( From the cauldron into its fire — or steaming, fiercely boiled waters.

He does not stay himself to question what is become of their luck. Wei Ying propels them closer to shore, the dead savage their boat, and all throughout this painful exercise of Lan Wangji learning the full extent to which his questioning and questionable lover and himself can be... touched, in front of his own eyes —

He breathes, oh, he breathes. Holds himself firm and immutable, recoiling at a hand's distance from Wei Ying's touch, less to refuse him than to allow them to balance the flooding boat. )

The shore will likely sink when we land foot. ( This, gravelly, even as he lifts himself. ) Or wither. Or burst to flame.

( This is their luck, do you understand, young master Wei? This is who they are now.

But at least the dregs of a gentleman linger in Lan Wangji, and he holds out a tentative hand after propelling himself up. )

Do you require... balance for the jump? ( Assistance by any other name. The conjuration and taming of the dead is an exhaustive thing. )