( ...ah. The notebook. His turn to heft his brow northbound now, expression pinched, if conciliatory. And what, pray tell, has Hermione had to share of their circumstances? )

Edifying?

( No matter. His brother will speak on his own time, will ask his plethora of questions, while Lan Wangji sinks to both knees on stone cold-hardened, stink of lamp oil stinging his nose when he unlids a small jar to wake a brazier. Old kindling, already gaining humidity. In Yancai, waters live deep.

He brings it back, flame growing, to sit it by Xichen's knee and brighten the cave's quarter blind. )