“Dawn Goose! You’re an undercover sent by the enemy, aren’t you?!”

The silver-haired girl ran her palm along the Skyship’s battered hull, like soothing a wounded whale under stormy skies; the doors of the Elven Royal Palace yawned open like stone petals, yet the ship’s frame was crumpled, its skin torn, black smoke coiling up like crows.

The black-haired girl looked guilty, her voice bristling like thorns even as her face stayed cool as midnight.

“Hmph! Useless Dixue dares to talk like that. Next time I’m not saving you.”

“Ugh! Who’s saving whom, really?” Her words collided like crossed blades.

“I came just to save you. If I hadn’t drawn their eyes, the pegasus knights would’ve turned you into a porcupine.”

“Oh, truly? Thanks to ‘Hero Xiang’ for swooping in, then?” Her sarcasm dripped like bitter tea.

“Useless Dixue, drop the yin-yang snark!”

“Sorry! Please don’t fight, you two. It’s all my fault.” The apology trembled like a thin reed in wind.

“It’s not that. It’s Dawn Goose—wait, hold up. Who are you?!?!”

Only then did Dixue notice: a new girl stood among them, quiet as moonlight.

Her eyes were wide and bright, lanterns lit in a clear night. Her hair was coiled in a retro waft of wa, a pale hairpin like ivory cloud resting in her black locks.

She wore a kimono printed with plum blossoms, its long obi winding her waist like a river ribbon, shaping the soft lines of an Eastern beauty while staying dignified and serene, a proper Yamato nadeshiko in bloom.

“Hello, Lady Dixue. My name is San Hua Zhi.”

She bowed with a gentle bend, sleeves floating like butterfly wings, her kimono swaying like petals on a brook—graceful, clean, right.

“San Hua Zhi… why does that name sound so familiar?” Dixue propped her cheek on one finger, thoughts rustling like dry bamboo, no answer falling.

“San Hua Zhi… LittleSnow! She’s the Blood Dancer!”

“Eh!? Ehhhhh?! Such an elegant girl is the Blood Dancer!!” Dixue’s eyes flew open like startled swans; disbelief rippled through her voice. They had lived alongside the Blood Dancer awhile, yet San Hua Zhi had stayed tucked in Xiaoyan’s room, quiet as a sealed bell, nothing like this.

“Useless Dixue, don’t bully my partner! What’s wrong with Xiao Zhi changing like this?”

“Mm… it’s a surprise, but that’s on me. Xiao Zhi, I apologize to you, properly, here.”

“Please don’t, Lady Dixue! My change is big, and not recognizing me is normal. And San Hua becoming like this is thanks to Lady Dixue’s mercy. So, please accept San Hua’s thanks…”

The wa-styled girl started to kneel, ready to offer a formal, ground-lit bow.

“Ah! No need! At the Rangers Lodge, we keep things easy like a summer breeze~”

The silver-haired girl hurried to lift San Hua Zhi, joy peeking out like sun through leaves, then tossed a “complaint” toward Xiang Xiaoyan.

“Xiaoyan, learn from your partner. Fix that bad habit of spitting poison. In the real world, that’s not a moe point.”

“Useless Dixue, shut up!”

…

No matter what was said, after a brief quarrel the girls stepped into the Elven Royal Palace.

The Skyship couldn’t fly for now, so they left it at the entrance like a sleeping whale.

Yue Liuyi followed the group into the front garden.

The sight washed over her like spring rain; it was the most beautiful scene she’d ever seen.

Shaded paths arched under thick green boughs, vine galleries tressed a living corridor; on the way to the main hall sprawled a vast flowerfield, a sea of colors—roses, hyacinths, tulips, chrysanthemums, lilies—blooms of different seasons opening together like a chorus, dazzling as a painted dawn.

“Wow, so pretty!” Ailuna darted into the flowers like a small sparrow. The World Tree Maiden loved blossoms the way a bee loves sun; she pressed her cheek to a bloom, drew a deep breath, and happiness lit her face like morning light.

On the other side, the catgirl wobbled, listless as a wilted stalk; pollen must have been a spell on her, making her sway.

“Zaocun… doesn’t like flowers much. Feeling dizzy…” Her ears drooped like damp leaves.

“Whew… didn’t expect the Elven Queen’s taste to be this refined.” Dixue clasped her hands behind her back, chin lifted to the sky like a crane; she rose on her toes, stretching like a reed in wind.

“Doesn’t feel like a battle mood at all…” Yue Liuyi’s heart felt like a picnic basket, light and unguarded; even knowing a hard fight might come, this felt like a countryside outing with friends.

“LittleMoon, don’t slack. Tisinate might use this flowerfield to soften our guard, then strike like a snake in grass!”

“But I think LittleSnow’s slacking more than me.” Her playful jab flicked like a cherry pit.

“That’s not true… huh?”

Dixue was still talking big, when a small fireball rushed at their faces, swift as a daredevil swallow.

The legendary Face-Blast—cast by fire-dragonfruit flowers hidden in the blossoms.

“Ah, what’s that?” Voices popped like lilypads.

“All the flowers… woke up!”

Not just dragonfruit; sunflowers fired lasers like sunbeams turned knives; tulips flung magic waves like ripples turned fists; worse, pea flowers spat peas with crisp snaps!

Some peas came single-shot like raindrops; others chattered in bursts like hail. The peashooters’ leaves had grown oddly black, like army helmets nodding over green heads.

“Is Tisinate’s last name Dave?!” The joke bounced like a pebble across a pond.

“H-help! Why are the flowers attacking Zaocun even though she isn’t a zombie?!” Her yowl skittered like a startled cat.

“Whoa! Everyone, heads up—this is a trap laid by the enemy’s underlings!” The warning cut the air like a bell.

The plants’ attacks overwhelmed the girls like a monsoon—flowers in front, and farther back huge fruiting plants hurled death like carnival games: tomatoes, pineapples, corn, watermelons—

Fruits flew like grenades, peas zipped like green bees; over the Elven Capital’s sky, it looked like a grand produce expo gone berserk.

The plants didn’t hit hard, but fruit juice and peas stuck like honey and glue; skirts and hair turned sticky, uncomfortable as mud clinging to ankles.

“Everyone… run for the main hall! It should be safe!” Yue Liuyi scanned the garden like a wary deer; the hall seemed the only refuge.

At least, there were no plants inside.

“Mm! Keep formation, don’t scatter! Dawn Goose, guard the others.”

“I know. You don’t have to say it.” Her answer snapped like a taut bowstring.

Under the plants’ volley, they finally sprinted into the front hall.

Pillars and crystal walls shielded them like cliffs and ice; at last, breath came back like a cup of cool water.

“Whew…” The sighs fluttered like tired swallows.

Yue Liuyi glanced around. The clever Dixue, the sharp-tongued Dawn Goose, the elegant San Hua Zhi, the guileless Zaocun—all of them were smeared in fruit remains, dirty as refugees just spilled from a mudlot.

Except one.

Ailuna.

During that leafy barrage, the World Tree Maiden had slipped through like a shadow among roots; no plant touched her. Her pink dress stayed neat as a rosebud, a little princess unruffled by storm.

“W-why didn’t Ailuna get hit?” Zaocun’s curiosity peeked like a kitten.

“Zaocun, because Ailuna’s a World Tree Maiden, right? Plants don’t strike their kin.” The answer settled like dew.

“So nice… Zaocun wants to be a World Tree Maiden too.” Her wish drifted like a dandelion.

“That’s not something you can just become.” Yue Liuyi’s retort flicked like a fan; she glanced down—luckily, not much plant juice stuck to her, the colors stayed normal, unlike… someone.

“Why are there white fruits?!” Dixue wailed, tragic as a crane caught in tar. In that leafy assault, ordinary plants avoided her, while the white ones zeroed in—

So the rotten fruit juice was white—

Um.

Best not to paint that picture.

“If I fight Tisinate like this, they’ll laugh me out of the hall! This is too embarrassing!!” Dixue stomped, heels tapping the floor like agitated rain.

“How about cleaning with water magic?” The suggestion swished like a sponge.

“Then I’ll be soaked and my underwear will show! That’s bad too!” Her panic flared like a dropped lantern.

“Ugh… and we don’t have spare clothes right now.” The gloom settled like fog.

“Heh… that’s the price of barging into the Elven Royal Palace…” A voice drifted across the empty hall like a damp wind through crypts.

“Huh? Who’s talking?”

“Me. The court mage of the Elven Kingdom.” The reply coiled like a snake behind a pillar.

…

A woman in a gray robe walked toward them like a shadow slipping from old stone.

Her face hid beneath a hood and a black mask, age unreadable, silence close as moss.

From her heavy voice and slightly bent back—

“Old hag?” Yue Liuyi said it straight, words thudding like an acorn.

The woman halted.

Air froze in the hall like winter in a bell jar; even a pin’s drop would sound like thunder.

“Huh? Did I say something wrong?” Her innocence blinked like a deer.

“LittleMoon, telling a woman’s true age is the best way to enrage her.” The whisper slid like a knife behind paper.

“Eh?” Her surprise popped like a bubble.

“Heh… ‘old hag’? ‘Old hag’!?” The voice cracked like dry wood.

With a furious motion, the gray-robed woman tore off hood and mask; revealed was a face lined like a weathered map, anger burning like coals in a brazier.

“Little girl, did your mother never teach you to respect the old and love the young? Some words are absolutely forbidden!!!!” Her fists flailed like branches in a storm, a forest witch snarling between roots.

“If you said ‘respect the old and love the young,’ you basically admitted you’re—”

“Shut up!!!! Looks like you need a lesson!”

Wrinkled eyes squeezed tight like dried plums, fixed on Yue Liuyi with elder fury cold as winter water; Yue Liuyi shivered like a leaf.

“Like this, I’ll make you—”

The elven granny drew her staff, lips trembling like a drumskin, about to chant a spell like frost brewing.

“LittleMoon, don’t be scared. Archers counter mages. Leave this one to your sister Dixue.” Dixue stepped beside Yue Liuyi, confidence puffing like silver flame.

Her right hand raised the silver bow without a trace of doubt; its dancing light gleamed like moon on rivers—so reassuring you’d believe her on sight, if you ignored the suspicious white stains on her clothes.

“I won’t let you hurt LittleMoon!”

“Heh…” The chuckle was a shadow.

“Secret Art—Cherry Blossom Butterfly Speech.” Her voice rang like petals falling steel.

“Secret Spell—Rage of the Hawthorn Blossom.” The rejoinder snapped like bitter spring.

“Eh!?” Dixue’s eyes widened like midnight lanterns; in a heartbeat, she realized she had picked a foe she hated most…