Warm and buffeted by comfort on every side, Wei Wuxian accepts the soup, letting it warm his hands for a moment before reaching for the spoon. Thanks to shijie, soup has long been an act of kindness to his mind, and he finds his eyes growing more hot the longer he looks at it.

Drawing a breath, Wei Wuxian looks to Lan Zhan instead. "Lan Zhan does not like spice? Or was he told he shouldn't?" Spice makes a person's blood race, much in the same way Wei Wuxian has decided he makes Lan Zhan's blood race. "Have you properly tried it?"