A littler purpose. He thinks about the grain of wheat in his hand at the end of Lan Wangji's meditation lesson. Something small, with possibility in it. If he closes his eyes and sinks down inside himself to the uncut field of wheat, he can imagine that all those stalks are heavy with handfuls of small things that could be something, all those wants and desires he's buried grown up for harvest, all those things he likes -- sketching and baking and arranging flowers, reading frivolous books, learning games and tasting new things -- ready to be turned to sustenance.

He squeezes Magnus' hand again.