On the willows there, we hung up our lyres

Lan Wangji understands his meaning. He considers, recalling Claudius' dryly casual description of Haurchefant as if he could make the loss sting less by pretending he had never mattered in the first place, the tears in his eyes, the smile that seemed to take him by surprise when Lan Wangji spoke the truth that seemed so clear to him: He loved you. "Less than he should," he says. "But there is still time. I think that it helped him to tell me."