[ Jiang Cheng's loathing for Lan Wangji is paramount and obvious, even now, so many years later. The way that the now Head Cultivator had spoken to him, of him, so often, the derision in his face, as if he had any right to try and judge what had taken place between himself and his brother... It grinds him, makes him furious, makes him want to snap and gnaw and bite like a rapid dog.
There are few people that he would ever let close enough to understand the depth of his feelings on the matter, on what had happened on that cliff edge. The hours he had spent searching for Wei Wuxian's body, the things that he had done, the way he had saved his flute and cared for it in his grief and his ache.
No one can grasp that. He doesn't think it is possible. And now Lan Wangji gets to be happy?
It makes him furious.
Pushing his bowl away, he raises, hesitating for a moment before he heads to the side door. ]
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There are few people that he would ever let close enough to understand the depth of his feelings on the matter, on what had happened on that cliff edge. The hours he had spent searching for Wei Wuxian's body, the things that he had done, the way he had saved his flute and cared for it in his grief and his ache.
No one can grasp that. He doesn't think it is possible. And now Lan Wangji gets to be happy?
It makes him furious.
Pushing his bowl away, he raises, hesitating for a moment before he heads to the side door. ]
Come on.