Death. Undeath. The dead won’t stay where they should, and Lan Wangji’s probably suffered his tenth heart attack in the span of a few hours. It started with Wei Wuxian a whole season ago, and it never stopped. Song Lan’s melancholy is an ache that still finds an echo in Lan Wangji’s chest, a fate that could have been his own. Easily. He tries not to dwell on what ifs, but it’s a pain so raw and so selfish his gratitude sometimes shames him. Wei Ying is here, flesh and blood and bones while others are not...
...until they are.
He mentions an uncle. After everything that’s happened in the past few days, anything is possible, and Lan Wangji returns home swiftly, only to be greeted by a sight that’s just as foreign as it is familiar. Xiao Xingchen, standing tall in the backyard of his cottage, as gentle as he remembers him to be. Lan Wangji stops in his tracks, freezes, because no matter how peculiar this world may be, he doesn’t think he’ll ever fully adjust to its odd realities.
Something squeezes in his chest, a little forlorn, and Lan Wangji stares wide-eyed until he remembers himself, bowing low in a mix of genuine respect and awe. “Daozhang,” he says softly, as if he hasn’t recently held his sword for Song Lan, and he visibly swallows.
WILD CARD
...until they are.
He mentions an uncle. After everything that’s happened in the past few days, anything is possible, and Lan Wangji returns home swiftly, only to be greeted by a sight that’s just as foreign as it is familiar. Xiao Xingchen, standing tall in the backyard of his cottage, as gentle as he remembers him to be. Lan Wangji stops in his tracks, freezes, because no matter how peculiar this world may be, he doesn’t think he’ll ever fully adjust to its odd realities.
Something squeezes in his chest, a little forlorn, and Lan Wangji stares wide-eyed until he remembers himself, bowing low in a mix of genuine respect and awe. “Daozhang,” he says softly, as if he hasn’t recently held his sword for Song Lan, and he visibly swallows.