[ Lan Zhan watches with mild fascination as Wei Ying prepares the bite of food only to push it away from himself and leave it hovering in front of Lan Zhan. His eyes widen at the sheer amount of chili covering the wretched morsel, all intended flavor now buried beneath dusty fire and pain. He is loath to back down from the challenge, however, and more than that is his willingness to suffer at the hands of Wei Ying and no one else. The offer sweetens the dilemma somewhat, though he knows it to be a tease. Wei Ying would sooner flee to the farthest corner of the realm than sit with members of the gentry for any length of time. Closing his eyes and drawing in a steadying breath, Lan Zhan opens his eyes to lock his gaze with Wei Ying's as he leans in to take the offered food.
Regret is instant. He feels as though his tongue may shrivel up and break apart in his mouth. Stubborn teeth refuse to part and chew, so he is left to salivate on a fool's errand of washing the spice away from his delicate tastebuds. But Lan Zhan has faced worse tortures, survived harsher punishments, relinquished greater sacrifices. Carefully he chews, face impassive but for the flush that starts to creep into his ears and nose, a faint dusting of pink across his cheeks. To swallow is to escape the pain but subject his stomach to such foreign matter. He has come this far, however, and refuses to back down. There is plenty of saliva to smooth the passage, and he allows himself several seconds of decorum before reaching for his soup to wash away the taste of hellfire and brimstone.
He parts his lips to speak and finds himself hoarse. Clearing his throat, he succumbs to the allure of stale tea in favor of life rather than death. Hanguang-jun will not be killed by his soulmate's fixation on peppers. ]
There is only so much companionship to be found in paper and ink. [ Much of his life has been spent in the company of both those fellows, either as tools of study or bound and shelved for perusal. It is such a delicate thing, asking Wei Ying to return to Cloud Recesses, a knife's edge between entrapment and abandonment. Lan Zhan wants neither—a free Wei Ying is a happy Wei Ying, and that is all he wishes for in the world. All that he is allowed to wish for outside of his selfish dreams, of course. There is also the matter of the promise he'd made to him. Free, happy, willing. They will be the words he dies by at this rate. ]
no subject
Regret is instant. He feels as though his tongue may shrivel up and break apart in his mouth. Stubborn teeth refuse to part and chew, so he is left to salivate on a fool's errand of washing the spice away from his delicate tastebuds. But Lan Zhan has faced worse tortures, survived harsher punishments, relinquished greater sacrifices. Carefully he chews, face impassive but for the flush that starts to creep into his ears and nose, a faint dusting of pink across his cheeks. To swallow is to escape the pain but subject his stomach to such foreign matter. He has come this far, however, and refuses to back down. There is plenty of saliva to smooth the passage, and he allows himself several seconds of decorum before reaching for his soup to wash away the taste of hellfire and brimstone.
He parts his lips to speak and finds himself hoarse. Clearing his throat, he succumbs to the allure of stale tea in favor of life rather than death. Hanguang-jun will not be killed by his soulmate's fixation on peppers. ]
There is only so much companionship to be found in paper and ink. [ Much of his life has been spent in the company of both those fellows, either as tools of study or bound and shelved for perusal. It is such a delicate thing, asking Wei Ying to return to Cloud Recesses, a knife's edge between entrapment and abandonment. Lan Zhan wants neither—a free Wei Ying is a happy Wei Ying, and that is all he wishes for in the world. All that he is allowed to wish for outside of his selfish dreams, of course. There is also the matter of the promise he'd made to him. Free, happy, willing. They will be the words he dies by at this rate. ]