Huaisang's hyperventilating, breath coming in panicky little gasps, fear radiating off him in waves. He keeps the statuette clutched against his breastbone, though really he's forgotten he's even holding it. But for all his terror, he stays where he is, doing nothing to retreat or flee, no matter how much he might like to do so.

Worthy, he thinks, wondering how his ancestors would deal with this creature. How his older brother would deal with it, or his genius friend Wei Wuxian. Are there binding charms he should be using? He never paid attention to these things, and anyway he's here on the entire premise that maybe his ancestors--with all their knowledge of binding charms and how to handle spirits--didn't go about this the right way.

"I wasn't even sure you were real," Huaisang tells the enormous, terrifying shadow, feeling like he might collapse at any moment. "Do you even understand language? I am Nie Huaisang."