"Mm, very much so. I wonder how many rivers they've gone fishing in... or what they've been reading."

A sly smile for that, sideways glance to the brother he's gifted a novel to, knowing it's at least engaging enough to be fun reading, if not particularly close to a pretense of high literature. He hasn't given his nephews anything of the same kind, only the older Zewu-jun, only his son-that-snot-fully-his-son-but-is-as-long-as-he-lets-him-be.

He refills the cup with alcohol, lifting the jar to Jiang Cheng.

"To their health and happiness! Along with the other young souls we look fondly on."

Madoka, Nell, Tidus. A growing, tangled net of some people here on the train, or those who were now gone again, lost to be found.