"Wei Ying's distraction is a good trade for cold soup," says, leaning up to kiss Wei Ying's cheek before sitting up and kneeing carefully off the bed.

There is no need for such a luxury as warming the soup. The small confession (such as it was) that he did not enjoy cold soup was enjoyable enough. More would be ridiculous. "Tea is still warm," he promises, setting out two cups to pour, one with a little honey already added to the bottom.

"Does Wei Ying have other ideas for screens?"