"No," firmer this time, still desperate. It is strange, Xichen thinks, that this is an inevitability he cannot accept when his mind has accepted so many others. The inevitability of that Nie Mingjue's cultivation practice will eventually lead to ruin that can only be delayed, that while his brother's wounds may heal they will never truly close.

This feels different.

"We have not tried all versions of Clarity to ease this," he offers, desperate still. It is that desperation the distracts him from his own discomfort, from the tightness in his throat. He is coughing up bloodied petals before he realizes it and it is reflex that lifts his hand to cover his mouth, to catch the bloodied mass to stop it from joining the droplets of blood that stain the ground between them and the white silk of his robes.