( Wen Kexing is having a very bad day.

Oh, he was having a bad day before all of this, but at least it was the kind he knew how to handle. It didn't involve sorceresses, or undead lords, or time dimensions. It certainly didn't involve crumbling, ugly little statues that became more and more familiar the more he looked. ) You're very annoying.

( Yes, he is talking to it, thank you very much for noticing. It's doing nothing to soothe him, the talking, not if the irritated way he slips a fan from a blue sleeve to snap in front of his face is anything to go by. It flutters just a beat too fast to be easy, short sharp little movements that belie the icy expression on his features. The wooden bones creak closed just as suddenly, Wen Kexing cocking his head to the side as though catching wind of someone else's approach. Still, he doesn't look away from the statue, and it's eroding, achingly sweet brow. ) Who does this look like to you?

( There's blood staining the tile just beyond his foot. Wen Kexing pays it no mind, choosing instead to level his gaze on the ghost in the bathtub. He doesn't react when the bathroom door opens, but his voice carries across the room conversationally. )

Oh, don't mind her. She comes with the place, I think. She was muttering about wickedness a little while ago, I thought she'd have something more entertaining to tell me. ( He leans over to flick the tap on behind the muttering woman, the water runs dark behind her, visible through her skin. ) Which house hasn't seen a stabbing or two?

( Here Wen Kexing is, hair frazzled by the steam of the soup pot, billowing sleeves tied expertly back, fingers stained green with herbs. The spectres are noisily barking instructions his way, but the man himself only hisses through his teeth. ) I do know how to do this, thank you very much. Nobody likes a back saddle chef!

( He looks up as the door closes, a smile, weary. )

I hope you have a lovestory to spare? They didn't like my one about the Capital courtesan.