To Care About the Artist’s Self
The moment those words left her mouth, Zixu's face changed, eyebrows knitting together, lips slightly parting.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I should've asked how you were earlier. I shouldn't have started pressing all this outside stress on you."
Yujia stared blankly at her half-filled cup of tea on the table. She knew she had to respond, but she just couldn't bring herself to speak. The words from earlier were still sinking in, like a blade against her heart, digging deeper to leave their agonizing reminder.
And then, instead of saying anything, she lifted the teapot again, refilling Zixu's cup, then her own, to the brim. She watched the tea, the way it flowed into the cup in ripples.
The ripples stilled.
She looked up, finding an unexpected smile crossing her expression. "Don't worry," she replied, her tone light. Her fingers wrapped around the tea cup. "Tell me more about… Luoyang. What kind of work will you be doing there, exactly?"