( He closes his eyes, letting himself bask in a moment of borrowed and allied warmth; unbathed, perhaps, but not unclean. One sleeping child on him and nestling inward with his lean to Lan Zhan's shoulder, and the other one near, child's breath easy in his ears. It's comfortable, bones and angles and slightly less raw edges included, and he curls his lips into a smile that's laughter gone unvoiced. Reaches one hand out to pat Lan Zhan's leg because it's less contorting, easier like this. )

No man can, alone. Not even supported. Just... where we can.

( He opens his eyes, stares down on the fine dark hairs of the yao's head, of Qingshan's head. What millennia past had seem them at these ages? Lan Zhan consigned to his uncle's embrace, his brother's besides. Wei Wuxian to his parents, loving and wandering, dead within the span of years that follow.

Lan Zhan doesn't raise orphans. Wei Wuxian remembers that much. )

Is it not worthwhile, to lend help where we can?

( Where there is a need, and it's not the shifting of a world and society to see it granted, instead of suffocated? To the death the Wens had been consigned to, to the silence of the years and crimes thereafter. Buried under the Greater Good, the things which were accomplished, because the world never ceases to move forward. Time, the world, waits for no person, no matter how much they want it to.

It does pause, inhale, reflect, for others. )

There are enough small ways to help. Justice needn't be in grand gestures.

( Justice... might... sometimes be in collapsing tunnels... and setting ghosts and haunts and wraiths and the rest of what lingers, willing or otherwise, once death and claimed the body. )