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Chapter Text

There was someone moving in across the street.

4 Bright Avenue had sat empty for what felt like centuries, at least to Lan Qiao (or Qiao Qiao as her friends called her), who was eight and a half at the time. It seemed as if it had been there even before the city came to be. Surviving the way cockroaches or beetles do. While the rest of the city evolved and shifted around it, was torn down and rebuilt, 4 Bright Avenue remained. Unchanged.

The neighbors said it was cursed. Or haunted. Or worse.

What could be worse than being cursed or haunted, Qiao Qiao didn’t know. She thought maybe that was something adults just said when they didn’t like something. Which seemed silly to her, when she didn’t like something she just avoided it, like peas, or the Hendersons’ yippy pug dog. She didn’t go around telling people it was worse than haunted. That was rude. Adults had a strange tendency to be rude while saying she should be kind to everyone.

“It’s ugly is what it is,” her mother said into the phone where she stood at the window watching the movers across the street through the blinds. “An absolute eyesore. We should have had it torn down ages ago.”

“Couldn’t. It’s a historical site or some utter nonsense,” Mrs. Gomez grumbled, her voice tinny through the speakerphone. “They’re going to have a heck of a time with the HOA. Janette Henderson can be a real… you-know-what about the rules.”

There was a giddiness to her tone that Qiao Qiao didn’t think she liked. It reminded her of that time when Leon, the class bully, bragged about cutting Calliope’s braid. It was a terrible thing to do. Calli had such pretty hair, and after he’d done it she had to go and get it all cut to even it out. It’d taken months for her to feel good enough to not wear a hat to school anymore.

Leon was a bully, and that’s what Mrs. Gomez sounded like. A bully.

“You think they’ll try to renovate the outside?” Qiao Qiao’s mother asked.

“They’ll have to. Now that someone is living there, the county can’t just ignore it anymore.”

“They’ve been doing renovations on the inside, has anyone been in there yet?” Qiao Qiao’s mother pushed the blinds open a little further and leaned closer to the window, her nose nearly touching it. For all she liked to tell Qiao Qiao that it was unbecoming of a young lady to be nosey, she was being awfully nosey herself.

“No. I heard one of them is a professor over at the university.” Mrs. Gomez scoffed. “Literature I think.”

“There’s some hope for sophistication in that.” Qiao Qiao’s mother nodded, her head bumping against the glass. “We should go over this afternoon, once the movers are done, and welcome them to the neighborhood.”

“I’ll make a pound cake,” Mrs. Gomez volunteered.

Qiao Qiao’s mother hummed her agreement, then they both went back to silently watching the movers out the window.

***

Qiao Qiao begged to go along with her mother and Mrs. Gomez to see what all the fuss was about with the new neighbors later that day, and so at about two in the afternoon the two women and the little girl made their way across the street, up the crooked walk, to the porch of 4 Bright Avenue. There was a hanging swing off to the side, swaying gently in a nonexistent breeze. Shifting on her too-clean school shoes, Qiao Qiao thought she heard whispers coming from that part of the porch. A man and a woman speaking in a language she didn’t recognize, their voices low and gentle. Neither her mother or Mrs. Gomez seemed to hear them, which might be for the best. They’d probably take it as more sign the place was haunted.

The two women shared a look that Qiao Qiao didn’t quite understand, nodded, then Mrs. Gomez reached up and pushed the button for the doorbell. But instead of the standard ding-dong Qiao Qiao was used to, what followed was a pop song at full volume. The chorus echoing through the big house, the big yard, and right down the block. Everyone in the neighborhood had probably heard.

“Well I never!” Mrs. Gomez huffed.

Qiao Qiao kind of liked it. It was catchy. And not boring like her doorbell at home. She wondered if her mom would agree to change theirs. It might be fun to pick something new. To have something unique. She hadn’t even known that was possible before.

The song made it all the way through the chorus before abruptly cutting off as the door creaked open on a brightly lit foyer. No one was standing there holding it open, but when Qiao Qiao peaked around her mother she could see a large black cat with a pancake-like face sitting on the bottom step of the stairs at the other end of the foyer. The walls were papered with a watercolor forest come to life, and the floor was a dark, dark wood, almost black.

“Hello?” Qiao Qiao's mother called, the door creaking open further as she poked her head in at the urging of Mrs. Gomez because Mrs. Gomez was clearly too scared to do it herself. “Is anyone home?”

The cat meowed from where it sat, but didn’t move otherwise.

Then a man came hustling in from a door to the right that Qiao Qiao had missed because it was almost hidden among the trees. “Fat cat,” he hissed at the black cat, nudging it with his foot, “what have we said about answering the door?”

The cat hissed back, taking a swipe at his leg, and missing only because the man spun swiftly away practically dancing as he stumbled toward the door.

“Sorry about that ladies.” He grinned widely, teeth on full display. He had a nice smile, Qiao Qiao thought. There was a dimple in one cheek, and it stretched with a kind of kindness Qiao Qiao didn’t see on most adults. “We’ve asked him not to answer the door but—” He shrugged like cats answering the door was perfectly normal. “What’re you gonna do?”

“Right. Of course.” Mrs. Gomez laughed nervously.

“You must be the welcome committee,” he continued, and held out a hand politely for each of them to shake, including Qiao Qiao which she thought was rather nice of him. “I’m Zhao Yunlan. My husband, Shen Wei, is just preparing some tea, he should be out shortly. Would you like to come in?”

“Oh, we couldn’t possibly impose,” Mrs. Gomez said even as she stepped over the threshold, leading their little group into the foyer. “We just stopped by to drop off this pound cake. As a welcome gift. From the community.”

“Nonsense. Nonsense.” Zhao Yunlan flapped his hand through the air as if swatting away flies. “You’re hardly imposing. Come in. Come in. Da Qing,” he called over his shoulder to the cat who didn’t move at all to acknowledge him. “Let Shen Wei know we’ll be in the living room.”

Da Qing mrowed, annoyed, then stood and toddled off in the direction Zhao Yunlan had just come from while Zhao Yunlan took the proffered pound cake. Now that Qiao Qiao was actually inside the foyer she was able to get a better look at the walls. They weren’t wallpapered at all. Someone had painted every tree by hand. She could see the brush strokes. And among the trees there was something… moving. There and gone in between one blink and the next. So fast she couldn’t quite make out what it was.

And she didn’t get the chance to either before she was ushered after Zhao Yunlan off to the left side of the foyer, down a narrow hall into a small, cozy sitting room at the front of the house. This room, too, had plenty of natural lighting. But the windows that faced the street were already almost covered in vines and plants, all hanging from an elaborate plant stand that looked like maybe it was handmade. The walls here were green too. A mountain range now, more so than a forest, was painted on the back wall that a long comfortable sectional sat against, and every other wall was covered in green bookshelves.

The shelves themselves were stuffed full of books with broken spines. Novels, and textbooks sitting side by side with all manner of little odds and ends. A large glass jar of river rocks. A bobble headed gas station doll with chipping paint. A bowl of dried pine needles. A tea cup with a very tiny evergreen seeming to grow quite happily in it, basking in the afternoon sun from the window.

“Well,” Mrs. Gomez said, “You certainly got unpacked quickly.”

“Oh, just the main living spaces.” Zhao Yunlan shook his head, his hair falling into his eyes. “And we had a lot of help. We have a big family. You all get settled, I’m just going to take this into the kitchen and have Shen Wei cut some. It’ll go nicely with the tea.”

Then he disappeared back into the foyer and left the women to their own devices.

“It could be worse,” Qiao Qiao's mother said as she settled onto the couch.

Mrs. Gomez scoffed, tapping the head of the gas station bobble head and making it nod up and down. “The foyer was nice enough, but look at all these nick nacks. And what if they decide to paint the outside of the house green like the rest of it?”

Qiao Qiao thought she saw the plants in the window shift slightly as if unsettled at Mrs. Gomez’s words, but that may have just been the air conditioning. “I like the green,” Qiao Qiao argued.

“That’s what the HOA is for, Ticia,” Qiao Qiao's mother said calmly. “Let Janette handle that.”

“And did you see the way he answered the door? There are holes in his jeans, Jia.”

“He wasn’t expecting guests.” Qiao Qiao's mother shrugged. Qiao Qiao was grateful that now they were there her mother was being less mean about the new neighbors. Although she didn’t know why. “This is just because you aren’t a cat person,” she teased lightly.

Mrs. Gomez huffed and sat beside her on the couch, but she said no more until Zhao Yunlan returned carrying a tea tray, a man in neatly pressed slacks, a button up shirt, and a vest following behind him.

“Ladies, my husband, Shen Wei. Shen Wei this is Mrs. Gomez, Mrs. Lan, and little miss Qiao-er.”

“A pleasure,” Shen Wei said, and dipped his head into a respectful bow that seemed to sooth any still ruffled feathers on the part of the ladies. Then he settled into a chair, and Zhao Yunlan promptly settled into his lap. “Yunlan. We are in mixed company.”

“Oh they don’t mind. Do you ladies?” Zhao Yunlan turned a blinding smile on the two women, and they both found themselves shaking their heads.

“Not at all,” Mrs. Gomez said. “How long have you two been married?”

From there they devolved into what her mother referred to as “polite conversation”. Which was very boring, and now that it didn’t look like her mother and Mrs. Gomez were going to continue to be mean to Mister Zhao and Mister Shen; she saw no reason to keep score any longer. So she gravitated toward the bookshelf to inspect the many books and other items stuffed onto it.

She didn’t know how long she stood looking over everything, but as she was reaching for the jar of river rocks, her mother called, “Oh Qiao-er, don’t touch other people’s things. You know better than that.”

And then there was a presence at her side, in a blink. Mister Zhao reaching up to take the jar down from the shelf that was just out of reach even on her tip toes. “She’s all right,” he said before turning his attention back to Qiao Qiao. “These are river rocks from Kunlun mountain. Do you know where that is Qiao-er?”

Qiao Qiao shook her head.

“Next time you’re over, I’ll show you on the map, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good. But in the meantime,” he set the jar down on a lower shelf, and gestured to it, “why don’t you take one with you?”

Qiao Qiao blinked at him. “Really?”

“Mhm. They're good luck, you know. And everyone could use a bit of luck sometimes.””

“Which one?”

“Any one.” He shrugged, and waited.

Qiao Qiao reached her hand into the jar, and gasped softly. The rocks which she knew, logically, should have been cool to the touch, were all warm. Like they’d been sitting at the bottom of a sun-warmed stream all day. She looked up at Mister Zhao, and he shot her a wink, then nodded back to the jar, an indication for her to pick one. From somewhere around the middle of the jar she pulled a stone that was an oddly purple-grey color, nothing like any of the river rocks she’d ever seen. It was warm in the palm of her hand.

“Good choice,” Zhao Yunlan said.

***

“Really Yunlan,” Shen Wei chided softly some time later as they stood on their porch watching the two women and the little girl head back to their homes. Da Qing rested on the railing, and the two ghosts which had been on the porch swing when their visitors arrived had returned to the sub-basement to rest.

“Hm?” Zhao Yunlan asked, leaning more heavily into his husband’s side. It was a nice night, there was lightning on the horizon.

“Are you going to god-touch every child in the neighborhood?” But for all Shen Wei tried to sound disapproving, there was a fondness to the words he couldn’t quite hide from his husband.

“Only the good ones,” Zhao Yunlan countered with a mischievous laugh.

Shen Wei scoffed.

“Besides,” he narrowed his eyes in thought. “That one already had a bit of the paranormal about her. She sensed Wang Zheng and Sang Zan when they were out on the porch.”

“A necessary precaution then.” Shen Wei nodded his approval.

“See?” Zhao Yunlan said, ducking his head to press a kiss to the skin below Shen Wei’s ear. “And you thought your husband was just up to mischief.”

“Because you usually are.”

Zhao Yunlan gasped. “Baobei! You wound me!” He clutched his chest, stumbling backward into the house, Shen Wei followed him a predator hunting prey. “How will I ever recover?”

“I have some ideas,” Shen Wei offered.

Zhao Yunlan let out a loud, sharp, bark of a laugh, then he was off like a shot, racing up the steps.

The door to 4 Bright Avenue closed as Shen Wei disappeared from the bottom of the stairs to reappear at the top of them, and scoop his husband up into his arms. The screech of the hinges almost drowned out the whoop laughter that followed in the wake of the two men.

Chapter Text

The land around 4 Bright Avenue wasn’t the best for this kind of thing, Zhao Yunlan knew that. He’d tried centuries ago to turn it into something more than just run down scrub grass, and dried out soil to no avail. But hundreds of years of practice, and coming into his own with his mountain god abilities seemed to finally be yielding some results this go around at the old place.

“Radishes?” Shen Wei asked from over his shoulder. “I can hardly get you to eat them, Yunlan, why are we growing them?”

That wasn’t all he was growing, of course. He’d converted the entire yard on one side of the house into a veritable cornucopia of fresh vegetables. Snap peas, and cabbages. Carrots, and an uneven row of corn inching its way toward the sky. He’d even managed to scrounge up some fruit trees for the backyard. Apples, and pears. Peaches and plums. They’d have a proper feast come harvest time.

“They’re good for irrigating the soil, xaoi-Wei. Now hush, you’re going to give them a complex.” Zhao Yunlan patted the dirt lightly. “He didn’t mean anything by it.”

Shen Wei hummed his agreement and left his husband to it, knowing better than to get between the great Kunlun-jun and his plants.

***

The new neighbors were an absolute thorn in Janette Henderson’s side. They’d only moved in a week ago and already they had a list of Home Owners’ Association violations a mile long. From the color they’d chosen to paint their siding to the plants they’d chosen for their front flower beds. And now this!

Corn! In her neighborhood! What were they? A farm? Was this the country?

No. This would not stand.

And since they refused to pick up their phones, or answer her emails, Janette was left one method of dealing with them. She would have to pay them a visit. As if she had nothing better to do!

And thus on a sunny Thursday afternoon, when she should be in her own garden weeding it, she had to put on her sunhat, and head down the street to 4 Bright Avenue.

The newly painted wrought iron gate—black, tch—sat open, welcoming in a way the drab green house was not. The place looked like a mausoleum more so than the perfectly respectable house it had been once upon a time. Janette adjusted the bag on her shoulder, wishing not for the first time that she had pictures from when the house was first built to illustrate her point about historical accuracy, and stepped onto the property.

From a distance the front lawn at least was lush, green, and well manicured, but upon closer inspection it was not carpeted in any type of grass Janette had ever seen before. Adding another item to the list of violations, she followed the sound of music coming from the side yard around the house.

“Hello. Mister Shen,” she called as she got closer. She didn’t see anyone. But there was a speaker on the wrap-around porch blasting music out in the direction of the garden, so that had to be where they were. She crept closer. “Hello?”

“Hello!” a man shouted as he popped up from behind the waist high row of corn.

Janette yelped, stumbling backward, only just catching herself on the— on the branch of a tree that she was pretty sure had not been there a moment ago. She’d have noticed, wouldn’t she? A plum blossom tree of that size. She couldn’t have missed—

“Sorry about that,” the man said, brushing his hands off on a pair of ratty jeans as he skirted around the row of corn. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I’m all right.” Janette straightened, and returned her attention to the person in front of her, who she assumed was one of the home owners. “Mister Shen?”

“Zhao, actually.” He smiled, itching at the scruff on his jaw. “My husband is Mister Shen.”

Different surnames then, Janette noted. “Mister Zhao.” She nodded. “I’m Janette Henderson. The president of the HOA.” She held out her hand to shake.

Mister Zhao narrowed his eyes at her a moment, then stuffed his hands into his pockets, leaving Janette’s hand hanging in the air rather rudely. “Can I help you with something Mrs. Henderson?”

“Yes, actually.” Janette unhooked one of the straps from her bag off her shoulder, and turned to dig through it for the print outs she’d done before leaving home. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this but the Home Owners’ Association has some rather strict guidelines.”

“Guidelines?” Mister Zhao asked from much closer, and when Janette looked up she found him standing not more than a couple of feet in front of her, his considerable height almost looming over her. A breeze picked up, something chilled, like the herald of an early winter. Which was strange because it was the middle of summer. The plum blossom’s leaves rustled in it.

“Yes,” Janette said, lifting her chin. She would not be intimidated by anyone, least of all some scruffy house husband. “You should have received them when the sale was completed.”

“We inherited the property,” Mister Zhao said. “There was no sale. 4 Bright Avenue has been in the Zhao family for generations.” He tilted his head, his smile stretching wider, dimpling on one side with something that Janette knew well enough meant trouble. “Some might even say millennia.”

“Well that’s all well and good,” Janette continued, and finally pulled the packet of papers from her tote bag. “But there are rules in place for the neighborhood.”

“Oh? What sort of rules?”

“There’s a list of approved siding colors, for one. Which I can assure, green is not on. We only allow slate, taupe, egg—”

“Mountain,” Mister Zhao said, cutting her off.

“Excuse me?”

“The siding color. It’s mountain green. It’s one of my husband’s favorite colors.” His tone was light, casual, but Janette thought she heard a threat in it. “He picked it.”

“It’s not on the list of approved colors.”

Mister Zhao hummed, and took the list from her, scanning it quickly before dismissing it. “These are all rather boring, don’t you think? They make every home on the block look exactly the same.”

“That’s the point.”

He raised an eyebrow at her irritation, but the smile on his face didn’t falter. “Can new colors be added to this list?”

“I suppose so. But that hasn’t happened since—”

“Hm. We’ll come back to that then.” Mister Zhao nodded. “What were your other gripes, Mrs. Henderson?”

“They aren’t gripes,” she scoffed, affronted. Gripes implied this was somehow personal. She was just there to uphold the community standards. That was all.

Mister Zhao tilted his head to the side, but didn’t say anything.

Janette sucked in a breath and straightened her spine further. “Your grass isn’t an approved—”

“It’s mountain grass. Very hardy, and doesn’t require mowing, meaning we aren’t killing all the critters that live out there.” Mister Zhao shrugged. “Better for the environment.”

“And this garden!” She flapped her hand holding the packet toward the row of corn that seemed to have grown another couple of inches while they were standing there talking, the paper clapped like thunder.

“What about my garden?” Mister Zhao asked, and the breeze picked up a little more, the temperature dropping. There must have been a storm rolling in, that was the only explanation, but it was blue skies as far as the eye could see.

“We have strict regulations on where and what you can grow in a personal garden. Corn, certainly, is not on the list. And it shouldn’t be visible from the street. It decreases the property value of every house on the block!” She was fuming now. Her face hot, and her hands shaking.

“I see.” Mister Zhao’s tone was still level, and his smile hadn’t dropped an inch. It was infuriating. “And what happens if we don’t adhere to the HOA regulations?”

“And don’t get me st— What?” Janette blinked. Did he just— Was he saying he wasn’t going to adhere to the policies?

“If we don’t repaint our house, or tear up all the grass in our front yard, or kill all my beautiful plants, what happens? What will the HOA do about it?” He raised both of his dark brows in question. He was unfairly handsome, Janette realized, but that didn’t change her answer.

“We’ll fine you.”

“Then fine us.” He shrugged, unbothered.

“You could lose access to the community amenities.”

Another shrug.

Anger flared hotter in Janette’s veins. “I could— I could place a lean on your property.”

Mister Zhao’s smile finally fell, and what was left in its place was an expression Janette didn’t think she ever wanted to see again in her life. His eyes seemed to glow, and a whisper started on the wind that raised the hair on the back of her neck. “Mrs. Henderson,” he said, voice seeming to echo, “I welcome you to try and take our home from us. But be aware, Mrs. Henderson, that 4 Bright Avenue was inhabited by my family long before you were ever thought of, and it will be inhabited by my family long after your bones have turned to dust.”

“I—”

“And for that matter, I would suggest, Mrs. Henderson, that you take care when threatening people’s homes. After all, you are an elected official, are you not?”

“I—”

“That’s what I thought.” Mister Zhao nodded, then he gestured to the path she’d taken around the house, leaving no room for argument. “Have a nice day, Mrs. Henderson.”

The ground seemed to roll under her, and she stumbled, unable to stop until she was on the other side of the gate. It slammed shut in her face. She stood there for a long moment, blinking at the house on 4 Bright Avenue. The music, which she hadn’t realized had died down while she spoke with Mister Zhao, kicked up in volume, nearly drowning out the beating of her pulse in her ears.

When she’d finally caught her bearings again, she huffed. “Well I never!”

Fine. If Mister Zhao wanted to do things the hard way, they’d do them the hard way.

***

When Shen Wei returned home from work that evening he found the kitchen table covered in paper, a laptop, and three mugs of tea in various stages of going cold. His husband was sitting at the table, hair a mess from running his fingers through it, a lollipop stick hanging from his teeth, head phones in his ears blaring some pop song or another.

“Problem?” he asked, moving to gather up at least the mugs.

“That bitch from the HOA came by,” Da Qing said from where he sat amidst the chaos.

“Who?”

“Janette Henderson,” Zhao Yunlan volunteered, hooking his headphones around his neck, but not turning down the music. “She wanted to tell me all of the violations we’ve made against their stupid fucking rules.”

Shen Wei stopped, frowning. “Will this be trouble?”

“She can’t do anything to us.” Zhao Yunlan shook his head, hair falling into his eyes. “The ownership of our land predates the other houses, and the HOA thanks to Lin Jing’s advice back in the day. Bastard finally did something right. Don’t tell him I said that,” he said pointing to Da Qing.

Da Qing snorted indignantly.

“That does not mean she won’t be trouble for us.” The wrinkle in between Shen Wei’s brows deepened. “What violations have we—”

“There’s nothing to worry your pretty little head about Baobei,” Zhao Yunlan said, shutting his laptop and rising from his chair. He tugged Shen Wei in close, running his nose along Shen Wei’s jaw lightly. “You let me take care of her.”

“What does taking care of her entail, exactly, Yunlan?” Shen Wei pressed, undeterred by his husband’s flirting.

“Nothing major.”

“The dumbass here is gonna run for HAO president,” Da Qing piped up. The filthy traitor.

“What?” Shen Wei pulled back so he could look at Zhao Yunlan properly.

And Zhao Yunlan just grinned in response, his eyes sparking with mischief.

Chapter Text

Lan Jia was cleaning up Qiao-er’s crafting table, humming softly along to the acoustic music playing from the speaker in the kitchen, when the doorbell rang once. She paused, listening. It was probably another one of those door to door salespeople selling solar panels or roof repair. Someone who would insist on speaking to a husband when there was none to be found.

Silence settled heavily around her, even her music had cut out for some strange reason. Normally, if it were a salesperson, they’d have rung the bell again. They could be terribly pushy sometimes. But no follow up ring came, and Lan Jia’s shoulders relaxed a little at the realization that maybe it was just an unexpected package. Something from her sister, or another relative across town.

She set down the basket she’d been loading Qiao-er’s art supplies into, and headed for the door. A quick peek through the peep hole showed no one standing waiting for her to answer, lending more credence to the idea that it was a delivery. So when she opened the door and was greeted by an irritated Mrooooow from the flat-faced oversized black cat sitting on her porch, Lan Jia nearly jumped out of her skin.

The cat blinked at her, unimpressed, as Lan Jia clutched her chest and tried to catch her breath.

Once she had calmed down enough to recognize the neighbors’ cat, she asked, “How did you get all the way over here?”

The cat’s only response was another slow blink.

“They really shouldn’t let you run around like this,” she told it, although by that point she wasn’t entirely sure why she was talking to a cat of all things. It wasn’t as if the creature could understand her. “You could get hit by a car.”

The cat stared at her, and if she didn’t know any better she’d say it looked incredulous. Which was impossible because cats didn’t know how to look incredulous. Then it lifted one paw in a motion that seemed entirely too regal for what amounted to some kind of feral alley cat, and batted at the basket Lan Jia hadn’t noticed at first.

The basket in question was at least double the size of the cat, and loaded with vegetables. Lan Jia frowned, and stepped out to take a look to either side of her porch. There was no indication that anyone had accompanied the cat. No car. No motorcycle—which was what Mister Zhao drove. Not even one of the neighbors’ relatives hanging about. Strange.

The cat let out another dissatisfied Mrooooow, as if annoyed with this whole thing, drawing Lan Jia’s attention back to the basket.

There was an envelope tied to the handle, and she scooped down to pick it up. The paper was thick, expensive, and on the front was her name in a neat row of Chinese characters with it written in English below in the same careful handwriting. Opening it she pulled a piece of perfectly folded paper from inside. Not notebook paper. Not legal pad paper. Stationary. Like the type a person would buy from a speciality shop.

Inside, in the same careful handwriting, there was a note that read:

Dear Ms. Lan,

My husband and I would like to formally invite you and your daughter over for dinner this evening at 7. If you are unable to attend, we completely understand. Simply respond via RSVP with Da Qing.

Thank you for your time,

Shen Wei

P.S. My husband would also like to thank you for your kindness in welcoming us to the community and thus has sent along a gift. We hope you enjoy these items from his garden.

Lan Jia opened the envelope again, and frowned at its emptiness. “How am I meant to RSVP without a response card?”

The cat meowed at her, its head tilted to one side as if listening.

“Are you meant to relay the message?” That seemed absolutely preposterous how could a cat—

The cat dipped its head in a single nod, and Lan Jia let out a nervous little laugh. She’d known her new neighbors were a strange lot. They’d have to be to move into that house, but this was just weird.

“All right then,” she told the cat, feeling ever more ridiculous by the minute. “Tell them we’ll be there.”

The cat responded by standing up, and waddling away, leaving Lan Jia to pick up the basket of vegetables, and drag it inside.

***

Lan Jia and Qiao-er arrived at 4 Bright Avenue at the exact same time as Mrs. Gomez who had just stepped up onto the front porch.

“Ticia,” Lan Jia called, and Mrs. Gomez turned to fix her with raised eyebrows. “Were you invited too?”

“Seems so,” Mrs. Gomez said, then she glanced down at the covered plate in Lan Jia’s hands. “Pineapple cookies?”

Lan Jia nodded with a smile, her eyes flicking down to the plate Mrs. Gomez was holding. “Magdalenas?”

Mrs. Gomez tipped her head to the side. “Wanted to make a good impression.”

“Of course,” Lan Jia agreed, stepping up next to her on the porch. “You just had to one up me didn’t you?”

Mrs. Gomez hummed. “You make it so easy,” she murmured, leaned over to bump Lan Jia lightly with her hip, and they were both laughing in a way they hadn’t in a while. Not since Lan Jia’s divorce. Not since Mr. Gomez’s funeral. Lan Jia felt oddly lighter than she had in such a long time.

They had just started to calm down into quiet giggles when Lan Jia asked, “did the cat deliver your invite too?” and they started up again.

“The cat?” Qiao-er asked.

The door opened a second later to reveal Mister Shen, looking impeccable as ever, an apron covering his neatly pressed shirt, and perfectly tailored slacks. He blinked at them, rather like the cat who’d delivered Lin Jia’s invitation, which did very little to kill the laughter.

“Mrs. Gomez.” He nodded politely. “Mrs. Lan. Good evening.”

“Sorry. Sorry,” Mrs. Gomez said, sucking down a breath to try to calm herself which Lan Jia mimicked. It only just barely helped her regain control of herself. “Hello Mister Shen.”

“Is that Mrs. Gomez I hear?” Mister Zhao called from further in the house, then between one blink and the next he seemed to appear over Mister Shen’s shoulder, a bright smile stretching his lips as he wrapped his arms around Mister Shen from behind, hooking his chin over Mister Shen’s shoulder to grin at them. “And Mrs. Lan and little  Qiao-er too! Right on time. Da Qing just finished setting the table.”

Lan Jia stilled, her fingers tightening around the platter she was holding. Did he just say the cat was setting the table?

“The meal is almost finished as well,” Mister Shen added.

“See? I told you it would all work out, Baobei.” Mister Zhao turned his head to press a kiss to the side of Mister Shen’s neck, his arms tightening around him to give him a squeeze. “I was right. As always.”

“Yes, as always,” Mister Shen agreed with a note of exasperated fondness. ”I should go finish up. See our guests in?” Mister Shen tilted his head to meet Mister Zhao’s eyes.

“Will do.” Mister Zhao pressed a firm kiss to his lips that lasted perhaps a beat too long, and only ended because Mister Shen, ears pink, pulled away to disappear back into the house. Then Mister Zhao turned to them. “Come in. Come in.” He gestured them inside, grinning more brightly when he noticed the trays in their hands. “Oh and you brought desserts! How thoughtful! Boabei,” he called over his shoulder, his voice so loud it made Lan Jia’s ears cringe, “they brought dessert!”

There was no response.

“I’m sorry,” Lan Jia murmured, slipping out of her shoes into the slippers by the door, “I must have heard incorrectly. Did you say your cat was setting the table?”

Mister Zhao didn’t answer, he simply took the plate from her hands, shot a wink at Qiao-er that made her giggle, then led the way through the house to the dining room which sat at the back, just off the kitchen. There was a young man there, in a pair of scruffy overalls, filling water glasses on a long dark-stained wood table. The walls in this room were much the same as the others Lan Jia had seen so far, green. But instead of trees, and mountains, this room had a single solitary mural on one wall of two giant trees next to a river, twisting together as they reached toward the sky, branches laden in lanterns that almost seemed to glow despite being painted.

It was actually kind of romantic.

“Da Qing,” Mister Zhao said, holding out the plates he’d taken from them. “Take these in to Shen Wei, we can have them later.”

So this is Da Qing. Maybe he was there when Lan Jia had received the invitation, and she just hadn’t seen him. Maybe he’d thought it’d be very funny to pretend the cat delivered them. That made more sense.

“I’m not your servant, you know,” Da Qing grumbled. He lifted the covering on Mrs. Gomez’s platter, his brows going up.

“Don’t eat them in the meantime!” Mister Zhao called after him, and Da Qing disappeared through a swinging door into what must have been the kitchen muttering under his breath.

“I thought Da Qing was your cat?” Qiao-er asked as she clambered up into a seat next to her mother.

“He is.” Mister Zhao turned the full force of his smile on them again. He was a very handsome man, despite the untidy way he presented himself. Effortlessly so. If someone was into that sort of thing, which it seemed Mister Shen was.

“But you just—”

“Thank you for inviting us,” Lan Jia said, hoping to cover her daughter’s rudeness before she could offend their hosts. “I don’t think we mentioned this the last time we were here, but you have a lovely home.”

Mrs. Gomez nodded her agreement.

“Why thank you!” Mister Zhao’s grin widened, a dimple appearing on his one cheek. “I’m glad you think so. Do you like the paint color of the siding?”

“It is… unique,” Lan Jia hedged. She didn’t love it. She thought it was a little dark, honestly. She knew for a fact it went against the HOA regulations. But it didn’t look bad, really, and at least they’d taken the time to paint the outside of the house instead of leaving it run down looking. All in all, the changes they’d made, in her opinion, might not be to her taste, but they were improvements nonetheless.

“Is Janette giving you trouble?” Mrs. Gomez asked, her eyes narrowing in a calculating way.

“Yes,” Mister Shen said as he entered the room, steaming dishes balanced precariously on his arms. Rice, and side dishes of all kinds. Da Qing followed behind with yet more plates, and soon everything was laid out beautifully in the middle of the table. “That is actually what we wanted to talk to you both about.”

“I was going to warm them up first, sweetheart,” Mister Zhao murmured, reaching for his husband and nearly toppling a dish of fish from his arms as he pulled him into his side so he could bump his head against Mister Shen’s ribs.

Mister Shen huffed a breath of amusement, and set down the plate before settling into the chair at his husband’s side. “No point in wasting time.”

“It’s rude,” Mister Zhao scolded gently. “You know how these things are done.”

Mister Shen’s eyes widened, and he turned to blink at Mister Zhao several times in quick succession as if startled. “Is it?”

Mister Zhao laughed, shaking his head. “You know damn well it is. Stop it with the innocent act.” Then he leaned in and nipped at the tip of his husband’s nose affectionately, and Mister Shen’s ears turned a startling shade of red again, his lashes fluttering.

“So Janette has been by to see you then,” Lan Jia pressed, hoping to break the tension before this devolved into something better not seen by Qiao-er. So far they’d kept their affection relatively child friendly, but there was something about the look in Mister Shen’s eyes that said that may not last very long if they went uninterrupted.

“Just the other day, in fact,” Mister Zhao said, letting go of his husband and turning his attention to filling Mister Shen’s plate for him. “Please, help yourselves.”

They were silent for a few moments as everyone began filling their plates, then Mrs. Gomez set down her fork, and returned their attention to the matter at hand. “What did she want?”

“Oh she had a whole list of things she didn’t like about our home,” Mister Zhao flapped his hand through the air. “Including my vegetable garden. Did you like the vegetables by the by?”

“They were very nice,” Mrs. Gomez nodded. “I’m sure they’ll make a lovely casserole.”

Mister Shen’s eyebrow twitched at the word casserole, but didn’t say anything.

“In the end, she threatened to put a lien on the place if we didn’t adhere to the HOA policies.”

“She did what?” Lan Jia dropped her chopsticks with a clatter. “We’ve never—”

“No. I didn’t think you had.” Mister Zhao nodded. “You two are on the HOA board right?”

“Low women on the totem pole, so to speak,” Mrs. Gomez grumbled. “Janette has had a strangle hold on it for years now.”

“But she’s never tried to put a lien on anyone’s property before,” Lan Jia said. “That’s pushing things too far.”

“Mama, what’s a lien?” Qiao-er asked.

“It’s when someone tries to take your home from you using the bank,” Mister Shen informed her gently.

“That’s terrible!”

“It is,” Mister Zhao agreed sagely. “And illegal besides. Our property is grandfathered out of the HOA as it happens. But that doesn’t mean she won’t cause trouble for us.”

“What are you going to do?” Lan Jia frowned. Janette was a mean spirited bully, but she’d never thought she’d go so far. Mister Zhao must have said something to really set her off. Not that it actually took much.

“Yunlan thought we might put our backing behind you two,” Mister Shen said, a little smile on his face. “You’ve both run before, haven’t you?”

“I—” Mrs. Gomez blinked, then turned to look at Lan Jia. How had he known that? “Yes, we have. For president and treasurer respectively. But no one has ever beat Janette—”

“Not yet, they haven’t,” Mister Zhao said, leaning forward. The air conditioning seemed to kick in just then, and the temperature in the room dropped a little, rustling the hairs on the back of Lan Jia’s neck. “But with me as your running mate, I’ve no doubt you’ll succeed.”

“You?” Lan Jia frowned. “But you just said that you’re grandfathered out of—”

“We are.” Mister Shen nodded firmly. “However, this piece of property is the largest in the neighborhood, and we do have a substantial contribution we can make to the community. It would be foolish for us not to be asked to join, wouldn’t it?”

“It would,” Mrs. Gomez agreed easily. A shrewd light in her eyes. Lan Jia was just glad she knew that Ticia Gomez was actually a decent, kind person—most of the time, everyone had their moments—otherwise she’d be very worried for both Mister Zhao and Mister Shen.

“Exactly!” Mister Zhao crowed. “So, what do you think ladies? Would you both like to join me in a bid for a hostile take over?”

Mrs. Gomez and Lan Jia looked at each other, then nodded. “Yes,” Lan Jia said. “I think it might be time for some real change.”

“Excellent!” Mister Zhao clapped, and a second later a summer rain started up outside without warning.

***

“Perhaps I would be better suited for a position on the board,” Shen Wei said, shifting closer to Zhao Yunlan’s warmth where they stood on their porch watching Mrs. Gomez, Mrs. Lan, and Lan Qiao return home.

“You’re busy, darling.” Zhao Yunlan pinched his side lightly. “You’ve got lessons, and the underworld. What do I have? Just Da Qing, who’s hardly here these days, and this house.”

“You still have your hand in the SID.”

“From time to time.” Zhao Yunlan shrugged. “But I think our new friends will take good care of us.”

“You had Lin Jing check up on them.”

“Of course I did.” Zhao Yunlan scoffed. “I had him check up on everyone in the neighborhood, including Janette Henderson. I’m not an idiot.”

“Maybe it would be better if I paid this Janette Henderson a visit,” Shen Wei said, and the shadows on the porch shifted. “It wouldn’t be any trouble. She seems the sort to have a delicate constitution.”

“No. No.” Zhao Yunlan twisted, grabbing Shen Wei by his hips until they were pressed together so tightly he could feel Shen Wei’s heart beating a slow and steady metronome against his chest. “That’s not sporting, love.”

Shen Wei scoffed, which was as good as a pout. “She threatened us.”

“She did. And she’ll pay for it.” Zhao Yunlan ducked his head to nibble along Shen Wei’s jaw. Shen Wei went still in his arms, a harsh inhale passing his lips. “But no gui or god level justice, my love. Not for someone who’s just a nuisance. We’re going to do this the normie way.”

“If you insist,” Shen Wei agreed, darkly.

“I do.” Zhao Yunlan punctuated the statement by pinching the skin beneath Shen Wei’s ear between his teeth, leaving behind a red mark. “Now enough of HOAs and bitchy housewives. Take me to bed.”

Shen Wei’s only response was to loop his arms tightly around Zhao Yunlan’s waist, and take a step back into the swirling shadows on their front porch.

And if Lan Jia looked back and saw them disappear right in front of her eyes? Well. That was just a trick of the light, wasn’t it?

Chapter Text

Working at Staples wasn’t exactly Michael’s dream job. What he wanted was to go into graphic design. Typography specifically. But art school wasn’t going to pay for itself, and microwave noodles got more expensive by the day. So there he was, half bent over the print counter at Staples, watching the air condition ruffle a display of stickers from across the store. On a Saturday evening.

It wasn’t even that he wanted to be out drinking with friends. He just didn’t want to be there. Saturday nights were always slow, and he wasn’t supposed to be on the schedule for them either way. He usually took Sundays. And yet. Here he was.

A quick glance at the clock told him he had about an hour until his shift was over and then he could disappear under the blankets on his couch, watch a drama, put the heating pad on his shoulder which he’d strained moving stock the other day, and forget this place existed. At least until he had to come into work again on Wednesday. But there was a photography class, and two separate art classes (still life and pastels) in between now and then. It seemed worlds away.

He just had to make it through the next hour.

And with no customers?

Easy peasy. No trouble at—

Balls.

The doors whooshed open, and two men walked in. The pair of them were both tall and lanky, although one carried with him the aura of a cage fighter in spite of how thin he was. Dressed head to toe in black, with a scarf wrapped several times around his neck, nearly hiding his gaunt cheeks. He looked more walking corpse than human. The other was, for lack of a better word, a bit of a dork. Gawky. Bowl cut. And a nervous twitch to his hands where they rested at his sides.

“We should have just made Lin Jing do this,” the cage fighter complained, a hand lifting to itch at his buzzed hair. “He’s the tech savvy one. You’re—” One look from the other seemed to silence him, and he let out a long exhale.

“I’m what?” the nervous one asked.

“Nothing. It’s nothing Chang-er. Can we just get this shit done so we can go to dinner?” He adjusted his scarf, his eyes jerking away from Chang-er’s until they fixed on the print department. “C’mon.”

Chang-er hummed his agreement, and adjusted the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder, his hand reaching out to grab the back of the other man’s flowy shirt and let him drag him across the store. “You know, Chu-ge, if you didn’t want to come you could have just stayed home.”

Chu-ge scoffed. “You’d be all night. And then we’d miss our—” He cut himself off this time, his ears going a little pink as he ducked his head to the machine. “Stop arguing.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“I wasn’t.”

Chu-ge spun around to shake a finger in Chang-er’s face. “Stop it.”

Chang-er blinked at him with wide eyes, but Michael would swear to the day he died there was a hint of a smile in his voice when he asked, “stop what?”

“You little bastard.” Chu-ge muttered to himself, and turned back to the computer. “What does Lao Zhao want on this shit anyway?”

Some shuffling in Chang-er’s messenger bag produced a sheet of paper with chaotically handwritten notes on both sides, which Chang-er held out to Chu-ge. “Let me do it. I think I’ve got this down, finally.”

Chu-ge let out a long-suffering sigh, but stepped back to give Chang-er access to the computer. He looked very much like he might be regretting every choice he’d ever made in his life, but he stuffed his hands into his pockets, and watched the other man from over his shoulder.

It was kind of sweet, actually, to watch. And sure, maybe Michael should have offered his help, but Chang-er sounded so sure of himself, with a hint of pride lacing his tone. And sure, yeah, okay so that was Michael’s first mistake.

His second mistake came a while later when Michael muttered to himself, “How long has he been at this?” and rubbed his face while looking up at the clock.

An hour and a half.

Chang-er had spent the last hour and a fucking half hunt and pecking his way through whatever the document was he was trying to type up. The store was supposed to be closed, but Michael wasn’t allowed to just kick out customers, that was against store policy. And he wasn’t dealing with fucking Kathrynn again. That’s how he got this shift in the first place.

So far the two men hadn’t even noticed he was there. They hadn’t asked for help with the computer. Hadn’t even acknowledge his existence. Chu-ge spent the time making gentle corrections so close to Chang-er’s ear that he may as well have put his chin on his shoulder, and Chang-er would laugh, backspace, start again. It was cute. It was also infuriating.

Raking his hands down his face until his fingers pulled at his lower lids, Michael took a deep, fortifying breath, forced on his best customer service smile, and skirted around the edge of the counter to approach them.

He didn’t even make it all the way across the print department before Chu-ge said, “I think we’ve got it, kid” in a cold, hard tone, entirely unlike any he’d used with Chang-er so far. “Don’t we Changcheng?”

Changcheng looked over his shoulder at Michael, and jerked, his eyes wide, face draining of color. He nudged Chu-ge, and the other man finally looked away from the screen to glare at Michael.

No. Not at Michael, he realized. Over Michael's shoulder.

Changcheng looked terrified about something over Michael’s shoulder. Michael spun to see what it was, half convinced he’d find a wolf spider on the print counter—again.

Nothing. He let out a breath of relief that turned into a hiss when his shoulder twinged as he turned back to them.

They weren’t looking at him anymore, they seemed to be having some kind of silent conversation exclusively through eye movements, and eyebrow raising. Eventually it was cut short when Changcheng said “Chu-ge” in a tone that left no room for argument, and didn’t quite match the soft-spoken nervous man Michael had assumed he was.

Chu-ge huffed an exhale, and spun back to Michael, a glint in his eyes Michael couldn’t explain if he wanted to. Were they glowing? What the fuck? No. That had to be a trick of the light. “Hold still.”

“What? Why?!” Michael shifted, ready to back away then turn and run for the counter.

“I said hold still.” Chu-ge snarled, and Michael froze, unable to move an inch. Like a deer caught in the headlights. Then Chu-ge took what looked to be a chicken bone—at least Michael hoped to fuck it was a chicken bone—from a hidden pocket, and spun it between his knuckles the way a gambler might a poker chip.

The lights above them flickered.

The air conditioner kicked on.

Goosebumps rose along Michael’s bare arms.

Chu-ge swatted at Michael’s shoulder, not getting near enough to touch, but near enough that Michael flinched, afraid of being hit. When he lowered his arms from where they were around his head, the chicken bone was gone, the lights had returned to normal, and the temperature in the store was no longer freezing.

“You should be good now,” Chu-ge said, like that made any fucking sense whatsoever.

“How’s your shoulder?” Changcheng asked.

Michael blinked for a long minute, then he rolled out his shoulder, and—

The twinge was gone. Weird.

“Umm. Good. I guess. Thanks?” How had they even known he was having an issue with that? And what fucked up cult shit had they just done to get rid of it? You know what? Better he not ask. Better he just help them get their whatever made and get out of there so he could go home and forget this ever happened.

Changcheng’s smile brightened, and Michael was probably seeing shit—again, what the fuck, had the gas station pre-made egg salad sandwich been tampered with somehow or was it just bad?—but he swore he saw a light flash from behind Changcheng’s ear. There and then gone.

“How about I help you guys with this?” Michael asked, hoping that the change in subject would get these two weirdos out of his store before they tried to recruit him.

“We don’t need any—”

“That would be wonderful. Thank you.” Changcheng nodded, and nudged his friend? Boyfriend? Husband? Whatever out of the way so Michael had access to the computer and the sheet of paper he’d brought with him.

What he found on the sheet was detailed instructions for posters to be made for a Home Owners’ Association race.

“You’re running for an HOA?” Michael frowned. They didn’t really strike him as suburb people.

“Our boss is,” Changcheng supplied.

“He’s not our boss anymore,” Chu-ge grumbled.

“Then why are we here?”

“Fair point.”

Changcheng nodded and returned his attention to Michael. “The woman who runs it hasn’t been very kind to them since they moved in. So Lao Zhao thought he’d give her a run for her money.” He shrugged. “Can you help us with that?”

Michael blinked. He wasn’t really supposed to design stuff for people. They had a guy for that—the guy was AI. But… Well. No one was going to know. He couldn’t exactly chase them out of the store anyway, could he? Kathrynn’s orders. And besides, Michael would never forget his own family’s run-in with the HOA when he was a kid. They’d made them take down their Halloween decorations because the Karen who was president had decided they were “gouache”, like she even knew what that meant.

So!

“I’ve got you.” Michael grinned, propped the paper up beside the screen, and set to work.

***

Forty-five minutes later, Changcheng and Chu Shuzhi walked out with five rolled up posters, a small stack of direct-mail postcards, and enough flyers to plaster the entire neighborhood. All of which had been very professionally designed by the nice young man at the Staples.

“You got his name, didn’t you?” Changcheng asked as he adjusted his hold on the stack of flyers.

“Yeah. Michael. Why?”

“Oh. No reason.” Changcheng smiled to himself.

Michael had done an excellent job, and he was very polite once he got past being scared about the little spirit that had attached itself to his shoulder. Changcheng was sure that once Zhao Yunlan and Shen Wei saw his work, they’d want to issue him a boon. Kindness should be returned in kind, after all, and mountain gods and their ghost king husbands usually worked faster than karma.

Chapter Text

There was just one way out. A single road to freedom.

And it only had room for one person.

Shi Nan understood that. Perhaps better than anyone else in her life. Her husband, the monster that he was, thought there was no escape. Not for her. And not for her son. He was mistaken, and in the end, it would cost him. In the end he’d not just lose his wife, he’d also lose his heir.

It would serve him right.

The groundwork had been laid.

Fei Du was on the radar of the underworld and the Soul Executing Emissary.

There was a trust fund set aside where his father couldn’t touch it. Enough money for him to go to any college he wanted, or to buy a house and start a family instead if he decided to go that route right away.

He would be better off without her, she knew that. Taken care of. And with this act he would be shoved onto the path she’d chosen for him. The one that would save at least one of them. Let at least one of them know happiness, and light, and freedom.

If anyone deserved that, it was her son. Only ten now. Still young enough to heal from all that his father had done to him. Still with so much good left in him that his father had yet been unable to quash.

She’d made the choice about a year ago, to take her own life and set Fei Du free, when he came to her with his eyes glassy with tears, his body shaking, feathers sticking to his bloody hands. They were hunters by nature, panther yao were carnivores, it was in their very DNA. But they were never cruel.

Cruelty was a distinctly human failing. One that spread like a virus to their kind—to a man who she’d thought of as sweet and kind once upon a time. People changed. Some for the better. Some for worse. And her husband’s cruelty, his greed, had been enough to nearly break her son.

She wouldn’t have it. She would not ruin Fei Du before he ever had a chance to live. She would save him.

All of her other tasks were complete…

Her goodbyes were said, and written. Fei Du knew who to call if there was trouble, he had memorized the number for the paranormal SID offices weeks ago. She’d made sure her husband was away for the time being. The house keeper had been sent home. Fei Du’s bags were packed.

There was just one thing left to do…

***

“Slow down, I can’t understand what you’re saying,” Da Qing hissed into the phone. He hadn’t bothered to shift from his cat form, just knocked the phone off the cradle to answer it.

“She’sgoneandIdon’tknowwhatodoI’mallaloneheremydadisn’thomeand—”

“I said slow down!”

The child on the other side of the line squeaked.

“Give me that,” Yunlan snarled, grabbing the phone from where it rested on the table to put up to his ear. “First, take a breath with me, kid. Can you do that?”

The child on the other side of the line made a soft, sobbing sound of assent. And it was a child. Yunlan would guess anywhere from 8 to 12. He couldn’t tell what gender, and it didn’t really matter. The bigger question was why the fuck was a kid calling the paranormal division of the SID?

“All right, good. Inhale,” he accompanied the word with a deep inhale of his own, making sure the kid could hear it through the phone. Then he waited a beat, before continuing, “exhale.”

The kid let out a loud whooshing breath that shook.

“Better?”

“She’s gone,” they said when they finally seemed to have better control over themself.

“Who’s gone?” Yunlan snapped his fingers at Chu Shuzhi until the man handed over a pad of paper and a pen. “And where are you?”

“My mom!” The words burst out of them with another hitched breath. “My mom is gone!”

“Okay. Okay. Breathe.” Yunlan scratched a note onto the pad asking Lin Jing to trace the call just in case the kid didn’t know their address. He waited until he heard the kid take another shaking inhale. “Good job. You’re doing an excellent job.”

The kid squeaked.

“Can you tell me where you are?”

“At home.”

“Okay. Where is home?”

The kid rattled off an address that Yunlan scratched onto the paper. He tapped it, and looked to Lin Jing who nodded that it was correct. Yunlan tapped it again, and Lin Jing rolled his eyes but he snagged Yunlan’s cell phone from him and set about typing it in to get him directions.

“Good job. Now, last thing, what’s your name kid?”

“Fei Du.”

“Nice to meet you, Fei Du. I’m Zhao Yunlan, and I’m on my way, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Is it all right if I hand you off to another officer while I’m driving? I promise Xiao-Gou is super nice.” Yunlan lifted his brows at Gou Changcheng who nodded firmly.

Fei Du let out a long breath, the speaker rustling as if they had nodded. “Okay.”

“Good. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

***

It took him less than ten minutes, because Yunlan wasn’t fucking around with traffic when there was a distressed kid calling him for help. So of course he’d used a little bit of his godly powers to get there more quickly? How? That’s none of your business.

The address, when he got there, was for a large manor. Two giant stone panther statues guarded the gate which had been left open. The front door, too, was cracked. The lights inside were all turned off, only the watery sunshine from an overcast sky lending any illumination to the echoing vestibule.

“Fei Du?” Yunlan called, his fingers twitching at his sides, ears homed to any changes in sound or pressure. The plants, what few of them there were, didn’t scream danger, so he was probably fine, but it paid to be cautious. And even if they weren’t screaming about immediate danger, they were whispering sorrow. Whimpering with pain. Something wrong had happened here, had been happening here, something that left a mark.

“In here,” a small voice responded, still a little strangled by their upset.

Yunlan followed the voice into the large open plan room beyond the vestibule. The child, a boy, he realized now, stood stock still, a phone held up to his ear. He was staring, wide-eyed, at something Yunlan couldn’t—

He was staring at the place where a body hung from a rafter in the ceiling. A woman’s body.

My mom is gone!

Well. Fuck. Yunlan didn’t wait, he crossed the space in two steps that ate up more ground than a normal person’s might, and put himself in between Fei Du and his mother, his height effectively blocking the little boy’s view.

“Hey, kid,” he said gently. Normally, when he dealt with kids, he would crouch down, get on their eye level. But he didn’t want Fei Du to stand there, staring at his dead mother, for one second longer than he had to. “I’m Zhao Yunlan. But you can just call me Yunlan, okay?”

Fei Du nodded, then pointed to himself, “Fei Du.”

“A’Du—do you mind if I call you A’Du?”

Fei Du blinked up at him, eyes so wide in his little face that Yunlan wondered if he’d ever been called that before. Then he shook his head. “I don’t mind.”

“Okay, A’Du, I’m going to take you out to my car while I make some more calls. I’ll get my team out here, and we’ll get this sorted. You don’t need to worry about this.”

“What about a-niang?”

“We’re going to look after her too,” Yunlan promised. He ushered the boy to turn around and head for the door. “How old are you, A’Du?”

“Ten.”

“Good age,” Yunlan murmured softly as he opened the door to the passenger seat. “I’ve got some snacks in the glove compartment. Do you like pretzels?”

Fei Du shrugged.

“Well we’ll find out.” Yunlan pulled the little snack bag out, and opened it for the kid before calling Chu Shuzhi. “Give me everything you have on this kid’s family, and quick. I also need a team down here. We’ll need normie intervention, and to find someplace for the kid to— Hey A’Du where’s your other parent?”

Fie Du shrugged again.

There was rapid typing in the background. “Well. Looks like it’s better we not call his dad,” Chu Shuzhi said, an unusual edge to his voice.

“Why not?” Yunlan stepped away from the car, but stayed in sight so the kid would know where he was if he went looking.

“This guy’s got a file already. He’s in our system for an investigation into domestic violence and child abuse.”

“What happened with that?”

“They couldn’t find any proof. But Shen Laoshi’s people have been keeping an eye on him.”

“Of course he has, the softie,” Yunlan muttered to himself, scratching at the scruff along his jaw. Fuck. This was a mess. “Do we have anyone who can look after the kid until we get this mess sorted?”

“No.”

“What about you and—”

“Absolutely not. We don’t have room for a kid. And before you ask, Zhu Hong doesn’t live in his school district. Lin Jing is pretty much a child himself. And Da Qing lives with you. So who do you think is going to be taking him in?”

“Fuck. Okay.”

***

The door to 4 Bright Avenue opened with a loud creak that echoed in the large foyer. But what Fei Du found on the other side wasn’t the hollowness of a home that was just for show. What he found was a man in a neatly pressed pair of slacks, a dress shirt, and glasses holding a black cat in his arms. There was something other about him. Something that whispered danger and darkness, but didn’t make Fei Du afraid.

The man smiled gently, and Yunlan’s hand gave Fei Du’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze.

“Hello Fei Du,” the man said, tilting his head in a dip that felt like more respect than Fei Du had ever received from an adult. “I’m Shen Wei. Welcome to our home.”