...brother. ( A heartbeat, another. He dare not pick at a wound until its scabs bleed, but Xichen must know, surely knows already. The possibility of return is not the probability, not the truth. Two years speak against the performance.

He does not grieve time lost, distance gained. That he cannot recall if Uncle's beard is barely peppered, or long silvered, if Jingyi reached his shoulder or his chin. There are losses, and there is practicality: they can be men who mourn the shape of themselves and still retain its core. )

Do not be afraid. ( Of this land. Of hard impotence. )