( Close. But no relief. In dice, as with swords, there is no gain in close misses or approximations, no victory to claim, no comfort. Nine may well be a world away.

It lives, cruel and gleeful like a glinting grin, a word unspoken by the man's thin mouth. Under candle and lanterns' light, the unctuous quality of the gambler's manners is — perverse, somehow. Lacking.

Lan Wangji should leave. ) Your boon. I did not request it.

( But he accepted it, when he entered the game. Ah, fickle fate. ) How many tried ensnaring you into servitude?

( To return a kindness: a handsome man, in his own way charming. The attempt is a foregone conclusion. )