[IT'S A GOOD THING NEITHER OF THEM CAN READ EACH OTHERS' BRACKET TEXT INTROSPECTION TO ACTUALLY KNOW WHAT THE OTHER PERSON IS THINKING BECAUSE INSTEAD OF HELPING ANYONE UPON HEARING THAT WEI WUXIAN WOULD JUST PITCH HIMSELF OFF THE NEAREST BALCONY.

as that isn't the case, the door opens easily. the lock's not great, and no matter what other favors the higher-ups might have granted him by now, it's clear that returning his ability to create wards wasn't one of them. he beckons Lan Wangji in ahead of him.

to paraphrase from an earlier writeup: the room's small and mediocre, the cheap faction-subsidized quarters that are all newbie-level Sutoku can afford. Wei Wuxian hasn't done much to improve it, though there are a few personal touches. the narrow desk is littered with papers, some covered in haphazard shorthand and illustrations that aren't immediately decipherable; a corkboard's been set up on the wall above it, with a couple of loose ink drawings pinned up on it. there's a small glass bowl resting on the windowsill, a few carnation flower heads floating on the water within.

there's a couple of chairs pushed up at the desk; the extra is probably for a guest. the kitchenette smells predictably of spice.]