"Myself?"

He can't say he thinks of himself and his own needs much at all, anymore. Beyond eating enough to stay alive and useful, training occasionally to keep his skills in check, Xichen prefers the silence of the hanshi to almost everything and everyone else. Besides, he could not fly toward any cloud that sang his heart's song; his is buried in a constant rainstorm, nothing could be heard inside that brittle organ.

"I am not a young man like Sizhui."

That's not untrue, as excuses go.