It is so easy to see shades of his own pain in that trembling hand and that desperate, fraying grip on his composure. Jin Guangyao feels a clench in his stomach, an ache for some longed for comfort that young Meng Yao had never been offered. He is the worst person to try to offer it now. He's also the only one.

He hesitates, then wordlessly reaches across the table a second time and lets his hand hover gently over Shen Yuan's forearm. At the slightest indication the touch is unwelcome, he will withdraw his hand. But if he doesn't perceive any discomfort, he gently lays his palm against his friend's wrist.