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Wangji had worked on it for sixteen years, keeping it a secret from almost everyone. Lan Xichen hadn't interfered; it was keeping Wangji alive and, in truth, he hadn't thought he'd get anywhere with it.
In the end he hadn't needed it. How wonderful for him, thought Lan Xichen, then tried to smother the thought. He could be glad for his brother. He could.
Now Wangji was out with his new husband, and Lan Xichen still had the keys to his new apartment. He went through the cupboards, slowly and thoroughly; Wangji wouldn't have gotten rid of the notes. He knew what that kind of loss felt like. And now so did Lan Xichen.
He wished, with the same useless ferocity he'd wished since the thought had occurred to him, that he'd thrown his every resource at the project while he still had the authority to achieve it.
He was forty minutes in when he found it, written on the top of the page in Wangji's always-perfect handwriting: Personality Uploading.