"Ah, Gusu Lan's food is very bland compared to what I like," he explains, but without any judgement to his tone. "Here, I will not ask you to eat it, but -- Madam Bar? May I have a pot of chili oil?"

It materializes, and he removes the lid before nudging it toward Harrow. Even from a handspan away, it smells strong enough to make the nose tickle.

"That is what I put in my congee every morning," he says. "Enough of it that some of my friends wondered how I tasted anything at all."