With Medeili back in her own body, Wang Yue finally felt a sense of relief.
Judging by her performance in the Witch Tournament and their current predicament, Plum was undoubtedly a reliable companion. Back then, she had decisively defeated Modesty despite her opponent wielding two imitations of Special Grade Relics; now, she had managed to reverse a lethal ambush even on hostile ground.
Wang Yue felt both reassured and significantly less pressured.
She thought for a moment and analyzed the situation. “The environment here suppresses the spirit and warps perception. Our enemies aren’t just the servants of the Demon Realm Lord—they are our own hearts.”
“Mm-hmm,” Medeili nodded in agreement.
“I have an idea,” Wang Yue said, struck by a sudden inspiration. “To prevent another soul-swapping incident, let’s use Command Spells!”
Command Spells formed from mana could only be activated by those with faith in the Demon. If another soul-swap occurred, the enemy’s soul would lack that faith and naturally be unable to use the mana. It would be easy to control them with the Command Spell.
Medeili had no objections. She grabbed Wang Yue’s wrist and traced the tip of her wand across her skin. Mana flickered, sketching the image of a pig’s head onto Wang Yue’s forearm.
“Ah, that looks so stupid,” Wang Yue muttered.
“It really does.” Medeili nodded solemnly, though she couldn’t stop herself from giggling.
Then it was Wang Yue’s turn. The Morning Star Wand was too cumbersome for fine detail, so she held it in her hand and allowed the mana to arc out like a welding torch, searing a small fish pattern onto Medeili.
“Ah!” Medeili let out a cry of surprise. She lifted her arm to admire it, her eyes lighting up. “It’s my favorite!”
“One Command Spell each is enough for now. We can add more if needed.”
Wang Yue trusted Medeili implicitly. If it had been Lilith, she wouldn’t have dared give her one; that girl would definitely use it for some ridiculous prank.
After that, the two of them circled back around the Hedge Wall to retrieve the doll.
Medeili held the doll up high, looking up at it with a flash of white teeth and a terrifyingly playful smile. “Miss Doll, now it’s my turn.”
Snap!
Wang Yue heard a crisp sound. She looked over just in time to see the doll’s left foot being snapped off. The doll’s body was held tight by Medeili’s pale, slender fingers; it writhed in agony like a giant worm caught in a trap.
“You broke one of my feet, so I’m doing the same to you. It’s only fair,” Medeili said, her voice soft and sweet.
Wang Yue nodded. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. A classic view of restorative justice.
Next, Medeili grabbed the doll’s other foot and said sweetly, “And now, for my revenge.”
Snap!
The doll was in so much pain its two broken legs kicked out in a frantic, spasmodic blur.
Wang Yue covered her face, speechless. This child really holds a grudge.
They brought the doll back to the gazebo and reattached its feet. Next came the interrogation.
The doll was stripped down to its base frame and tied up with a flexible stalk of grass like a crab, then suspended in the air. Beneath it was a jar filled with the very caterpillars the “Miss Doll” had personally collected. They wriggled happily as if welcoming her.
The doll didn’t dare move, terrified that the grass string would snap and drop her into the jar. She couldn’t speak, but that was fine; she could still nod and shake her head.
“Are you willing to cooperate?” Medeili slowly loosened the rope. As the doll descended toward the caterpillars, her entire frame shook like a sieve.
The doll nodded frantically.
Wang Yue found a pen and paper in the greenhouse for the doll to use. They began to communicate through the notebook.
The doll called herself “Fueuduo.” She was one of “That Lord’s” retainers, responsible for managing the emotional incubation and daily maintenance of the girls in the Garden. Regarding information about “That Lord” or the other areas, she claimed to know nothing.
Fueuduo is just a pitiful doll. My purpose is to manage the Garden. I have no other memories, she wrote.
“I need to go to the other areas. Tell me how,” Wang Yue demanded.
The Garden has two gates, Fueuduo wrote. The gate directly ahead leads to the Kitchen. The gate to the right leads to the Hot Springs. You can only go to the Hot Springs if you obtain a ‘Plaque’ from the greenhouse. There is no way to enter the Kitchen. (The directions were based on their starting position).
“A plaque?”
A plaque is a Proof of Love. When the feelings between a pair of girls sublimate to a certain level, the greenhouse grants a reward: a lacquered wooden plaque. With it, you can pass through the gate to the Hot Springs.
Wang Yue considered this. It sounded a bit like the bathhouse tokens in Spirited Away. The Hot Springs were likely a place for rest and recovery—a reward for the “pitiful girls.” However, she suspected it wasn’t that simple.
Thinking it over, there were only two ways to leave: forcing their way out or leaving “legally.” Forcing a path would undoubtedly trigger an alarm. Currently, she and Medeili were in a “normal” state, recognized as girls of the Garden. If they turned hostile, they would be identified as “anomalies,” exposing their status as Invaders and triggering combat.
Of course, there was the possibility that Fueuduo was lying—either a total fabrication or a partial omission of truth.
“Let’s investigate the greenhouse first,” Wang Yue suggested.
Medeili nodded.
The two of them hurried toward the greenhouse through the dim twilight. From a distance, they could see the Ghost Epiphyllums in full bloom, their jade-white petals emitting a soft glow. Under the light of these natural night-lamps, the greenhouse area appeared even more quiet and elegant.
They questioned all the girls in the greenhouse, but the result was the same: no one had ever been to the Hot Springs. Furthermore, these girls were uninterested in anyone else; their attention was entirely fixed on their partners. No one had seen a plaque or met anyone who reached the “standard.”
“It seems getting the qualification for the Hot Springs is difficult. ‘Sublimating’ one’s emotions isn’t simple. There might be a hidden condition to unlock,” Wang Yue analyzed.
Medeili was also deep in thought, her finger twirling a lock of hair by her ear. Her soft lips were bitten into a different shape by her pearly teeth. Suddenly, her gaze became firm and flickering. She whispered:
“It seems that if we want to get the plaque, one of us has to connect to the Neural Plug. I’m sorry… Command Spell, activate!”
She spun on her heel to face Wang Yue, extending a finger in a command. “Go and connect to the plug!”
“Plum, you—”
Before she could finish, the little pig Command Spell on her arm flared. Wang Yue’s body moved against her will, walking toward the greenhouse.
“You’ll regret this. Thorns and roses… they hurt when they prick you. It’s not too late to cancel it. Let me do it voluntarily; I’m not afraid of the pain,” Wang Yue said calmly.
“What’s all that oinking about? Run, little pig, run!”
Under Medeili’s command, Wang Yue dashed into an empty greenhouse at a sprint. She sat upright in a chair, hands folded over her knees, waiting silently.
The copper-alloy segmented hose slithered over like a snake. Three thin filaments wriggled against the back of her neck for a moment before plunging deep inside.
Suddenly, her whole body spasmed. Her small head slumped forward to her chest as if her neck had snapped.
The curtains drew closed automatically. Candles flickered; the witch was dressing.
Medeili leaned against the window, staring intently at the slender, elegant silhouette on the curtains. She desperately wanted to lift a corner to peek, but she held herself back.
After half an hour of tense waiting, the greenhouse door opened and the curtains parted.
The black-haired girl was still sitting there, but her aura had undergone a world-shaking transformation.
Hair as glossy as a dark mirror, exquisite and delicate features, and a sharp jawline combined to form a face of breathtaking beauty. Her velvet bathrobe had been replaced by a small black dress that looked as if it were woven from shadows, shimmering with starlight. The silk fabric clung to her narrow waist. Her chest wasn’t fully developed yet—just two small pudding-like mounds—and under the pressure of the dress, they were barely noticeable.
Her rounded shoulders, delicate collarbones, and the skin of her chest formed a dazzling, creamy expanse of white. Her arms and legs were similarly lustrous, like polished jade.
The pure, cold contrast of black and white was like the sweep of a blade, cleaving the soul in two. It made one forget to breathe; one couldn’t even summon the thought of profanity.
Outside the window, Medeili stared blankly. A sense of profound loss welled up in her chest as she murmured:
“So beautiful…”
