jin-xiong's cut-sleeve crisis and mianmian's best day

“Jin Zixuan,” she says, whispering to hold in her joy, “what did you just say.”“What?” Jin Zixuan scowls again. “Everyone thinks so.” He ducks his chin to avoid her gaze, playing with the empty bottle of wine. “I’m sure plenty of people’ve had a cut-sleeve crisis over him.”Cut-sleeve crisis. Mianmian can barely speak she’s so happy, her eyes so wide she can feel her face stretching to accommodate them. “Jin Zixuan. Jin Zixuan. Are you saying—are you saying you’re a cut-sleeve?”Jin Zixuan looks up, his eyebrows scrunched together. “What? No, no of course not—I’m married, I—” His cheeks turn a less painful looking shade, closer to pink than burning red. “I just—I—Lan Wangji—he—” He frowns thoughtfully at his empty bottle. “He’s special.”Mianmian vibrates in her seat. “Heavens above,” she says, hands clenched, restraining her glee, “this is the best day. Second best day. My wedding day was pretty good. Well, my wedding night was—but today? Today is a damn good day.”