***
Rui moved quietly along the wooden corridor as sunlight spilled through the lattice, striping the floorboards with pale light. The morning air outside was cool and damp, carrying a faint scent of bark.
He stepped off the path toward the silver tree at the forest's edge, tray wobbling slightly as he squinted up through the branches. Maybe, if luck was kind, one of the spirit apples had grown overnight—something to bring her.
Rui had been thinking about it since dawn, about the way Yao Yao had looked last night, quiet and small, trying not to let her shoulders shake. A single apple might help. Or at least distract her.
He leaned back, eyes tracing the higher branches. Nothing. Not even a bud. With a quiet sigh, he glanced toward the castle. Maybe there was something else he could find in the vault—a crystal, perhaps. He tried to recall which ones were safe for humans. Most were amplifiers, and half of those could burn through an untrained body before doing any good.
Pushing the thought aside, Rui kept walking until the trees thinned and the glass dome came into view. He was only a few steps away when a sound reached him—a sharp scrape, a pause, then another.
Rui frowned, pushed the door open—then stopped.
Yao Yao crouched by a flowerbed, sleeves rolled to her elbows, hair stuck to her cheek. A small trowel flashed in her hand as she dug furiously, dirt streaking across her face like paint.
Then, without warning, a flower sprang up, bounced off her head before hopping onto a nearby branch.
"HEY! That's really rude!" she shouted, swinging the trowel after it.
Rui blinked. Of all the things he'd expected to find this morning, a mud-covered child arguing with plants was not one of them.
In the far corner, a cluster of purple lilies shuffled sideways, slipping behind a shrub as though trying to avoid eye contact.
"…What are you doing?" he asked carefully.
Yao Yao turned, fierce and flushed. "Trial!" she barked—like that one word could explain everything.
"I'm supposed to make them like me, but they're—" she jabbed the trowel toward the smug flower on its branch "—staging a coup!"
Another lily ducked deeper into the greenery, petals quivering like laughter.
At the far end, the Spirit King sat at a stone table, head resting against one hand, the other holding an open book scorched with dark sigils. It looked like something that should have been sealed away for eternity—yet he turned the pages with the idle calm of a man reading before breakfast.
Without lifting his gaze, he gestured lazily toward a patch of red geraniums sprawling across the path. "Those should be in pots."
Yao Yao gawked and jabbed the trowel at the unruly patch. "Pots?! Have you seen them?"
The entire cluster snapped their petals open and shut with sharp little clicks—like a bunch of tiny mouths spitting at her. Then their roots coiled up from the ground and flung more soil across the stones, as if claiming ownership of the path.
"Then persuade them." His tone was mild as he turned another page.
Rui exhaled and crossed the dome, setting the breakfast tray beside the Spirit King's elbow, careful not to disturb the vines curling along the table's edge.
"Trial," he muttered under his breath. "Trial for what, exactly?"
Across the beds, Yao Yao was still at war. She lunged for the runaway flower, brandishing the trowel like a sword. "You—get back in your bed right now!"
The flower tilted, smug and unrepentant.
Rui leaned closer to the Spirit King, keeping his voice low. "What in the world is going on?"
"She wanted a trial," the King replied, eyes still on the book. "For the contract."
Rui's jaw tightened. "You're not seriously considering it, are you?"
In the background, Yao Yao let out another battle cry as a second flower yanked free, its roots kicking like spindly legs as it scuttled for the shrubs.
"Because," Rui muttered, "this looks less like a trial and more like free labor."
"Both," the Spirit King said, a faint curve at his mouth. "The two aren't mutually exclusive."
Rui stared at him. "You can't contract a human. You—" his voice dropped low, "—do you even have a spirit bond in the first place?"
The King's eyes lifted briefly, following Yao Yao's dirt-streaked figure crawling through the soil, then fell back to the page. "Don't think so."
Rui frowned. "Then what is this supposed to be?" He gestured vaguely toward the chaos. "You vanish for one night, and suddenly she's out here landscaping your dome?"
"Perhaps I do have a bond," the King said lightly. "You never know."
"That's not funny."
"I wasn't joking."
"You were," Rui muttered, keeping his voice low—not that it mattered. The girl was too absorbed to notice. "You're toying with her. Giving her false hope."
The King turned another page as if he hadn't heard. "Am I?"
Rui let out a quiet breath, glancing toward the King even though the man hadn't looked up once. "You didn't see her yesterday," he said after a moment. "She wouldn't even talk on the way back. I thought taking her to the pond might help, but—"
The page stopped. The King's hand froze halfway, as if something in the words had snagged him. "…What pond?"
Rui blinked, caught off guard. "The… wishing one," he said after a beat. "Down by the lower grove. I figured—" He rubbed the back of his neck, awkward now. "—I figured it'd cheer her up, that's all."
The Spirit King didn't answer. His eyes were still on the page, though he wasn't really reading anymore—just letting the pages turn under his fingers, eyes sliding over symbols he no longer saw.
Rui hesitated, searching the King's face. "What?" His voice tightened. "It's just a pond."
The King's head lifted at that. Their eyes met. He didn't answer. Rui thought he saw surprise flicker—then vanish. He'd known the man long enough to read such small changes, yet this time he couldn't tell what he'd said wrong.
Rui swallowed. "She made a wish," he added quietly, almost out of guilt. "Dropped a button in. That's all."
"She dropped something into it?"
"Yeah… Why? Is there something wrong with that?"
The Spirit King flipped another page and leaned back, almost comfortable, though the crease stayed in his brow. "That pond isn't meant for humans."
"It's just a pool of water. Spirits toss things in and make wishes all the time—"
"Exactly," the King said. "Spirits. Not humans."
***
By the time it finally ended, the sun was high overhead. Yao Yao stood before him—breath ragged, cheeks streaked with dirt. Her knees were caked in mud, sleeves soaked halfway to the elbows. The trowel hung from her hand like it had grown there. She didn't move or even wipe her face—just stood there, waiting.
Her bandages had come loose somewhere along the way, barely holding together now. One edge brushed her wrist when she moved, but she didn't notice.
The King watched her for a moment. His gaze drifted slowly around the dome—the neatly packed beds, the clean path, the still air—before returning to her.
"You're almost there," he said at last. "But not quite."
"Almost?" she burst out. "What do you mean almost?!"
"It means you failed."
She blinked at him, lost for a second. "I—what—you—" Her hand flew out, pointing at everything around her. "Are you kidding me? Have you seen this place?"
Rui's gaze flicked around despite himself. She wasn't wrong. The dome looked cleaner than he remembered—beds neatly shaped, vines pulled back, paths visible again in ways he hadn't thought possible. When he'd last seen it, the place had been a tangle of wild growth, every inch alive and overrun.
No one had dared touch it.
Back then, the Spirit King had still been asleep, and the plants had grown unchecked for years. They didn't like being disturbed, especially by anyone other than him. Even now, he wasn't sure how she'd managed to do this much without getting swallowed whole.
He exhaled quietly. …It really did look better.
But the King didn't seem impressed.
"Look at that!" Yao Yao said, gesturing wildly at the nearest bed where red blossoms stood in perfect rows. "I dug every root, shoved them back in, lined them so tight they can't even wiggle—and now they're practically dancing for me!"
The Spirit King looked at the patch and raised a brow. "Are you?"
The blossoms rustled, petals flickering from red to gold, their shy murmur rippling through the air. "No… not her. We're dancing for you." A wave of giggles followed, as their leaves brushed against each other in amusement.
Yao Yao froze. "What—"
The Spirit King's eyes slid back to her. "Doesn't seem like they like you enough."
Her mouth fell open. Then she spun toward the path—once a tangle of vines, now cleared and bright. "Fine! What about that? I clawed through roots thick enough to strangle me, pulled until my arms went numb—" she threw both hands up in the air, bandages sliding loose "—and look! They were hurting this morning, and now they're—"
The cloth fell away completely, landing in the dirt. Her hands looked new. The scratches were gone, the cuts sealed smooth.
"…Healed… ?"
She turned them over once, twice. No pain. Not even a sting. Come to think of it, they hadn't hurt while she'd been digging either.
"That's…" she murmured, frowning at her palms. "That's strange."
The King said nothing. A vine crept up the side of his chair and brushed against his wrist. He glanced down, thumb running along the stem with the faintest trace of amusement.
"Do you like her a little more now?" he asked softly.
The vine gave a quick shake—no—and then coiled tighter around his hand like a cat seeking forgiveness.
Yao Yao stared. "You're taking their side?!"
She pointed at the vine, voice pitching higher. "I cleaned up your mess! Untangled every knot, trimmed the dead parts, even cleared the path so you could breathe—and this is how you thank me?"
The vine flinched, tucking itself behind his sleeve.
"Unbelievable," she muttered, hands on her hips. "First they attack me, now they're playing favorites. What do I have to do, bribe them with fertilizer?!"
Her gaze jumped to the corner. "What about those monsters!" she shouted, stabbing her finger at the carnivorous blooms. "They spat dirt at me, bit me, nearly tore my hand off—and I still watered them, trimmed them, and now they're smiling at me like little murderers! That's an achievement! That counts!"
The flowers looked back—wide-mouthed grins full of slick teeth, almost proud, as if agreeing with her. Though one had a green leaf stuck between its teeth, half-chewed.
He frowned. "You didn't brush their teeth."
Yao Yao blinked, disbelief spreading across her face. "Are you kidding me?! After everything I've done, you're still failing me?!"
Her hands flew up toward him, dirt scattering everywhere. "What else do you want?! Huh?! A topiary of your face?!"
The Spirit King's book snapped shut, the sound echoing through the dome. Yao Yao flinched before she could stop herself.
He leaned forward, eyes meeting hers for a moment, then slid past toward a bare corner. His hand lifted, fingers giving a small twist, and the vines there began to rise—coiling together until a towering topiary formed.
His face. Carved in perfect leafy green. Narrow eyes, elegant jawline, and that same smug curve of his mouth.
Rui's eyes widened. "You can't be serious—"
The King leaned back, looking pleased. "Not a bad idea."
Yao Yao stared at the absurd thing towering over her—mouth hanging open, fighting the urge to stab the trowel straight into the grassy face of that topiary.