Wei Wuxian nods, breathing carefully through his nose as Lan Zhan threads his limbs through his own. But Lan Zhan's arms are like iron, unyielding even in the gentlest of holds, and he soons finds himself panting, eyes closed tight.

The house. Āiyō, his back. It...it will be lovely, with carved wooden panels that open to the river. There will be lotuses and peonies and clouds, there will be a bed just for them, there will be a garden and rice and wine.

Wei Wuxian manages to peel his eyes open, searching blearily, but the entire landscape is red. Red vines, red earth, red burning hotly in his belly and side. He closes them.