Scanning the ceiling, Wei Wuxian makes a speculative noise in the back of his throat observing at last words etched there. It leaves his response to his old friend at a slight delay, distracted.

"Lack? No, only altered, which some of us faced when we first arrived here, with true memory returning at night... Wen Ning, what do you make of this?"

Asking for input while gesturing to the ceiling. greed deafens man to the cries of his conscience; music sets him free.