Zhou Zishu lowers the flask, eying Wen Kexing with surprise. "You have a job?" he echoes, his eyebrows climbing with every subsequent word. "You're someone's lackey?" He has no doubt his Lao Wen is far more than that; Wen Kexing wouldn't allow himself to remain in any sort of menial position of grunt work.

Drinking is an easier way of dealing with this than anything else, even if he can't taste it, can't quite feel the burn of it sliding down his throat.