For one heartbeat (nearly stilled), he deigns to consider, eyes lost and trailing the wagon cart before settling, unambiguously, on the connecting chain between wagons — hard and thickened like the girth of an oxen's neck, and this man, who means to sever it.

Seldom has Lan Wangji been accused of practicality, and yet here he stands, aggrieved and bereft, staring from the span of Bichen to that of the chain, riddling the possibilities. Yes. If he might so strain himself, qi infusing metal, the blade violated, fractured ungainly and torn.

...but to what purpose? How can they slow the cart's passage after, without risking derailing it, and compromising their landing even further? The shake of his head comes even, slow, nearly imperceptible. Startled.

"We cannot." And then, Lan Wangji does them both the service of staring at the window most balefully. Ah. "You fear of heights?"