Chapter 42: Setting Forty-Two

Setting Forty-Two: Fairy Tale (Part 10)

Shan Ziwei’s throat went dry. His eyes went wide, not only from being caught red-handed, but also from the startling beauty before him.

Everyone said a bride was at her most beautiful on her wedding day—and Snow White embodied that truth to perfection. The girl about to walk down the aisle wore a sacred, layered veil of white gauze, a platinum crown nestled in her dark hair. She stood in the doorway, stunning as a blossom, illuminating the darkness around her.

That intangible beauty seemed to take physical form and rush at him—and he was one of its unlucky victims. By the time he regained his wits from that invisible assault, Snow White had already walked to him, her long veil trailing behind. She tilted her head up, her exquisite makeup rendered even more radiant by the candlelight, her blood-red lips curved as if inviting a kiss.

Her proximity amplified her stunning presence—and jolted him into a fight-or-flight response. His mind went blank; the emptiness stripped away all distractions, allowing him to focus solely on assessing the situation.

Why was the bride here? That wasn’t the point. The princess was here, so where was the prince? He discreetly scanned the room—no sign of the real prince. That meant he still had a chance to slip through!

So he flicked his curled blond hair back, raised the ring with theatrical flair, and declared with unprecedented passion: “Ah~ I was just admiring the symbol of our love~!”

Snow White looked momentarily bewildered. Her expression was like a glass of water filled to the brim—a breeze had rippled its surface, threatening to spill its contents. Because he’d been watching her closely, he caught that faint, barely concealed emotion—it might have been surprise, touched with dawning realization, finally settling into complete understanding. His heart lurched. Had he slipped up somewhere? Her reaction looked exactly like she’d spotted a fraud.

But then she smiled sweetly, her long lashes lowering as her gaze drifted to the ring he held aloft. “Yes—this is the symbol of our love.”

Her repetition of his words carried the weight of an eternal vow. His heart didn’t ease—it tightened further. He watched her remove her elbow-length lace gloves, revealing fingers like spring onion shoots.

“Today is our wedding.”

Her voice was soft and gentle. His heart leaped—he looked up instinctively, meeting her eyes, which had somehow already risen to meet his.

“Will you marry me?”

The drowsy candlelight seemed to flare at those words. Her dark eyes caught the gleam, turning them into glassy orbs—crystalline and transparent, yet utterly unreadable.

“Love me, remain faithful to me, whether I am poor, sick, or disabled, until death. Do you?”

He didn’t answer—he never got the chance. She recited the priest’s lines like a formality, then answered the question herself.

“You do.”

Everything flowed so naturally, so smoothly, that he didn’t grasp the implications. All his attention was on the hand before him—slender and pale, fingertips pink as budding lotus. Even a non-hand-fetishist like him was drawn to it—but more importantly, he understood what it meant: after the vows came the ring!

—His earlier daydream about a future ring-bearer was coming true way too fast! He’d only been fantasizing!

Suppressing his instinctive fear of contact, he committed to the role. Maintaining his theatrical facade, he took Snow White’s hand without hesitation.

It was soft and tender. Having never held a girl’s hand in his life, he couldn’t stop his heart from fluttering, his breath faltering for an instant. Steeling himself, he slid the ring onto her finger with the urgency of a starving man devouring a precious fruit, then let go decisively. The motion was flawless; he even added a heartfelt flourish: “There~ my love.”

Pat on the back for that performance.

The princess stared at the ring on her finger. He smiled at his handiwork with quiet satisfaction, feeling a small thrill of NTR-ing the prince. But karma, as they say, is swift. Soon, Shan · The Other Man · Wei couldn’t smile anymore.

The reason was that same hand. Those delicate fingers, now adorned with a gleaming ring on the fourth finger, reached out and directly grasped his.

Startled, he tried to pull back—but whether from haste or insufficient force, he couldn’t break free. As he prepared to try again, he saw Snow White pick up the other ring from the red cushion.

…Holy crap—he’d forgotten the rings were exchanged both ways!

He feigned composure as she held the ring to his ring finger—but inwardly, he was panicking. When he was in control, he could finish before his condition flared up. But now Snow White was driving; he couldn’t control her actions, and every second was agony.

His pulse quickened, sweat beading on his back. He stared at the ring hovering at his fingertip, every cell screaming: Go on! Just push it in already!

Snow White’s raven lashes fluttered. She seemed to sense his urgency, and lowered her gaze with an unreadable smile.

“Don’t rush.” She said softly. “It’s going in now.”

He watched the silver-white ring slide onto his finger at a steady, unhurried pace. The cool metal pressed against his skin, sliding along his finger—tighter, hotter. It felt like all his sensory cells had converged on his ring finger, every nerve teased by the snugness, trembling, releasing a sweet, numbing sensation.

Faster—just a little faster—

His body already aroused, he couldn’t stand the slow pace. He pushed his finger forward, making it slide deeper. The ring glided along his finger until it hit the second knuckle—the thickest part—and stopped, unable to go further.

Cold sweat broke out all over. On every level. The ring was clearly custom-sized for the real prince; his hand was larger. Just as Cinderella’s glass slipper only fit one foot, Snow White’s wedding ring only fit one prince.

But the princess didn’t seem to notice the mismatch. She kept pushing. The silver ring now scraped not just skin but bone—a burning mix of pain and pleasure that nearly broke his composure. He sucked in a breath and finally couldn’t hold back: “Don’t push any further… it’s too tight… too tight…”

She tilted her head, listening to his breathy, halting protests. Then she leaned in and kissed his chin, as if soothing a child refusing a shot.

“Bear with it a little longer.” Her smile was warm. “It’s almost in.”

Her sudden move short-circuited his brain for a moment, but the sharp pain in his finger brought him back. Even while kissing him, she hadn’t stopped pushing. His ring finger was now completely swollen; the platinum ring was wedged against the joint, the surrounding skin stretched taut like an overinflated balloon about to burst.

The pain in his finger shot straight to his heart. He tried to pull back, but her grip on his wrist was like frozen marble—even his other hand couldn’t pry it loose. His mind burning, he didn’t have the presence of mind to notice her unnatural strength; he just wanted to escape the endless cycle of pain and heat, even begging.

“Please… stop pushing… it won’t fit… it really won’t…”

She watched the involuntary tears at the corner of his eyes, her own eyes growing brighter, her cheeks flushed, her expression one of pure bliss.

“It will fit.”

Crack.

Her husky voice had a dreamlike quality—in stark contrast to the sharp, all-too-real sound that echoed in the room.

He stiffly looked down at his ring-finger. In the game, injuries healed quickly when not in combat—unless under special debuffs. Now the beautiful ring sat peacefully at the base of his finger, looking perfectly fitted. But the lingering ache told him what had happened: she’d crushed his knuckle and forced the ring through.

His mind went blank. The one who’d done it lowered her hands and smiled at him: “See? It went in.”

Went in… went in… in…

His addled mind echoed her words. His unfocused gaze drifted to her sated expression—and he snapped fully awake.

Without a word, he raised his ringed hand. The diamond sparkled in the candlelight, drawing her attention like a rising star. While her gaze was fixed on it, he whipped a white cloth from the table behind him and flung it over her head, blocking her view.

“Ah—”

The tableware clattered to the floor. She pulled the cloth away—but the blond young man was gone. The flickering candles cast only her solitary shadow against the wall.

Eyes closed, Shan Ziwei crouched in the crystal coffin. He felt like he’d been forced into a game of hide-and-seek—invisible, but always in danger of exposure. The situation had clearly jumped the rails; he’d never imagined exchanging rings could be this brutal. Whether the princess had done it deliberately or not, he was determined to stay out of this mess. But he hadn’t had time to escape—so he’d gone invisible, staying put and praying she’d leave.

Tap, tap, tap…

Her heels echoed through the room. He heard her circle him, his skin crawling with goosebumps. Thank goodness he was in the coffin—she couldn’t accidentally brush against him. Just as he thought that, her footsteps stopped. It didn’t bring relief—it was like the stillness before a storm, his heart in his throat.

Squelch—

A faint sound, magnified by the dead silence. A coppery, metallic scent bloomed in the air. He felt something warm and wet splash onto his face and body—then a boneless hand pressed down on his shoulder, and a voice whispered in his ear, unbearably tender:

“I found you.”