[ A gift... imperfect, immature. A talent that possesses its wielder, more than it gives of itself. That speaks of no certainties, no particulars, no graphic or conditional circumstance.
What would it sword mastery be, if Lan Wangji could not control his blade? Could not decide when he grasps its hilt, which way to swing its course, how to interpret its swing? If Bichen merely visited its strike upon him, and his sword arm were the instrument, not she his extension?
Gathered, black daze, his gaze on Moran is apt to stab. Useless. ]
All this was known before.
[ Barring the inevitability of war staining the citadel grounds again, easily concluded. Two factions of dead, to hear from those who walked the spectre of the jailhouse — to hear the citizens, who knew of conquest twice over, strife among their dead war masters.
Unkind, to name Beitang Moran's weakness to his face, so like Wei Ying's. Better to spare him. ]
no subject
What would it sword mastery be, if Lan Wangji could not control his blade? Could not decide when he grasps its hilt, which way to swing its course, how to interpret its swing? If Bichen merely visited its strike upon him, and his sword arm were the instrument, not she his extension?
Gathered, black daze, his gaze on Moran is apt to stab. Useless. ]
All this was known before.
[ Barring the inevitability of war staining the citadel grounds again, easily concluded. Two factions of dead, to hear from those who walked the spectre of the jailhouse — to hear the citizens, who knew of conquest twice over, strife among their dead war masters.
Unkind, to name Beitang Moran's weakness to his face, so like Wei Ying's. Better to spare him. ]
Now, underscored.