032 Recruitment

We remained in the lobby longer than I expected, the quiet comfort of the place settling over us like a soft, persistent hand. The attendant moved with practiced grace, her sleeves flowing as she prepared the tea set before us. Every motion carried a certain deliberateness, as though she were performing rather than merely serving.

She placed the cups down one by one and began, her voice gentle yet rehearsed. “This is Silver Dew Spring, harvested from the eastern terraces just before dawn. The leaves are picked at their youngest, when the essence of the mountain still clings to them. It is said to calm the spirit, sharpen the mind, and leave a lingering sweetness upon the tongue. I… I hope it will suit your taste.” She hesitated briefly before bowing her head. “This humble one is called Deng Jun. If there is anything you require, please do not hesitate to ask.”

Zhen Ai accepted the cup first, her movements elegant as always. She brought it to her lips and took a slow sip, her expression unreadable for a brief moment.

“I have had better,” she said plainly.

The words fell like a stone into still water.

Willow, who had fluttered down onto the table with an indignant little hop, dipped her beak into her own cup with surprising refinement. She paused, then gave a small, thoughtful tilt of her head. “It is structurally sound,” she remarked. “Balanced. A touch conservative. Lacks daring.”

Deng Jun froze.

“I… I beg your forgiveness,” she stammered, her hands trembling slightly as she bowed deeper. “This servant has failed to present something worthy. I will immediately prepare another, something more refined, more fitting—please, allow me to correct this—”

Her voice wavered toward the end, and when she raised her head, her eyes shimmered faintly.

Zhen Ai blinked. “Why are you crying?”

Willow regarded her with clinical curiosity. “Yes. Your tear ducts appear overactive. Is this a cultural response to critique?”

That only made it worse.

Deng Jun’s lips trembled, and she lowered her gaze again as though bracing herself for something far harsher than what had been said. For a moment, the atmosphere grew unbearably awkward, stretched thin like a thread about to snap.

I sighed and picked up my cup.

“This tea is good,” I said, taking another sip, slower this time. “Actually. No, it’s more than good. It’s smooth, clean, and the aftertaste lingers in a nice way. You can tell it was prepared carefully.”

Deng Jun looked up as though I had just pulled her out of drowning waters.

“R-really?” she asked, her voice small but hopeful.

“Really,” I replied. “You’ve got skill.”

Her entire face lit up, the earlier gloom vanishing so quickly it was almost comical. “Then—please, have more!” she said, already reaching for the pot and refilling my cup before I could protest.

I watched the pale liquid settle and couldn’t help but reflect. I had always thought tea was just… leaf water. Slightly flavored, mostly pointless.

I took another sip.

I muttered. “This is actually really good. I think I might get used to this.”

We lingered there for a while, the tension easing into something far more relaxed. At some point, Willow hopped closer to me, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Let us engage in a word game,” she declared. “I will begin. ‘Forest.’”

“‘Tree,’” I replied lazily.

“‘Leaf.’”

“‘Wind.’”

“‘Decay.’”

“…You always make it dark,” I said, squinting at her.

“Reality trends toward entropy,” she replied without shame.

Before I could retort, Zhen Ai’s voice cut in. “What is this?”

We both turned.

She stood near one of the pillars, a thin book in her hand that she had apparently retrieved from beneath a low table. Deng Jun’s face immediately drained of color.

“T-that shouldn’t be there!” she exclaimed, rushing forward. “Please, forgive me, that item is not meant for guests—!”

She reached for it, but Zhen Ai sidestepped effortlessly, her body swaying just enough to avoid the grasp without even looking at her.

Zhen Ai hopped lightly onto the base of the pillar, walked upwards as if defying gravity, and began flipping through the pages. “Oh my,” she murmured. “This is quite the piece of literature. Daring, too.”

“What is it?” I asked, curiosity piqued.

She didn’t answer directly. Instead, she pushed off the pillar and drifted through the air, her body turning until she was upside down as she floated toward me, the book held out invitingly.

I stared at the pages for a second before shrugging. “I’m illiterate.”

Zhen Ai landed gracefully on a chair, completely unbothered. “Then I shall read it aloud.”

She cleared her throat, then began, her voice calm and melodic.

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“‘Wo Li pressed her against the ancient tree, his breath hot against her neck as his hands traced the curve of her waist. The forest itself seemed to tremble in anticipation, leaves whispering secrets as his lips descended—’”

I spat my tea.

It went everywhere.

I coughed violently, nearly choking as I wiped my mouth, my entire body recoiling in shock. Deng Jun finally managed to snatch the book from Zhen Ai’s hands, her face a shade of red I didn’t think was naturally possible.

“I—I—I deeply apologize!” she stammered, clutching the book to her chest before dropping to her knees. “This servant deserves punishment for such an indecent oversight! Please, allow me to atone—!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” I cut in quickly, waving my hands. “Just, please don’t read that out loud again. Ever.”

Honestly, I didn’t even know how to process it. It was amusing in a surreal way, but mostly it just felt… deeply strange.

“Could you give us a tour instead?” I asked, eager to change the subject.

Deng Jun looked up, relief flooding her features. “Of course! This way, please!”

Fifteen minutes later, I regretted everything.

We had passed more than twenty paintings. Every single one of them was me.

Me fighting beasts. Me standing heroically atop corpses. Me surrounded by light like some divine figure. Me brooding under a tree like I had unresolved emotional trauma.

I stared at one in particular, where I was dramatically pointing at something in the distance while a storm raged behind me.

“When did I even do that?” I muttered.

“Your tale has been interpreted artistically,” Willow said, barely containing her amusement.

“I’m in hell,” I sighed. “This is hell. I saved a few people, resurrected a handful of corpses, and now I’m trapped in a gallery of myself.”