He knows it well, better than anybody in this world could ever.

He knows how much pain and suffering you been through in all those eight hundred years; how you couldn’t break down; how you felt pathetic and worthless, and exactly that was the way others used treat you, stepping over you like some stray and old dog.

— “It’s alright, San-Lang. It wasn’t that bad..” - you replied; trying hide the tear marks on your cheeks. He simply stared at you with an stern yet, full of pain look. He, without saying and word turned around, back to poor looking statue of yourself. The one, others would kick while insulting you and blaming you of their disgraces. He hugged it, wrapping his arms tightly around it and hiding his face on the crying statue’s neck.

The only thing listenable was his short but full of sorrow sighs. He didn’t want let you suffer, that was the worst pain on the world he could ever experience, even after the death.

His beloved been hurt, that was the worst pain he could ever feel.

It made him feel impotent, worthless, made him feel pathetic.