( Kitchens are a simple space of companionship, welcome and soothing — of yang and flame and strength. And Lan Wangji's fingertips unflinching and taut, stringing silence like a noose, between careful, calculated taps — here, where soot rises thick and unctuous, slickened by humidity and time; there, where desiccated spices have dripped to shape constellations. He touches the wall, the tables, the carvings on each door's frame.
A cold hearth and a warm crowd. The man who unwittingly bides the time for Lan Wangji's unhastened inspection appears, at long last, at wit's end over how to further entertain their spectators.
For his part, Lan Wangji concedes nothing past rasped, unstitching murmurs, as he takes the knee in gentle descent, the white waters of his silks unspooling over cracked tile. He searches, palm hovered, for turbulence in what little qi still spreads out from the ground. Nothing, so far. )
One of death, despair, parting. ( His story. A spectre politely groans. Three rolls their eyes. A few, in the back, wave him away from proceeding. It appears their audience is discriminating enough to pronounce Lan Wangji's contribution as lacking. ) Perhaps revisit the courtesan.
kitchens!!!!
( Kitchens are a simple space of companionship, welcome and soothing — of yang and flame and strength. And Lan Wangji's fingertips unflinching and taut, stringing silence like a noose, between careful, calculated taps — here, where soot rises thick and unctuous, slickened by humidity and time; there, where desiccated spices have dripped to shape constellations. He touches the wall, the tables, the carvings on each door's frame.
A cold hearth and a warm crowd. The man who unwittingly bides the time for Lan Wangji's unhastened inspection appears, at long last, at wit's end over how to further entertain their spectators.
For his part, Lan Wangji concedes nothing past rasped, unstitching murmurs, as he takes the knee in gentle descent, the white waters of his silks unspooling over cracked tile. He searches, palm hovered, for turbulence in what little qi still spreads out from the ground. Nothing, so far. )
One of death, despair, parting. ( His story. A spectre politely groans. Three rolls their eyes. A few, in the back, wave him away from proceeding. It appears their audience is discriminating enough to pronounce Lan Wangji's contribution as lacking. ) Perhaps revisit the courtesan.