Pour a second glass, drink in my stead.

Then allow me to join you, if you do not mind tea.

Solitude. Often appreciated, seldom deplored. Grief, a different matter.

Tea, and my guqin, if you wish. To appease your own mind.

( in some ways, nie mingjue was the father he never truly had. in some others, the brother he feels he has lost. anger tainted his mind, often unrestrained, especially before his death. but his heart beat true, unlike the hand at which he died.

lan wangji’s fingers naturally curl around wei wuxian’s, a light squeeze as he keeps his eyes on the painting. ) With the traditions you wished to uphold? Eventually, certainly. ( but much later, and lan wangji will never be able to thank him enough now, for giving wei wuxian what no one else ever could. )

If our realities differ as you suggested… ( his voice trails off, head slowly turning his way. ) ...then perhaps he was granted life elsewhere, untwisted.

Perhaps.

( some have come and gone. the details elude him, but chifeng-zun deserved better, more than a second chance abridged, and lan wangji can only hope that wei wuxian’s optimism will come true.

it’s a life he’s grown to love, too. nearly a year down the road now, and he can’t imagine going back. his mouth faintly stretches in response to his bonded’s smile, and he shakes his head, a shuddering breath as he shifts closer. it’s a sudden wave of gratitude that crashes over him, despite his sorrows, and he cups his face and he gazes reverently, pressing a lingering kiss to the middle of his forehead. )

( and he remembers her! )

Mn. ( see. what is there to say, really. the sentiment is appreciated nonetheless, even though words also often fail him. so yes, practicality! ) I have wondered if one might return to a time where they were still alive. Change their fate, perhaps.