Chapter 44: Setting Forty-Four

Setting Forty-Four: Fairy Tale (Part 12)

“If I call out, who among the heavenly hosts can truly hear…”

Amid the flickering candlelight, the beautiful bride hummed a mournful song. She leaned against the crystal coffin, her slender fingers threading through the soft golden hair of the youth within, combing it with meticulous care.

The golden strands flowed through her fingers like a river; one playful lock escaped, landing on the youth’s nose, resting there in perfect stillness. It stayed so steady only because its owner had long ceased to breathe.

“…But if you have any attachment left, then sing of those who love…”

Snow White brushed the stray lock back behind his ear. Her gaze, as ethereal as her song, drifted across the closed eyes of the golden-haired youth, his pale, slightly blue-tinged skin, finally settling on his colorless lips. Seeming dissatisfied with that pallor, she raised her hand, revealing the freshly scabbed wound on her wrist. She picked at it with her finger, drawing fresh blood, then dabbed it onto the youth’s pale lips like rouge, spreading it evenly.

“In that terrible space where a godlike youth suddenly departed forever, the void felt shock for the first time…”

The dirge for the dead reached its final strains. She gazed with satisfaction at the red she’d painted on his lips, humming the last notes—not as a lament, but with the tenderness of a lullaby.

“To this day, that shock still comforts, aids, and inspires us.”

The fading notes dissolved where lips met skin. Like a prayer before a meal, she bent to kiss the eternally sleeping youth, using her lips as a brush to trace his features. The crystal coffin’s irregular facets fractured her expression; in the dim storage room, only the sounds of wet, sucking kisses echoed—forbidden and obscene in the darkness.

“Heh…” She giggled softly, pressing his hand against her chest, her lips nearly nibbling his ear: “Feel that? Isn’t it beating fast? Doesn’t it feel good?”

The youth gave no response—the dead had lost the right to speak. Unbothered by his silence, she sat him up, draping his arms loosely around her waist. The corpse’s head lolled in the hollow of her shoulder; the candlelight cast their entwined shadows on the wall, the image of intimate lovers.

She embraced her cold lover, her hands clasped behind his back. One hand loosened, finding the hem of his clothes, and slipped beneath.

“You’re so cold…” She sighed. Her eyes lowered, her expression a blend of focus, rapture, and torment.

The fabric bunched in sinful folds; the rustle of cloth mixed with her soft gasps. Though the scene was deeply taboo, it was impossible to look away.

The sound of approaching footsteps from outside ended the unholy ritual. Her brow furrowed slightly. She closed her eyes as if restraining herself, then laid the youth back in the coffin and carefully closed the lid.

“Rest well.” As if he were merely sleeping, her expression softened, and she whispered goodnight: “I’ll be done soon.”

The beautiful princess, her wedding dress stained with blood, walked to the door. She pushed it open, then paused to glance back at the coffin. Shadows swallowed her black-and-white eyes; her blood-red lips curved into a faint, enigmatic sigh.

“If you wake, it will be the end.”

The door closed, sealing the cold within.

The storage room fell into utter silence. After a long while, a shape stirred in the shadows, laboriously rolling into the candlelight to reveal its form.

It was a round, plump little bird. It held a stack of cards in its beak, a small golden key in its left claw, and a mirror in its right. Its downy feathers gleamed gold in the candlelight, but on closer inspection, they were actually white—a striking resemblance to a certain white-haired sufferer.

Shan·Little Bird·Wei stared at his settings panel in silent despair.

[Setting 6: You possess a substitute puppet that will resurrect you after your death and take your place as the corpse.]

When Snow White had made that declaration, he’d known he couldn’t just walk away. He had no idea how he’d become the princess’s “home,” but to reach the clear ending, he’d used a Joker on the brink of death to gain a substitute item—since the princess wanted a “witch” to be her home, he’d give her one, and then…

And then the system had taught him a lesson.

Both substitute and resurrection were game-breaking abilities. Naturally, the system wouldn’t let him get away with it—so it slapped on the most inhuman condition yet: Setting 6.

[Setting 6: Your substitute puppet is carved from juniper wood. When the puppet takes effect, you will transform into a fragile little bird. To regain your original form, you must fulfill two conditions: first, the murderer must die; second, there must be an act of vampirism between you and the murderer.]

Shan Ziwei: …This game is broken!!!

He didn’t know what “vampirism” meant, but he knew the story of “The Juniper Tree”—a fairy tale that read like a horror story. It was the tale that had shattered his understanding of fairy tales: a family of three; the wife dies after childbirth; the husband remarries; the new wife has a daughter and despises the son from the first marriage; she finally kills him. The boy’s spirit, through the juniper tree, transforms into a bird, fetches a millstone to crush the wicked stepmother, then resurrects and reunites with his father and sister.

Simplified, it was an inspirational tale of defeating evil. But the story featured a very beautiful (deadpan) song that ran through it:

My mother killed me.
My father ate me.
My sister Maria picked up my bones, wrapped them in silk, and buried them under the juniper tree.

Yes, in the juniper tree story, the stepmother not only killed the boy but chopped up his corpse and cooked him into a stew, feeding him to his father… In return, the resurrected boy did the same—making stew of the stepmother and feeding it to his father…

Fairy tales: I scare even myself when I go crazy.

The afflicted: WTF!

The story was so traumatizing that he remembered every detail. Combined with the stark “vampirism,” Shan Ziwei… Shan Ziwei felt he’d never look at the phrase “vampirism” the same way again.

He was now like the boy, and Snow White was the stepmother who’d killed him. The system’s malicious intent was clear: giving a player such an overpowered tool, yet making its conditions so horrifying. He couldn’t possibly kill Snow White, nor could he cook her into a meal or let her cook him—so was he stuck as a bird until the game ended?

Even the brightest candlelight couldn’t lift his dismal mood. The little fluffball huddled into a ball; its white feathers, inheriting its owner’s soft white hair, were so fluffy it looked like a glutinous rice ball.

Actually… being a bird or a person probably didn’t affect the plot much… right?

Shedding his human dignity, he quickly adapted to his bird form to plan his next moves.

Only Rose and Donkeyskin’s endings remained. Rose’s part was mostly done—he just needed to witness the prince kissing her awake after a hundred years. Donkeyskin was trickier; according to the plot, he needed to help her escape the castle invisibly.

He glanced at his game panel. As a bird, all four SP bars were down to 1%, paper-thin. His Personal Settings seemed unaffected—and since his equipment had transformed with him, he should still be able to use the invisibility skill.

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

Hand-holding…

He looked down—all he could see was a belly full of fluff. He strained and sucked in his gut to finally spot his tiny claws.

Wait—the original four-limbed creature was confused: with only one pair of claws, were they hands or feet?

He immediately gave up thinking and decided to get out before Snow White returned. He’d go straight to Donkeyskin and figure it out by trial and error.

Snow White’s earlier actions had hit him like a wrecking ball. Even knowing it was fake, watching her do that to his “corpse” had left him shell-shocked—it was more humiliating than watching yourself in a porno, completely rewriting his worldview. He couldn’t sort out the princess’s feelings toward the witch—was it hatred? Did hate make you kiss a corpse like that? Or was it love? He couldn’t think of a reason for her to love the witch! They’d been enemies from the start, not to mention their “mother-daughter” relationship—neither was grounds for romance!

With a heart full of questions, the little fluffball spread his wings and flew. Like using a weapon, he didn’t need to think about how to fly—his body was guided by the system. The downside: his MP drained at 10 per second. With a 200 MP pool, he could only fly for 20 seconds before needing a rest. No wonder the system had made that a condition.

After some effort, he reached the door handle, grasped the little golden key, and managed to insert it into the keyhole.

“I want to go to where Princess Donkeyskin is, now that she’s received the donkey skin.”

The door opened silently, revealing the liquid film. He fluttered his wings—and for the first time, stepped through with his eyes wide open. As an easily overlooked little bird, he could finally let loose.

…Only to tumble out of the door on the other side.

When his chin hit the carpet of the princess’s bedchamber, he was utterly dumbfounded.

Why had he turned back into a human?!

Fortunately, the room only had Donkeyskin. She turned at the sound, her eyes widening slightly at the prostrate figure. Seeing that face so like Snow White’s, his heart tightened—the princess had left such an impact that his heart still raced at the sight.

But she was even more flustered than he was.

“Y-you are…”

He scrambled up. He was still in the prince’s disguise—as if he’d never used the substitute puppet. But seeing Donkeyskin’s younger face, a guess formed in his mind. Setting 6 specified two near-impossible conditions to lift the bird form—but that was under the premise “when the substitute puppet takes effect.”

What if it didn’t take effect?

Look back at Setting 6: “You possess a substitute puppet that will resurrect you after your death and take your place as the corpse.”

The puppet’s trigger condition was a specific point in time. If his death was one moment, then his time point in Donkeyskin’s story was before that moment. If he died at 12 o’clock, then at 11 o’clock, the puppet naturally hadn’t been activated.

Technically, this was a time-based bug. Either way, being human was better than being a bird. He cleared his throat and spoke in his witch’s voice: “It’s me—your godmother. I’m in this form due to… an accident. Don’t mind it.”

The surprise in her eyes instantly became delight: “You came.”

She rose from the bed, her pure white gown trailing. He noticed the small knife in her hand—remembering that in the fairy tale, the princess tried to disfigure herself in despair upon receiving the donkey skin. He quickly said: “The happiest moment of your life is about to arrive. Take your dresses and the donkey skin—I’ll take you away from this kingdom.”

At his words, she froze. A flush spread across her cheeks—like falling into an unreal dream from hopeless darkness. Her voice trembled: “You’ll… take me away?”

Seeing her like this, his inexplicable fear gave way to pity. The black-haired girl before him was fragile and pitiful—a white flower trembling in the cold winter, inspiring both outrage at her father’s cruelty and tenderness toward her.

“Yes.” This particular sufferer smiled reassuringly and reached out his hand for the first time. “Take my hand. I’ll make us invisible and take you away from here.”

Her smile in that moment was indescribable—like starlight shattered and scattered into her eyes, turning their usual dimness into a brilliant flow. Even he, haunted by that face, was stunned—until a familiar mix of pleasure and pain shot through his outstretched hand.

She had grasped his hand—her pale fingertips pressing against the diamond ring.

“You’re—married?”

His inner “WTF” flared. He’d almost forgotten about the ring. The sight of it brought back the full force of Snow White’s forced affections, making it hard to look at the identical Donkeyskin.

Not wanting to explain, he mumbled a vague “Mm” in confirmation, turning his head away—and missed her expression. Her face was strange, caught between a smile and something else—her lips and brows refusing to obey, curving into a tearful arc. She looked like she was breaking.

The silence stretched. He cleared his throat to break it. He could handle hand-holding now, but the strain was unbearable. He urged: “Get your dresses and the donkey skin. Let’s go.”

Beside him, she closed her eyes, as if finally letting go of restraint. She tucked the small knife into her palm.

“I left them elsewhere. Will you come with me to fetch them?”

He didn’t suspect anything and agreed. Before leaving, he explained the invisibility: “When I use the skill, you won’t be able to see me—so you’ll have to guide me.”

“Alright.” Her red lips curved, bloody and bright. For a moment, he thought he was facing Snow White—he nearly pulled away, but stopped himself just in time.

Snow White was Snow White. Donkeyskin was Donkeyskin. He told himself. It was natural for Snow White, the abused stepdaughter, to want to kill her tormentor. Donkeyskin had no reason to harm her godmother, who had only helped her.

Pushing down the irrational fear, he closed his eyes and let her lead him forward.

Tap, tap, tap…

In the darkness, he counted his own footsteps. In reality, his and hers were nearly silent, but that relentless tapping seemed to beat directly against his heart, unsettling him. He didn’t know where they were, how long they’d walked, or how much farther they’d go. Maybe they’d just brushed past a guard; maybe they’d collide with a patrol the next moment. Being led by another was terrifying. He couldn’t act on his own—only follow her guidance, stopping or turning at her will.

Dim light alternately passed over his eyelids, his retina flickering light and dark. Deprived of sight, his other senses sharpened. The surroundings grew darker, colder—as if they were walking toward the underworld. Afraid of attracting attention, he didn’t dare speak. They walked in silence until she stopped, murmuring: “Bend down and crawl through.”

Though he didn’t understand where they were, he obeyed—but before bending, he seized the chance to ask: “How much farther?”

“Shh…”

Warm breath brushed his ear. He shut up, ducked his head, and crawled forward.

After a few steps, his head hit cold metal. At the same time, she released his hand—and he heard a lock click.

“!?”

Startled, he opened his eyes to see iron bars carved with runes, fracturing the black-haired girl’s smile. She smiled at him through the cage, her slender hand reaching through the bars to caress his face with infinite longing.

“I’ve kept you.”