( ...a humble weight, all bones and water. It should displease him, but then Wei Ying's front sings palatably warm, his limbs cling to Lan Wangji's neck, legs scale him. On instinct, and the learning of a singular other occasion, he inclines forward enough to balance out the weight, drawing his arms back to grasp the tender, lean length of Wei Ying's legs at their knee, binding them.

After, it's a slow carry, despite the equally protracted s i n k i n g of their boat. No haste between them, not when Lan Wangji slips free of their wooden confines to use the head of a corpse as his first perch the back of another as his ledge, not when he jumps from corner to edge to the shoreline, unhindered.

There, he should take the knee to allow Wei Ying his descent —

But excuses himself from the natural conclusion, ferns and grass tickling the span of his ankles, teasing his skin. )

Will playing more soothe them asleep? ( The dead here are, he suspects, far too numerous for Wei Ying to exercise the full span of his influence. All the same. )