Control was key for their sect, to a point anyway and he could feel the threads breaking as time passed, his temper building to a point where there'd be no coming back, but he'd found methods of coping. The music helped, but it wasn't always available and sometimes he needed an outlet. Whether it be fighting or something else.

And there were people who could keep up with him, who he trusted to be able to pull him back from the edge even if he knew that wouldn't work forever. And at the moment, he's panting, one hand on his saber, blade digging into the ground as he stares at the man between himself and the wall. Their spar had moved all over the silent courtyard and he was almost certain he could feel eyes on them.

But he didn't want to step back either, his other hand braced against the wall beside Zonghui's head, taking a moment to try and calm his breathing.