uncle assume he was meditating in an odd place, but Uncle knows to look beyond his face for cues as to his mood, now, and he knows that if Lan Huan were meditating rather than ruminating, he would be sitting in the little seat by the window, or out in the garden, or in his room.
“Is your friend not coming?” asks Uncle.
Somehow the fear of Jiang Cheng coming or not coming is less than the fear of the confusion and disdain Jiang Cheng might feel at seeing Lan Huan’s clumsy attempt at an invitation. Why had Lan Huan even asked? He should have spent the weekend alone. He’s used to it.
“I don’t know yet,” says Lan Huan, his tone mild. “I’ve only just sent the message.”
Uncle frowns at him, the concern in his eyes almost palpable. “A-Huan.”
One of the therapies they’ve established between them is honesty. Not the usual Lan honesty of “lying is forbidden,” but an honesty of feelings. When Lan Huan feels upset, he is supposed to tell Uncle or Lan Zhan, even if the reasons for his upset are silly or petty nonsense. Lan Huan appreciates the sentiment, but surely Uncle didn’t mean upsets that are this petty. Once Uncle hears that Lan Huan is sitting unoccupied at their kitchen table because he sent an acquaintance a stiffly worded text message, Uncle will huff in annoyance that Lan Huan has wasted his time, and he’ll stalk into the garden without a backward glance.
“A-Huan,” says Uncle again, and Lan Huan shrugs his shoulders sheepishly.
“I’ve never really sent a lunch invitation before,” he says. “I’ve written formal invitations before, but most people write more, ah, casually than we did back home. I didn’t want to sound…” he hesitates, not sure what he wants to say.
“Yes, people do speak so differently, here,” says Uncle. “It’s always hard to predict how they’ll react to a simple statement.”
Lan Huan smiles at Uncle in commiseration, but for some reason, that only makes Uncle look more concerned. “Perhaps,” he begins, but then Lan Huan’s phone lights up with a message.
Lan Huan reaches for it, his heart in this throat. He barely knows Jiang Cheng. It shouldn’t matter what he thinks of him. But it does matter to Lan Huan. Lan Huan cares about what everyone thinks of him.
“Well?” asks Uncle pointedly.
Lan Huan looks down at the message.
Sure, it reads. How’s 11? It’s hard to get Wei Ying out of bed on the weekends.
But easy every other day? Lan Huan types, and he’s already sent the message before he blinks and curses himself. Rude, rude, rude! Despite the ongoing confetti battle, Jiang Cheng may not take kindly to Lan Huan poking fun at Wei Ying, and Lan Huan didn’t even answer his question! 11 is fine, he adds hurriedly, just as he receives another text.
You make a good point, Jiang Cheng has written, and Lan Huan feels the tension slide out of him just like that.
Should I bring anything? Other than my brother, asks Jiang Cheng.
Brother? Lan Huan wonders. Are they brothers?
“Uncle,” says Lan Huan, looking up. Uncle is still standing there, watching him closely with a thoughtful expression. “Jiang Cheng has agreed to come, and he would like to know if he should bring anything.”
Uncle’s eyes flicker with emotions too quickly for Lan Huan to process. “No need,” he says simply, and then he turns to the refrigerator as Lan Huan dutifully relays that message.
If you’re sure, writes Jiang Cheng, and Lan Huan smiles.
I’m sure, he replies.
Despite Lan Huan’s best intentions, it is Uncle who answers the door when Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying arrive.
“Thank you for coming,” Uncle is saying when Lan Huan hurries into the room, followed closely by Lan Zhan.
“Thank you for having us,” says Jiang Cheng politely, and Lan Huan can’t help but feel fond at how serious Jiang Cheng is, even as Wei Ying loses interest in the conversation as soon as his eyes land on Lan Zhan.
“Wei Ying,” says Lan Zhan, his eyes intent.
Wei Ying beams at him. “Lan Zhan!” he calls, as though Lan Zhan were standing at the other end of a crowded train station and only a few metres away in a quiet entry way. The two disappear down the hall without a backward glance, leaving Uncle and Jiang Cheng with almost identical scowls on their faces.
Lan Huan bites back a smile. “Jiang Cheng, I’m glad you could make it,” he says, and Jiang Cheng’s eyes jerk over to him. He seems flustered and embarrassed for a moment, before he visibly rallies himself and bows.
“Lan Huan,” he says. “I apologise for Wei Ying’s behaviour.” He bows to Uncle, too, extending the apology to the both of them. Jiang Cheng hesitates for a moment, then adds carefully, “He doesn’t always pick up on social cues.”
“Does anyone?” asks Lan Huan wryly, and Jiang Cheng laughs, his posture softening.
“No, I suppose not. Where should I leave my things?” he gestures to his school bag.
“You can leave them in my room,” says Lan Huan, not meeting Uncle’s eyes. “Come, I’ll show you the way.”
Lan Huan’s room in their new house is much smaller than his old one, but somehow filled with more things. Before, he kept his xiao and qin in the sect’s music room, and his painting materials in his sect’s art room, and there was always an awareness that these things belonged to the sect more than him. Now, he has a bookshelf that is rapidly filling with his growing collection of books—his books, books just for him—and a few odds and ends that he’s found and kept, because there is no one here to inspect his room and tell him that a pretty rock or a silly souvenir aren’t fitting items for him to own. Now, he has a small desk with neat stacks of doodles and sketches, and framed paintings hanging from the walls.
Now, he has Jiang Cheng, peering around curiously and setting his bag down near the desk. Lan Huan belatedly realises that he only has the one chair and sits down on the bed, trying to indicate that Jiang Cheng is welcome to the chair.
“I’m sorry the room is so small and crowded,” he says, though as the words leave his lips, it sounds like an absurd thing to apologise for.
Jiang Cheng shrugs. “Wei Ying and I used to share a room this size growing up,” he says, still looking around as he settles into the desk chair. “Now we live in different dorms, but we still have roommates.”
“Why do you live in the dorms if you’re from the area?” Lan Huan asks. “Why not stay in your family home and save money?”
Jiang Cheng’s jaw clenches, as though he’s been asked this often before. “Living away from home provides important life experience and skill development,” he says, his words clipped and rehearsed. “We were also able to show my parents statistics comparing academic performance for students who live on and off campus, and that really convinced them.”
Lan Huan only hums thoughtfully, but Jiang Cheng deflates as though he’s been argued to a standstill, and he adds quietly, “I love my parents, but… living with them is stressful. There’s a lot of pressure to be… whatever. Perfect, or whatever. It was a relief to move out. For all of us, I think, but especially for Wei Ying. And for me.”
Jiang Cheng looks over at Lan Huan, a wry grin twisting his lips. “Not that you’d know what that’s like, I guess. You’re like perfection in a bottle—you must be your family’s golden child, right?”
“No,” says Lan Huan definitively, and then he stands up before Jiang Cheng can ask. “How about lunch?”
He holds the door open for Jiang Cheng, even though the door won’t close on its own, and Jiang Cheng looks him up and down as he walks by him, gaze appraising. “I never really liked gold anyway,” he says, and Lan Huan can’t help but laugh.
Fandom: The Untamed | Modao Zushi
Pairing/Characters: Jiang Cheng / Lan Huan, Jiang Cheng & Wei Ying, Lan Huan & Lan Zhan, background Wei Ying / Lan Zhan
Rating: NR (probably T?)
Warnings: idiots in love
Word Count: 2,376 words, 3 / 5 (Chapter Directory)
Summary: Modern college AU, set ~somewhere???~. Lan Huan slowly finds himself falling for Jiang Cheng, who is (maybe) related to Wei Ying, who is (definitely) dating Lan Zhan, and none of them are (probably) in the mob.
When Lan Zhan tersely asks for permission to invite Wei Ying to stay with them over the weekend, Uncle’s face is more wooden than the trunk of the apple tree he is tending, but he says, “Very well.”
Lan Huan still isn’t sure how Uncle feels about Wei Ying. Certainly, Uncle disapproves of everything from Wei Ying’s general playboy demeanour and attitude to his chicken-scratch penmanship, and in the beginning it seemed unlikely that someone as lively and untamed as Wei Ying would be interested in settling down with Lan Huan’s quiet, stolid brother; Uncle was very aggressive in arguing that Wei Ying was playing with Lan Zhan’s feelings, and once the terms of the prank or dare had been seen through, where would Lan Zhan be then? But as the weeks have passed, Wei Ying has only grown stickier, and Uncle has softened on the subject after increasing exposure to Lan Zhan’s tiny, shy smiles, which previously hadn’t been seen since the death of their mother.
Lan Zhan nods in response and returns to weeding the gentian bed.
Nothing about this scene should be troubling, but Lan Huan finds his breaths coming short and fast, and his hands are shaking. Lan Huan doesn’t mind Wei Ying coming over. He doesn’t know why he suddenly feels as thin as spun glass, like the lightest touch will shatter him. Logic, he reminds himself, and he forces his breaths to deepen. What will happen when Wei Ying comes over? He will be friendly and loud, and Lan Zhan will be delighted, and Uncle will be irritated. Uncle will cloister himself in his study to avoid Wei Ying, and Wei Ying and Lan Zhan will lose themselves in one another, and Lan Huan—ah.
Lan Huan will be alone.
Now that he’s seen its roots, the length of this issue no longer seems as frightening. Lan Huan is used to being alone, and he can occupy himself for the weekend. He can meditate, and garden, and play his xiao, and study. He still needs to write his next nature poem.
At the thought of his poem, Lan Huan’s still-shaking hands freeze. Perhaps… perhaps he needn’t be alone after all.
It takes him a moment to find the words, and a moment longer to be brave enough to voice them. It’s not that he thinks Uncle will be angry at the request, but the thought of breaking character is daunting. He clears his throat. “Uncle, may I also invite someone over? Not for the whole weekend, but to study?”
Lan Zhan and Uncle both stop what they’re doing to stare at him. Lan Huan ducks his head under their scrutiny and returns to weeding the herb beds. He’s nervous enough that he accidentally pulls some chives instead of the Bermuda grass he was aiming for, but oh well, no loss there.
“I have no objection,” says Uncle finally, his tone careful. “Who is this friend?”
“He’s actually a friend of Wei Ying’s,” says Lan Huan, and Uncle’s face darkens. “He’s also in my nature poetry class, and we’ve agreed to study together.”
“Jiang Cheng,” says Lan Zhan, his expression complicated.
Lan Huan nods and spitefully uproots another chive.
“It’s good to have study partners,” says Uncle, not sounding particularly approving. “Invite both of them over for lunch and dinner on Saturday, and Wei Ying can stay the night.”
Lan Huan smiles in response, but the conversation has made his stomach tighten, and so it’s his polite social smile that he gives Uncle now. Uncle’s frown deepens, but he says nothing more.
Lan Huan has never texted anyone before other than Uncle and Lan Zhan. He holds his phone carefully as he taps out a message. Dear Jiang Cheng, this is Lan Huan from nature poetry. Would you consider coming over this Saturday to study? My brother will also invite Wei Ying.
Lan Huan stares at the message contemplatively. He removes the “dear,” then adds it back in. He clarifies that “lunch and dinner will be provided,” then wonders if that is a superfluous statement. Of course they’ll feed him. Oh, he should probably add a time. But what if that time is inconvenient and convinces Jiang Cheng not to come? How can he make it clear that the specific times are flexible?
You are welcome over at any time, Lan Huan types out. He bites his lip, scanning over the message. He removes the “dear” again. The message sounds so stiff. It’s not how Lan Huan wants Jiang Cheng to think of him, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. Maybe he should add a smiley face?
He tries to click into the menu, but he ends up sending the message instead.
He stares down as the message status changes from Sending to Delivered. It’s fine, really. The message was complete. There were no embarrassing errors. And yet, Lan Huan’s throat is filling with burning, rising bile, and his hands are shaking so hard that he drops his phone onto the table.
What if Jiang Cheng thinks the message is presumptuous? They’ve barely spoken, and now Lan Huan is inviting him over? He’s vaguely aware that other people, people who aren’t Lans, have house parties with near strangers, but Lan Huan can barely imagine that. And Jiang Cheng might think Lan Huan’s awkward texting is too strange, that he’s too weird to put up with.
Uncle comes into the room, and nods at him absently before his eyes narrow at the sight of Lan Huan’s phone on the table, screen now dark, while Lan Huan sits with nothing else at hand. Lan Huan knows that his own face is calm, and though his posture is stiff, well, that is how Lans are taught to sit. The tenseness of his muscles is hidden by the drape of his button-down, and the shaking of his hands by the way they’re clasped together on the surface of the table. Once, Lan Huan would have been able to simply give an empty smile and let Uncle assume he was meditating in an odd place, but Uncle knows to look beyond his face for cues as to his mood, now, and he knows that if Lan Huan were meditating rather than ruminating, he would be sitting in the little seat by the window, or out in the garden, or in his room.
“Is your friend not coming?” asks Uncle.
Somehow the fear of Jiang Cheng coming or not coming is less than the fear of the confusion and disdain Jiang Cheng might feel at seeing Lan Huan’s clumsy attempt at an invitation. Why had Lan Huan even asked? He should have spent the weekend alone. He’s used to it.
“I don’t know yet,” says Lan Huan, his tone mild. “I’ve only just sent the message.”
Uncle frowns at him, the concern in his eyes almost palpable. “A-Huan.”
One of the therapies they’ve established between them is honesty. Not the usual Lan honesty of “lying is forbidden,” but an honesty of feelings. When Lan Huan feels upset, he is supposed to tell Uncle or Lan Zhan, even if the reasons for his upset are silly or petty nonsense. Lan Huan appreciates the sentiment, but surely Uncle didn’t mean upsets that are this petty. Once Uncle hears that Lan Huan is sitting unoccupied at their kitchen table because he sent an acquaintance a stiffly worded text message, Uncle will huff in annoyance that Lan Huan has wasted his time, and he’ll stalk into the garden without a backward glance.
“A-Huan,” says Uncle again, and Lan Huan shrugs his shoulders sheepishly.
“I’ve never really sent a lunch invitation before,” he says. “I’ve written formal invitations before, but most people write more, ah, casually than we did back home. I didn’t want to sound…” he hesitates, not sure what he wants to say.
“Yes, people do speak so differently, here,” says Uncle. “It’s always hard to predict how they’ll react to a simple statement.”
Lan Huan smiles at Uncle in commiseration, but for some reason, that only makes Uncle look more concerned. “Perhaps,” he begins, but then Lan Huan’s phone lights up with a message.
Lan Huan reaches for it, his heart in this throat. He barely knows Jiang Cheng. It shouldn’t matter what he thinks of him. But it does matter to Lan Huan. Lan Huan cares about what everyone thinks of him.
“Well?” asks Uncle pointedly.
Lan Huan looks down at the message.
Sure, it reads. How’s 11? It’s hard to get Wei Ying out of bed on the weekends.
But easy every other day? Lan Huan types, and he’s already sent the message before he blinks and curses himself. Rude, rude, rude! Despite the ongoing confetti battle, Jiang Cheng may not take kindly to Lan Huan poking fun at Wei Ying, and Lan Huan didn’t even answer his question! 11 is fine, he adds hurriedly, just as he receives another text.
You make a good point, Jiang Cheng has written, and Lan Huan feels the tension slide out of him just like that.
Should I bring anything? Other than my brother, asks Jiang Cheng.
Brother? Lan Huan wonders. Are they brothers?
“Uncle,” says Lan Huan, looking up. Uncle is still standing there, watching him closely with a thoughtful expression. “Jiang Cheng has agreed to come, and he would like to know if he should bring anything.”
Uncle’s eyes flicker with emotions too quickly for Lan Huan to process. “No need,” he says simply, and then he turns to the refrigerator as Lan Huan dutifully relays that message.
If you’re sure, writes Jiang Cheng, and Lan Huan smiles.
I’m sure, he replies.
Despite Lan Huan’s best intentions, it is Uncle who answers the door when Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying arrive.
“Thank you for coming,” Uncle is saying when Lan Huan hurries into the room, followed closely by Lan Zhan.
“Thank you for having us,” says Jiang Cheng politely, and Lan Huan can’t help but feel fond at how serious Jiang Cheng is, even as Wei Ying loses interest in the conversation as soon as his eyes land on Lan Zhan.
“Wei Ying,” says Lan Zhan, his eyes intent.
Wei Ying beams at him. “Lan Zhan!” he calls, as though Lan Zhan were standing at the other end of a crowded train station and only a few metres away in a quiet entry way. The two disappear down the hall without a backward glance, leaving Uncle and Jiang Cheng with almost identical scowls on their faces.
Lan Huan bites back a smile. “Jiang Cheng, I’m glad you could make it,” he says, and Jiang Cheng’s eyes jerk over to him. He seems flustered and embarrassed for a moment, before he visibly rallies himself and bows.
“Lan Huan,” he says. “I apologise for Wei Ying’s behaviour.” He bows to Uncle, too, extending the apology to the both of them. Jiang Cheng hesitates for a moment, then adds carefully, “He doesn’t always pick up on social cues.”
“Does anyone?” asks Lan Huan wryly, and Jiang Cheng laughs, his posture softening.
“No, I suppose not. Where should I leave my things?” he gestures to his school bag.
“You can leave them in my room,” says Lan Huan, not meeting Uncle’s eyes. “Come, I’ll show you the way.”
Lan Huan’s room in their new house is much smaller than his old one, but somehow filled with more things. Before, he kept his xiao and qin in the sect’s music room, and his painting materials in his sect’s art room, and there was always an awareness that these things belonged to the sect more than him. Now, he has a bookshelf that is rapidly filling with his growing collection of books—his books, books just for him—and a few odds and ends that he’s found and kept, because there is no one here to inspect his room and tell him that a pretty rock or a silly souvenir aren’t fitting items for him to own. Now, he has a small desk with neat stacks of doodles and sketches, and framed paintings hanging from the walls.
Now, he has Jiang Cheng, peering around curiously and setting his bag down near the desk. Lan Huan belatedly realises that he only has the one chair and sits down on the bed, trying to indicate that Jiang Cheng is welcome to the chair.
“I’m sorry the room is so small and crowded,” he says, though as the words leave his lips, it sounds like an absurd thing to apologise for.
Jiang Cheng shrugs. “Wei Ying and I used to share a room this size growing up,” he says, still looking around as he settles into the desk chair. “Now we live in different dorms, but we still have roommates.”
“Why do you live in the dorms if you’re from the area?” Lan Huan asks. “Why not stay in your family home and save money?”
Jiang Cheng’s jaw clenches, as though he’s been asked this often before. “Living away from home provides important life experience and skill development,” he says, his words clipped and rehearsed. “We were also able to show my parents statistics comparing academic performance for students who live on and off campus, and that really convinced them.”
Lan Huan only hums thoughtfully, but Jiang Cheng deflates as though he’s been argued to a standstill, and he adds quietly, “I love my parents, but… living with them is stressful. There’s a lot of pressure to be… whatever. Perfect, or whatever. It was a relief to move out. For all of us, I think, but especially for Wei Ying. And for me.”
Jiang Cheng looks over at Lan Huan, a wry grin twisting his lips. “Not that you’d know what that’s like, I guess. You’re like perfection in a bottle—you must be your family’s golden child, right?”
“No,” says Lan Huan definitively, and then he stands up before Jiang Cheng can ask. “How about lunch?”
He holds the door open for Jiang Cheng, even though the door won’t close on its own, and Jiang Cheng looks him up and down as he walks by him, gaze appraising. “I never really liked gold anyway,” he says, and Lan Huan can’t help but laugh.