[ is that what cats are like? hong lu thinks about what cats mean to him. they are creatures outside the window. they seem to like to do whatever they like to do. they take themselves out for walks, and they come back by dusk to huddle by the fireplaces. hong lu has never gotten close to a cat before; they let choose whoever they let close, or they simply leave. they disappear into the shadows, and they never look back.

cats are free, based on their nature. their very natures seem free. hong lu has always been envious, but has there ever been an animal less free than he is?

he nods, earnestly. ]

It has. [ hong lu thinks, so that's how yi sang sees a cat. he likes that better than the way he has seen cats. hong lu will remember. gentle, and firm with their likes and dislikes. perhaps hong lu will also learn to like cats. ] Then, is it my turn? I should come up with something fun.

[ hmmm... something about himself. hong lu reaches inside of him. there's nothing there, as usual. it's disappointing, but that's how it has always been. ]

I was good at opera. I like going on a long journey. And I don't mind getting wet in the rain.

[ hong lu beams. ] Which one is the lie?

[ it is, in fact, the first one. all of his vaunted tutors are now, simultaneously, rolling in their metaphorical graves. some of them aren't even dead. ]