Wei Wuxian is drunk, limbs loose and cheeks warm, but he's not so far gone that he doesn't immediately answer, "You're the only one who doesn't." He stares at him, struggling to align his sloshing thoughts, for even in this state he can sense that this is important.

"You are my friend," he says. "A friend as no other has been to me. That is already a dozen rice paddies, Lan Zhan." With the smell of rice liquor in his nose, it's impossible not to think of Lan Wangji on that strange, drunken night, confessing as he would never do sober that he had regrets.

"I don't regret what happened when - when things were very bad," Wei Wuxian says carefully. "Lan Zhan doesn't have to, either."