The smile on Han Yu's face remained perfectly static. It was a masterpiece of mimicry—warm, inviting, and utterly devoid of life. The eyes, however, were two voids, absorbing the dim light of the Window Quarter without reflecting a single spark of humanity.
Lin Yue did not blink. He did not recoil. He simply observed the angle of the smile, the lack of tension in the facial muscles, and the way the air seemed to stagnate around Han Yu.
"That depends," Lin Yue replied, his voice a flat, clinical line. "On whether 'real' is defined by the appearance of a person, or the presence of the thing that makes them a person."
Han Yu's head tilted a fraction of a degree. The movement was too smooth, lacking the organic micro-tremors of a human neck. "A philosophical answer. Very safe. Very... you."
