Wei Wuxian pulls a rueful, resigned face at the sight of the scroll. "Ah, Lan Zhan," he sighs as he picks it up, "I hope you are prepared to smuggle bottle after bottle of chili oil from Madam Bar when she begins feeding me weak broth."

He unrolls the scroll a little to see how much the ink has smudged. It's not as bad as he feared: just a few blurry characters here and there amid the water staining. Still. He rolls it back up to set aside.

His hand hovers over the strip of black cloth a moment before he can bring himself to pick it up.