[he speaks thickly this time, as though something's choking him. don't say it, part of him is praying. don't say it, don't say it, don't say it. if it's not spoken aloud it doesn't have to hang between us. you're Lan Zhan. surely you can be depended on not to acknowledge something out loud, even if you know it, even if I can feel the shape of your knowing.

he seizes eagerly on the tangent, when Lan Wangji presents it.]

What did you mean, then?