( A simple truth, easily bidden of Zewu-Jun's fragile, dignified mouth. And he remembers, oh, Lan Wangji remembers what it means to be the brother of the better man, of the leader of a sect: that they spend an incense stick's burn of each evening in wait of the master exorcists and curse breakers who cleanse Zewu-Jun's quarters of evil and inspect them of the slightest trickle of poisoned malice. That they assign him the wealth of an escort, at all times. That Zewu-Jun declines the caution of a dish taster, but only eats from the table of his hosts at great fetes.
That Lan Wangji watches and waits and knows he is a spare and dreads the looming possibility of becoming heir — xiandu on this day, leader of all sects above even his native Gusu Lan, for a farce of convenience. Rank will not stay with him, strips his skin and bristles his bones.
He has the privilege of shedding an unwanted existence. Zewu-Jun can never be less than what a precarious alignment of constellations made of him. No less, Lan Wangji accepts with the slow, feline tipping of his head, can Anduin. )
Rank is as nothing here.
( Breathe. A crown sprawls in silvered filigree atop Lan Wangji's hair, even now. Wei Ying's choosing, but the symbol persists. And what does it matter, what will base metal win Wangji? Blood will not stay unspilled for his voice here, soldiers will not join his banner.
The great men of one world slip to their knees just as prettily as the beggars of another. )
no subject
( A simple truth, easily bidden of Zewu-Jun's fragile, dignified mouth. And he remembers, oh, Lan Wangji remembers what it means to be the brother of the better man, of the leader of a sect: that they spend an incense stick's burn of each evening in wait of the master exorcists and curse breakers who cleanse Zewu-Jun's quarters of evil and inspect them of the slightest trickle of poisoned malice. That they assign him the wealth of an escort, at all times. That Zewu-Jun declines the caution of a dish taster, but only eats from the table of his hosts at great fetes.
That Lan Wangji watches and waits and knows he is a spare and dreads the looming possibility of becoming heir — xiandu on this day, leader of all sects above even his native Gusu Lan, for a farce of convenience. Rank will not stay with him, strips his skin and bristles his bones.
He has the privilege of shedding an unwanted existence. Zewu-Jun can never be less than what a precarious alignment of constellations made of him. No less, Lan Wangji accepts with the slow, feline tipping of his head, can Anduin. )
Rank is as nothing here.
( Breathe. A crown sprawls in silvered filigree atop Lan Wangji's hair, even now. Wei Ying's choosing, but the symbol persists. And what does it matter, what will base metal win Wangji? Blood will not stay unspilled for his voice here, soldiers will not join his banner.
The great men of one world slip to their knees just as prettily as the beggars of another. )