He leans against the headboard, tipping his head back with a tired sigh. Why is his head throbbing like this? Surely it can't still be due to the resentful energy. He didn't even call it to himself; it was only the ambient pressure, and the choking dizziness it induced as he drowned in the sheer amount crashing over them.

(He thinks of falling from Wen Chao's sword, hungry ghosts rising to catch him, and shivers.)

Tea ought to help the headache. Conveniently, Lan Zhan returns with a tray, the teapot already warmed and ready. He mumbles a thank-you and starts to reach for the tray so he can serve them both properly.