( That, Beitang Moran may agree to forgive him, Lan Wangji does not trouble himself to translate. The dead are afforded enough violence, unkindness and cruelty — they want and earned better than the cut of a stranger's wit.
He plays, thereafter, notes in negotiated synchrony, some reedy, some shrewd. A handful more for the sake of routine and moderation than the success of even play. The ghost answers him with difficulty — less for disgust of him, though contempt lines her growling mouth at every heartbeat, than for ill recollection.
She remembers living, in a youth long gone. The day has fled her. The decade. She did not die well. ( They all died so very poorly. )
When it is done, Wangji feels it like burden on his lungs, the next breath impossibly, improbably deepened. Shrill. )
She wishes to hurt as she has been hurt. ( And before master Moran may misunderstand him: ) Not she. The one who first preceded them all.
no subject
He plays, thereafter, notes in negotiated synchrony, some reedy, some shrewd. A handful more for the sake of routine and moderation than the success of even play. The ghost answers him with difficulty — less for disgust of him, though contempt lines her growling mouth at every heartbeat, than for ill recollection.
She remembers living, in a youth long gone. The day has fled her. The decade. She did not die well. ( They all died so very poorly. )
When it is done, Wangji feels it like burden on his lungs, the next breath impossibly, improbably deepened. Shrill. )
She wishes to hurt as she has been hurt. ( And before master Moran may misunderstand him: ) Not she. The one who first preceded them all.