It strikes him, for once, their companionship may prove more bridge than walled defences. That he sees the lacking in this boy-elder, this monster-man, and can yet fill it to his unnatural brim. And he says, while their steps burn and echo hard ground, "Lend hand."

The lesson, learned thrice over: he does not reach first. Awaits obediently, as with creatures that learn the sharpness of their teeth and the hard nature of their bite, for Five to yield himself first, in degrees. Men pour trust like water, first syphoned, then openly awarded as the calamity of deluge. Between them only well-walked marble and a thin, trembled rivulet.

"I have..." There is a slackness to this, to his thoughts, his desiccated lips. Poison streams, erodes, houses. Makes a canyon of his body, slows it in gentle steps. He reaches within himself to purify, first the thin frown of his brow, then his voice of tremors. "There is energy within me. That can transfer."

Qi, though whether it is sufficient in its current traffic between fending Wangji's own weakness and the natural depletion of fatigue, he cannot say. As for compatibility, only the attempt may seal it.