[ A fine artifact, under their circumstances, tip as a needle-thorn. He watches the spear connect to rope, sees it land, catch purchase. There is a moment when he thinks the tree that was blindly selected will not hold, that they've struck it in its brittle husked frailty — that the it will split and sunder, and the spear will slip down.
It does not. Xie Yun runs the cord taut. And Lan Wangji, painfully divided between the instinct to summon Bichen and redirect his qi from healing unto flight, and that to attempt the impossible of walking the rope — he decides.
A slow first step, teasing. His footwork is immaculate for sword dance, but flimsy for this, too artistic. His arms come unbalanced. He had thought his posture rigid, but finds he has been — unkempt in how he carries himself, until he starts to correct himself, one foot, then the other, and his arms parallel, then, once he avails himself of the initial trepidation, flattened at his side.
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It does not. Xie Yun runs the cord taut. And Lan Wangji, painfully divided between the instinct to summon Bichen and redirect his qi from healing unto flight, and that to attempt the impossible of walking the rope — he decides.
A slow first step, teasing. His footwork is immaculate for sword dance, but flimsy for this, too artistic. His arms come unbalanced. He had thought his posture rigid, but finds he has been — unkempt in how he carries himself, until he starts to correct himself, one foot, then the other, and his arms parallel, then, once he avails himself of the initial trepidation, flattened at his side.
He walks slowly, to his discredit. ]
Apologies. I stall you.