Chapter 37: Setting Thirty-Seven

Setting Thirty-Seven: Fairy Tale (Part 5)

Rustle—

A gust of wind swept through the leaves, adding a touch of life to the silent banquet. After all, the brambles only put everyone to sleep—they didn’t freeze time.

Seizing the moment, Shan Ziwei shook off the unpleasant memories. There were no murmurs here, no furtive or overt glances—everyone had their eyes closed in sleep, silent as a painting.

He was the only living thing in the picture. He began weaving through the waxwork-like crowd.

If nothing was amiss, this was the banquet celebrating Princess Rose’s birth. Soon, he found the hosts at the center of the crowd.

The moment he saw them, the family portrait from Snow White’s room flashed through his mind—the three figures had stepped out of the flat oil painting into three-dimensional reality: the queen with her delicate, fragile beauty, the king with his imposing yet gentle demeanor. The only change was the princess. He stepped closer to look at the tiny infant in the queen’s arms. Her round little face was pink and soft as pudding, her skin so delicate it seemed to bruise at a touch. Even so young, she was clearly a beauty in the making. Even knowing the baby was under the sleeping spell and wouldn’t wake, he instinctively softened his breathing, as if a single loud breath might startle her awake.

This was undoubtedly Princess Rose at about one month old. The little princess seemed to have been crying recently—tiny tear tracks at the corners of her eyes, achingly pitiful. Shan Ziwei looked around and saw the crowd pressing in from all sides. If he dispelled the skill here, the first person to open their eyes and see him could be male or female. So he had to carry the princess out of everyone’s line of sight, dispel the skill, then return.

This matched perfectly with the queen’s account: the witch appeared at the banquet, snatched the princess away, and reappeared moments later.

Trembling, Shan Ziwei lifted Princess Rose from the queen’s arms. The softness in his hands felt like holding a live bomb with a lit fuse. He’d never known infants could be so soft—so bonelessly curled against him.

His scalp tingled. Carrying the fragile little princess, he rushed toward the spot he’d already scouted—a table laden with food, notable for its white tablecloth that draped down to the floor. Once the cloth was down, no one could see underneath—secluded and private, perfect for some not-for-children activities.

Without any pretense of dignity, he crouched and crawled under the table, ruining his lavish, elegant attire. Eager to be rid of the soft creature in his arms, he didn’t hesitate—he kissed her directly. Another reason was that Princess Rose was so tiny that kissing her carried no impure thoughts at all.

This time he didn’t need to close his eyes for invisibility, so naturally he didn’t miss his target like last time. Lips touched and parted. His breathing quickened slightly, his warm breath brushing over the infant’s eyes—as if blowing them open.

Princess Rose opened her eyes and looked at him. Her irises were large, black and occupying two-thirds of her eyes, their gleam like countless stars. Under his flustered gaze, the little princess held his gaze without blinking. She reached out a small, lotus-root-like hand, fingers splayed as if trying to grasp something—an almost greedy reaching.

“My child!”

The queen’s exclamation nearly made him hit his head on the tabletop. After kissing the princess, the mass-sleep had lifted. Hearing the growing commotion outside, he didn’t dare delay—he grasped Princess Rose’s hand, closed his eyes, and used invisibility.

[Setting 3: You can close your eyes to become invisible, along with anyone holding your hand.]

In the chaos, no one noticed a tablecloth mysteriously lift and fall. Shan Ziwei, clutching the infant, crawled out from under the table with some difficulty. Once he’d composed himself, he simply and abruptly dispelled the invisibility.

“Rose! Your Excellency the Witch!”

The queen, frantic with maternal love, spotted Shan Ziwei and the Rose in his arms at once. Despite being so weak she needed the king’s support, she was the first to rush to him.

Seeing her pale, anxious face, Shan Ziwei felt guilty and quickly moved to hand over the princess. But the queen didn’t take her immediately—instead, she pressed urgently: “Your Excellency the Witch, is there any way to break the curse?”

…What?

Seeing his bewildered look, the queen grew desperate.

“The curse—the one that Rose will be injured by a spindle at fifteen and eventually… eventually die…” She shuddered, unwilling to speak the word. “Will my child truly die?”

Wait—what was happening now? Why had the plot suddenly jumped to breaking the curse? His mind was in chaos. Was this kingdom not limited to just one witch? Had the blessing and curse come from other witches?

Before he could sort it out, his face flushed bright red—because the infant was gnawing on his chest.

Princess Rose seemed hungry. She nuzzled against him, sucking and biting—clearly looking for milk. His hands nearly dropped the little creature. The queen was equally surprised. She watched him hand over the baby like a hot potato before belatedly reaching out to take Princess Rose back.

Back in her mother’s arms, the little princess struggled weakly, her dark eyes glistening with moisture. But the queen simply soothed her with a pat on the back, her gaze still locked on Shan Ziwei, urging him like a drowning person clutching at the last straw: “Your Excellency the Witch?”

He hadn’t untangled the cause and effect, and now his brain was even more scrambled by the sudden rush of sensation. He could only follow the queen’s question, words spilling out without thought—the final witch’s lines from the Rose Princess tale: “This perilous curse will indeed come to pass, but the princess will survive. She will not die—only fall into a deep sleep that will last a hundred years!”

The queen gasped. The king stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder to steady her.

“Thank you for your prophecy, Your Excellency. We regret that we can no longer host you.” The king raised his voice, addressing Shan Ziwei and the entire banquet: “Everyone, please take your leave. To prevent this tragedy, we must take action—Elma!”

“Here!”

“Spread my command: gather all the spindles in the kingdom…”

The king was already deploying his orders. The guests, having received their dismissal, began to disperse. Shan Ziwei was among the first to leave. He hurried to a washroom in the outer hall, where he encountered a female guest staggering out of the women’s room. She stared at him as he approached, her eyes growing wider and wider. She stammered “Gh-ghost…” and collapsed on the spot.

He rushed past the fainted woman—he could barely manage himself right now, let alone others. Bursting into the washroom, he nearly wrenched the faucet open and doused himself, cooling down from head to toe.

He should have realized—the little princess had looked at him with such hunger the moment she opened her eyes; how had he not caught on?

He cupped water in his hands and splashed it over his chest, trying to extinguish the tingling, ill-timed heat. As someone with this condition, he was disgustingly professional—even a baby could trigger him.

His dropping Heart SP (Joy) gradually steadied. Once the urge had passed, his cooled brain could finally think clearly. Everything at Princess Rose’s birth celebration had exceeded his expectations. The queen had told the eight-year-old Rose that “this kingdom has one witch”—and her description suggested that one witch had given both blessing and curse. But when he arrived at the birthday banquet, the queen only asked about breaking the curse—as if someone else had already delivered the blessing and curse before him.

Had he misunderstood? In the original Rose Princess, eleven witches gave blessings, one gave a curse, and the last mitigated it. He’d assumed he had to do it all himself—but it seemed the system had already handled the first twelve witch roles, and he only needed to play the final one.

He quickly put it aside—either way, he’d fulfilled Setting 1. Now he had to prepare for Princess Donkeyskin’s plot; Setting 3 would activate soon.

“Miss, are you alright? Can you hear me?”

A woman’s voice came from the washroom entrance. He remembered the female guest who’d fainted at the sight of him. A soft moan suggested she was reviving under another woman’s care.

The moment she woke, she exclaimed: “I—I saw a ghost in the washroom!”

Ghost… was that him?

Baffled, he instinctively stepped out to ask for clarification. When he appeared at the washroom door, the two women outside both stared with wide eyes, then screamed in unison.

“AH—”

The new arrival pointed at him incredulously, looking from him to the washroom sign. His mind flooded with “WTF”—he suddenly realized he was in women’s clothing, and he’d instinctively walked into the men’s washroom. The other woman, who’d fainted at the sight of him, looked about to collapse again.

“It’s here again—”

The women’s screams drew people from afar. Shan Ziwei saw a dark mass of onlookers rushing over. The commotion was growing; if he got caught up in it, he’d be stuck for a while.

So he decisively stepped back, closed the washroom door, inserted the key into the keyhole—smooth and seamless.

“I want to go to where Princess Donkeyskin is, just after she’s come of age!”