Chapter Text
At the end of the block where the tall business buildings end and the smaller stores begin, across a street, there is a small plaza that looks like a little oasis amidst the concrete.
Office workers usually cross it to head for the stores and restaurants ahead, or to take advantage of the few minutes they have to stretch their legs and have a quick cigarette— most of them always passing through, always in a hurry.
But that’s not always the case. Among all that movement, sitting on one of the worn-out wooden benches under the shade of a tree, a droopy-shouldered man sighs sadly. Beside him, a plastic bag rests on the ragged wood, and the man casts a furtive glance at it, before sighing again.
Lan Xichen is hungry but lacks the will to do anything about it. The solution should be simple since the bag holds a container full of food— however, as absurd as it may sound, that container says too much about the current state of Lan Xichen’s life, and that’s why he doesn’t even want to look at it. Much less smell it.
It’s only been a couple of months since he started his new job at a small design firm in the middle of Chengdu. Before that, he had a plan, a dream, and people who were supposed to work with him toward the same goal.
Because of those people, he also had a fun life, in an apartment with three rooms, three sets of mugs and plates, and the comfort of having homemade food available. The food that was gifted with an infallible smile every day tasted better than the food that his strict family fed him until before he moved in with his friends and better than most things he ever ate outside. He relished it. He took it for granted.
But when he had it no more he realized many things about himself and the world. He realized eating outside is expensive, and that people will notice when you have eaten an egg sandwich for the eighth time in a row. He realized that his face and good manners opened many privileged options, like having smiling coworkers offer him their food among veiled questions about his marital status and other family inquiries.
Lan Xichen was never a person who cared about determining whether courtesy or praise was sincere. A person like him, who has been well treated by everyone all his life, was used to blindly trusting others, but after everything that happened, he suddenly found himself unable to accept basic kindness in the naive way he would have done before.
So, after reflecting on that, he decided where to start. If he cooked his food, he wouldn't have to feel uneasy every time someone tried to get close to him. And if he could prove to himself that he was capable, maybe he’d stop feeling useless. No harm in trying, right?
Right…?
And this is how he has come to find himself sitting alone in the middle of nowhere, accompanied only by heavy shame. With another sigh and a sweaty hand, Lan Xichen brings the bag closer to himself, removing the dreaded container from it. Thinking that perhaps he was exaggerating this morning when he put away the contents, with some hope, he lifts the lid slowly.
He wasn't exaggerating. What's more, he was underestimating it.
A horrible stench emanates from the box. Inside, what should have been a simple stir-fry of pork and eggplant has become a uniform mass that smells strongly of ginger, black bean paste, and sesame oil, but at the same time, it doesn't seem to smell like any of them. According to the recipe he saw online, those ingredients were meant to compose an aromatic sauce— instead, he somehow managed to create a biological weapon prototype.
The sigh this time sounds more like a groan. He's always known that his inability to do any household chores borders on the pathological, but somehow, he thought that at least he could cook. Which, in retrospect, doesn't make any sense: A-Yao always told him that cooking was a fine art that required patience. Why did he think he could start there, considering he didn't even know how to use the washing machine properly yet?
Perhaps, deep down, he just wanted to challenge those words of Meng Yao…
A message notification rings on his cell phone. When looking at it, the profile photo of a man with a bright smile hugging a more stoic one appears next to a cheerful text. It's like he can hear Wei Wuxian's voice through it.
| Hey, b-i-l! How r u doing? Lan Zhan is working, but he asked me to check on u at 1:30 pm sharp… ARE U HAVING LUNCH??
His brother's partner is a bit of an eccentric person but has a big heart, so lying to him feels pretty bad. However, upon consideration, Lan Xichen decides that telling a white lie does not completely betray his principles if it gives peace to those who care about him.
| Yeah. I’m eating a pork stir-fry.
For more conviction, he adds an emoji of a hand doing OK. For even more conviction, he adds three more of those. A sticker of an animated rabbit doing a thumbs-up immediately appears in response.
| Mission accomplished! Have a nice day, brother!
Ignoring how many times he has sighed in the past half hour, Lan Xichen prepares to try and eat his alchemical creation. However, when he looks up, he notices a boy sitting at the other end of his bench, staring at him.
The boy can’t be more than five or six years old, yet his gaze is ridiculously intimidating. Even more so when, out of nowhere, the boy wrinkles his nose and says arrogantly, “That crap stinks.”
Speechless, Lan Xichen looks at his box and then at the boy, who continues to stare at him as if judging him.
“Well… it’s my lunch. I shouldn’t waste it,” he replies.
“Ehh? It’s food?!” The boy, seemingly stunned, scoots closer so he can look at the contents, before abruptly backing away, covering his nose with his arm. “Gege, if you eat that you’ll die! That’s not edible!”
Lan Xichen scratches his head in embarrassment. If even a kindergartener is judging him, then he certainly did well to sneak out of the office to open Pandora’s Box without ruining his corporate image.
However, remembering that this park is not usually frequented by children, Lan Xichen looks around.
“Hey, are you alone? Is there someone who—?”
“He’s not alone and if you lay a finger on him, you’re dead.”
The powerful voice of the man behind him makes him start, as the little boy exclaims, “Jiujiu!”
Lan Xichen turns around and, behind him, a young man crosses his arms, staring back with disdain.
Despite the harshness of his voice, the man has handsome features, with dark eyes, high eyebrows, and charming lips, though they are currently pressed into a rigid line. Through his athletic and powerful-looking body, he exudes an intimidating aura that makes it difficult to answer him. At least, that is what Lan Xichen feels, staring at him with wide eyes and a slightly dry mouth.
“Jiujiu…” the boy repeats, this time with less joy. The man turns his attention to the boy, reaching around the bench to grab him by the collar of his clothes.
“I said wait for me at the checkout! What the hell did you come here for?”
“Jiujiu, it’s just that—”
“You crossed the street alone!”
“It’s just that I saw—”
“And on top of that, you talked to a stranger! Jin Ling, did you learn anything from what I taught you?!”
The boy pouts, his eyes filling with tears. Despite his irrational fear of the fierce uncle, Lan Xichen feels sorry for the little boy and tries to appease the man.
“My apologies, I didn’t act fast enough when I saw him, I was distracted. But we only exchanged two words, and I meant to—”
“This gege is going to die!”
Both adults look at the boy, who begins to sob in his uncle’s grasp. The boy points to the box on Lan Xichen’s lap and says, “Jiujiu, I followed the smell, and look, he wants to eat that!”
‘How far did the smell go?!!’ Lan Xichen thinks, horrified, but the uncle looks at him bewildered.
“That’s where that bad smell comes from?”
‘Ok, I get it already!’ Lan Xichen thinks again, now blushing. He tries to cover it up by bringing a fist to his mouth to clear his throat, although it doesn’t help much.
“Well, I’m sorry for the inconvenience…”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. In the end, it’s this brat’s fault.”
Only then does Lan Xichen notice the man is carrying a heavy shopping bag to one side. With a single movement, his free arm wraps around the boy’s body with little care, making him yelp. Finally, he gives Lan Xichen one last disdainful look.
“Don’t eat that,” he orders, before walking away with little Jin Ling kicking and wailing in his grasp.
The tone admits no protest— without even knowing his name, Lan Xichen feels compelled to heed him. With a heavy heart, he decides to give up, cross to the convenience store, and buy something else.
When he stands up, he walks to the trash can in front, intending to throw away the disgusting food, but stops halfway and, after a brief pondering, seals the still-full box as best as he can, deciding to take it home to dispose of it there.
The only thing left for him would be to be accused of trying to poison the city of Chengdu, one trash can at a time.
Lan Xichen likes to think of himself as a persevering person, but after a second day sitting on the bench in the same square, he has to admit that sometimes backing down in humility is the wisest decision to not lose a war, especially if that war is against your own pride.
This time, the biological weapon is a simple tofu stir fry. It is impossible for him not to remember when he once heard Meng Yao say, “There is no way to ruin this dish!”
Well, it turned out to be another one of his many lies, apparently.
Just before he begins his new chain of sighs, he raises his head and sees, in the distance, a man walking in his direction with a child by his hand and a frown on his face.
Although his first reaction is to slide back slightly, he eventually clears his throat and puts his hands on his lap, waiting for the strange duo to approach. The man stops in front of him and crosses his arms— comically, the little boy echoes him at the same time, as if they had rehearsed it.
As much as Lan Xichen wants to laugh, however, the man’s scowl has far more power over him, especially now that he can see him more clearly in the sunlight filtering through the leaves of the tree above them.
He is a young, athletic man, dressed in very clean sportswear. His dark hair, around shoulder length, frames a very handsome face, though he has a few small wrinkles between his eyebrows, a tell-tale sign of a bad temper. Still, Lan Xichen considers those details only draw more attention to his sharp, charming eyes that, oddly enough, don’t seem to have been made for such bitterness.
Lost in his analysis, Lan Xichen forgets to use his famous conversational manners—instead, suddenly, his vision is covered by a plastic bag right in front of his eyes.
“Yesterday my nephew offended you and you were left without lunch,” the man says. Once again, he shakes the bag in front of him. “You may or may not want it, but I thought it reasonable to compensate you with something edible, at least.”
‘Are you sure it was your nephew who offended me?’ Lan Xichen thinks to himself, as the man’s hand rests on the small boy’s head, forcing him to bow slightly.
“Sorry for telling the truth,” the boy says defiantly.
“A-Ling.”
“Sorry for laughing at your food.”
Lan Xichen is stunned. The strange mix of goodwill and rudeness of this uncle and nephew pair is something he’s never seen before. Gathering his wits, he accepts the bag with a smile.
“Thank you, I appreciate it. Did you come all the way here just for this?”
“No,” the man says, turning up his nose. “I work around here, and I’m just passing through.”
It doesn’t escape Lan Xichen that the boy beside him opens his mouth for a second, but then closes it, glancing at his uncle from the corner of his eye. But then his attention turns to the stranger.
“Gege, try it, try it! My uncle is an expert!”
“A-Ling!”
Stunned, Lan Xichen looks at the man.
“Did you make it yourself?”
With a growl, the man’s voice turns menacing again.
“Are you eating it, or do I throw it away? I don’t have all day to force an adult to eat.”
“Ah… of course,” Lan Xichen says. He opens the bag, and his eyes widen.
Inside is a clear plastic tray, tightly sealed. Even without opening it, one can see the mouthwatering appearance of a large portion of mapo tofu, as if the gods have taken pity on his own pathetic attempt to make tofu edible.
The aroma of the doubanjiang and ginger mixture wafts out from the sides. It’s still warm, and the thick red sauce rests on a perfect bed of rice. Any normal person, any well-born citizen of Chengdu, would be on their knees thanking this stranger for such a delicacy meant for the gods.
However…
“You don’t like spicy food.”
It’s not a question, but a statement. Embarrassed, Lan Xichen looks up like a puppy. The man puts a hand to his face.
“This is another level of— tche.”
Lan Xichen can think of a lot of words to fill in that blank, but the man spares him the embarrassment by shaking his head and shrugging.
“Nothing to do with someone like this. Hope you’ll survive on your own.”
In other circumstances, Lan Xichen would have laughed off this casually offensive comment, but given his current situation, he simply nods with a soft smile and lowers his gaze.
“Thank you very much for your concern. I appreciate your kindness.”
“Not much point if it doesn’t help you, but whatever.”
With a gesture, he makes little A-Ling stand up and bow in farewell.
“We’re leaving.”
“Gege, don’t be picky, you’re not going to grow up!”
“He’s grown up enough, leave him.”
Lan Xichen lets out a chuckle, and his smile spreads with sincerity. He waves goodbye to the little boy and his uncle until they turn their backs, and only then does he let out the sigh that has been buried in his chest since before the strangers arrived.
With his head down, he misses the last sidelong glance the man throws at him over his shoulder as he turns the corner. Instead, Lan Xichen takes to smelling the wonderful aroma of the tray on his lap, resolving to eat whatever his mouth will allow. The boy is right, at this age, it is not appropriate to be so picky…
He’s interrupted by a message on his phone. A photo of a man with a grin from ear to ear showing off a rabbit to the photographer accompanies a message; his brother texts him this time at 1:30 PM sharp.
| Are you eating?
Lan Xichen smiles slightly.
| Yes, I am starting.
| Picture.
Unlike his brother-in-law, his brother Lan Wangji is much sharper and direct, making it impossible to fool him. So, looking in the direction the man who brought him food left, he thanks him fervently in case he’s actually a deity disguised as a grumpy, handsome chef.
One click and the photo of the mouthwatering tray on his lap is sent. He receives a reply immediately.
| Since when do you eat spicy food?
Lan Xichen scratches his head, embarrassed. However, he answers him honestly.
| Maybe it’s time to try new things :)
He can see his brother typing for longer than usual, then stopping. After a pause, Lan Xichen looks back at him typing, finally receiving a message.
| I’m glad to see you are trying.
Lan Xichen smiles sadly. He doesn’t want to be a liar; grabbing his chopsticks, he types, “Me too.”
And to live up to this statement, he sets out to eat what he can of the gift from that compassionate stranger, with his sullen face and blessed hands.
The only good thing about this third day of misery is that at least it’s the last one before he has his day off, Lan Xichen thinks. This time the creative inspiration has vanished, and he has limited himself to buying only a sad sandwich.
In a way, the generosity of that strange man and his nephew has dissuaded him from continuing to try something he’s not doing with the sincere intention of learning. The taste of homemade cooking won’t come from hands working resentfully in the empty and gloomy kitchen of his three-room apartment, where only one room is still occupied.
Thinking about the weeks that have passed, his heart weighs once again. The absence of his two lifelong companions and friends has hit him like nothing else in life—the reality of his own worthlessness and naivety, which somehow ends with him sitting under the shade of an old tree on a cold autumn day, eating something as tasteless as his current days.
But at least one good thing came out of all of this, Lan Xichen recalls with a smile. At least the circumstances that led him to this bench in the plaza allowed him to eat mapo tofu made by someone who, without any doubt, cooks with love.
The smile spreads even further as he realizes that this idea completely contrasts with the appearance of the cook. Lan Xichen can’t help but wonder what the man looks like while cooking. Does he tie his hair up in a ponytail to get it out of the way? Does he wear a frilly apron, perhaps, over his sportswear?
With a strange warmth in his chest at the image, Lan Xichen chuckles as he regrets being so foolish as to not ask the man’s name. It's amazing that after two meetings, and even having received a gift from that savior, he didn't have enough composure to exchange names, something basic for a man like him, who used to close deals for his family’s company not so long ago.
But the presence of that man is too particular. Lan Xichen remembers the contrast between his casual appearance and those intimidating eyes, between the gentle fall of his hair and his fierce words. He remembers the little boy and the joy in his eyes when he saw his uncle appear, and the concern of the man beneath that hard face.
No doubt a unique character, sighs Lan Xichen, who takes his mobile to see if he has any messages. However, before his eyes fall on the screen, they wander to the other corner of his seat and, with a start, he realizes that he isn’t the only one sitting there.
This time it’s not A-Ling who looks at him, but the handsome uncle, who at some point sat next to him without much ceremony. He is alone and, for greater impact, this time he has his hair tied up. It suits him just as well as Lan Xichen imagined.
“Hey,” the man says.
Flabbergasted, Lan Xichen blinks a few times before awkwardly greeting him.
“Ah! Hello… Uhm, thanks for yesterday!”
The man raises an eyebrow.
“For the tofu you couldn’t eat?”
“You’re wrong. It was delicious and I ate it all.” The man raises his eyebrow even higher, and Lan Xichen blushes slightly. “Well, most of it.”
With a snort, the man crosses his arms and looks straight ahead.
“Forcing yourself to eat something you don’t like doesn’t make you more of a man.”
“More of a man…?” Lan Xichen blinks and lets out a laugh. “There is no forcing when you want to try something this good, especially when it’s someone else’s kindness.”
“Tche.” This time, it’s the man’s turn to blush slightly. Lan Xichen notices it on his pink ears, and his smile widens even more. He realizes that he hasn't smiled this much in weeks.
“Excuse me… What is your name?” he asks eagerly. The man gives him a sidelong glance.
“Jiang Wanyin,” he grunts in response.
“Jiang Wanyin… my name is Lan Xichen. Thank you very much!” he says with a bow and a bright smile.
Jiang Wanyin’s brow twitches. His eyes meet his with a strange expression as if he were assessing him, registering every millimeter of his face. Lan Xichen holds that gaze bravely, appreciating the particular shade of those dark eyes. They are really pretty.
Realizing that the intensity of his gaze may be impolite, Lan Xichen directs it to the man’s side, noticing that once again there’s a plastic bag at his side.
“Oh, you came here for lunch too?” Lan Xichen asks. To his surprise, Jiang Wanyin is slow to answer, as his expression changes to a more troubled one. After some apparent internal deliberation, he takes the bag and holds it out to Lan Xichen, arrogantly pointing his nose to the sky.
“There’s no point in repaying a debt halfway,” he says, looking away. The pink of his ears seems to grow stronger, shaking Lan Xichen.
With slightly sweaty hands, he takes the bag and pulls out a sealed tray brimming with food. On top of the milky broth are a variety of vegetables, all aromatic and well-cut, appetizing just by sniffing and looking. No peppers, nothing too spicy. Lan Xichen looks at Jiang Wanyin, exuberant.
“Is this really for me?” he asks anxiously.
“Who else would it be for?” Jiang Wanyin growls, looking at him as if he were a fool for asking. But he doesn’t move—instead, he crosses one leg over the other, and looks at him as if he’s waiting for an opinion.
Lan Xichen is beside himself with joy. He carefully opens the lid and takes the chopsticks that Jiang Wanyin put in the bag. With the steady hand that has always characterized him, Lan Xichen takes a bite and touches the sky directly, but he doesn’t speak, per his manners. He just makes a satisfied sound and looks at Jiang Wanyin with radiant eyes. For the first time, Jiang Wanyin lets a fleeting smile appear.
“You don’t know how to cook, but at least you know how to eat,” he says, and Lan Xichen realizes that even though he’s happy, he feels a deep urge to cry.
And it’s because after having suffered the cruelty of someone close, the sudden kindness of a stranger restores a little of his faith in people. There are still those who act selflessly. There is still someone who has thought of him to the point of preparing something just to please him, without asking for anything in return.
Jiang Wanyin has no idea what his goodwill has caused, as he watches him eat with apparent satisfaction. He keeps watching until Lan Xichen’s phone rings. It must be Lan Wangyi and his relentless surveillance of his brother’s health; upon hearing the ringing, Jiang Wanyin seems to decide that he’s seen enough and stands up.
“Okay then, debt settled.”
“Ah— Jiang Wanyin!”
Jiang Wanyin turns and looks at him. Lan Xichen doesn’t know the exact reason why he’s stopping him. Maybe because he doesn’t want to eat alone. Maybe he just wants to extend the meeting a little longer. Maybe…
Lan Xichen sees the surprise in his savior’s eyes as he makes his longing request.
“Please… Could you teach me how to cook?”