It is easier now, with the gift of hindsight, to look back on his seclusion without excessive pain, but agonizing is an entirely apt description. Lan Wangji had no way to know that Wei Ying would, through an accident of fate and the misfortune of others, return to him years later. He was dead, torn apart by his own unorthodox cultivation, with no body to recover and no one alive who loved him¹ to share in Lan Wangji's grief.

Lan Wangji resettles the rabbits in both of his arms and lowers them slightly so that they are easier for Claudius to reach as they snuffle at his fingers. "Mn." After all of their endless difficulties communicating, perhaps it is fitting that in this, he and Crowley should need very few words to understand one another.

¹Sorry, Jiang Cheng. I know you love Wei Wuxian, but Lan Wangji doesn't think you do.