After lunch, everyone in Class 3-1A prepared their stage and props in the theater room. Despite having only three judges as their audience—their literature teacher, their advisor, and another teacher from liberal arts—the students spared no effort in their preparations.
Being the star class, everyone in Class 3-1A had good backgrounds and the ability to afford stylists and makeup artists. Although it was just a mid-sester project, it served as a showcase of their abilities.
The backstage was bustling with activity. Students wore costus made by their favorite fashion designers, hired helpers prepared their props, and stylists applied makeup.
Butler Xin and Maid Ye Zhai also arrived.
The first duo had already perford on stage, presenting their own script using the the of "The Little Prince and the Fox."
Maid Ye Zhai held a huge box. "Young Miss, this is your costu."
"Alright. Let’s change." Bei Sangyun then looked at Butler Xin. "Please help Fei Chuan for ."
Butler Xin held a suitcase and nodded.
Unlike the others who brought an entire group, Fei Chuan and Bei Sangyun had only two helpers.
Fei Chuan didn’t have anyone he could bring, and he didn’t mind much if their presentation was less elaborate. However, Bei Sangyun was very serious about the project.
She took charge of the props and costus. Considering her role as the ideal student and the top rank, it made sense that she wanted to excel. Fei Chuan didn’t want to let her down, so he agreed naturally.
As Bei Sangyun and her maid disappeared into the fitting room, Butler Xin approached Fei Chuan.
He handed him the script according to Bei Sangyun’s wishes. "The Young Miss said you have a good mory. This is the script she wrote. You can study it while I help you prepare."
Fei Chuan accepted it. Ever since Bei Sangyun offered to change and add so parts of the script, she had never shown the finished version to him. Fei Chuan indeed had a good mory and could easily recite a three-page script after reading it twice.
Curious about the changes Bei Sangyun made, he started reading.
Suddenly, he paused, and his eyes shook.
....
There were 38 students in Class 3-1A, forming 19 pairs. Each team had a 5-8 minute performance with a three-minute interval for stage setup between acts. In total, each team had at least 10 minutes for their presentation.
Throughout the performances, the judges found many engaging and interesting acts. Lin Sunji’s team, which portrayed a daughter and mother relationship, received praise for its emotional impact. Zhong Cheng and his lackey’s cody show about twins fighting in their mother’s womb also entertained the audience.
As the teams perford one after another, the last team finally took the stage, marking the end of the event. The lights dimd, and there was so rustling as props were rearranged.
The liberal arts teacher took a sip of his drink and stretched. "Finally, it’s the last one."
The advisor glanced at the list and couldn’t help but be surprised. "It’s Lin Sangyun and Fei Chuan? They partnered?"
The ’tyrant’ and the ’target’ were well-known figures even among the faculty, and rumors about the ’bullying’ affair had circulated in hushed tones.
The literature teacher nodded, appearing excited. "I was also surprised when they tead up. Fei Chuan proposed the the, and I heard that Lin Sangyun made so changes to it. They cooperated well. This is the team I look forward to the most."
The liberal arts teacher couldn’t resist making a questionable comnt, "Would they play the roles of the bully and the victim? Do we have to watch Fei Chuan being beaten up live?"
The faces of the two teachers changed, glaring at him. The literature teacher, having already seen the first draft of their script, defended her students, saying, "They are more artistic than you!"
Finally, the lights opened, and fog filled the stage. The three teachers imdiately quieted down.
A somber and eerie lody reverberated across the entire stage, accompanied by the rustling of the wind. As the curtains lifted, a gloomy cetery materialized, with a particularly tall tomb at its center.
The judges shuddered, caught off guard by the unexpected shift to horror. Among the students who had presented that day, this was the only team that opted for a dark and spooky setting.
A man in a vibrant suit, holding a flower, stepped onto the stage. For this particular set, Fei Chuan had tied back his hair, revealing his clean and handso face. An air of arrogance and disdain emanated from him, as if everyone present were beneath his notice.
Fei Chuan, standing in front of the grave, locked eyes with the na engraved on the tombstone. His grip on the flower tightened, and for a mont, his arrogant facade wavered.
However, it was only for a brief mont. He took a deep breath, callously tossed the flower onto the tombstone, and uttered, "Congrats on your death."
With that one sentence, he departed, maintaining the sa arrogant expression.
Then, the stage plunged into darkness.
The three judges sat in stunned silence.
What? Was that all?
They exchanged perplexed glances. The absence of narration left them grappling with uncertainty about the significance of the grave and the identity of the man.
Was the the "death"? If so, who was the man, and what role did he play?
Even the literature teacher felt bewildered. In the draft that Fei Chuan had submitted, while the setup was similar, the beginning had been different. The man should have been grieving, as grief was their chosen the—the sorrow of the man who had been left alone in the end.
Yet, this portrayal seed off.
Before they could fully analyze the scene’s aning, the spotlight rekindled, illuminating the man on the solemn grave once more. This ti, he was clad in a red suit and seed to be flourishing.
He boasted about his life’s achievents and expressed disdain toward the person in the grave before exiting.
Once again, darkness descended upon the stage.
The judges had been enlightened.
So it was about how a living person differs from the dead! A very rare concept indeed.
But... wasn’t it a bit disrespectful? The man’s arrogance was palpable as he visited the grave seemingly just to boast.
The stage illuminated once more, revealing a disheveled version of the man. His ticulously arranged hair was now let down, and his suit appeared unkempt. Despite the disorder, he continued to laugh at the grave, recounting the grandeur of his life. He even boasted about his upcoming marriage and various accomplishnts.
However, in the subsequent appearance, he seed more despondent than ever. Even as he bragged, there was a palpable sense of dejection in his tone. Then, in the midst of his speech, he abruptly halted.
His voice echoed as the only sound in the gloomy cetery, so when he stopped talking, everything was drowned by silence. Rendering the scene with eerily atmosphere and gloom.
Even the judges in the audience refrained from exhaling loudly. In this hushed atmosphere, the silence beca unsettling.
The man suddenly threw the flower to the ground and crushed it beneath his foot.
Out of nowhere, he unleashed his fury, frustration, and hatred. Each stomp of his feet carried the weight of bottled-up emotions with nowhere to vent. He was simply angry—angry at the world.
Even those in the audience could feel the intensity of his frustration and anger.
However, witnessing the man crush the innocent flower while venting sohow evoked a sense of sadness.
In this mont, the judges finally comprehended. The man, who incessantly mocked and berated the person in the grave, as though harboring an intense hatred, was actually grieving. Grieving in a way that was difficult to fathom.
As if to affirm their realization, tears began streaming down the man’s face—tears he himself seed unaware of. When the flower on the ground had been reduced to a pulp, he finally ceased. His breath was heavy, and his gaze shifted to the grave. Biting his lip, he departed.
The man’s retreating figure conveyed a poignant sense of loneliness and sorrow.
The judges anticipated the stage to darken once more, but this ti, a woman suddenly erged on the opposing side of the stage.
Clad in a simple white dress, her entire presence appeared translucent under the spotlight. She gazed at the man with a complex expression.
Then, as swiftly as she appeared, the stage plunged into darkness.
Before ten seconds elapsed, the lights illuminated the stage once more. This ti, the man appeared aged.
He was no longer the arrogant individual who arrived to boast each ti, nor the frustrated man who continuously cursed the person resting in the grave. Calmly, he placed the flowers on the grave.
Sitting down, he leaned against the tombstone.
Fei Chuan who was dressed as a middle-aged man with white hairs on his sideburn looked up and started to recite the words he just morized.
"....I wished we had t differently. After so many years, I finally understand what you are to . But I am foolish and arrogant. All my regrets are for nothing. There’s no turning back."
A subtle shift in Fei Chuan’s brow hinted at the depth of emotion within him.
’Who is she to him’?
He didn’t know how Bei Sangyun ca up with this revision, but it coincidentally aligned with the scenes he had been dreaming. He still hadn’t identified the man in his dream or discovered the mysterious individual buried in the grave.
However, while portraying the man’s character, he finally understood. Fei Chuan looked up and t the blinding light from the spotlight.
To the man, the person in the grave was the source of his misery but at the sa ti the one who could rescue him from his drowning loneliness.
Soone he hated but could not live without. Soone he longed for unknowingly but did not dare to delve in too deeply.
Soone he loved but had co to realize too late.
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