( He watches Licyn move with a barely concealed amount of bewildered curiosity. Here the man is, climbing the kitchen like he's some kind of circus acrobat, not a care in the world favoured towards breaking anything. Wen Kexing eyes those shivering bottles with interest, half-prepared for the resulting crash. When that doesn't come he lets his shoulders loosen once more, attention returning to the abomination before him. But he wasn't the only one with concerns it seems - the spectres in a state visible, clustering closer to the other man without really touching. Thankfully, that means they're no longer paying attention to Wen Kexing himself, and he manages to slip the sharpest of utensils into one of the many layers of his robes before the attention is back on him.

The note amongst the cinnamon sticks is a clever sort of hiding place, he makes a note of it even as he's reaching out for a rag to wipe his hands, abandoning pot and muttering ghosts alike in favour of crossing the sooty kitchen floor. )

Now you're saying something. I do like knowing people's dirty little secrets. I've found just as many in people's kitchens as their bedrooms alike. ( Inclining his head a little in thought. ) Well? You do the honours, you found it.