Zhu Lexing felt like the day was beyond saving for conversation.
Guessing was out of the question, so she recounted the entire Cinderella story in one breath.
After Qiao Qiao finished listening, she wore a disdainful expression. “Why does she come off like such a background character? And why is it the prince picking them instead of her picking the so-called prince?”
Zhu Lexing thought she had a point.
But she couldn’t drag Andersen out of his grave for a chat, so she suggested, “You could create your own version.”
Having gotten the response she wanted, Qiao Qiao crossed her arms again and said matter-of-factly, “Aren’t you full of clever ideas? You can be the screenwriter, I’ll be the actress, and I’ll offer guidance when needed.”
“Of course,” Qiao Qiao continued. “That story from earlier won’t cut it. If it were up to me to brainstorm…”
In five minutes, she spun a tale of Cinderella’s revenge.
Seeming to pick up on Zhu Lexing’s aversion to arson, she’d deliberately changed the villain’s demise to being tossed into the sea to feed the sharks.
Zhu Lexing hesitated. “…Is this really something we can perform?”
Qiao Qiao shot back, “You could create your own version.”
Zhu Lexing got the picture. Qiao Qiao was the classic client type—insisting on free rein during creation, then demanding revisions one, two, three, four… endlessly after the draft.
As her words trailed off, Qiao Qiao seemed a touch embarrassed, her gaze drifting over Zhu Lexing now and then.
Zhu Lexing pondered for a few seconds. “In that case, let’s hear the Snow White story. Everyone can chime in with their thoughts.”
With that, Zhu Lexing launched into the tale.
When had Zhu Lexing’s temper mellowed like this? Qiao Qiao watched the girl before her, inwardly baffled, her playful smirk gradually giving way to genuine focus.
The setting sun glowed like molten gold.
As most of its afterglow bathed No. 1 High School, a nanny car pulled up in front of the school gate.
After thanking Qin Yun earnestly, Yan Mian stepped out and waited by the stone lion for Li Nian.
School had let out long ago, leaving the front grounds sparse with people. Skipping a day meant falling behind in lessons. Fortunately, the sophomore curriculum stayed consistent across classes. When Li Nian heard about the absence, she’d volunteered to take notes and even grab her bag.
Less than two minutes later, Li Nian emerged, lugging two backpacks and panting. “Did I keep you waiting?”
Yan Mian’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “Not at all. Thank you.”
Li Nian spotted Qin Yun in the car and waved. “Hello, Auntie Qin—”
She turned back to Yan Mian. “The stage play’s theme is set.”
Li Nian had sent Yan Mian three proposals the night before. Assuming one had been greenlit, she asked sidelong, “Which one?”
Li Nian cleared her throat. “《Rebirth: I Am Snow White》.”
Yan Mian blinked. “…?”
Seeing the bewilderment on her face, Li Nian explained, “You haven’t heard either! Zhu Lexing suggested it out of nowhere. I nearly jumped when she brought it up—”
As Li Nian recounted the details, Yan Mian felt transported back to that morning’s dance studio. Her expression grew increasingly peculiar. “You’re saying… Zhu Lexing?”
Love—a word Zhu Lexing never would have uttered in the past. Cold and cruel by nature, she’d sneered at everything, treating the world as her plaything. The pampered daughter of heaven from birth, she’d never stooped to daydreaming about lives beneath her station.
Yet today, the story from Zhu Lexing’s lips… its protagonist was pathetically humble, reduced to begging some so-called divinity for aid.
Li Nian didn’t know Zhu Lexing as intimately as Yan Mian did, but even she could sense something was off.
In the ensuing silence, Li Nian shifted gears. “Anyway, it’s locked in. Want to check out the rehearsal spot? They planned to head over this afternoon—”
But Li Nian hadn’t gone.
Because she’d been waiting.
Yan Mian started to decline, but Li Nian’s expectant gaze stopped her. With an inward sigh, she relented. “Sure, let’s go.”
Before they left, Yan Mian greeted Qin Yun and suggested stashing both bags in the back seat. They’d confirm the location, have Qin Yun drop Li Nian home first, then head back themselves.
Li Nian turned it down today, though. “I’ve got other things in my bag that I’ll need later—”
Yan Mian didn’t press, respecting her choice.
The rehearsal spot was the auditorium.
Li Nian retrieved the key from the flower pot on the windowsill and led Yan Mian in through the back door. “Actors come in this way. The dressing room’s over there.”
Her guided tour was so assured, she clearly knew the place inside out.
Yan Mian narrowed her eyes. Li Nian gave an abashed smile. “Last time Senior Sister gave a speech, I dropped off her script on short notice. That’s when I memorized the layout.”
There weren’t many spots to explore. After a quick look around, dusk was settling in.
Before they departed, Li Nian excused herself to the bathroom. Yan Mian took her bag, cradling it halfway, and waited quietly at the dressing room’s corner.
Footsteps suddenly echoed from down the hall. A girl’s voice carried through the corridor, laced with blatant coquetry. “Lexing—I want in on the stage play you’re writing too.”
“…Can you give me some space? I’ve told you a dozen times, the cast is full.”
That familiar voice hit like a jolt. Yan Mian’s body went rigid as she whipped her head around.
The two figures were pressed uncomfortably close—or rather, Lin Yang was clinging forcefully to Zhu Lexing. They’d entered through the front door, traversing the auditorium to reach backstage.
The back door exit sat right beside the dressing room.
Leaving meant running straight into them.
This marked the first time Yan Mian had stumbled upon the pair together in private.
A certain possibility flashed through her mind. Her body locked up, fists clenching at her sides as a chill seeped in.
A warm body molded against her own, “Lexing” murmured endlessly in her ear—Zhu Lexing’s irritation boiled over.
She truly hadn’t anticipated running into Lin Yang just from popping back to the classroom for her backpack.
Lin Yang’s class belonged to a different group, yet she acted oblivious. The moment she spotted Zhu Lexing, she’d demanded to join her in the play.
The teachers might look the other way, but Zhu Lexing wanted Lin Yang as far from her as possible. Agreement was out of the question.
She laid out every argument, good and bad, to Lin Yang, who looked utterly aggrieved, her eyes brimming with tears. When Zhu Lexing showed no reaction whatsoever, Lin Yang settled for the next best thing. “Then take me to see where you rehearse, and I’ll leave.”
Zhu Lexing had no fondness for her and was about to refuse when Lin Yang added, “If that’s not okay either, then it doesn’t matter if we all participate or not. Studies come first, don’t they?”
The threat was utterly juvenile.
Had Yan Mian not expressed interest in participating, Zhu Lexing would have likely brushed her off with a forceful shove, tossing out a curt “Do whatever you want” before storming away. But since Yan Mian had voiced her desire, Zhu Lexing couldn’t afford to let the event fall apart.
Zhu Lexing had no choice but to take her along.
She had underestimated Lin Yang’s knack for pushing her luck, though. No sooner had they set off than Lin Yang started prying about the stage play, leaving Zhu Lexing even more exasperated.
Once the theme of 《Snow White》 was set, Lin Yang insisted everyone share their thoughts freely, unleashing a tidal wave of complaints. Some found the Queen’s schemes to harm the princess too cliché and lowbrow—why not just burn her alive? Others objected to the Little Dwarfs being actual dwarfs, demanding they be tall, mighty, and more upscale. And then there were those who suggested swapping the prince for a princess: both heirs to the kingdom, same gender for a power couple alliance—far better than some useless creep with a suspected corpse fetish.
The two rehearsal sessions had basically been one big argument fest. By the end, their 《Snow White》 bore no resemblance to the original tale whatsoever—except that the protagonist was still a princess.
It was only after rehearsals wrapped up that Zhu Lexing learned from Song Yingying why the arson plot was such a “hot” idea: it stemmed from a wildly popular revenge drama that had taken off recently.
The protagonist in that show killed exactly like that.
As her mind wandered, Zhu Lexing suddenly heard the system prompt: 【Yan Mian is currently 10m away from the Host—】
Zhu Lexing: ???
She glanced at her phone: 7 p.m. Wasn’t Yan Mian supposed to be at a medical checkup today? Why was she suddenly here at the auditorium?
Zhu Lexing peered down the corridor. To the left was the restroom.
Lin Yang followed her gaze. A few seconds later, she suddenly spoke up. “Who’s in there?”
Without waiting for Zhu Lexing to respond, Lin Yang strode forward—
~~~
