[ Surrendering Wei Ying's hand is a simple task, yet one he hesitates to complete. Willing. Happy. Free. His own words echo in his mind, a monk's mantra to remind him how to escape the mistakes of his father and how to prove to Wei Ying that his love is not born of possession. Lan Zhan has never allowed himself possessions that were kept for any selfish reasons. Bichen, a weapon. Wangji, a tool. Jade tokens for entry into Cloud Recesses. Hair ornaments for symbols of status. Everything serves a purpose. Except for Wei Ying, who will never be a possession, and yet may someday choose to belong with Lan Zhan rather than to him.
Wei Ying may laugh at fate, but Lan Zhan considers it a bittersweet friend. The red string between them may be woven by their own hands, tied in knots with the bite of cruel words or knitted with flowers thanks to kindnesses, perhaps even cut with the dull scissors of time or swift strike of a blade. They were born with that string already tied to them—what they choose to do with it is their own design.
He covers Wei Ying's hand with his own, gentle rather than forceful. There's no regret in him for the words he'd spoken, long-winded but medicinal after the poison of Wei Ying's sarcasm. If he knew of his love's thoughts, he'd be forced to correct them again. Their story was conceived at the gate of Cloud Recesses with a silencing spell and born on a rooftop aglow with moonlight, two smiles of an emperor, and Wei Ying's own mischievous grin. ]
Wei Ying. [ The ice of his expression melts into warm fondness. ] You could not know. I had not told you.
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Wei Ying may laugh at fate, but Lan Zhan considers it a bittersweet friend. The red string between them may be woven by their own hands, tied in knots with the bite of cruel words or knitted with flowers thanks to kindnesses, perhaps even cut with the dull scissors of time or swift strike of a blade. They were born with that string already tied to them—what they choose to do with it is their own design.
He covers Wei Ying's hand with his own, gentle rather than forceful. There's no regret in him for the words he'd spoken, long-winded but medicinal after the poison of Wei Ying's sarcasm. If he knew of his love's thoughts, he'd be forced to correct them again. Their story was conceived at the gate of Cloud Recesses with a silencing spell and born on a rooftop aglow with moonlight, two smiles of an emperor, and Wei Ying's own mischievous grin. ]
Wei Ying. [ The ice of his expression melts into warm fondness. ] You could not know. I had not told you.