Yes, he thinks. Lan Zhan was right: he will never run out of talisman ideas, because every one from here on out will just involve devising quicker and quicker ways to sink into the floor and vanish forever.

He swallows, hard, and shakes his head -- cautiously, in case the inebriation decides to give him another swift shove. "It's nothing," he mumbles. "Tired. That's all."

The gulf between the washroom and the bed seems to stretch into infinity. With the same care, he puts one foot in front of the other to cross it.