By the next morning, a mist had settled over Hanzhou, and Fang Li would awake the the unfamiliar room once more. Khan was in a corner, sitting perfectly still, in a deep, rapt meditation. His posture was perfect, his eyes closed, and his breathing almost undetectable. He'd regained his sash, now clean of Fang Li's blood, and it draped across his shoulder. It was a moment before Fang Li would begin to hear that he was humming a song to himself, but it was so quiet that she couldn't discern much of it. On a table near him lay all the materials he required for caring for Fang Li, ready at any moment.