He grumbles. Sulkily, "You never believe me when I tell you I'm fine."

(Because nine times out of ten, he isn't.)

This far away from the furnace of resentful energy, color has gradually returned to his vision. Wei Wuxian can see the bright splashes of yellow paper along his talisman wall; the patterns of palest blue amid the bright white of Lan Zhan's robes. If he still can't quite focus his eyes, and his body insists he may have been trampled by a horse or six dozen several minutes ago, what of it?