Wangji's brows pinch the slightest amount - the concern overtaking his features in ways his brother could read better than any - as he catches the expression on Lan Xichen's face.

He doesn't answer the question. He can't. He's far from well. He feels like he is suffering his grief freshly anew, as sharp as it was 16 years ago, all the stronger for the fermentation between. So all he could possibly say would be 'No', and he does not wish to burden his brother with it.

"You aren't," he says, instead, deflecting Xichen's worry back onto himself. "What happened?"