Yao Yao's brow twitched. "This trial is not fair," she muttered, glaring up at the ridiculous figure of vines and leaves towering above her. It looked too real for something made of plants—and somehow the leafy idiot still managed to look smug, just like the man himself.
Across the table, the man who'd set all this up rested his chin in one hand, studying his creation like a masterpiece.
"Fair?" he said, sounding far too amused. "You asked for something adjusted to your level. It's adjusted, and now you call it unfair?"
"Well obviously!" she shot back. "How's it fair if I have to make your plants like me? They're biased! They'd rather die than admit it, and they're all on your side!"
A vine rustled beside her, leaves twitching as if caught guilty.
"See?" She jabbed a finger at it. "Rigged from the start!"
"They could've liked you more," he said, mouth curving into a small, infuriating smile . "If only you were likable."
"You—!" Her cheeks puffed red, fingers tightening around the trowel until the handle creaked.
Behind the table, Rui quietly stepped back. Instinct told him not to stand too close when her voice hit that pitch. Just far enough that if something went flying—trowel included—he'd be safe.
"Whether they like me or not is subjective!" Yao Yao snapped. "That's not even something you can judge properly!"
"Mm." The Spirit King folded his arms loosely, tilting his head. "So you want something more objective, then? Less emotional?"
"Yes! A proper trial. Right or wrong. Pass or fail. Not—this!" She waved both hands toward the vine creature. "Not something where I lose points because your garden's in love with you!"
The Spirit King looked at her for a moment, as if deciding whether her outrage was worth an answer. Then, he laughed softly and dropped the book onto the table, tracing the air as gold light gathered at his fingertips.
The floor gave a soft tremor, the scent of soil rising as leaves brushed together. Beneath it, a faint hiss could be heard—something moving under the dirt, thin shapes at first, weaving between pots and roots, splitting into more as they surfaced.
Her stomach dropped.
Dozens of snakes were crawling across the stones, spilling from the flowerbeds, slithering down from the topiary's leafy face.
Her breath caught—and the scream ripped out before she could stop it, loud enough for the nearest flowers to snap their petals shut. She stumbled back, trowel slipping from her hand as she scrambled onto the nearest chair and clung to the armrest like her life depended on it.
And somewhere behind her panic, she heard a quiet laugh—soft, pleased, and his.
The sound barely faded before a pale cobra began winding up the chair leg, tongue brushing the wood in slow flicks. Rui sighed, a faint green glow kindling at his fingertip.
The cobra paused, stared at the light for a moment, then turned and slipped into the shrubs without a sound.
The Spirit King's gaze slid toward him for a moment. Rui met it, then looked away quickly.
Below them, the floor writhed with color. Snakes slid over one another, heads lifting as if drawn by her fear. They didn't go near the men—only gathered beneath her chair, circling as if they shared a single mind.
"Why are they so huge?!" she yelped, dragging her legs onto the table and knocking over a cup, milk spilling across the tray.
Rui caught it before it slid off. "Careful," he said, trying to keep her from knocking anything else over.
Her eyes were glossy with tears as she turned toward the Spirit King, words stumbling out. "What—what are you doing?"
Another snake brushed the chair leg, its body making a faint, damp sound against the wood. She flinched and grabbed Rui's arm. "Make it stop! Rui, tell him to stop!"
"Just—hold still," he said, trying to keep her steady as she thrashed in panic between the table and chair.
The Spirit King leaned into his hand again, watching with mild amusement. "Your fair trial," he said, gesturing toward the floor. "One of them speaks the truth. The rest lie. Find the honest one, and you pass."
Yao Yao blinked at him, still trembling. "What?"
But before she could continue, something brushed her hair. She turned—and froze.
A small yellow snake had coiled along the back of her chair. Its scales gleamed under the light, soft gold, round black eyes blinking up at her far too innocently.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then it hissed, its tongue flicking out to brush her cheek.
Every hair on her body stood on end. Then she screamed—so loud the vines above them shook.
In blind panic, she grabbed the first thing she could reach—Rui's collar—and tried to climb him like a ladder.
"Yao Yao—wait—don't—!" Rui stumbled forward as she yanked down with both hands, nearly sending him headfirst into the table. He caught himself just in time, one hand braced against the surface, the other wrapping around her and pulling her up before they both went down.
She clung to him, trembling, face buried in his shoulder, fingers clutching his shirt like she'd drown if she let go.
Rui exhaled hard, glaring over her head. "You call this fair?" he said. "She's a child. You're not testing her—you're tormenting her!"
The Spirit King didn't seem the least bit guilty. "She asked for something that could be judged clearly," he said. "No emotions. Just an answer." His head tilted toward the sea of scales below. "Compared to Mount Irra, this is merciful."
Rui stared at him, tired beyond words. He didn't even want to know what Mount Irra was supposed to be. He looked down at the girl in his arms—eyes red, glaring through tears like she'd rather bite the King than cry again.
"Come on," he said softly. "Let's get you cleaned up. Eat something and rest a little, all right?" His gaze slid to the King. "Forget this man. He's clearly unwell."
The Spirit King only stretched his arms as if the whole thing had been entertaining. "Well, I gave her a fair chance," he said. "It's not my fault she didn't take it."
Rui didn't answer. He started to turn away—then felt a kick against his chest.
"Wait—!" Her hands shot toward the table again, legs scrambling as she tried to climb over. "I'll do it!" she shouted, voice cracking but determined.
"Yao Yao…"
"I said I'll do it!" She grabbed the table edge, glaring at the yellow snake on the chair. "Make him go down!"
The little snake blinked at her, tongue flicking curiously.
Rui sighed and lifted his hand again, faint green light kindling at his fingertip.
The King tilted his head, raising a finger in warning. "No helping. If you interfere, she fails."
Rui's hand hovered there, the light still flickering faintly. He didn't even know why he bothered. Honestly, failure sounded better. Maybe then this nonsense would end.
Before he could decide, Yao Yao threw a hand toward him without looking. "Don't help! Don't help!"
The yellow one flicked its tongue, looking harmless—almost like it was smiling.
For a moment, Yao Yao hesitated. Somehow, they didn't feel dangerous—more like magic-made illusions than real creatures. She spotted a fork on the table, grabbed it, and pointed it at the snake.
"You," she said, trying to sound brave. "Go down. Now."
It blinked once, then slithered back down the chair leg, almost sulky.
Yao Yao climbed back into the chair, muttering under her breath. A piece of toast clung to her knee—she flicked it off and brushed her palms on her skirt, pretending not to see how much her hands still shook.
Snakes were everywhere now, sliding over one another, slipping in and out of the flowerbeds. Just looking at them made her stomach twist.
And when one brushed too close, she flinched and shuffled back an inch on the chair, fork gripped tight in her hand like a weapon.
Then something odd caught her eye.
A vine was dragging itself across the floor, its leaves rustling as it slithered alongside the snakes, trying to blend in.
Yao Yao frowned. "What are you supposed to be?" she muttered. "A plant with an identity crisis?"
The vine paused mid-slither, as if it had heard her. Then it lifted its tip, stem curling upright like a snake raising its head. A single leaf flicked in her direction before it lowered itself again and slid away toward the flowerbeds.
"…Right," she muttered. "Definitely in a crisis."
Her gaze followed the vine's path until something at the edge of the shrubs caught her eye.
Near the edge of the shrubs sat a carnivorous flower. Its petals trembled faintly, and something red dangled limply from its mouth. It gave one lazy chew, then swallowed.
She stared for a second, unsure if she'd really seen what she thought she had. "Did that thing just eat one of them?"
The blossom gave a soft little burp, a puff of red dust drifting out as it turned toward her. Its petals peeled back to reveal a mouth full of teeth.
Yao Yao froze, every part of her brain quietly shutting down.
Right then, a blue snake slid past its roots. Without warning, the flower beside it bent down and chomped—one clean bite. No blood, no struggle, just a sharp crunch that echoed in the air.
"Careful," the Spirit King said, leaning forward. "They do get hungry. And there's only one honest snake. You wouldn't want it eaten before you find it."
Yao Yao gaped, pointing furiously. "Stop eating! Stop eating, you—!"
Another crunch cut her off. One of the blossoms had already latched onto a python twice its size, its petals stretched wide as it tried to swallow from the tail. The python turned around blinking, clearly more confused than hurt.
"That's it—enough!" she shouted, anger drowning the fear. "All of you, stop moving and shut up!"
Her voice rang through the glass dome, sharp and clear. The sound hung for a moment—then everything stopped moving.
Yao Yao lowered her arm, her breath loud in her ears. "You," she said quietly, pointing at the carnivorous blossom, "let it go."
The flower paused, gave a wet pop and spat the python's tail onto the floor. The snake blinked once, dazed, then slithered away.
"Good," she muttered, catching her breath as she scanned the room. "Now… which one of you is lying?"
For a moment, no one made a sound.
Then a slim purple snake lifted its head, voice proud. "Not me. I only tell the truth."
"That's exactly what a liar would say," hissed a green one beside it.
"I'm not lying," the purple shot back. "You are. You're green."
From somewhere under a pot came another voice. "He's right—green ones always lie."
"What do you mean green ones lie?" the other protested. "I'm not green—are you color-blind? I'm turquoise!"
"Stop—stop. Stop!" Yao Yao clutched her head, glaring at the floor.
What the hell.
There were too many of them—too many colors, too many little faces, all talking over one another. How was she supposed to find the honest one in that mess? There was no way to tell who was lying.
Her gaze drifted to the man still seated by the table. Every one of these snakes was his creation. If he wanted to, he could twist their words, make truth sound like a lie, fail her just because he felt like it.
He probably would too. Maybe he'd never been serious about the contract at all.
The snakes had gone still, dozens of glossy eyes turned up toward her. The silence stretched long enough for Rui to lean forward, unsure if she'd given up—or fallen asleep.
Then her eyes lit up.
She straightened, the corner of her mouth twitching like she'd just thought of something terrible and brilliant at once. Lifting a finger, she pointed squarely at the Spirit King.
"If this man and I both fell into the sea and couldn't swim," she said slowly, "and you could only save one of us—who would you save?"
The dome went silent.
Then the hissing started again—louder this time, a sudden wave of chaos as the snakes turned to each other, arguing over the question like it was a matter of life and death.
The Spirit King looked at her, brows lifting slightly, the usual trace of amusement slipping away as his gaze lingered longer than it should have.
Foolish as the question was, it was intriguing enough to make him stay.