Chapter 20: ◎So Soft.◎ Part 3

“Sturdy physique” didn’t quite fit the current Yan Mian, so there was no actual swordplay in her scenes—just a few flourishes with a dagger to wrap it up.

In the original tale, Snow White was duped into the forest by the Hunter and only spared at the last moment out of his pity.

In this adaptation, however, Snow White wasn’t fooled. She ventured into the woods on her own to practice her swordsmanship. Midway through, she sensed she was being followed, cornered the Hunter instead, and pressed a dagger to the woman’s throat. In a voice like ice, she demanded, “Why are you following me?”

To most onlookers, the seemingly delicate Yan Mian had no business playing such a steely role—but out of deference to Zhu Lexing, they kept their doubts to themselves.

Until this moment.

In the camera’s gaze, the girl’s eyes were utterly indifferent as she held the dagger’s hilt against the Hunter’s neck, poised as if she might slit her throat and end her “life” at any second.

That single look erased every scrap of skepticism and complaint.

Even in the side stage area, Xu He let out a hushed squeal. “Yan Mian! Yan Mian!”

During rehearsals, Yan Mian’s performance had been solidly average—nothing special in movement or delivery.

The contrast caught Qiao Qiao off guard. A second later, she glanced at Zhu Lexing beside her.

But the girl wasn’t sharing her surprise.

Her brows merely arched slightly as she began snapping photos on her own.

No words were needed; her every motion screamed satisfaction.

Onstage.

Once Snow White learned of the Queen’s scheme, she knew she couldn’t stay any longer. She released the Hunter and pressed on alone into the forest’s depths. That was when she stumbled upon the Little Dwarfs’ home.

After speaking with the Dwarfs, Snow White learned that they were always waylaid by passing bandits who stole the ore they mined each day. To avoid them, the Dwarfs waited until nightfall to return home. If Snow White was willing to guard the house during the day and protect them, she could live there and share their lives.

Snow White didn’t refuse.

As time passed, Snow White grew ever closer to the group of dwarfs. On one cozy evening gathered around the hearth, she finally opened her heart, confiding her past to them.

The dwarfs had long regarded Snow White as a friend. Their immediate reaction was one of staunch support, their voices filled with indignation:

“Do you want to become king? That way, no one will bully you anymore.”

“We stand ready to support you.”

The dwarfs were weak and knew nothing of political machinations. But they possessed one thing: hearts full of love for Snow White.

For the first time in her life, Snow White looked at them and felt a genuine urge to rebel.

The scene came to a close.

Up to this point, everyone had performed admirably. Zhu Lexing let out a long breath of relief, her heart finally settling by more than half.

It was not until the third act that Zhu Lexing, in the role of the neighboring kingdom princess, finally made her entrance.

This was the climax of the entire stage play.

After days of contemplation, Snow White devised a meticulous plan. For the first time, she took up her sword—not just for herself, but for her friends as well. She would return to the kingdom and reclaim her power.

Yet the journey was long, and mishaps were inevitable along the way.

It was on this day that Snow White encountered the neighboring kingdom princess.

When Zhu Lexing had written this part of the script, her mind had been consumed with the desire to give Yan Mian her shining moment. She immediately recalled a classic old trope: Any princess venturing out was bound to be ambushed by mountain bandits. Then, on a pitch-black, windy night, the male protagonist would swoop in from the heavens, rescue the princess, and steal her heart in the process.

Since her own role was also a princess, mimicking the trope seemed entirely feasible.

But with the stage play’s tight schedule, there was no time for an extra scene.

Thus, what the audience witnessed was the neighboring kingdom princess and her entourage, en route to a vacation in a nearby small city, only to be waylaid by robbers. Just as the bandits prepared to strike, Snow White stumbled upon them. With a few swift moves, she drove the robbers off and rescued the princess.

Zhu Lexing had learned of Snow White’s revenge plot through the little dwarfs. She let out a couple of muffled coughs before dispatching her maid to relay a message: She was willing to aid Snow White.

Playing a socially anxious character, Zhu Lexing spent the entire scene lounging in a chair like a limp fish. Her only task was to fix her gaze on Yan Mian.

Zhu Lexing was thoroughly pleased with the setup. But when Yan Mian’s eyes met hers, she paused for a brief moment before looking away.

From there, Snow White returned to the kingdom backed by her supporters.

She freed the king, whom the queen had imprisoned in the basement, and learned of the queen’s own history. After inquiring about the precise nature of the king’s wounds, Snow White took a dagger and inflicted the exact same injuries on the queen.

She did not kill the queen. Instead, she simply let her go.

The queen stared at her in disbelief, but Snow White merely offered a faint smile.

The king was furious at the queen’s release and tried to berate Snow White. Yet the entire kingdom was now surrounded by troops dispatched as aid from the neighboring realm—troops that answered solely to Snow White. He could voice his displeasure only in veiled terms.

As the king languished in captivity, the dukes and marquises—who had been playing dead until then—suddenly found their tongues.

They viewed Snow White as inherently meek, a soft target like a ball of cotton they could push around. They demanded she scurry back to the palace to embroider and study, and keep her distance from them.

How could a woman work alongside them? It would be an utter insult.

How could a woman seize control of the kingdom? Even acting as regent would mean lording over them—an intolerable affront.

And yet, no one had raised a peep when the previous queen held the reins of power.

Snow White understood perfectly. That very night, she slipped into the king’s chambers.

She wielded the dagger the king had used to slay his first queen.

She wielded the dagger the queen had plunged into him.

Gazing at the heart of the slumbering man, Snow White thrust the blade downward without a moment’s hesitation—decisively.

The lights dimmed.

The death knell tolled for the king.

Vultures rejoiced for the princess.

From that day forward, Snow White claimed her place as the new sovereign on the throne.

No one dared breathe a word of protest.

In the enveloping darkness, anguished screams echoed one after another. Severed hands were occasionally hurled from the shadows onto the front of the stage.

Snow White, now wearing the crown, strode calmly through the carnage. She gazed out the window, her hair gleaming like polished ebony, her skin as white and tender as snow, her lips as red and lush as blood, her eyes warm like polished brown jade.

She toyed idly with an apple.

The curtain descended slowly, as though this were the finale.

The live stream room and the audience in the seats below had fallen utterly silent the moment Snow White committed patricide.

Revenge tales were all the rage in this world, but plots like this one were exceedingly rare.

And this was a live performance—the raw shock of the contrast, the sheer horror, impossible to escape.

When blood splattered across Yan Mian’s face, one spectator paled and turned to a school leader. “Is this suitable for children?”

The leader was left speechless.

In the live stream room, officials had taken notice as soon as the stage play hit its stride, pushing it into wider circulation.

The patricide scene sent traffic skyrocketing to its peak. Among the viewers were casual self-media creators who had clicked in to kill time, only to find themselves glued to the unfolding story on screen.

That night, every active account on Star Net had the 《Snow White》 stage play popping up on their feeds.

Whether live replays or on-site footage—

Without fail, 《Snow White》 exploded. It burst onto the scene abruptly, shockingly.

Yet on stage, several minutes after the curtain fell, it rose once more.

Snow White was innately upright and kind; her sudden descent into darkness felt far too abrupt.

To forestall accusations of a botched ending—and to keep Zhu Lin from complaining about short screen time and harassing her later—Zhu Lexing had added a special Easter egg coda.

The script was straightforward.

One lazy afternoon, the neighboring kingdom princess paid Snow White a visit. The two took a leisurely stroll, after which the princess requested permission to reside in the palace for a time.

Snow White agreed.

Bathed in the lights, the young woman’s smile was gentle, as if she had returned to her original state of pure innocence.

The audience’s expressions finally eased.

True, everyone knew this Snow White was not the same as before. But wrapping up with an image of goodness and beauty could at least soften the lingering psychological scars.

Just as the audience was preparing to applaud, assuming that was the finale, the curtain on stage snagged halfway down, hanging stubbornly in place.

Zhu Lexing glanced blankly toward the side stage. Xu He had been standing there moments before, but now, emerging from the shadows, only Lin Yang’s face was visible.

Lin Yang flashed her a smile, formed a gun shape with her right hand, and pointed lightly into the empty air.

Zhu Lexing instinctively followed the direction of her gesture—

It pointed to the chandelier hanging high above Yan Mian.

The lights were blinding. Zhu Lexing frowned, on the verge of looking away and wondering what the hell Lin Yang was playing at, when the fixture suddenly swayed. Then, with terrifying speed, it began to plummet—

Directly toward Yan Mian below.

Zhu Lexing thought, As expected of an old-school melodramatic ABO abuse novel!

Even this gets rigged to drop down???

Author, have you lost your mind?!!

The thought flashed through her mind in an instant.

She instinctively seized Yan Mian’s hand and yanked her close. Yan Mian still wore that faint smile on her face, unprepared for how abruptly Zhu Lexing would move. The next second, as their bodies pressed together—”Bang!” The chandelier smashed into the floor.

Yan Mian’s vision went white. She glanced instinctively at the wreckage, then looked up as if to speak—only for her lips to brush Zhu Lexing’s lower lip.

In that split second when she thought she’d failed to grab Yan Mian’s hand, Zhu Lexing’s mind blanked out. She nearly believed disaster had struck—

Until the girl truly tumbled into her arms, snapping her out of that near-panic haze. Zhu Lexing stared at the fallen chandelier, her face drained of color as she whipped her gaze back to the side stage.

But Lin Yang was gone.

The audience below exploded into shocked cries at the sudden chaos.

The curtain dropped fully, and Zhu Lin bellowed in fury, “Lexing?! Little Mian? Is this the quality of your props, school?!”

Zhu Lexing opened her mouth to reply—only for something soft to graze her lips, like the brush of a feather, light and impossibly tender.

It took her a moment to register what it was. Then Yan Mian wriggled in her arms and stumbled back several steps.

Their eyes met in the air. Yan Mian pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, stunned into silence for a long beat before turning and walking away.

Zhu Lexing touched her lips belatedly.

The next instant, awareness crashed over her. All her senses felt waterlogged, her head swimming, cheeks burning crimson.

Her thoughts knotted up as a mangled line from some drama bubbled to mind: Once, there was a chance to dodge total social suicide right in front of Zhu Lexing, but she hadn’t cherished it.

If heaven granted her one more shot—

Even so, Zhu Lexing couldn’t help replaying the moment, her mind a blissful fog.

…Yan Mian’s lips were so soft.