"Ridiculous," he huffs, his turmoil of emotions swiftly narrowed to simple indignation as he rolls on top of Wei Ying, framing his face. "Wei Ying has the finest face in all Cultivation. Bothered me, how many sets of eyes would follow you always. Wanted their eyes off you but knew it was hopeless. Features too fine, too lovely," he says, his fervor managing to string together more coherent thoughts than he has managed since they started touching, again.

He strokes his fingers across that fine face, marveling that such a face and heart has chosen him.