[Yingying's hands are warm. He doesn't pull back, grounded by the comforting gesture as he is.

He won't speak overlong on this, because he will never be able to put to words the enormity of what everyone has done for him. Leaving the white square, he tottered into the night with only the clothes on his back and the faintest glimmer of hope for a place to belong. Greater still was the despair of thorough isolation, as well as his resignation to a violent death that very night, be it through wrong company or his violation of the curfew amid his wandering in the rain.

Instead, he came here where there's color and lives are treated preciously. In the gardens here, he met Yingying, whose sweetness and understanding warmed as opposed to sear. Yingying, who always considers others whereas Gubo cared for himself the most. So Yi Sang won't pull away; rather, he grasps her hands back in return.]

I may have gone astray and lost sight of where I was . . . but now, I believe I have found a path. [He looks up at her with a gentle smile.] One I shall continue to walk for as long as I am able.

Thank you, Miss Yingying. And . . . I am glad to have met you.