There's barely acknowledgement, Cat only giving a soft 'tch' as if he disapproves of even the food that's been brought to him, even as he's inwardly, reluctantly hopeful. Surely not even Li Lianhua could have screwed that meal up. It had to be good. ...It seemed to be plentiful, too, even if Cat's not looking over to the table -- more a coffee table than for dining, even if that's what Cat used it for, seated on the couch for his meals -- to get a proper look at what he's been brought.

Could he be that missed? Is there some special holiday or festival that he doesn't know about being observed? Either way, it's foolish of the older man.

Despite his misgivings, he closes the door again rather than usher Li Lianhua back through it. It has the unintended effect of darkening the room again. The trailing off and the vagueness only make Cat frown even more, though the cat mask has its usual friendly, carved countenance when directed Huli Jing's way once again. This fucking guy, huh?

"Whatever you say," he sighs, strolling over to pick up the jar for inspection instead. Jam? Nice. Evidently he has no interest in finding out what the real reason for Li Lianhua's visit is just yet, with how he's fully ignoring the paper and not engaging in the conversation any more than necessary.