"Yes, well." Mingjue doesn't have an answer for that, and he is disgruntled at trying to bother with something a little too much like philosophy while he's all but melting into Xichen's chest. He shifts off Xichen to slide down onto the bed at his side and span his hand across Xichen's ribs, feeling the warmth of his skin. "It doesn't feel like a dream to me." He strokes upward along Xichen's chest to rest a gentle knuckle against the pulse in Xichen's throat. "You don't feel like a dream to me. And I could never had made up any of this nonsense if I dreamt a thousand years."