Lan Wangji flies often above these woods, trees flashing by beneath the glassiness of Bichen's blade and the sturdy soles of his clean white boots. If his patrol has become routine, and it has, its motions engraved into the habits of each day deeply and cleanly, his attention to any possible disruption is no duller than it was at the outset, when he first arrived and dedicated himself to protecting this place.

Disruption may be an unkind word for a young woman with fresh tears glistening in her eyes. Nonetheless, Lan Wangji's sword stills, and he drifts downward. When he descends to the ground from that thin blade, it is with a soft footstep. "Young mistress."