"It's a great honor to be familiar enough a thing in Zewu-jun's mind that he would suspect me an apparition," Jiang Cheng replies with a slightly more bashful look, boyish nervousness lifting from him all the loss, all the bitterness, all the long years of the war. Xichen is standing a little too close for Jiang Cheng to offer a bow in turn, but he does at least clasp his hands together quickly with the slightest incline of his head so that he's not entirely dispensing with propriety, then lights a hand on Xichen's arm in turn to prompt him in the direction of the village market.

"Have you been here long? Have you eaten? Do you have somewhere to stay?" he asks conversationally, distantly aware there are more pressing topics but when he tries to pay attention to them, they suddenly don't seem quite so pressing. It's the same with anything that makes him consider his life outside of this village. It's there, he knows it's there. He knows he was somewhere else, living another life, steeped in other responsibilities. But there is so far from here. It can't be that important, can it?