Yizhen glanced at Deming, but Deming did not look away from Mingyu. "You do not need to."
"I do not need to eat either," Mingyu disagreed. "I like breathing better when a thing is finished in front of me."
Longzi's mouth moved into something almost like a smile, wolf-small and gone as soon as it arrived. "Then stand in the dark and watch," he shrugged. "If he opens his mouth to spit, I will close it with my thumb."
Yizhen flicked the fan open once with his wrist before quickly closing it again. Then he set it quiet on the table beside him. "I'll have the cup."
"The hand?" Yaozu asked.
Yizhen shrugged as if pulling on a coat. "A boy no one remembers by noon. I'll remove him from the halls before the sun climbs the second roof. He will forget he ever saw a cup."
Deming's jaw worked once, a grind of old iron. "And the body."
