Chapter Text
“These look good,” Zhou Zishu says, motioning to the chairs and such that are set up in a small ‘scene’ within the shop. They have cushions and look comfortable enough for long periods of sitting. The colors are perfect too - brown with some darker brown. Can’t go wrong with that.
Chengling looks less than impressed. “That’s patio furniture.” He raises an eyebrow at Zishu, waiting for the man to come up with anything remotely sensible for why patio furniture of all things would be a good choice.
Sadly for Chengling, he’s still the student and Zishu is used to making up reasons on the spot. “So we can take the cushions outside and spray them clean instead of getting them professionally done. I see no downside.” Not a great reason - Zishu would never get them professionally cleaned anyway - but it’s enough to get Chengling to turn away and forget about Zishu’s comment.
“Come on, let’s check out the proper couches.” Chengling drags his guardian further into the store, resolutely ignoring any of the man’s opinions. Not that Zishu had many when it came to furniture. Or any at all. Chengling reaches an area where he deems the furniture acceptable to try, and bounces down on one. Zishu ignores his kid and stretches his shoulders back, cracking his spine.
They’ve been at the store for thirty entire minutes. More than enough for his failing old body to start giving out. He rubs at his gradually stiffening neck.
This is far too boring to continue.
“Chengling, hurry up and decide. We don’t have all day.”
“We have exactly all day, you made sure of it.” Cheeky brat. Ever since he got comfortable around Zishu he’s been saying stuff like this. The damn kid. Zishu should never have started acting soft around him.
He stretches his legs and back while Chengling continues to try different items. A lamp catches the kid’s attention for a solid three minutes and Zishu has to prevent himself from dragging the kid away to focus on their actual goal; to make the apartment livable with chairs, maybe a table or two, and a place for at least one of them to sleep. Zishu’s fine on the ground but Chengling needs more than a couple blankets.
His phone starts ringing, saving Chengling from a brief scolding as he gets distracted yet again, this time by the mirrors in the display. They already have one, and this thing looks far too decorative to be functional. The multiple small mirrors reaching out from the main mirror is excessive.
His phone reports the number he memorized as Han Ying’s, a number that he still hasn't properly entered into his phone because of Reasons.
“Speaking,” he says as hello.
“Shizun,” Han Ying greets in turn. “Are you still at the store? I finished work early, so I can come assist you.”
“No need.”
“Zishu-ge, is that Ying-ge?” Chengling asks, appearing out of nowhere. He was still distracted a few moments ago, which means that Zishu’s hearing really is truly failing him in his old age. How it can bounce between near-nothing and hypersensitivity is a mystery that he’s resigned himself to never understanding.
“Don’t call me that,” is Zishu’s response, completely ignoring Chengling’s question.
“Hi, A-Ling,” comes the traitorous voice from the phone. Zishu growls. If Han Ying shows up it will just take longer to get out of this god-forsaken store.
“Ying-ge, you should come! Zishu-ge isn’t any help and it’s no fun shopping with him.” Zishu shoves the phone into Chengling’s hand, valiantly ignoring the laughter coming from both brats. There’s a comfortable enough looking chair that he sits down on. It’s green, which is truly the only distinguishing feature in a cluster of browns and beige. Chengling probably won’t want to look closer at it and make Zishu stand up and keep moving around.
He tilts his head back, feeling the tension slowly leak from his neck and lower back. It hurts a little, but what else is new. He pops his fingers, each clicking as they bend toward the back of his hand. Then again as he pushes the knuckles into his palm. Next is his neck, which he cracks three times on one side and ignores the shooting pain in the other side when it refuses to pop. As always, he goes to the shoulders next. One pop as they lift upward, one pop when they move to his head, then three in the elbows as he twists his arm.
It doesn’t make anything hurt less, but it makes him feel better anyway.
“Zishu-ge, Ying-ge will be here in a few minutes.” Zishu closes his eyes, ignoring his ward and refusing to admit that it’s nice the two get along. It would be even nicer if he could doze off, but there’s a few too many people around to make that comfortable.
After a few minutes, it starts to feel like even closing his eyes is too much effort, so he opens them.
There’s a person in bright white staring at him, not even looking away when Zishu stares back. Zishu sharpens his gaze into a glare, but his watcher is persistent. The man looks ridiculous. Zishu would call it a suit, except there’s no tie, the jacket goes down to the man’s knees and his white undershirt is sheer enough to make Zishu think it has a pink hue. The long black hair fastened in a bun with a chopstick doesn’t help.
“Can I help you?” Zishu drawls, just wanting the man to leave. The man grins, a little deranged. His eyes look fevered in a way that Zishu has learned to avoid. This guy is bad news, and Chengling is in the building.
“Just admiring,” the man says, his smile slipping into something a bit less safe for the public eye. Zishu sneers.
“Go admire somewhere else, you’re distracting me.” He snaps, looking around to locate either Chengling or an escape route. He doesn’t have the time or care to deal with such a person. There’s enough ostentatious people at his job, and at least those play with formalities. This man does no such thing, instead licking his lips and leaning forward.
“Oh,” the man says with a smirk dancing over his lips. “And what about me is so… distracting .”
Zishu leaves.
Thankfully the man seems to get the hint and doesn’t follow him. Zishu doesn’t look back to see what the man does, but he assumes it’s more sprawling in the uncomfortable-looking chair and watching as Zishu walks away. Zishu squares his shoulders and puts more of a sway into his step, putting on the appearance of a delinquent that borders the line of sober and tipsy.
Not something sexy or something that would draw an appreciative eye. His baggy pants and oversized sweatshirt finish the portrayal - which is less like an act and more like his regular wardrobe.
Chengling is surely wandering around somewhere here, and Han Ying should show up soon. Zishu doesn’t need to put up with some stranger’s nonsense.
The sudden tension as he shifts from sitting to standing makes his neck-shoulder area twinge, but he ignores it as always. Not while he can still feel that man’s eyes on him. Maybe he can convince Chengling to leave soon. Han Ying will probably comply if Zishu starts complaining about body aches. He might even push past Chengling’s puppy eyes and drag the brat home. Make Zishu’s job easier for once.
Han Ying is, in fact, with Chengling already. It takes one look at Zishu’s face for him to come closer, dragging Chengling behind him. He was right about Han Ying complying.
“A-Ling, we should probably head back. What do you think of online shopping first? To get a sense of what would look good?” His suggestion is a bit more forceful than a mere suggestion, and Zishu has to hold back a smile.
Han Ying is far too good at reading him.
He doesn’t say much on the drive back. Han Ying brought his car, so they don’t have to use the bus again. Which is nice. There’s far too many people and too many noises on the bus. Chengling and Han Ying’s chatter is already enough noise on its own, though Zishu can appreciate the music they play in the background. It gives him just enough of a distraction from their constant chatter.
Zishu climbs up the stairs to their still-new home, glancing at the zhōngguó jié that Han Ying brought him and Chengling a few days ago. The younger man knew that Zishu wouldn’t spend any time looking for one, and Han Ying’s just a tad sentimental when it comes to tradition.
Chengling unlocks the door and shuffles inside, mildly subdued and moving directly toward the kitchen. More importantly, to the snacks that Han Ying almost definitely bought for him despite Zishu’s protest that the kid gets enough money to buy things for himself.
Spoilt brat.
Zishu walks in and holds the door open for Han Ying before Brat Number One starts getting any ideas that he isn’t welcome inside. Zishu’s rewarded with a smile that just further pisses him off. Even though Han Ying should be comfortable barging into their place at any time of the day, he always seems to require this dumb ritual of invitation. Han Ying is the only one meant to be allowed in without extra permissions or invitations.
There was a reason that Chengling gave him a key when they first bought the place.
With everyone inside, the door closed and locked, and his two brats entertaining each other in the kitchen, Zishu finally lets himself collapse onto the wonderfully carpeted floor. He holds in every sound of his body aching; his stifled groan in response to his spine re-aligning so that it doesn’t hurt when straightened against the floor, his hips slowly letting him lower his legs to the ground despite the burning flares it shoots through to his knees, and finally the one breath out and everything releases enough so he can relax.
Han Ying kneels next to him and puts some documents onto the table - their one piece of furniture that Zishu cared enough to bring from the old place. At least until they had something better.
The only reason it came was because he could put it upside down and shove the rest of his stuff on top. Minimal space used.
It was a long drive from their old place and they needed room in the truck for clothes. Besides, Zishu has more than enough money to restock an entire house and he didn’t care about his old stuff anyway. Everything was designed to look fancy and professional for any guests that came to visit. He doesn’t expect those types of guests anymore.
Besides, this way Chengling gets to have fun personalizing the house and making sure he has a permanent place in Zishu’s life. That’s a thing he didn’t believe when Zishu first took him in, and it’s something he still forgets at times. The more items that feel like Chengling, the more secure he should feel.
That’s what Wu Xi told him.
“Shizun,” Han Ying says, interrupting his thoughts. “Here’s the report from today. Nothing out of the ordinary. Helian Yi is wanting to start working on Mr. Jing’s file before he has the chance to cause problems, but Duan Pengju has already placed people on it.”
“Which people?” Zishu asks.
“Qin Fengyue and Chao Danqi.”
“Hm.” Not the worst choices. They’re loyal and quiet when working, but someone more personable would find it easier to get information from a man like Jing Falan. He’s a busybody more than anything else and good at making friends. Still new to politics. Someone sneaking around could work, but having Qin Fengyue and Chao Danqi, both of who focus on stealth and staying hidden, would block off the option of a more direct route. “Add Wei Lanhua, make sure they know it’s undercover work.”
“Of course, Shizun.”
Zishu nods once, then reaches his hand out for the file. Han Ying quickly grabs it from the table and places it in Zishu’s palm. Still resting on the ground, Zishu holds the papers above his head, quickly skimming the reports for anything that sticks out. He makes sure to block the glaring of the lightbulb using the paper, even though it makes reading just a little harder. His eyes are sensitive, but that doesn’t mean he can see well.
Nothing about the information stands out as problematic or surprising, so Zishu can set it aside for the time being. This entire situation is both a luxury and an insult. The fact that his every waking hour is no longer spent running Helian Yi’s information network allows him time to help Chengling adjust, yes, but it forces his disability into focus. Working a full work week is impossible. Working even twenty hours in a week can be a stretch.
Working separated from his people, rarely leaving the comfort and safety of his own home? The worst possible outcome.
Especially because he still hasn’t bought a desk.
“Uh, Ying-ge?” Chengling says, more than a little panic in his voice. “Can you, uh, come help? I think I did something wrong.”
Zishu scofs. “You either did or you didn’t. Which is it.”
“I, uh, definitely did something wrong. Ying-ge!” Han Ying snickers at the brat’s misfortune before returning to the kitchen. If Zishu was able to smell or distinguish between smells, he would try and guess just how badly Chengling messed up their dinner. As it was, he did not have those capabilities and assumed that whatever it was is now burnt to the point of inedible.
Wouldn't be the first time, definitely won’t be the last.
Zishu forces himself into a sitting position, cross legged and back straight. Neck tension is nothing to listen to, easy enough to push to the back of his mind through meditation. Ideally it will actually disappear.
Ideally he’ll form the ability talked about in fairy tales; he’ll be able to cultivate to immortality and heal every injury within a day or a week.
Zishu doesn’t believe in ideals.
What he does believe in is science, and science has forsaken him leaving only willpower and sheer stubbornness.
It’s that willpower and stubbornness that lets him eat Chengling’s charred stir fried tofu. It’s dry with none of the right seasonings, and burnt is its predominant flavor. All in all, it sucks and he eats every bite.
Partially because both Han Ying and Chengling will pout at him if they don’t think he’s eating enough. Partially because he doesn’t really taste it anyway.
These brats are spoiled beyond belief and he should increase their training.
He even drinks an entire glass of super supau - from an actual glass. Han Ying thinks it’s weird to drink straight from the bottle even though Zishu’s the only one that drinks it. The part of Zishu that is used to living with eyes constantly watching for a mistake, eyes expecting excellence, agrees with Han Ying. The Zishu that is now raising a teenager and has all but retired for medical reasons doesn’t give a damn.
He puts more rice on Chengling’s slowly emptying bowl, ignoring the happy look he receives.
Like he said. Spoiled.
Han Ying leaves not long after that. Zishu takes the time to clean up and wash all the dishes despite Chengling’s many protests and attempts to push Zishu out of the kitchen. They don’t work mainly because Chengling is physically weaker, but also because he wouldn’t dare force Zishu to do anything. Zishu is too stubborn and too delicate.
It’s not a great combination but it’s been working for him so far.
If working is what you can call his barely functional body.
“Go,” he says to the brat. “You have homework or something, do it and leave me be.” Chengling scurries away, grabbing his bag from the entryway and returning to their lone table. Out of habit, Zishu watches to make sure the boy doesn’t touch his work documents. There’s nothing incriminating in this batch, but Chengling should never get used to touching his documents nor should Zishu ever become lax in protecting them.
As usual, there was no reason to worry. Chengling opens his own bag, takes out his own books and pencil, and starts working on his own material.
Zishu continues with the dishes.
Take out is a much better option than spending the time to first dirty and then clean all of these pans. It also tastes better.
Once the dishes are dried and put away, Zishu returns to the table to start properly reading over his documents. He vaguely notes that Chengling’s head is resting on the desk as he continues writing. That changes with a quick slap against the table.
“Posture.” Zishu reminds him. Chengling pouts but does as he’s told.
He doesn't say anything when Zishu’s spine starts to curve and the older man rests his elbows against the table, nor does he say anything when Zishu changes his sitting position to place more weight on his elbows but allow his spine to straighten. Most importantly, he doesn’t say anything as Zishu’s breathing shows signs of labor as he rides out the waves of pain surging through his body.
He does glance at Zishu, though, and suggests that they start getting ready for bed.
The two don’t share a room, not technically. Zishu bought a place that has two bedrooms in addition to the common area. There’s sleeping mats in both rooms and their clothes are resting in the same tubs they moved them in.
They basically share a room because Chengling still has nightmares and ends up in Zishu’s room more often than not.
The spoiled comment still applies.
It’s generally fine. Zishu tries to be in bed, if not asleep, by midnight. The longer he’s up and functioning, the worse everything starts to feel. By midnight the pain is intense, spreading through each limb, shooting fire and cramps everywhere. If he’s lying down, his muscles are able to relax enough that he can at least sleep or read on his phone.
If Chengling comes into his room, he leaves the phone light off and falls asleep instead.
It will be harder once Zishu gets an actual mattress. It won’t be large enough for the boy to crawl onto, but Zishu shouldn’t delay buying one for much longer. Despite the ground being his favorite place to sleep, it always leaves him feeling worse for wear.
Furniture shows up outside their apartment over the next few days. There’s chairs, side tables, a dresser, even a bed frame to put together. The bed is larger than what Zishu was wanting, so he decides to return it and scold Han Ying for buying all of this stuff. He already insists on buying their groceries, even though Zishu is the one in charge of his paycheck.
Chengling goes about setting things where he wants them. They have one large window, so he sets the new dining table near it, along with the four matching chairs. Chengling - with Zishu’s help - drags the bed frame into his room to leave for later when there’s actually a bed to fill it. As it turns out, Chengling is used to a larger bed and prefers it.
The dresser also goes into Chengling’s room. Zishu is perfectly content living out of boxes for the time being, and it’s not like he leaves the house often enough for nicely kept clothing to matter. Anything that is meant to be perfectly kept is already hanging in his closet collecting dust.
Han Ying also sent some new kitchenware, despite knowing that neither Zishu nor Chengling knew how to use most of it. The cutting board should be useful, and maybe one or two of the knives, but everything else is far too unknown for either of them.
The only truly weird item is the decorative fan. Chengling took to it well enough, so he went to buy items to hang it on the wall. Now it’s proudly displayed near their dining table in all its red and white glory.
Zishu is going to be spending a lot of money paying Han Ying back.