Much to everyone's surprise (even himself), Jingyi somehow manages keeping quiet the whole way there, holding tightly to Sizhui's hand, his attention darting between their interlocked hands and where their feet move in sync every other step. Despite this, his thoughts are completely distracted with the earlier position they'd, ah, tumbled into while avoiding the enormous-strengthed creature.

As soon as they're out of the rain, however, the Lan disciple huffs, quite obviously irritated by their luck— or lack thereof, rather. Sizhui laughs though and he can't help softening, his own hands twisting up the sleeves of his robes. “Yeah, I'm fine,” he sighs. “Bruised pride and wet, dirty clothes aside.”

He shakes himself out a little more, almost like a wet dog but with far less spray, then Jingyi's attention is fully on the other boy when he asks, “Are you? Sizhui, that monster, it—” Could've killed us he'll leave unsaid. Instead, he tries again with, “What the hell was it?”