[ The air feels too hot, suffocating, and with that question, Mo Ran simply scowls and marches forward, ignoring Lan Wangi as much as possible— which isn't really possible, considering how close they are, physically.

Long, heavy strides don't do much in the sloped, rocky tunnels, and it weighs so heavily. Anger burns, and it doesn't need much fanning for Mo Ran. He's learned, over the years, to temper it, to use it for a purpose, but what's the point here, with this prissy man in white. ]

What do you care for my immortal soul? Do you have a number of good deeds you need to do daily to stay in your sect or something?

[ It wouldn't surprise him; people don't care about him out anything but duty. It's what he deserves, he knows, but still. ]