The procession halted when Lan Wangji appeared, his forehead ribbon fluttering like a blade in spring wind. Wei Wuxian's elbow nudged Wei Xuan's ribs – Look at him! – as though they weren't walking toward a medical interrogation.
"Herbal tea," Lan Wangji answered Lan Qiren's inquiry about his visit, though his peripheral vision tracked Wei Xuan's hand resting on her brother's sleeve. The motion left frost patterns on the dark fabric.
Wei Xuan's laughter carried too brightly when explaining her blade's origin. "Stray dogs," she said, fingers tracing the scar beneath her collar. Lan Wangji's knuckles whitened around the tea packet.
"…then I swung blindly," her voice cracked like thin ice. Wei Wuxian's grin froze mid-sentence. The forest path thickened with unspoken screams – rabid barks, snapping jaws, children's whimpers swallowed by night.
Lan Qiren's pace quickened.
In the medical pavilion, Third Elder squinted at the entourage. "Who's dying?"
"Nightmares," Lan Wangji lied smoothly, though his gaze lingered on Wei Wuxian's collar where frost now bloomed in feathery patterns.
When the herbal tea exchanged hands, Third Elder snorted at Lan Qiren: "Your doing."
The accusation hung like swordplay. Wei Xuan seized the distraction to press chilled fingers against her brother's pulse point. His meridians burned – not with fever, but the apocalyptic cold she'd smuggled across worlds.
"Gege," she whispered as physicians closed in, "When winter comes..."
But the ice had already begun spreading beneath their feet.