All is frail, nothing is as Lan Wangji had intended. He stares down, where Wen Kexing presumes, with desperate earnestness, the intimacy of touch — where Wangji is dragged, as if he were a dog, or a child, or worse still, the boy who still followed a jubilant Yunmeng disciple to their likely death.
...intends, briefly, to hiss down and spiritually spit on the offending limb. But he is of Cloud Recesses, and he will not shame the ancestors with discourtesy. Better to insult them with cowardice instead, allowing himself to match the speed of his... guide, posture nearly toppled over, head bowed strategically as they cross through thin, claustrophobic corridors, to beware the dead behind.
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All is frail, nothing is as Lan Wangji had intended. He stares down, where Wen Kexing presumes, with desperate earnestness, the intimacy of touch — where Wangji is dragged, as if he were a dog, or a child, or worse still, the boy who still followed a jubilant Yunmeng disciple to their likely death.
...intends, briefly, to hiss down and spiritually spit on the offending limb. But he is of Cloud Recesses, and he will not shame the ancestors with discourtesy. Better to insult them with cowardice instead, allowing himself to match the speed of his... guide, posture nearly toppled over, head bowed strategically as they cross through thin, claustrophobic corridors, to beware the dead behind.
It strikes him, belatedly, to mention: ]
The spirit was benign.