The courtyard breathed silence. It was quiet here during the day, but especially at night. No voices, no footsteps. Only a rare breath of wind, shifting the shadow of the lantern. They sat at an old wooden table, Ho Gamen and Chan Ilso. There's a teapot and an earthenware bowl between them. Not oolong, but something stronger. Sometimes it's necessary not to think too clearly.

Gamen held the bowl with two fingers. The light of the lantern danced in the ceramics, and the shadows wavered like memories from which he had long ago learned not to speak aloud. His face remained calm, closed. But the moon reflected in Ilso's eyes, and perhaps someone attentive could have seen too much in them.

"You didn't just come here," Gamen said without looking up. He already knew Ilso was there. He always made a little noise, even when trying to be quiet.

Ilso sat down unevenly, with excessive alacrity that seemed too young, too human beside Gamen's immobility. "I just couldn't sleep," he muttered. "These days are... overloaded."

Gamen nodded. No questions were asked, no explanations needed. On nights like this, words were superfluous. They simply drank as time passed slowly. If conversation happened, it was not from necessity but because the night allowed it.

Gamen looked up at the sky where the full moon hung like a simple, dumb circle. "It's a good night to let something go," he said aloud, not for Ilso but simply releasing the thought.

"Or to realize that you can't let go anymore," Ilso replied with that wry smile that always hid something.

Gamen didn't answer, just poured more tea. Without words. No gestures. As always. The night continued to speak for them.