( Find him. The instinct, itch unscratched, low burning. Prickled skin and the saccharine, read pulse of spreading infection. The wind whistles, reedy, and in white-cold he comes alive, like candle light, keening.

Wei Ying did not invite this, did not wake the animal who livens his bones. Knows better. They both ever know better, that there lives beneath Lan Wangji's skins a monster with his father's face. But Wei Ying, too, did not refute him.

Underfoot, husked branches crackle and coo and break, when his step heavies, then lightens, flitting from corner to corner. Hunting, more than searching. Easy, easy, fast. He sees him like a fragment of light breaking, Wei Ying bride-ride and his mouth blooded. No, smeared. No, asking.

They crash. He collides them — knocks Wei Ying down, Lan Wangji's hand to his nape, cushioning to break the petty abrasions of the fall. Other elbow to Wei Ying's belly, pushed in, chaining down, Lan Wangji's own weight his foremost weapon. Crisp flash of his teeth is bright gleaming. )

Yield. ( But they're rolling, fumbling, fallen. Down. )