Cheng Weicai wanted to examine where the rose had been burned, but the bud was snapping and thrashing so wildly he couldn’t get close—the moment he drew near, it bared its ring of small sharp teeth at him.

Just as the woman had said: it didn’t listen, it bit people, and it injured itself.

Having placed the rose seedling beside the fire pit to keep it warm had now become a hazard.

Cheng Weicai thought for a moment, then began unwrapping the bandage he had just applied, exposing his bloodied fingertip. The unhealed wound immediately welled with fresh blood, dripping steadily.

The woman watched the old man with skepticism.

He studied his own finger with a look of careful deliberation, then slowly rewrapped the bandage. He raised his arm and held it out toward the bud—and let it bite down.

“What are you doing?” the woman asked, genuinely curious. “Aren’t you afraid of it?”

While the bud was occupied biting his arm, Cheng Weicai bent down, used his free hand to pick up the flower pot, and moved it to a spot slightly farther from the fire pit.

The bud bit into him with savage force, its leaves thrashing—every bit the fierce and vicious creature—yet Cheng Weicai remained perfectly calm throughout.

“I looked carefully,” he said, slowly. “Although the wounds look serious, it hasn’t drunk any blood or eaten any flesh. That at least tells me it’s not a plant that grows by feeding on people. I just don’t understand yet why it bites… Perhaps it’s for self-defense. For now, I’ll just let it bite.”

The woman fell silent at that and said nothing for a long while.

Knowing it would hurt, knowing it would wound him—and still choosing to yield… How could an ordinary person bring themselves to do this?

Aren’t humans creatures of self-interest?

The players who had come before: some had frozen to death in the blizzard outside, some had stolen each other’s seedlings, and some—after the buds appeared—had been so frightened that they lost all reason and behaved erratically…

Only this old man had held on this far.

She studied Cheng Weicai quietly.

Cheng Weicai’s arms bore a layer of hard, tough scales. The bud had bitten down on them, and while it still hurt, it was nothing like the immediate bleeding of an unprotected fingertip.

He waited patiently until the bud settled down, then carried the pot back to the fireside.

Perhaps sensing that this old man posed no threat at all, the rose flower gradually grew calm.

Only the sound of teeth gnawing against scales—a steady, intermittent creak—broke the silence.

After resting for a time, Cheng Weicai tried using a piece of wood as a substitute for his arm, but every piece of wood was too heavy. Even the smallest one—the moment he let go, the bud would clamp down on it and topple sideways to the floor.

With no better option, Cheng Weicai could only keep his arm raised and let it bite.

“I think it just has itchy teeth…” Cheng Weicai added a little water to the rose, then spoke to the Snow Queen: “Actually, it means no harm. Everyone has misunderstood it. As long as you truly treat it well, it will grow up just fine…”

*As long as you truly treat it well, it will grow up just fine.*

The Snow Queen lowered her gaze, her expression quiet and distant: “What a simple truth…”

Yet not everyone can live up to it. Not even, the ones closest to you.

She turned away, her tone detached: “Even though you are the only one left, it doesn’t necessarily mean you will win… I will return in six hours. Good luck.”

As she departed, her staff swept lightly through the air. Ed’s ice sculpture toppled and slid into the pool, vanishing completely.

Cheng Weicai watched the ripples spread across the water’s surface, his heart heavy with a quiet, aching melancholy.

The bud still hadn’t released its grip on his scales—it gnawed on steadily, a constant creaking sound. He didn’t know how long it would be before a beautiful rose finally bloomed.

If he failed…

He too would become a block of ice and sink to the bottom of the sea.

Things had come to this. There was no use in worrying. Tending to this rose was the only thing he could do right now—and the one thing he had to do well.

*Please bloom soon…*

Cheng Weicai looked at the biting little bud as if looking at a muddled, confused little child.

“Bloom soon, my rose…”

—