[Lan Wangji reacts to twitch the cloth out of his grip, moving a moment too late to actually stop him -- ice scatters on the floor as the towel comes loose from his errant fingers and flutters free, landing next to his chair in a damp pile. despite Wei Wuxian's previous assaults, it seems he wasn't ready for this one on privacy, either.

the good news is that to Wei Wuxian's experienced eye, this wound wouldn't be from the time of the Burial Mound siege: it's not actually older than that, but fresher, no more than perhaps three months old.

the bad news is that it's entirely inexplicable: a livid brand of the Wen Clan mark, that matches the one six years healed on his own chest.

Lan Wangji is glaring up at him, eyes hot as coals, apparently furious. he grabs his robe back from Wei Wuxian's reaching hand.]