( He hears him. Listens to voices sharp and shrill beneath and the sound of a deeper want, the hidden subtleties of that which Five folds and shields, like cards withheld unto his person.

If Five were a child, or a man of confessed hurts, or not a monster, Lan Wangji might offer him a pat on his back, now. A silent, steadfast embrace.

But they are as stone pillars, constantly witnessing each other, never truly connecting. Yet he asks again: )

What is your wish?