Luo Binghe loves to receive Shen Yuan's affection more than anything, but right now it aches, the way even silk grates against a raw wound. He has allowed so much because of Shen Yuan: the disrespect from Lan Wangji, the intimidation from Galahad, and now this utter rejection; all things he would never have tolerated before. If he cannot rage against these slights, his only choice is to feel them. It is far more difficult than fighting.

He looks away, unable to stand the undiluted love in Shen Yuan's gaze. It's not a selfless act, anyway. If Luo Binghe cannot be happy—and twenty-six years of evidence suggests that he cannot—then Shen Yuan must be happy, so Luo Binghe can at least feel the warmth of it.

"Will you tell me again why you didn't like Final Sunrise?"