( This is his part, then. Unbidden, ornamental. To drift his hand up to his lover's cheek and know the affection better earned than the status, and exorcise away each hair, each sliver of dishevelment that mars Wei Ying. One by one by one. Carefully, as if he does not attend to a former first disciple, an instrument of Nie Mingjue's war, a conqueror of Nightless City, a patriarch of a sect fresh-born, a revenant, death-made-man.
You could not tell it, for the fresh, revived softness of Wei Ying's cheek. Mo Xuanyu has spared you a wealth of weathering, years of physical maturity. At least this, that they have sixteen name days as a running advantage, to race towards the solution that will name the Yiling Patriarch a once and forever immortal.
It will happen, somehow, with or without a core. Certain miracles require Wangji's conviction to prove immutable. He does not ask for this now, with milling men and an exasperated dragon nudging their backs and flanks with its great, wet nose, so they might kindly move on and not stagger the queue. )
My son's laughter.
( Pretty, crystalline, moderate, restrained. Warm, for all of it, because diligence is the root and discipline the virtue, but blood too will tell, and he is Wen, he is Yiling. They could not amputate his vitality, for all Lan Wangji served him as model of indifference.
He aches, one day, to confess the sin of his failures. How he was present in body, but not sound of mind, never the father Lan Sizhui required until the midday of Lan Wangji's grief, until years on. Not today. He shudders, softens. )
no subject
( This is his part, then. Unbidden, ornamental. To drift his hand up to his lover's cheek and know the affection better earned than the status, and exorcise away each hair, each sliver of dishevelment that mars Wei Ying. One by one by one. Carefully, as if he does not attend to a former first disciple, an instrument of Nie Mingjue's war, a conqueror of Nightless City, a patriarch of a sect fresh-born, a revenant, death-made-man.
You could not tell it, for the fresh, revived softness of Wei Ying's cheek. Mo Xuanyu has spared you a wealth of weathering, years of physical maturity. At least this, that they have sixteen name days as a running advantage, to race towards the solution that will name the Yiling Patriarch a once and forever immortal.
It will happen, somehow, with or without a core. Certain miracles require Wangji's conviction to prove immutable. He does not ask for this now, with milling men and an exasperated dragon nudging their backs and flanks with its great, wet nose, so they might kindly move on and not stagger the queue. )
My son's laughter.
( Pretty, crystalline, moderate, restrained. Warm, for all of it, because diligence is the root and discipline the virtue, but blood too will tell, and he is Wen, he is Yiling. They could not amputate his vitality, for all Lan Wangji served him as model of indifference.
He aches, one day, to confess the sin of his failures. How he was present in body, but not sound of mind, never the father Lan Sizhui required until the midday of Lan Wangji's grief, until years on. Not today. He shudders, softens. )
Bury him under rabbits.