Wei Wuxian moved as a creature to be hunted, only aware of it, sliding between shadows and within the pauses of dreams and nightmares to tread light, unheard, among the village homes. Lan Zhan made his domicile available before he'd also taken one of the walls in Wei Wuxian's erstwhile home down, the insect-devoured interior unable to hold up to one act of passion. Never underestimate the strength of a open palm hitting a wall, or any other flat surface, he supposes, but he's conserving energy as he slips to the wall around the back garden, and squints through the shadows.

"Remind me," he says, a murmur that carries only enough for very nearby ears to hear, "Which hedge is hiding that bamboo ladder again?"