Yao Yao turned back toward the floor.
Most of the snakes had already slithered to the left, piled together in a restless tangle. Only a few stayed on the right—scattered and still, their heads lifted toward her, waiting.
She stared at them for a long moment, trying to read their faces—not that snakes really had any. But something in her chest tugged, quiet and certain.
Was it that one?
It could only be. Something about the way it had spoken—plain, almost practical—had sounded honest.
Her gaze flicked toward Rui. He met her eyes for half a second before coughing and turning away, suddenly very interested in the nearest pot of flowers.
Her hand tightened on her skirt. "The yellow one," she murmured under her breath, then looked at the King and said it again more firmly. "The yellow one! That's the honest one."
The King watched her for a long moment, then turned back to the floor. The mass of snakes shifted below, scales glinting faintly in the light.
"Which one?" he asked, as if she hadn't already said it twice.
"The yellow one!" Yao Yao said, exasperated. "It was right there in front of us earlier!"
He scanned the crowd again, expression unreadable. "I don't see it."
She blinked at him. "You're looking the wrong way."
"I'm looking exactly where you're pointing."
"No, you're not—it was right there!"
He made a thoughtful sound, eyes still on the floor below. "Strange. They all look the same to me."
Yao Yao stared at him, mouth falling open. Then she leaned forward, voice rising. "Do you have comprehension issues, or are you doing this on purpose?!"
He turned his gaze back to her, that faint curve already tugging at his mouth. "I said to find the honest one," he said lightly. "But where is it now?"
Silence settled between them. He didn't look away, and she couldn't tell if the pause that followed was pity or amusement. The longer he watched her, the clearer it became—he wasn't waiting for an answer.
She understood it then. He was going to fail her. Somewhere inside, she already knew he wasn't serious, that the trial had never really mattered. Still, she held on, pretending it did, because if it hadn't, then neither had her effort, her fear, or that small, foolish hope.
Maybe, in the end, she was the only honest one here—honest enough to still believe it meant something.
Her throat tightened. She turned sharply toward the shrubs, scanning the vines. "It was right there—right there just now!"
The King didn't answer. The decision was already made in his silence.
Yao Yao's pulse jumped. "No, wait! I can still find it!" she blurted, her voice coming fast, desperate—like saying it first might stop the verdict.
She climbed down from the chair, tripping a little over her skirt, and rushed toward the bushes. "Yellow one!" she called, pushing through the leaves. "Hey—come back! I know it's you!"
Rui stood by the table, watching her run between the plants, skirts catching on vines as her voice echoed through the dome. She searched every pot, every crack in the floor, calling out like the snake might still answer.
It was almost pitiful.
He knew it was gone. The man had already drawn back his magic.
But the Spirit King stayed where he was, expression unreadable, eyes on the floor. Then he lifted his hand.
Light rippled through the dome, gold and quiet, before scattering like mist. One by one, the snakes dissolved into the air—scales turning to fine dust that shimmered for a moment before fading. The sound went with them, leaving only chaos behind. Soil lay overturned, vines sprawled across the paths, and blossoms had fled their beds, the place in disarray.
Yao Yao froze, breath stuck in her throat as she turned toward him.
He met her eyes briefly—no amusement this time, just quiet finality—then looked to Rui.
"Clean her up," he said. "When she's rested, bring her to the lower chamber."
Rui's brows lifted slightly. "The lower chamber?"
The King didn't say another word. He only turned and walked toward the door.
"Wait—!" Yao Yao called, taking a step forward. But he didn't stop. His pace stayed steady, the sound fading until the door closed behind him.
She stood there, still reaching out to the space where he'd been. What did that mean?
The dome was silent again. When she finally looked around, the garden lay like a battlefield. All that work, all that shouting—and this was what remained.
She no longer knew if she'd passed or failed—only that the place felt emptier than before.The vines still swayed where the magic had passed, and the air carried the faint, dry scent of dust.
***
Rui brought her back to the castle, one hand lightly at her shoulder as if afraid she'd wander off again. On the way, he kept talking—asking what exactly had happened before he got there.
It was endless.
By the fifth question, Yao Yao was half convinced he'd turned into Lily. The same worried tone, the same sighs between sentences, the same way of scolding while pretending it wasn't scolding at all.
By the time he finally stopped long enough to shove her gently toward the bath, her head was spinning.
When the dirt was gone and the last tangle combed through, she barely recognized herself in the mirror. Someone had left a folded dress on the bed—dark sea blue, soft to the touch, thick enough to hold its shape. When she slipped it on, the fabric shimmered faintly along the hem, glinting like water at dusk.
She turned once, studying the fit, the way it fell clean around her. It was beautiful—too proper for her mood, but still beautiful.
The room itself looked unreal. Walls trimmed with pale gold, curtains drawn back to tall windows overlooking the courtyard. Everything gleamed—polished, quiet, like something out of a painting.
Her eyes caught on a candleholder by the bedside. It was gold—solid, heavy-looking, the kind that reflected even a faint flame.
She reached for it, curiosity beating the manners out of her. The metal was cool in her hand. She tilted it a little, squinting, then gave it a cautious shake as if she could guess its weight.
… Is this real gold?
She shook it again, trying to remember how much gold should weigh. If it really was solid, the amount in this room alone probably cost more than her entire apartment once had.
What does he even do to be this rich?
She set it back carefully, lips pressing into a thin line. If that man lived surrounded by things like this, he was either a king—or had robbed one.
A soft knock came before the door opened. Rui stepped in with a tray and set it down on the table, glancing her way.
She looked different now—hair tied back in a loose ponytail, the dark blue dress gleaming faintly when she turned. For a moment, he just watched her, then he smiled a little. "It suits you."
Yao Yao blinked, caught off guard.
Her hand went up, rubbing the tip of her nose as faint color crept into her cheeks. "Well… I mean, of course it does. I have confidence in my looks."
Rui laughed softly, stepping closer. He gestured toward the edge of her skirt. "Here. Watch this."
He pinched the fabric gently and pulled. The cloth didn't stretch or wrinkle—it shifted, adjusting itself as though alive, the shimmer deepening before settling back.
Yao Yao's eyes widened. "Did you just—what is it doing?"
"It's the fabric," Rui said. "Not the dress. I wove it with magic. It molds to whoever wears it—changes length, shape, even weight if it needs to. And it won't tear easily."
He let go of the hem and watched it fall perfectly into place. "It also carries a light protection charm. Enough to shield from minor harm."
Yao Yao brushed the skirt lightly, fingertips following the smooth weave. "So it's like… armor?"
"In a way," he said, tone softening. "Seeing how easily you get yourself in danger here, it seemed like a better gift than another crystal or apple."
She looked down at the shimmer that moved like quiet water under her hands. "…Thanks," she said after a moment.
Rui smiled, teasing gently. "Try not to ruin this one too soon."
Yao Yao looked up, smiling. "You remind me of my brother."
That caught him off guard. "You have a brother?"
She nodded, warmth flickering in her expression. "Mm. He loves me a lot, but… before I came here, we argued. When I go back, I'm going to apologize." Then, with renewed spark, she raised a fist. "And show off a little—once I've made my spirit contract."
Rui chuckled. "You're still young. You'll find your spirit bond one day."
"I already found mine," she said matter-of-factly.
He blinked, watching her carefully. There wasn't a hint of doubt in her tone—just certainty that left him uneasy. "Yao Yao," he said quietly, "spirit bonds… they're special."
She tilted her head, waiting.
"Spirit bonds aren't something you can chase," he said. "They happen when two souls move in the same rhythm. The silver threads you've seen during summoning—they're not just magic. They're fate written in light. Some people find them early. Some never do."
He pointed lightly to himself. "I've lived centuries and never had a human bond. But my magic's never been weaker for it."
Her eyes widened. "You've never had a contract before?"
He gave a soft laugh. "No. But I'm still powerful, you know."
She looked unconvinced.
Rui laughed again, awkward this time. "Alright, maybe not compared to him, but still."
His voice softened. "A bond can raise your limits. It can bring you higher. But strength doesn't come from who stands beside you. It comes from how much of yourself you're willing to use."
He paused then, a faint hesitation before he added, "That man… he taught me that."
Yao Yao blinked. "That man?"
"The one you've been chasing," he said softly. "For a contract."
For a moment, his gaze drifted past her, softened by something she couldn't quite name. "He's someone very special," Rui went on, voice low. "To me—and to this place."
The room felt quieter somehow, the words hanging there between them. Rui reached for the tray, fingertips adjusting one of the cups that didn't need fixing. "One day," he said after a pause, "when you're older, you'll understand."
Then he looked back at her and smiled faintly. "Here. Eat while it's hot."
Yao Yao climbed into the chair and pulled the plate closer. She ate quietly, unsure what to say to what Rui had shared. Something about it—the weight in his voice—left her chest tight in a way she couldn't explain.
Between bites, she glanced up. Rui had settled across from her, one elbow resting by the window, gaze distant. The silence wasn't heavy. It felt like the pause between breaths.
After a moment, she set her spoon down. "The lower chamber," she said softly. "What's down there?"
Rui's eyes drifted back to her. He didn't answer.
The silence stretched, long and unbroken, as the light outside dimmed against the window. Somewhere deep in the castle, a low wind moved, carrying with it the faint hum of magic below.