Shen Yuan just has to...sit with that, for a moment. Binghe's words hang thick in the air between them, like a poison cloud that the protagonist suddenly exhaled without warning. Well...without immediate warning. It wasn't as though there'd been so sign of his general misanthropy in the book, though in Airplane's style it lended itself more to anguished declarations of pain and loneliness that could be quickly assuaged with some time spent between the twin peaks of the latest love interest's personal marshmallow hell. Somehow Shen Yuan doubts that tenderly cradling Luo Binghe to his own washboard-flat chest would have the same effect.

All he can do is sigh. "I'm not sure how to answer that," he says honestly. "I can't make Binghe believe that other people are worth knowing; it's something he has to figure out for himself. But Binghe has always been worth the risk," he adds, in a low undertone, tracing a fingertip around the tea cup that lies near at hand.