The rest of the meal went by in teeth-grinding slowness. Xie Bian could scarcely focus on Wei Xiangsi's pointless conversation and on chewing and swallowing the mouthfuls of ash that every bite tasted like.
He was finding his initial sympathy dissolving, and wondered if Fu Shulin's experiences, and his Shifu's revelations weren't rubbing off on him. Maybe Fan Wujiu was right to be mistrustful of the Wei's family bastard son. Who knew what his intentions were, beyond convincing 'Xie An' that he was a talented poet, a sensitive artist, and the future heir to his father's fortune?
What kind of impression did he think he was making, by working so hard to seduce a man he had just met? It was easy to resent his clumsy flirtations, his assurances that he would help 'Xie An's business prosper when as far as he knew the only indication of its existence was Fan Wujiu's and Xie Bian's word.