Once he settled Wei Wuxian on the sofa, he lets him go. He sat next to him as he curled up like a ball, weeping.

"So you can rest and grieve properly. The floor is good, but the sofa is better."

It wasn't a curse or an illusion. Lan Wangji is quite solid. If he's close enough, his robes carry the scent of sandalwood, though it was faint.

"Now you can cry until you tire yourself out." Until whatever effect of the tea he just drank will flush itself out.