Huaisang's lips lift and his eyes crinkle at that statement, but it's a wry, sad, barely-there sort of smile. He's still for a moment, eyes lost in the middle distance, before he turns that sad smile on Vasily. "No. It doesn't."

Huaisang's face is young and fresh, barely into his twenties, but there's something older and deeper in his eyes. He carries himself like a man twice his age, someone who has had time to learn self-control.

Lies like Vasily's are pleasant, but Huaisang's had too much tragedy in his life. It never gets easier. You only learn how to carry on anyway.