﹙ communication is overrated… except when it isn’t. lan wangji should know better, honestly. so many things left unsaid, and so much blood on his hands. what ifs are bound to haunt him for the rest of his second life now, but apparently, a second chance isn’t enough to teach the guy to speak.

so he’s got two ghosts in his near vicinity — one of which being a demon. great job, he xuan. that detail doesn’t matter at all. like many things in this world, even his practiced skills can sometimes be hit-or-miss; the strings of his guqin remain unpulled — at least by the spirit he’s trying to communicate with. but it does quiver. it’s faint, barely grazing the tips of his fingers. the ghost before him continues its wailing meltdown, and lan wangji’s frown deepens, the bend of his back stiff in rise from his instrument.

who are you, another few notes played, louder. the answer comes hesitant, as if restrained, though it’s unequivocal; lan wangji’s gaze shoots up, neck craned over his shoulder as he speaks a name that shouldn’t be familiar. ﹚

He Xuan. ﹙ what is going on. in front of him, the orphanage’s ghost frantically shakes his head. ﹚