For a moment, he finds himself watchful, staring — appreciating, with rare fondness, the gladness of the boy before him, the wondrous incandescence of his innocence.
"Three," he concedes, edge of awe silvering his voice, not at the feat that Sizhui proposes, but at his jovial disposition. And from whence did he learn it? Not from Lan Wangji, melancholy. Not from Uncle, pragmatic. Perhaps from Xichen, though his brother hides a meticulously crafted blade's edge beneath his velvets and brocade.
Then again, blood will tell, and there is sun in Sizhui, red and black and laughter. The stiffness of Cloud Recesses is not his heirloom.
"You attempt the impossible," he offers, unaccusing. Yunmeng and his father's work, through and through. Carefully, unbidden, Lan Wangji peels out his qiankun purse to offer four spare pieces of parchment, scantly used.
"Use freely. Your senior Wei," ignore the tight roll of his eyes, "prefers blood."
no subject
For a moment, he finds himself watchful, staring — appreciating, with rare fondness, the gladness of the boy before him, the wondrous incandescence of his innocence.
"Three," he concedes, edge of awe silvering his voice, not at the feat that Sizhui proposes, but at his jovial disposition. And from whence did he learn it? Not from Lan Wangji, melancholy. Not from Uncle, pragmatic. Perhaps from Xichen, though his brother hides a meticulously crafted blade's edge beneath his velvets and brocade.
Then again, blood will tell, and there is sun in Sizhui, red and black and laughter. The stiffness of Cloud Recesses is not his heirloom.
"You attempt the impossible," he offers, unaccusing. Yunmeng and his father's work, through and through. Carefully, unbidden, Lan Wangji peels out his qiankun purse to offer four spare pieces of parchment, scantly used.
"Use freely. Your senior Wei," ignore the tight roll of his eyes, "prefers blood."
A bad habit long perpetuated.