( Yet you laughed. He is not Wei Ying, so easily lent to flirtation, relief and entertainment to the maidens who encounter him. Not a scholar of wit, not a poet, a bard.

And yet, even Lan Wangji, thoughts scattered and fingers too tightly curled to capture purchase on iced ground, trying to raise himself — even he can accept the heart-warming splendour of lightening her spirits. )

You gave no name.

( Neither did Lan Wangji, succumbed to the more troubling distraction of staying alive. Who knew survival could be so discourteous? All the time, she seems young in ways his bones barely remember. She may introduce herself first. )