[ Challenged. Foolishly challenged, Lan Zhan's attention rapt and undivided, set on him, summoning the fevered flush of his ears, lighting the tip of his nose. He wants to wrinkle it, but then the rabbit likeness will be so incriminating and profound that Wei Wuxian will suffer the tortures of another eight feline lives, and still never redeem his reputation.

The finger rounds and twirls and tickles, rhythm and pressure irregular, like playing the flows of current through a flute's holes, to define the sound. And his second weapon, revealed between starved wolf grins, catching Lan Zhan's eye while he unleashes the full force of his... nattering: ]

I'm hungry. Aren't you hungry? Famished.

[ Hardly, stomach a storm, roiling as if he were on his maiden voyage, absent the sea legs he grew in Yunmeng. ]

We should have eaten before. Mhmmmmm. Imagine now, soup. [ ...well. Maybe some of the interest isn't purely performative. ] Broth. No! Not the thickened one. Clear. Nice and smooth and ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, Lan Zhan, do you think they trust ginger here?

[ So close to Cloud Recesses, only a day's walk away? The locals must share in the ascetic habits of their benevolent masters, even in the villages. No, dinner is cursed, no matter how keenly Wei Wuxian wishes it differently. ]

They use it in the north, don't they? In Qinghe. To bring out the richness of bone marrow. Mmmmmmmmmmm, fresh, ground ginger, and some goji here and there, just a few beads. To pop in your mouth? Don't you like that? Pop-pop.

[ He smacks his lips together, lazy and easy, chatter like white noise that starts, finally, to deafen even him. Carefully, his ring finger retires, while his middle one takes up post to tickle twirls in Lan Zhan's palm in earnest.

His voice sheds an octave, honeyed: ]

...you'll yield, you know you will. It's impossible not to. Miiiiiight as well get it done with early. Laugh. Come on. Laugh.