—
In front of him was a world he had never seen—
He froze, watching Mù Xuán bend over the pale mushrooms.
Each cap throbbed gently, pulsing with a soft inner light like a faint heartbeat.
The gentle glow rose and fell in perfect rhythm beneath her fingers.
He knew them instantly.
"Gathering Mushrooms," he muttered. "Ancient-grade. They grow only where spiritual beasts rest."
Mù Xuán's eyes lit up. "Yes!" She looked at him her eyes shining," You know them? Zhù Yuan likes sleeping near them."
His expression hardened. Of course the dragon would.
—
He turned to his left, and his eyes widened.
Silver-thread vines!?
SILVER THREAD VINES!!??
They draped across a bent arch, droplets clinging to their silvery strands, sliding down like liquid moonlight.
Each drop hissed faintly as it touched the soil, evaporating instantly into mist.
"Moonweaver vines?" His voice was low as he turned towards her. "I thought they were extinct."
"They grow fast here," she said casually, plucking another mushroom.
He turned, eyes scanning the wild tangle of silver-thread vines now spilling freely into the clearing.
Extinct my ass.
—
He moved forward slowly, boots brushing against the grass, muscles taut, sword in hand.
Then he stopped.
Something whispered.
He spun, sword raised instinctively.
Mù Xuán stood still, tilting her head. "What is it?"
He didn't answer.
A rustle, soft—then silence.
To his right, a grove of bamboo swayed, just a little too rhythmically.
He frowned.
He had sworn someone spoke just now.
Another whisper, soft, almost childlike.
He froze.
Ancient. Familiar.
He looked at the Bamboos again.
They were the—
Whispering Bamboo!?
The legendary bamboo. They were used in the palace to record history itself. Its leaves could memorize the murmurs of every step, every secret.
It was said that if someone wanted the kingdom's deepest truths, the bamboo could tell them—all, without hiding anything.
However, the price was unimaginable.
———
He had only ever seen three clumps of them in the palace.
He stepped closer, scrutinizing the shifting green.
The grove seemed to watch him, its thin stems curling subtly as if aware of his intrusion.
He heard faint, ethereal voices, like children murmuring.
—
His jaw tightened.
"I don't like this," he muttered.
Mù Xuán laughed softly. "They seem to like you," she said, almost teasing, as she returned to her mushrooms.
He shot her a sharp glare, but she didn't notice.
Or didn't care.
—
He then noticed a tree in front of him.
A small tree stood ahead.
On its branches floated pink fruits.
They didn't sway. They just floated, slowly spinning in the air, drifting like lazy spirits.
He walked closer —but before he could reach it, it shot back up, spinning away with a faint giggle-like hum.
The apples began to orbit him slowly, keeping just out of reach.
Ling Xi frowned, hand tightening around his sword.
They moved in synchrony, as if his presence were a shadow they could not touch.
———
He stared. Dumbfounded.
"What…" His voice was low, incredulous. "…is that?"
Mù Xuán stood, brushing her hair back. "I didn't plant them. Found them last season. I called them levitating apples. Want to try? Sweet as peaches."
He shook his head.
No.
He'll never eat something he didn't know— again.
No. Thank you.
She shrugged, unconcerned, returning to her mushrooms.
—
A sudden blue flicker near his boot made him leap back a step.
A Thunder Cricket hopped into the air, sparks dancing from its shell.
His lips twitched.
This little thing—
He had played with them as a boy, caught them under moonlight, and once—once—they had bitten him.
The memory made his lips twitch again with an almost imperceptible smirk.
This girl's garden—alive.
Wild. Dangerous.
And somehow… hers.
—
His eyes swept around again — landing on a small pond.
He moved closer, heart skipping a beat.
It was clear and shimmering.
Lotus Wraith Carps swam beneath the water's surface, transparent, phantasmal. They glided through solid lotus petals as though the flowers were ghosts themselves.
"…Bigger than I expected," he muttered, voice low.
"They grow fast if you talk to them," she said from behind, her voice playful, almost teasing.
Talk to them?
He didn't reply.
He would not be talking to fish.
No. No way.
—
He looked down, and his breath hitched.
The grass beneath his boots gleamed faintly.
Mirror grass.
It reflected him perfectly.
He inhaled sharply.
Mirror Grass grew where repressed emotions were strongest.
Why was it here?
"Why is this here?"
"I don't know actually," she said softly — almost innocent.
He looked at her.
Long.
Carefully.
—
And then, ahead, he saw flowers burning in cold blue flame—the Fire-Petal Peonies.
Used in ancient battle ceremonies. Flames that burned without consuming.
He reached toward one, hesitated, and drew his hand back.
He let his eyes roam the garden.
The garden was alive.
He smirked faintly.
This girl—this small, quiet, unassuming girl— belonged here.
—
Then movement caught his attention from the corner of his eyes and he turned to look at her.
Were those Snow-Wing Moths?
Floating around Mù Xuán, brushing her shoulders, her hair, landing lightly on the sleeves of her robe.
His chest tightened. Unpleasant, irrational. He disliked it, though he couldn't look away.
The moths approached him.
Paused. Arced away perfectly, avoiding him.
Good. Even the smallest creatures hated him.
—
Mù Xuán turned. Mushrooms in hand.
Smile warm, gentle, untroubled by anything.
"You can come closer," she said, soft, inviting.
He exhaled through his nose.
"No," he said, flat, clipped. "Some of these things are new. I don't trust new."
She giggled and then tilted her head. Mischievous.
"Want to see more?"
He didn't answer immediately.
He stared at her, sword still resting in hand.
"…Lead the way," he said, clipped, measured. A faint spark of curiosity hid beneath his words.
She smiled, radiant.
Then stepped forward.
—
Suddenly, just as they were about to step forward—a low rumble rolled through the air.
Both froze.
Mù Xuán's eyes flicked toward the distant waterfall.
Her voice was barely a whisper.
"Zhù Yuan?"
The sound wasn't far… it wasn't quiet… it moved, vibrating through the ground beneath their feet.
Ling Xi's hand tightened on his sword.
His breath hitched.
Every instinct screamed danger.
The garden fell silent around them. Even the floating apples seemed to pause, hovering mid-air, quivering.
—