Chapter 36: Setting Thirty-Six

Setting Thirty-Six: Fairy Tale (Part 4)

Shan Ziwei stared at that long, long system setting, lost in unprecedented confusion.

He knew what passionate love was—but what the hell was necrophilia?

Given Bluebeard’s notorious history of murdering and hiding his wives’ bodies, Shan Ziwei felt he’d be better off never finding out what necrophilia meant—especially since, in this context, it radiated nothing but ill intent.

But no matter how much he knew it was a trap, he could only pick up Bluebeard’s key and resignedly head toward the dressing room deeper in the bedchamber.

Setting Five had clearly explained how to use the key: first, find any door with a keyhole, insert Bluebeard’s key while thinking of where you want to go. In essence, it turned any door into a Doraemon-style Anywhere Door.

Shan Ziwei inserted the key, thought “I want to go to Princess Rose’s location,” and pulled open the dressing room door. Instead of the dazzling array of dresses, he saw a layer of iridescent liquid film. Though the other side was obscured by the film, it should lead to Princess Rose.

Now came the moment of truth—a test of luck.

Statistically, the odds of encountering a woman versus a man were 1:1. Encountering a woman would be ideal; encountering a man would be catastrophic. Given that he’d set his destination to Princess Rose’s location, the likelihood of meeting a woman was much higher. But there was a law called Murphy’s Law—and his luck was a devoted follower.

He sighed, dragged his long skirt to the balcony, snapped off a bramble branch, and returned to the dressing room door.

Fortunately or unfortunately, skill could compensate for luck.

The words “female” and “male” in Setting Five were alarming, but the real key was the word “see.” Looking at his Personal Settings panel, with the mass-sleep skill at hand, he could limit “the first person who sees him” to just the princess—which was exactly why he’d set his destination to “Princess Rose’s location.” The moment he stepped out and used the mass-sleep, he wouldn’t have to run around—he could find the princess immediately.

This was a more perfect solution than invisibility for avoiding Setting Five’s downside—at the cost of a kiss, some Heart SP, and whatever dignity he had left.

…Better test the waters with invisibility first.

Shan Ziwei cowardly closed his eyes and cautiously stepped through the film-covered door. It felt like passing through a gel-like solid—his breath caught, then he smelled a breeze. He’d clearly arrived on the other side.

It was quiet. He listened intently for a while, catching only faint voices.

“…you… this…”

The words were muffled, blurred by distance. Apart from that, there were no other sounds nearby. After hesitating, he decided to gamble. He crouched down into a ball, planning to blink quickly—one rapid glance to gather as much information as possible.

But once his eyes opened, they wouldn’t close again. He stared dumbfounded at the crowded room before him, his eyes growing wider, his brown-black irises reflecting countless blue dolls.

It was clearly a girl’s room—decorated with both royal luxury and childish cuteness. In this dreamlike room, dolls of all sizes filled every space. They all wore matching blue dresses, had white hair, and black eyes—at a glance, it was unsettlingly close to the uncanny valley. If those blue dolls had been teddy bears, he’d have felt warm and cozy; now he only felt creeped out. And…

His eye twitched. He wasn’t a particularly self-conscious person, but why did he instantly associate those dolls with himself?

To shake off the lingering unease, he focused on figuring out “where this was.” He looked around—he was standing at the room’s main entrance. The door behind him was an ordinary wooden door; opening it revealed a corridor. The original queen’s room and the magical liquid film had both vanished. Aside from the cotton-and-cloth dolls, there was no flesh-and-blood person in sight.

He was confused. He’d set his destination to “Princess Rose’s location”—so where was the princess?

“…Princess…”

The moment he thought of Princess Rose, he heard the faint word “princess” in the distance. His heart stirred; he followed the sound to the window and peered down cautiously.

Below was a rose garden. Among the bright red roses stood and crouched two figures—from his angle, he could clearly see their faces. His eyes nearly popped out of their sockets—wait, how could it be them?!

The little girl crouching in the flowers had that same delicate, palm-sized face, glossy black hair, and dark, sparkling eyes—it was none other than Snow White, whom he’d just been awful to! And the noblewoman standing beside her with a parasol—he could hardly believe his eyes. Apart from her complexion, she was identical to the queen in the Snow White family portrait!

Under his stunned gaze, the noblewoman tilted her lace parasol slightly to shield the little girl at her feet from the sun. “The sun’s getting too strong. We should move, my little princess. Though you’re named Rose, you can’t stay in the garden forever.”

“Just a moment longer, Mother.” The little girl’s voice was crisp. She didn’t look up, carefully weaving the last rose into a garland. “I’m almost done.”

The few words contained enough information to drown him. His mind mechanically echoed: Princess—Rose—Mother. Setting aside other factors and just looking at this scene, it was clear: the little girl was Princess Rose, and the noblewoman was the queen. But he couldn’t ignore the rest—never mind that Rose and Snow White looked identical; the age alone was a problem. He’d come to celebrate Princess Rose’s birth, but this little girl was already eight—what birth celebration was there to attend?!

He now realized he’d been too simplistic. He’d thought about space, but not about time. Why had he assumed he’d step out and immediately meet an infant Rose? Looking at the two princesses and two queens—identical in appearance and age—he began to see that the fairy tales weren’t simply separate, unrelated parallel worlds. They were something like a trinity—three-in-one.

While Shan Ziwei wrestled with the Chessboard’s settings, Princess Rose’s sweet voice drifted up.

“All done~”

The little princess raised the garland with both hands; the crimson petals gleamed in the sunlight. The queen leaned down and gave unstinting praise: “It’s beautiful.”

The little princess smiled brighter than the roses. Then, unexpectedly, she didn’t put the garland on herself or her mother—instead, she placed it on the head of the doll in her arms.

Yes, a doll—the same blue dolls that surrounded him, about two feet tall, clutched tightly by the child.

This wasn’t the first time. The queen’s voice carried a mix of helplessness and affection: “You still love that witch so much. You have no memory of her—why do you adore her so?”

The word “witch” struck Shan Ziwei’s soul. He snapped back to reality, looking from the queen to the princess to the room full of blue dolls—wait, these were…!?

The conversation below continued.

“I love collecting everything about her.” Rose pressed her cheek against the doll’s face, her gaze passing through her long lashes to meet her mother’s. “Mother, tell me about the witch again.”

“I think you could recite it backward by now, darling. Why don’t we talk about fairy tales like Snow White or Donkeyskin instead?” But under the little princess’s pleading eyes, the queen quickly surrendered. “Alright—the witch, one more time.”

“In our fairy tale kingdom, there was a witch. When you were born, your father was overjoyed. He held a grand banquet on your one-month birthday and invited many guests—including the witch.”

As the queen spoke, the little princess’s nose crinkled with adorable wrinkles, as if she were holding her breath in nervous excitement.

“That day, I remember it was also a bright, sunny afternoon. I was carrying you around the banquet when the witch suddenly appeared—wearing this very blue dress.” The queen gestured at the doll. “She scared us—not because she looked frightening, but because she snatched you away. Heaven knows how my heart leaped when I saw you disappear from my arms and appear in hers.”

Hearing this, Shan Ziwei became more and more certain that the “witch” was him. It was exactly something he would do—he could even reconstruct the whole sequence from his own behavior patterns: use Bluebeard’s key, go invisible, find himself facing a man, use the mass-sleep skill, take the princess, then (molest) and (dispel the spell on) the child before reappearing before everyone.

“The witch blessed you—she gave you beauty, wisdom, kindness… but she also cursed you—” The queen’s voice grew heavy. She looked at the little princess, hesitated, then abruptly and stiffly changed the subject: “We should go back, Rose. A tailor is coming today to measure you for new clothes.”

The little princess pursed her lips, as red as blood. She nodded obediently and followed her mother out of the garden.

Shan Ziwei watched them leave. Even though the queen hadn’t finished, he knew what she’d avoided saying. This was the classic Rose Princess plot—but unlike the fairy tale, there were thirteen witches in the original, while the queen spoke of only one witch, and it clearly sounded like him.

He couldn’t describe the temporal disorientation—it was like being in the present and hearing about his past self attending a birthday banquet in the future.

There was a subtle sense of being spoiled, but more than that, a jolt of cosmic cause-and-effect. It drove him to pick up Bluebeard’s key and head for the door: he needed to go to Princess Rose’s birthday banquet and witness—and complete—this cycle of causality.

“Click.”

He inserted the key into the keyhole, about to think “I want to go to Princess Rose’s birth celebration”—when a thought flashed through his mind.

Wait!

He pulled out the key and held it up, staring at the bloodstained golden key.

If thinking “I want to go to Princess Rose’s birth celebration” could take him there, then Bluebeard’s key wasn’t just an Anywhere Door—it breached not only space, but also time!

This was crucial because he desperately needed time travel. The princess was eight now; his game time was only 12 hours—barely a fraction of the time needed for her to reach a marriageable age. He’d thought he’d need another Joker for a time-travel skill or item, but Bluebeard’s key might be up to the task—the only difference between the two destinations was adding a time qualifier in the second one.

There was only one way to find out.

He reinserted the key, and this time he thought: I want to go to where Princess Rose is, at the age of one month.

The door opened. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped through the iridescent film again.

“Whoosh—”

Instantly, noise and warmth washed over him. He heard countless voices—he’d entered a grand hall, filled with the sweet smell of food and a distant band playing.

People moved all around him. Invisible and eyes closed, he felt completely out of place, his limbs stiff and numb. Soon, someone bumped into him.

“Ah—”

The surprised voice died before it could finish. He opened his eyes, the bramble branch in his hand trailing on the floor—and spreading wildly, covering the entire hall. Before him was a magnificent banquet. A moment ago it had been bustling with noise; now it was as if its life had been drained away, leaving a dead silence. The whole scene was like a beautifully painted picture—everyone frozen mid-action, eyes closed in sleep.

He looked at the male guest who’d bumped into him, digging his nails into his wrist to suppress the flash of excitement and the wave of discomfort rising in his mind. He didn’t like—no, he hated banquets. It was like a snake bite that made you fear any rope for life.

Through the pain, the excitement faded, but the discomfort lingered—worsening, as if fed by the pain. This familiar scene was like a sudden headlight, and he was the dumb rabbit caught in its glare. No matter how much he didn’t want to remember, fragments of memory surfaced.

—I’m sor… wah!

—That guy actually got “excited.”

—Eww… what a pervert!

Don’t look at me. The youth curled up in pain, hiding his shame. Don’t look at me like that.

He already knew he was wrong—so don’t remind him so openly. He’d stay quietly in his house and become a true “ghost.”