( Wei Wuxian glances toward the young man speaking, the terminology making sense after years of other young men and women from worlds vastly different from his own. He smiles, a small, fleeting expression, sidling closer to tap two fingers to a long gouge that only came from within this boat, the dead seeking to leave.

Magic, and curses. Curses of magic, and all of it a frustration that he at least better understands by now, having learned in part and with tempered dedication and the irreverence of the brilliant how to work with it, but no, not the depths of its permutations. )

You work with mysteries, the dead, or both in your world?

( A cluck of his tongue, and he pulls his hand back. He keeps his voice low, his gaze tracing over the marks, then lifted, to examine the waters beyond. )

Nothing lingers in this that speaks of death. Strange, for something that's meant to have contained a body. No energies of death or anything at all left within.