So many people here have explicitly requested that he not use a title that Lan Wangji looks at Sagramore with faint surprise. "Thank you," he says after a beat. He wants almost to explain himself -- to say something about his upbringing, about the three thousand rules that became four thousand, about his uncle and the simultaneous weight and comfort of all his perfectly precise expectations. Something about the way Wei Ying used his birth name without asking, a ploy to get his attention that worked better than he ever meant it to. As usual, the words stick somewhere around the height of his sternum. He strokes Xiaoxue's head, between his ears.