( This is the work of a greater thing, a deeper cunning. Beitang Moran strikes, but a second, thoroughly-rooted force compensates where his blow, his hand lacks certainty.
In Cloud Recesses, this would be grounds for disqualification from contest, performance, exercise. It would reduce a man to his lackings, to the need to improve in the here and the now. Skill is not that which is buttressed by communion with strength unseen. Mastery stands alone.
And yet, the fox bride falls, limp as a wet knot of laundered rags, and it's all Lan Wangji can do — blurr of sky blues, the catch perfunctory — to break her fall in his arms, and rest her abed the dance of lights trapped on wood lacquer. She convulses once, again. Death is a sickly thing, fever growing. When she gasps her last, reedy, Lan Wangji whispers her to sweet sleep.
Heartbeats spill between them. He raises his gaze, to see this man who has held himself back once before already —
And stills, burdened by warmth in his arms. Says: )
no subject
In Cloud Recesses, this would be grounds for disqualification from contest, performance, exercise. It would reduce a man to his lackings, to the need to improve in the here and the now. Skill is not that which is buttressed by communion with strength unseen. Mastery stands alone.
And yet, the fox bride falls, limp as a wet knot of laundered rags, and it's all Lan Wangji can do — blurr of sky blues, the catch perfunctory — to break her fall in his arms, and rest her abed the dance of lights trapped on wood lacquer. She convulses once, again. Death is a sickly thing, fever growing. When she gasps her last, reedy, Lan Wangji whispers her to sweet sleep.
Heartbeats spill between them. He raises his gaze, to see this man who has held himself back once before already —
And stills, burdened by warmth in his arms. Says: )
...she stirs.