He snorts a small laugh. "Lan Zhan," he says, and makes the mistake of nudging his shoulder, as if this were no different from any other meal they have shared. Instantly it feels as if Zidian has sparked across his skin, washing his mind clear of all thought again, and, hurriedly, he withdraws to take a bite of his food.

It needs more chili oil, he decides, and adds another spoonful.

Once his mind is not so desperately blank, he goes on at last, "What will I do if I run out of ideas and you cannot help me think of more? I will need to spend even more time talking about theoretical talismans. You will fall asleep well before hài hour with all my chattering."