As Merlin shifts and goes to stand, Sizhui's gaze stays steadily fixed on him, observing how he moves, if there are any visible injuries or worse. From what he can tell though, he seems alright and there's an obvious relaxation in the slope of his shoulders at the realization. He's younger, it's true, but only by a couple years, give or take. Over that span, however, he hasn't gotten much taller (and doesn't seem to be growing anymore).

“Merlin,” he repeats, thickly accented, but intelligible despite that.

His hand is spared the briefest glance then Sizhui politely inclines his head, straightens, copies Merlin by resting a hand over his own chest and offering his name in kind, “Sizhui.”