"I know, but--"

The words stick in his throat as he thinks of kneeling outside a closed door in winter, with snowflakes falling; in spring, when the gentians began to bloom.

He abandons the effort at an explanation. He will just have to believe Wei Ying, and be alert to any signs of him changing his mind.

Besides, something else has caught his attention.

"... do you not have a comb?"