"Thank you," Lan Xichen says.

"Of course. Anything for er-ge."

Nie Mingjue takes a sip of his water. "It kills me," he says, "that we can't do anything for the indies."

"Our resources are strained enough as it is, and Wen Ning and Nie Huaisang are coming in in a few months. We have to take care of our own people first."

He takes another sip. "Eighty percent chance of survival, on the back of dozens of indies who have, what, a five percent chance? It's not right."

"It is what it is."

"The only reason a-Sang has a chance is an accident of his birth." Another gulp of water. "There must be dozens of kids like him among the indies who can't get a slot. Hundreds."

"Well, when we graduate, we can campaign to improve seat--"

"Fuck graduation. People are dying right now and we have to do something about it."

"If we try the only thing that will happen is that our own people will die."

"You can't know that! And maybe it's worth me getting down to a fifty percent chance of survival if it means someone else will get a chance at all."

"Perhaps da-ge wishes to do his homework?"

Nie Mingjue is very clearly thinking fuck off, you slimy little rat, but knowing that this would upset Xichen, he instead takes out his Strategy and Tactics For Magical Conflicts homework. "If I never have to think about the Assyrians again," he says, "it will be too soon."

"I agree."

A month later, Nie Mingjue dies saving a freshman from a rilke.

No one is surprised.

Meng Yao grieves.