"Well," Shang Qinghua says. He traces the rim of his sake cup with his finger, trying to pull words together from the soup that his brain is right now. "I would. I find you handsome and charming, and in the demon realm you usually only get one or the other. But, well—I meant to find a more satisfying or dramatic moment to say it, but now that we've talked about Luo Binghe so much, I feel like I have to say it or it's like I'm catfishing you—you wouldn't know about that—I'll have to explain catfishing later." Shakespeare would have loved catfishing. "Anyway, it's my book. I wrote it and then was forced to live it, like some kind of—ironic punishment—from Dante, or Greek mythology. So it's really my fault about the blood parasites."