A little shiver, hastily suppressed, goes down Shen Yuan's spine when He Xuan takes hold of his hands, incomprehensible and thus firmly ignored. He's learning, here. Whatever's got his nerves in such an uproar all of a sudden can butt out.

"All right," he says, his eyes having traced the arc of the rod's movement with a swordman's gaze, his hands -- far from lying limp in the mist of the other man's bony fingers -- cooperatively moving with the direction of He Xuan's grip. "I believe I understand. Let me try, now."