Panic is a clawing, choking thing - Lan Zhan cannot know, that is a guess, it must be. Word would have spread if it were known. Jiang Cheng would be here, furious and blazing. It has been years since he's felt the lash of the whip he now carries, but he can still feel its bite across his back.

How long then before the clans came for him?

"I don't want to carry Suibian." He claims, firmly. "I much prefer Chenqing."

The lie of it tastes like grave dirt in his mouth, but he's eaten worse to survive here.