[ Despair is a familiar companion to Lan Zhan, one that he barely takes note of at this point in his life. It has walked with him since childhood when he was kept from seeing his mother, despair growing with him until it took his hand firmly on the day that she died. Since then, it has been something that keeps him quiet, withdrawn. With such a companion at his side, why risk feeding it by making friends with others who may also leave him? Never had he intended to let that despair grow from the love Lan Zhan felt for Wei Ying, love he tried to deny for so long until that same old despair flared up and singed the edges of his heart, his love, when he'd let Wei Ying slip from his fingers sixteen years ago.
He has learned patience, but even that is beginning to fray now that he is so close to something he never imagined having but will never let go of once it is his. Lan Zhan would never commit the sins of his father, wouldn't dream of such twisted love even in his darkest of nightmares. He would treasure Wei Ying, share the Jingshi with him rather than imprison him in it. Promise him the freedom to leave with the trust, hope, that he would return.
The paper, upon inspection, makes him relax somewhat. The talisman has all the hallmarks of a Wei Wuxian original, from the fact that it's drawn on the back of a play ticket to the fact that it lacks the diligence to live up to what Lan Zhan knows is Wei Ying's full potential as a cultivator. He is brilliant, but his attention flits between ideas the way his feet wander between villages. So much about Wei Ying is nomadic, and here Lan Zhan sits, a pillar of Cloud Recesses, unmoving except for duty and love.
The talisman lays in his palm, temporarily abandoned for more pressing matters. Wei Ying holds up a finger, two, and Lan Zhan remembers to breathe. He reaches for him, fingers wrapping loosely around his wrist, and draws his hand close enough to kiss the tips of those two fingers. ]
You may have three, and I will amend your talisman.
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He has learned patience, but even that is beginning to fray now that he is so close to something he never imagined having but will never let go of once it is his. Lan Zhan would never commit the sins of his father, wouldn't dream of such twisted love even in his darkest of nightmares. He would treasure Wei Ying, share the Jingshi with him rather than imprison him in it. Promise him the freedom to leave with the trust, hope, that he would return.
The paper, upon inspection, makes him relax somewhat. The talisman has all the hallmarks of a Wei Wuxian original, from the fact that it's drawn on the back of a play ticket to the fact that it lacks the diligence to live up to what Lan Zhan knows is Wei Ying's full potential as a cultivator. He is brilliant, but his attention flits between ideas the way his feet wander between villages. So much about Wei Ying is nomadic, and here Lan Zhan sits, a pillar of Cloud Recesses, unmoving except for duty and love.
The talisman lays in his palm, temporarily abandoned for more pressing matters. Wei Ying holds up a finger, two, and Lan Zhan remembers to breathe. He reaches for him, fingers wrapping loosely around his wrist, and draws his hand close enough to kiss the tips of those two fingers. ]
You may have three, and I will amend your talisman.