( Sleep, Wei Ying says, and it is as if the restlessness of the mountain woods corrupts him, as if Lan Wangji wakes to the heart palpitations of a world suddenly awry, alive. He feels too long he has stood as quarry and now presents himself, once more a consummate predator.

In his arm, the chicken startles; he sets it down, where it waddles by foot, seeming to put better faith in the energy of two cultivators sooner than the dark clutches of the monastery enclaves. Lan Wangji cannot fault him. )

You do not trust it to wait out our return? ( They have stirred something, quickened it. He knows, as Wei Ying knows, that intervening with spirits will either quiet them while they gather their forces again, or stimulate their aggression. If Wei Ying wishes the matter put to bed — )

We may ward to dally or forcibly extirpate. ( A temporary or permanent solution. The alternative... ) To pacify, we must know reasons.

( And muffled like spring rain: ) Lest you wish to make weapon of resentment.