It is incredibly selfish of him, he knows, to use this as an excuse to channel an incoming panic attack into something useful instead of shameful. As he descends at the mouth of the pier his trembling hand steadies out of necessity, which is what he wants, and he loses himself in the dance of death played with corpses that lose more limbs than heads in a macabre dervish above the water. Xichen trusts Wei Wuxian and so does not glance behind himself, focusing instead on thinning the rising tide. If he does not, who will? People will die, assuredly, but the more he hews at flesh and bone, the more he may be able to keep safe in this accursed realm.

He fights as if carving a path home for him and Wangji, clearing his smog-choked heart of its echoes (a-Yao) in lieu of a single purpose. It lasts longer than he first intended. Panting by the time he retreats, he makes his way to Wei Wuxian, concern rising for him. Xichen should not have indulged his cowardice so long.