Lan Wangji wants to hide behind one of his cloud-sleeves, but he does look away instead, and submits: "Yes. I kept them all folded into books." That way they would remain flat and untouched for eternity. He'd only had those few scant things to remember Wei Ying by, for those years. Not even a pressed flower, an old flute. Just a few drawings and Emperor's Smile.

But he wonders why the other Lan Wangji had told him such a thing. Perhaps it had been while he was drunk. Lan Wangji might have to go talk to his other self about maybe trying a little harder to keep sober... who knows what sort of company they may find while drunk?