The soft scorn has him wincing as he looks away. Prison is such a spiteful way of putting it, even if it's true: Jin Guangyao knows he doesn't have to be so thankless about this whole setup, and yet. Xichen sometimes wonders if his life would have been easier had his former zhiji died, then guilt rolls through him in the middle of the night and he can't sleep either way.

He steps inside and nods to the offer of tea. The box of new brushes is set down quietly on the table, voice stuck in his throat.