Wei Wuxian learns about Lan Zhan's life in the sixteen years between his death and his resurrection in bits and pieces. Hidden within few words, quickly averted looks, and in long silences he slowly assembles a horrifying picture.
He learns of it by tracing the scars on a body that was almost unblemished before, by reading the history of half a lifetime in the language of pain, grief and unending sorrow.
Before has become its own entity, a tangible thing, for Lan Zhan.
It is an awful thing, standing between Lan Zhan and the rest of the world, keeping him aloof when he should be grounded.
Wei Wuxian prefers the now. The shy, barely there smile on Lan Zhan's face that he gets to see more and more often. The softness only glimpsed before but readily displayed in words and actions now.
The now is beautiful in its apparent simplicity.