On impulse, she lightly taps the side of the jar, maybe wondering if there's life - instinct at least - within the mould itself. Her body language stays deceptively relaxed, but her grip never loosens on her dagger.

"Well, you've been here longer than I have. Any theories? Do you think it's something they produce or something they follow?"

In this place, it's hard to say whether the walking dead came before the mould or the mould before the walking dead. Or perhaps they'd arrived at the same time. Yancai can't even seem to decide what time it wants to be in. It certainly has her senses jumbled.

"There's definitely a connection." There's a brief, considering pause. "Do you think I would have become like them or just...died?"