[ There is no honor in cruelty, and the same could be said of the treatment towards Wei Ying. A man used for the gain of those leading the Sunshot Campaign and then demonized for championing innocent civilians. Wei Ying's methods may have been wicked, but his intentions were pure in Lan Zhan's eyes. A warrior, an artist, sent to his death for questioning the world order and embracing a technique that others had lauded when it suited them and condemned when it did not. Lan Zhan cannot help but think about how their fate have may turned out differently if he had convinced Wei Ying to return with him to Gusu, or if he had convinced his brother to open their borders to the Wen refugees, or if he had soothed Wei Ying's mind when it was at the peak of tumult.
His breath hitches as Wei Ying's hand covers his own, pinning it to the hot ceramic beneath his palm. The words pierce through his calm and widen his eyes as he drinking in the image of Wei Ying, fierce and passionate, sitting there across the table from him. At times, he feels like he's dreaming of his return and he may slip through his fingers again at any moment, smoke on the breeze conjured by Lan Zhan's own fevered, desperate love.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he allows Wei Ying to retreat. Perhaps he'd been that metaphorical snake plaguing Lan Zhan's mind, always coiled with a smile but ready to strike at an enemy. Lan Zhan is blessed that all of their enemies are shared, that this snake would coil around him not to suffocate, but to shield. Still, Lan Zhan has been warned countless times that consorting with this snake would earn him a bit sooner or later. That venom is one that he longs to taste. ]
If you have requests, bring the scores and I will play them. [ He has composed in his solitude as well as his position as a teacher; the first were melancholy things not to fall on such lovely, lively ears; the others, tools of cultivation that would fail to entertain such a musician as Wei Ying. ] My technique has not faltered.
no subject
His breath hitches as Wei Ying's hand covers his own, pinning it to the hot ceramic beneath his palm. The words pierce through his calm and widen his eyes as he drinking in the image of Wei Ying, fierce and passionate, sitting there across the table from him. At times, he feels like he's dreaming of his return and he may slip through his fingers again at any moment, smoke on the breeze conjured by Lan Zhan's own fevered, desperate love.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he allows Wei Ying to retreat. Perhaps he'd been that metaphorical snake plaguing Lan Zhan's mind, always coiled with a smile but ready to strike at an enemy. Lan Zhan is blessed that all of their enemies are shared, that this snake would coil around him not to suffocate, but to shield. Still, Lan Zhan has been warned countless times that consorting with this snake would earn him a bit sooner or later. That venom is one that he longs to taste. ]
If you have requests, bring the scores and I will play them. [ He has composed in his solitude as well as his position as a teacher; the first were melancholy things not to fall on such lovely, lively ears; the others, tools of cultivation that would fail to entertain such a musician as Wei Ying. ] My technique has not faltered.