Chapter 40: Setting Forty

Setting Forty: Fairy Tale (Part 8)

“Don’t use the mass-sleep.”

The invisible sound waves spread through the forest cottage, faintly stirring the nearly stagnant atmosphere. Shan Ziwei stared at the footprint that had appeared out of nowhere at the door, feeling an indescribable mix of strangeness and exhilaration.

Humans are three-dimensional creatures—able to move in any direction of length, width, and height—but utterly incapable of walking through time. This not only restricts our movement through time—we can’t leap to the future or return to the past—it also restricts our movement through space—we can’t be in China and America at the same time.

Shan Ziwei instinctively gripped Bluebeard’s key. He finally realized that this small, tarnished golden key was actually a terrifying tool that opened the fourth dimension.

When time—the fourth dimension—becomes accessible, countless miraculous possibilities arise: time travel, for instance. Or, conversing with your past or future self.

Like now.

He had followed his future self’s instructions to the Möbius House at sun-hour, and encountered his past self, who had come seeking the poisoned apple.

From beginning to end, there was only him. The speaker was him; the listener was him—one from the future, one from the past. Just as the house’s name implied, the two intersected to form a Möbius strip with no beginning and no end.

Shan Ziwei gazed at the empty doorway, remembering how panicked and lost he’d been back then, and almost laughed. Now that he knew everything, facing his past self gave him a subtle sense of superiority and amusement.

And so he did laugh.

“Yes, it’s exactly who you think. Don’t open your eyes. You can’t see me, and I can’t see you—you know why.”

Yes, he (they) knew. No one in the world knew better than “himself.”

“The poisoned apple is with me. Remember what I’m about to say.”

There was no one in front of him; he was speaking to empty air. But he knew his past self was listening intently, just as he had been.

“I’ve placed the poisoned apple across from you. When I say ‘go,’ you can open your eyes, take the apple, and go see Snow White as she is now.” He spoke slowly, unconsciously recalling the previous conversation—his words overlapping perfectly with the memory. “After the princess bites the apple, take it and go to the Möbius House at sun-hour.”

“—Then you’ll know what to do.”

Just as he, now, knew what to do.

With a hint of regret, he glanced at the empty doorway, stepped back, and closed his eyes to vanish. Honestly, he would have loved to see “himself”—but both his present and past selves were suffering from the side effects of using Bluebeard’s key. He couldn’t risk encountering a male. He had no desire to “necrophile” himself out of curiosity.

Ready, he gave the order to “him”: “Go.”

There was no response—the cottage was as silent as if he’d been alone all along. His heart tightened for a moment, then he remembered his own hesitation back then. So he said to “him”:

“It’s ‘me.'”

He emphasized the word “me”—there was no one else here, only “me.” That single character was like a heavy hammer, shattering the other’s hesitation. He heard a sticky, squelching sound—the other’s shoes must have been caked with mud, making faint squeezing noises with each step. The footsteps grew closer, paused less than a meter away, then turned and retreated to the door.

“I want to go to where Snow White is.”

He heard “himself” say that—then silence.

Shan Ziwei waited a little longer, then opened his eyes. The cottage was as empty as when he’d first arrived. He paced excitedly in circles a few times before gradually calming down.

No matter how surreal and awe-inspiring the experience had been, it had no bearing on his next actions. The poisoned apple episode was done. Snow White, like Rose, was now waiting for a prince to come save her.

So there was no hesitation—target Donkeyskin, let’s go!

Eager, he walked to the cottage’s wooden door and reached for Bluebeard’s key.

“I want to…”

He paused. He’d been about to say “Donkeyskin,” but he caught sight of his wrinkled hand—he’d almost forgotten he was still in the old woman’s disguise. He hadn’t looked like this when he first met Donkeyskin. So he changed course, setting his destination to the queen’s dressing room, then used his disguise skill to reappear as the cold, elegant white-haired queen.

Once he’d double-checked for any other loose ends, he took Bluebeard’s key and set his destination to Donkeyskin once more.

“I want to go to where Princess Donkeyskin is, now that she’s received the sky-colored dress.”

As usual, he closed his eyes and stepped through the iridescent film. And as last time, the moment he arrived, a voice came from directly ahead.

“The dress has arrived. My dear daughter, it’s time to fulfill your promise.”

This is intense from the start!

He was startled. The speaker was clearly the father-lover king, his voice brimming with self-satisfaction.

The princess was clearly present too—he could hear her ragged breathing, and just from that small sound, he could feel her nerves stretched to the breaking point.

“…Father, please give me one more night to consider.”

“I’ll come see you tomorrow.” The king graciously agreed to leave, but before he went, he left a parting shot that revealed his confidence: “Whatever you want—I can make it for you.”

After the king left, the room fell quiet. He heard the princess let out a near-sobbing murmur, small and weak as a kitten abandoned in the rain.

“Godmother…”

That call made him open his eyes. He saw the princess sitting on the bed as before, her long hair falling straight like an ink-black waterfall, pooling over the skirt spread around her feet. It was exactly as the story described—”more beautiful than a sky of blue with golden clouds.” She stared at it, her face as pale as fresh snow that would melt at a touch.

He reflexively scanned the room, making sure there were no unwanted surprises—like a horde of blue dolls—then cleared his throat to announce his presence. The princess’s head shot up. Her dull eyes instantly lit up: “Godmother!”

Grasping the dress, she scrambled off the bed and hurried toward him, reaching out as if to take his hand. He instinctively stepped back, avoiding her touch. The atmosphere shifted instantly. Seeing his obvious refusal, the flush of excitement faded from her cheeks, her expression heartbreaking.

To break the awkwardness, he reached out and touched the dress in her hands.

“How surprising.” He said awkwardly. “Your father actually made this dress.”

She pressed her red lips together and gave a fragile smile. The silence stretched. He couldn’t meet her gaze, so he focused on the sky-colored dress instead.

Actually, it wasn’t surprising at all that the king had made the dress. The fairy godmother in Donkeyskin was naive and foolish to have come up with such a dumb idea—three times in a row. Next, according to the story, he was supposed to suggest the princess ask for a moon-colored dress and a sun-colored dress… Wait!

He recalled the entire Donkeyskin plot in detail. The more he remembered, the more he felt that the princess didn’t really need all those dresses. In the story, the fairy had the princess ask for a sky-colored dress, a moon-colored dress, a sun-colored dress, and a donkey skin. None of it stumped the king—so after she got the donkey skin, the fairy helped her escape the palace. In the later plot, the princess only needed the donkey skin and one pretty dress—the story never specified which one. All three were beautiful, and one seemed sufficient.

Maybe he could cut the plot short. Skip the moon-colored and sun-colored dresses. Have the princess ask for the donkey skin directly, then take her away from the palace.

He acted on the thought. To the princess, who’d been watching him all along, he said: “I didn’t think it through last time. I have a new plan—one that will definitely stop your father: make one more request. Doesn’t he have a donkey that brings him great wealth? Ask him for—” He faltered, distracted by his dropping Club SP (Sorrow). The rest came out almost unconsciously: “Ask him for the donkey’s skin. He’ll never agree.”

Wait—Club SP, what’s wrong with you?! Why are you plummeting like you’ve given up on life?!

He wasn’t experiencing any extreme emotions, so the SP loss could only mean he’d violated a setting. He checked the settings panel and quickly found the culprit.

[Setting 4: You are attending Snow White’s wedding.]

Setting 4 had quietly activated without him noticing. No more time to tend to Donkeyskin—he turned and ran, not even pausing for punctuation: “Just do as I said I have to go!”

“…!”

He left so hastily that he missed the princess’s near-breakdown. She chased the witch out of the room—but the moment she stepped out, he was gone. Instead, the guards her father had posted to watch her approached.

“Your Highness, do you have any orders?”

The guard asked, feigning deference, subtly blocking her way. The black-haired girl stood motionless, like a beautiful ice sculpture. She looked at the guard before her—and the light in her eyes died, turning into an abyss of bottomless darkness.

“Go fetch my father.” Her blood-red lips curved into a smile, balanced on the edge of sanity and madness. “I have something to tell him.”