Chapter Text
Wei Ying is late, as usual, but today, Jiang Cheng doesn’t mind. He sets up his stand under the south-facing window in their practice space, basking as the late spring sun filters through. He adjusts the height of the stand so the shadow from his head doesn’t cover the score he places on the stand. He grabs a couple of mechanical pencils from his viola case and clips them to the lip of the tray. He takes his bow, rosin, and a soft cloth from the case next. He cleans the accumulated rosin dust from the stick and grip each day before he puts it away, but he always gives it a quick polish when he takes it out each morning. He tightens the hairs and gives them a good coating of rosin. When he’s done, he sets the bow on the lip of the tray and takes out his viola.
He swipes the cleaning cloth along the end of the fingerboard, though it, too, is already clean. Wei Ying lets rosin accumulate over the body, and every time Wei Ying takes out his violin, Jiang Cheng has to force himself not to yank the instrument from his hands and give it a good cleaning. He inspects his own instrument. The varnish could use a bit of polish, particularly where it’s worn along the curve of the upper bout where he habitually rests his hands when not playing, but that’s a chore for the weekend.
He inspects the bridge, but it feels solid. He then puts the cleaning cloth away and fixes the shoulder rest across the back of the body and affixes a leather pad to the chinrest. He sometimes wishes he’d had a pad like this when he first started playing, before he developed fiddler’s neck, the hickey-like red mark under his jaw. Wei Ying wore his like a badge of honor, and generally, it didn’t bother Jiang Cheng too much. All his friends and acquaintances were professional musicians these days, so they understood. Still.
Still nothing. It’s not like Jiang Cheng was trying to impress anyone. He was the violist, the least impressive player in Yunmeng Trio. Jiejie, with her cello and her expressive face and graceful hands, had captivated audiences since she was eleven. And Wei Ying, playing the violin as if he were meeting the proverbial devil at the crossroads, mesmerized all that he encountered. Jiang Cheng was there for filler.
For balance, A-Cheng, Jiejie always said with calm assurance. We wouldn’t be a trio without you.
Obviously, but Jiang Cheng appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.
But they wouldn’t be a trio for much longer. Jiang Cheng thumbs the strings of his viola nervously as he waits for his sister and brother to join him for rehearsal. They are on the precipice of change, and it’s not just their upcoming tour, their most extensive yet. They have been touring and recording for the better part of twenty years, starting as a trio when Jiang Cheng turned ten. They were a novelty at first, ten-year-old Jiang Cheng, eleven-year-old Wei Ying, and fifteen-year-old Jiang Yanli, but they grew into a well-respected string trio. Jiang Cheng knows, he really does, that they can’t go on forever, the three of them against the world. Jiejie has been married for a little over a year to Jin Zixuan, heir to Lanling Industries and currently in charge of their philanthropic operations. She likes her husband, which Jiang Cheng doesn’t get but respects because Zixuan clearly adores his jiejie, and they’ve delayed their honeymoon in order to facilitate this tour, but no one can really expect them to put their new life together on hold indefinitely.
And Wei Ying.
Jiang Cheng is happy for him, he really is, but Lan Wangji is just so...he’s just… well, it doesn’t really matter what he is, because he’s clearly besotted with Wei Ying, and Wei Ying is the same.
Which leaves Jiang Cheng as the odd one out, again.
Jiang Cheng tucks his viola under his chin, picks up his bow, and draws it across the strings, starting with the low C. It sends a pleasing vibration through his core, perfectly resonant. He lifts his bow and lets the note die away before he shifts to the A string and tunes. When he’s adjusted each string, he takes out his phone and opens the tuning app. His pitch is perfect, but Jiang Cheng is also a perfectionist, so he checks each string against the app, and once he is satisfied that he’s fully in tune, he puts his phone away and begins his warm-up.
Jiejie joins him, giving him a small wave, as he begins the arpeggio section of his warm-up. He smiles at her as she goes through her own routine. Wei Ying crashes in a minute later, spilling apologies. Jiang Cheng tries not to notice the fresh marks along his brother’s neck -- not from practicing --that peek up from the stretched-out collar of his t-shirt. At least they’ll be hidden under the high collar of his dress shirt.
Soon enough, the siblings have warmed up. They tune to Wei Ying’s A, and then, as they do with every rehearsal, they play the Silver Bell Berceuse, a lullaby their grandmother had written and adapted for the trio when they first started playing together. When the final note fades away, Jiang Cheng breathes a moment before taking his instrument down and settling it across his lap.
Whatever is coming, he will always have this. He takes another breath, and then he looks at his siblings.
“Okay,” he says when he has their attention, “let me have it.”
“What are you talking about?” Wei Ying asks, nervously plucking the strings of his violin.
Jiang Cheng glares at him.
“I’ll start with my news,” Yanli says. Her eyes shine with tears. “I have to retire after this tour,” she says.
Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng gape at her.
“Retire?” Wei Ying asks.
“You’re quitting?” Jiang Cheng adds. “Not taking a break?”
“Well,” she says, eyes cast down, “maybe not forever, but--”
Jiang Cheng clocks the way she cradles her belly behind her cello the moment before Wei Ying yelps, “You’re pregnant!”
Yanli nods, laughing and smiling as Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying leap up (after carefully putting their own instruments down) and rush to her side. Jiang Cheng takes her bow and Wei Ying settles her cello on its side before they hug her.
“How long?” Jiang Cheng asks as Wei Ying blubbers against Yanli’s side. “Til we’re uncles?”
“Six months? Pretty close to that.” Yanli wipes her eyes. “We tried to plan things so I wouldn’t be too big to fit behind my cello by the end of the tour. Can’t have my sweet baby kicking in the middle of a piece and throwing our rhythm off.”
Wei Ying sniffs through a watery laugh. “I’m so happy for you, shijie!” He pokes Jiang Cheng’s arm. “And now you can’t be mad at me for abandoning you.”
“Is that official, then?” Jiang Cheng asks quietly.
“Oh, um, yeah. Yes.” Wei Ying sits cross-legged on the floor by Yanli. “So, me and Lan Zhan. We are officially official. Not married yet!” he rushes to assure them. “I won’t do that without my family, I promise! But we’re gonna go to Gusu for a while. Lan Zhan’s promised his uncle that he’ll help out at the Lan Academy for a bit. Apparently, his brother was going to help, but something happened with his old job, and he’s thinking about taking some time off instead.”
“Yeah? I’m surprised Huaisang hasn’t mentioned anything.”
“I think,” Yanli says, “he might be open to some work as an accompanist. This could be a good opportunity for you to finally make that album you wanted, A-Cheng.”
“Nobody wants to hear me play,” Jiang Cheng says automatically. He winces as his siblings clamor over one another to contradict and reassure him.
“First of all,” Yanli says over Wei Ying’s vehement interjection, “plenty of people want to hear you play and would relish the opportunity to hear you whenever they like.”
“Yeah,” Wei Ying cuts in, dodging Yanli’s attempt to shush him, “and not everyone is like Auntie Yu.”
“A-Ying!” Yanli hisses. “Stop!”
“No, no, Shijie, I’m serious.” Wei Ying reaches over and grabs Jiang Cheng’s hand. “Seriously, Cheng-Cheng, I know what she’s said to you about recording.” He glances at Yanli and has the decency to look at least a little ashamed. “I may have overheard her when you brought up recording a version of Bach’s cello suites. It wouldn’t have been a waste of time or money.”
“That’s what she said?” Yanli frowns at Jiang Cheng. “You told me that Yunnan Arts University offered you the masterclass and that’s why you couldn’t record.”
“They didn’t offer,” Jiang Cheng mumbles. He yanks his hand away from Wei Ying. “Mother sent me there as a favor to one of her old colleagues from her symphony days. And it was a really good experience,” he says, looking up at his siblings. “It opened a lot of doors for me.”
“Yeah, but baby bro, how many of those doors have you actually gone through?” Wei Ying asks with his unerring ability to drag up old hurts.
“I went through plenty,” Jiang Cheng says, “with the Yunmeng Trio. Can’t have a trio with only two musicians, can you?”
“A-Cheng,” Yanli says gently, “of course you don’t have to record anything, not if you really don’t want to.” She lays a hand on her belly. “But, you know how much I love that Vaughan Williams suite? It’s so calming, and you play it so beautifully. I’m sure there’s an arrangement for viola and piano. Or the Romance?”
Jiang Cheng rubs his eyes. “Yeah, that’s a good piece. But if Lan Xichen is as good a musician as I’ve heard he is, there’s no way I can afford to hire him, let alone rent out studio space.”
Yanli pats his hand. “Let Jiejie worry about that, A-Cheng.”
“No, no, I can’t let you--”
“Shhhh! If she wants to spend the Peacock’s money on you, let her!” Wei Ying says.
“I want a recording of my didi playing something he loves,” Yanli adds. “You’re so beautiful when you play, but especially when you play something you love.”
“And you know what I would like?” Wei Ying says. “I would love a recording of the Lotus Concerto.”
Yanli gasps and grips Jiang Cheng’s hand tightly. “Yes! Yes, please!”
The Lotus Concerto. Yanli wrote it when Jiang Cheng was still in high school and struggling to be apart from his siblings as they attended university. Something of home, she told home. Jiang Cheng didn’t play it often. He played it for his senior recital and a few times in concert when they could find a reasonably talented pianist to play with them.
“Who could I even ask to play? Surely everyone who is decent is booked?”
Wei Ying taps his nose. “Let me ask Xichen-ge,” he says after a moment. “I think you two would work well together.”
“And I’ll cover his fee,” Yanli adds over Jiang Cheng’s objections. “I want to, and it’s for me as much as you, didi.”
Jiang Cheng sighs. He knows when he’s been outvoted. It’s the default state of his existence.
“Fine. Now, can we please rehearse? I don’t want our farewell tour to be a flop.”
The tour is, by any metric, a rousing success. Jiang Cheng’s mother even complimented him outright after a performance in Xi’an. Well, she said that he finally captured the warmth and lightness the Schubert trio demanded. From anyone else, that would be embarrassingly effusive praise.
Jiang Cheng rode that high for the remainder of the tour. And now, he is back in Yunmeng, airing out his apartment in a complex a few miles away from the main family compound. Wei Ying is packing his things in the apartment next door, preparing for his stay in Gusu. Jiejie is already in Lanling, being thoroughly spoiled by her husband, as is only right. Their mother has also decamped to Koi Tower to await the birth of her first grandchild, so the usual tension of extended family time is absent as Jiang Cheng lounges in the shade on his balcony and watches the boats on the lake.
The tranquility is disturbed only by the occasional thumps and curses coming from his brother’s apartment, and Jiang Cheng decides to enjoy them as they will be a thing of memory in a few days. By mid-afternoon, however, the cursing and thumping stop, and a few minutes later, Wei Ying lets himself into Jiang Cheng’s apartment and joins him on the balcony.
“Cold beverage for my baby bro?” Wei Ying dangles a bottle in front of Jiang Cheng’s face.
“This is from my fridge,” Jiang Cheng grouses as he takes the proffered bottle.
“Mine is empty,” Wei Ying replies, handing Jiang Cheng the bottle opener from his keychain.
“And that means you get to take my things because…?” He holds out his bottle, and Wei Ying taps it with his own before drinking.
“Because you said you’d help me move, and when you didn’t come over to help me pack, I figured this is what you meant.” He grins at Jiang Cheng and flops down on the empty lounge chair beside him.
“Fair enough.” Jiang Cheng drinks his beer and waits for Wei Ying to say whatever it is he needs to say before leaving him for Gusu.
He doesn’t have to wait long.
“So, you’ve called Xichen-ge, right? About recording?”
“No,” Jiang Cheng admits, even though he knows Wei Ying actually knows this. “I kind of thought it would be nice to take a break, especially since Mother’s not here to badger me.”
“That is a wise point, Baby Brother, but consider. Xichen-ge moved to Yunmeng about six weeks ago, and from what Lan Zhan says, I think he’s getting lonely. Even if you don’t work together, it would be neighborly to call up and offer to take him out to lunch or something.”
“He moved—why the fuck would he move to Yunmeng?”
“Why not Yunmeng? It’s nice here!”
“So nice you can’t wait to leave,” Jiang Cheng mutters before he can think better of it.
“Cheng-Cheng, that’s not fair.” Wei Ying sits up. “I talked to Lan Zhan, and we’ve agreed to split our time between Gusu and Yunmeng. Maybe not fifty-fifty to start, not until we’ve got the Academy thing figured out. Lan Zhan will take over some classes in the fall, so for a while, it will be Yunmeng for the holidays, but we’ll still see each other, lots, okay?”
“Whatever.” Jiang Cheng drinks his beer to forestall further comments.
“As to why Big Brother picked Yunmeng, well, Lan Zhan won’t tell me all the details. ‘Gossip is forbidden, Wei Ying,’” he says, mimicking his boyfriend’s monotone delivery.
Jiang Cheng snorts a laugh.
“Seriously, though, he needed someplace new, and Yunmeng is really nice, and if you work together, you won’t have to leave home to do it. That’s nice, right?”
“It is,” Jiang Cheng admits grudgingly. He’s been traveling for the better part of each year since he graduated from university. The idea of staying someplace, especially someplace he loves as much as he loves Yunmeng and Lotus Pier, is appealing. “Fine,” he sighs. “I’ll call him.”
“Yesss!” Wei Ying pumps his fist and sloshes beer all over his trousers. “Aw, shit. Okay. Sorry, I’ll clean it up. And look, call him tomorrow. I’ll clean up my mess, change my clothes, and then tonight, the Lotus Brothers are going to have a spicy noodles feast down at Mama Luo’s, okay?”
“You’re paying,” Jiang Cheng says, already getting up to retrieve a roll of paper towels. “And you’re buying the drinks.”
Wei Ying launches himself at his brother and catches him in a hug that’s mostly a headlock. “Anything you say, Baby Bro.”