( In truth, wind whipping, neither does Lan Wangji favour flight. Swords are thin, threadbare, volatile. storms hinder progress, the flier's posture is either at all times tense, stiff or wobbled. Cultivators must reroute their qi towards purpose, sitting empty-handed and targets for attacks airborne.

It is... a difficult endeavour, but they both settle on their swords, and Bichen leads, advance expedited. In the end, all is water, blood, bodies. Remains. Lan Wangji crosses the distance, until here lies the beauty, the peak of hospitality — his... cave.

He stops, loose-mouthed and eyes downcast, slipping off his blade and calling her to hand, before the open straw door. )

I bid you welcome. ( To the cave. Heavens help him. )