By sunrise, Wei Wuxian had developed a new theory: Lan Wangji wasn’t just unaffected—he was actively taunting them.

“Think about it,” he whispered to Wen Ning as they hid behind a garden wall, spying on Lan Wangji trimming bonsai trees with unnecessary elegance. “He walks around, looking like that, saying nothing, with that noble silence and emotional constipation—and still manages to turn fully trained cultivators into love-drunk teenagers.”