The Scholar and the Brawler
Lu Meng manages a full schedule of research and teaching. Cao Ren supervises his cousin's business and schools the local riffraff. A bad day crosses their paths with potential for friendship and more.
Set in a gay-friendly modern alternate universe. Rated T for language and eventual romantic situations.
The bus jolted over a bump in the road, shaking Lu Meng out of slumber. He yawned and stretched, trying to get rid of the crick in his neck. At least the day was done, which was more than he could say for it earlier.
Meng had gone to university to finish some work. He left with a heap of frustration. A forgetful colleague had not yet returned the journals Meng had been referencing. Around interruptions from a loudmouth who ignored the office hours sign on his door, Meng had red-penned a whopping eight essays from his World History students before getting pulled into a meeting that ran in circles for the rest of the afternoon. He had fought sleep all the way through said meeting and given up on the way home.
The bustling city panorama outside was difficult to place. A convenience store looked familiar, but the nearby intersection did not. Nor did various shops that Meng never recalled seeing on this route he took several times a week.
Just when he thought his luck couldn't get any worse, Meng had slept through his stop.
Meng disembarked at the next subway station, frowning at the YOU ARE HERE dot in an unfamiliar corner of the map. He had napped long enough to wind up on the other side of the city. Judging from the tangled route ahead of him, the trip back would take at least half an hour.
Judging from the growl in his stomach, his waking hunger would become a beast by the time he arrived. Meng had skipped breakfast, grabbed a sandwich for lunch, and found no time for anything more substantial between the annoyances of his day. He sighed. On top of everything else, his kitchen was overdue for restocking. Dinner at home would be more like making do with a can of soup and some cereal.
The bus had passed by several restaurants within walking distance of the subway. Meng stopped at the closest, a hole in the wall called Paragon, and ruled out the others with a glance over the menu displayed next to the door. The food selection conjured enticing thoughts of homemade noodles, fresh-baked bread, and tender meat zesty with herbs and a hint of char from the grill.
Tucked away in the building's basement, Paragon was a cozy den well-appointed in dark wood and plush carpet. Hidden fixtures cast low, warm light over booths, sturdy tables, and a gathering of formally dressed people in a corner of the room. Meng ran a hand through his windblown hair, wishing he would have bothered to pull it back, and swatted at the wrinkles in his khakis and flannel shirt. He scratched his stubble as if it could retract back into his face. When the dapper, bow-tied host took brisk strides in his direction, Meng half expected to be rudely informed of a dress code.
Instead, the man smiled. "Would you like a table, sir?"
And he showed Lu Meng to a booth and whisked the professor's worn leather satchel into the coat room for safekeeping.
"I told you." Yuan Shu sprayed crumbs on the table as he talked through a mouthful of bread. "I've been telling you. I just want a fair deal is all."
Cao Ren leveled his gaze. "And we've been offering you one. We haven't even asked you to pay for the repairs needed to meet building code although it should be your expense. After all, you were responsible for neglecting the property."
Yuan Shu smirked at his nephew. "You hear that, Xi? First he wants to rip us off, now he's going to flush all his money down the drain when he gets his hands on that shithole."
"When, you say, as opposed to if?" Cao Cao piped up. "So you do agree to our proposal."
"No! I never said that. What, you have cement for brains like that blockheaded friend of yours?"
Cao Ren went back to eating dinner as his boss took over the conversation. Sure. Cement for brains for refusing to be bent over a barrel, kicked in the nether regions, and rolled downhill. Cao Cao wasn't about to fold. Even as a kid, Ren's cousin could talk his way out of trouble like no other. He would get sent to detention, leave with a graham cracker and a gold star for behaving himself, and be dismissed with mild parental annoyance when he got home. With a business degree and a modest startup loan, Cao had parlayed his shrewdness into a thriving property management firm. Just out of high school without a career in mind, Cao Ren had jumped on board as an assistant. Between his organizational skills and his knack for winning cooperation from angry tenants, reluctant service technicians, and difficult colleagues, Ren worked his way up to a comfortable position as an asset manager.
If anyone at the table had a skull full of inert gray matter, it would be the crumb-spewing, gaudy-suited buffoon across from them. Under Yuan Shao's leadership, Noble Enterprises had lived up to its name. Its properties, including the shithole under negotiation, had been reasonably priced and well-maintained. When Shao retired and handed over the reins to his cousin, the downward spiral began. Yuan Shu jacked up rent and put off repairs until buildings threatened to collapse into a pile of tissue paper walls and drafty windows. He refused to fix anything else. As far as he was concerned, the anything in question would inevitably get smashed or torn up or pissed on. Better to bribe housing inspectors and evict whiny tenants, throwing a pittance at the few who threatened lawsuits. The leftover cash went to bullying more owners into selling their property.
Thus turned the money machine at the expense of those with the least to give, feeding the formerly Noble empire as its cancerous blight spread throughout the city. And the disputed canker of an apartment building, right in the middle of the community where the Caos had lived since childhood, was too close to home for comfort.
"I think they're being perfectly fair," Zhen Ji interjected. "You told me that place cost more to maintain than-"
Yuan Xi shot her a pointed look. "Did I bring you here to talk?"
Zhen Ji pressed her lips together and focused on the remains of her salad. Who on earth knew what this stately woman saw in a lummox like Yuan Xi, but her presence at the meeting was no mystery. Cao Pi's attention had been drifting into the low-cut neckline of her slinky silk dress all night. The kid had inherited Cao Cao's libido, but his father's discretion would have to be learned. Pi concealed his wandering eye as well as Cao Ren's cat hid during thunder storms, sticking his head under the bed while the rest of him huddled in a gray loaf on the floor.
Ren hoped he was more adept at hiding his glances at the fellow across the room eating dinner alone. His tousled dark hair was long over his shirt collar, his profile chiseled, his eyes thoughtful under knitted brows. Those eyes met Ren's and dropped back to the table before he could make any sense of their expression.
The conversation droned on until Yuan Shu made a big show of shoving his chair back and standing up. "Maybe we should just leave, seeing as you're not really interested in a deal."
"You do that, then." Cao Cao raised his hand for the check.
"Wait!" Yuan Shu lunged over the table to stop him, prompting a glare from Xiahou Dun. Some years back, Dun's short-leashed temper had cost him an eye. He focused the remaining one on his cousin's well-being.
Cao Ren resisted a smile as Yuan Shu settled down. Though Shu continued to play his broken record of baloney until the meeting reached an ambiguous conclusion, his outburst had made the eventual outcome clear. He was in no position to bend anyone over a barrel after all.
Lu Meng twirled the few remaining bits of pasta onto his fork and savored the last bite of dinner. He signaled a waiter, stacking his empty plates while he waited.
"Would you care for coffee or dessert?"
"Just the check, please." Even if Meng had saved any room, it was long past time to go home.
"Very well." The waiter retrieved the bill and Meng's satchel, handling it with the care and flourish one would expect for a designer briefcase.
Meng set a wad of cash on the table and left the restaurant, full of delicious food and pleasant thoughts of that businessman with a square, broad-featured face and stocky build to match. His eyes had remained calm throughout heated blustering from others at the table, and Meng could have sworn they lingered on him once or twice. Not that glances across a room had to mean anything, much less lead anywhere, but there was no harm in enjoying the memory. And perhaps Meng would run into the stranger again. That fettuccine was some of the best he'd ever eaten, well worth another late evening sometime in the future.
It had grown dark, and hieroglyphic layers of neon glared in the dimness of the streets. Meng picked up his pace, telling himself to put a lid on the paranoia. Nobody was following behind. Nobody was sneaking up on him. He simply disliked being out late and not knowing where he was, especially when he had so much work to do at home.
The subway station was a fluorescent oasis in the neighborhood's unfamiliarity. Meng reviewed his route and then headed for the stairs. A hard shove sent him tumbling down as his satchel was ripped from his hand. By the time he stopped the fall and righted himself, it was too late. Aside from a couple of curious onlookers who walked off as Meng got up and brushed the dirt from his clothing, the stairwell mouth was an empty rectangle.
Meng bumbled his way downstairs in a half-blind haze, the bliss of dinner forgotten under storm clouds lowering in his head. By all appearances, his missed stop had been light at the end of the tunnel he'd slogged through all day.
It turned out to be the cruelest joke of all. Meng had actually been looking up a sewer pipe with no way to know the difference until he got bowled over in a flood of shit.
Meng slid into a window seat on the train, sagging back against the headrest to stare at the bland darkness of the tunnel. Floor crud streaked his pants, which had been fresh out of the dryer this morning. Lumps on his legs ached dully, sure to bruise up into painful Technicolor within the next few days. Dinner weighed in his stomach like concrete at thoughts of the sticky notes throughout his books and the research drafts on his laptop. All those coffee-fueled nights of poring over fine print for a rare quote or nugget of insight, all that text unraveled from the Gordian knots of analysis spun in his head - gone and wasted in one act of petty theft.
And though the thief had added injury on top of insult, nobody had seemed to care. No one had even hollered to see if Meng needed help. A random stranger couldn't have done much for him. Meng had a ride home and a way to get in because his transit pass and keys were zipped in a pants pocket that he thankfully hadn't landed on during the bumpy trip downstairs.
Still, it was the thought that counted, and sometimes it didn't count enough. So much for the notion that Meng's missed stop had turned into a lucky find.
So much for serendipity.