Chapter 53: [Gem] and [Snow] (Part 2)

[Snow that falls together forever]

[You are not alone]

[I am not alone]

[We are snow falling together]

[Two snowflakes that will never separate]

[We are each other’s winter]

[You that I meet forever]

***

The last lyric fell.

The last light also went dark.

When the light woke up again, only the Snow Girl remained on the stage.

Only her.

Alice’s body heat was still on her shoulder, but those hands had already let go.

That person had retreated into the darkness, leaving the entire stage to her alone.

The audience went quiet.

A breathless quiet, like after snow finishes falling—the quiet of a vast, blank white earth.

Chuxue stood in the center of the stage.

The pale white lights came back on, hitting her from behind.

Cold white, casting her shadow long and thin in front of her feet, like another path.

Her skirt hung down.

There was still a slight crease where Alice had held it.

She didn’t smooth it out.

The prelude began—her solo song, “Snow.”

Also her debut song.

She stood there, not moving.

The light came from behind, leaving her face in shadow, expression unreadable.

Only her voice rose from the darkness, like water welling up.

[I am snow, also rain, the drop that falls on your window glass and disappears before you can see it clearly]

A cappella.

Only singing.

Just singing.

Her voice was very soft as she sang, a murmur.

Like snow falling on snow—no music, no accompaniment.

Just her standing alone on the empty stage, facing thirty thousand people.

A cappella.

Thirty thousand people, all silent.

[I am frost, am mist, the white flower you draw in the air when you breathe]

She walked forward.

The light followed her, shifting from behind to the side, illuminating half her face.

The shadow of her eyelashes fell on her fair cheeks, a thin, tiny patch.

[I am ice, am river, the layer of transparency that lies silent at your feet all winter]

She stopped at the center of the stage.

Lowered her head, looked at the stage floor beneath her feet.

There was a dark mark there—not a scratch from dance shoes, not a drag from a prop.

It was water.

It was—from the spin earlier, melted snow from her skirt had dripped there, still not dry.

[I am also water. The drop that falls from the eaves when spring comes, hitting the stone slab with a plop.]

She crouched down.

Her skirt spread on the floor, the cold white silk shining under the lights.

She reached out a hand—this move wasn’t in the rehearsal.

It was improvisation.

Her fingertip touched the dark mark.

The water was already cold, but her finger still flinched back.

[I am all forms. All temperatures. The road from heaven to earth, and back to heaven again.]

She stood up.

Her skirt lifted from the floor, stirring a small current of air, drying the last trace of dampness.

She raised her head and looked at the audience.

At that vast white sea of lightsticks.

[But tonight. I will only be snow.]

Then she smiled.

For the first time.

On this stage, in front of thirty thousand people, she smiled.

A light, faint smile, like a laugh rising from beneath a layer of ice.

The music started—a cello, low, deep, rising from the orchestra pit, as if flowing.

[I am snow. Only snow. Falling on your shoulder, not melting. Falling in your palm, not melting. Falling in your dreams, also not melting.]

Her voice was thicker now.

Like water under the ice, finally finding a crack.

[When spring comes, you can come look. I won’t be here anymore. But you came—that’s enough.]

After singing the last line, she stood in the center of the stage.

Light poured down from above, cold white, illuminating her like an ice sculpture.

The audience was silent for three seconds.

Then applause erupted.

Not screams.

Applause.

Thirty thousand people clapping at the same time, the sound rushing from all directions like an avalanche, like a frozen river breaking open.

She stood in the center of the applause.

Did not bow.

Did not take a curtain call.

Just stood there, listening.

Like listening to a snow that had been falling for a long time—finally stopping.

***

The lights went dark again.

Chuxue’s figure disappeared into the darkness.

The stage was empty.

Nothing.

No light, no people, no sound.

Then—

ding.

A single note.

Emerging from deep within the stage.

Clear, like the sound of a gem striking something.

Someone in the audience recognized the sound and started screaming.

ding.

ding.

ding.

Footsteps.

Stepping out from the darkness, one step at a time, each landing on that beat.

Lights chased her, turning on one by one—one, two, ten, a hundred, all of them.

Red, pink, gold, white.

The rhythm slowly began—it was “Prism.”

Alice’s image song.

Then—

ding.

The sound continued from deep in the stage, like a gem gently tapping.

Very light, light as an illusion.

But thirty thousand people held their breath at the same time.

ding.

ding.

ding.

The sound kept ringing.

Getting closer.

Walking from deep within the stage outward, each step landing on the heartbeat of thirty thousand people.

The sound of her skirt sweeping the floor, soft, rustling.

The crimson gauze was invisible in the darkness, but everyone knew—she was moving.

She stood there, hands at her sides, not moving.

The sound from the audience finally exploded completely.

The lights—whoosh—all came on at once.

Countless beams of light struck her from all directions.

She stood at the center of the stage.

Her skirt was crimson gauze, lined with layers of pink silk underneath.

A silver-white ribbon was tied at her waist.

A ruby forehead ornament adorned her hair.

The heart-shaped main gem at her neck glittered under the lights.

—Still the same stage outfit from the last performance.

The winning costume that had been most popular before the show.

She stood there, not moving.

Just standing.

But the audience couldn’t take their eyes off her.

The prelude was about to end—a crystalline sound seeped from the deepest part of the stage, like countless gems scattering.

She opened her mouth.

[Mirror stage, reflecting whose eyes]

[Millions of hearts, connecting in the dark]

[Skirt lifting, the Milky Way lands on tiptoes]

[Tonight, I define what it means to be dazzling]

Still, every step landed perfectly on the beat, every step landed on the audience’s heartbeat.

She walked from the left side of the stage to the right.

When she reached the edge, she stopped.

Faced that section of the audience—and gave a slight nod.

Thirty thousand lightsticks wavered at the same time.

Not in unison—a wobble from being struck, forgetting how to move properly.

She kept going.

Her skirt floated up, the crimson gauze seeming to hold a flame at its core under the lights.

She walked to the very center of the stage.

Stopped.

Hit her mark.

[Shh—don’t blink]

[Three seconds later, the world holds only wonder]

[Shh—listen to the heartbeat]

[Follow my rhythm, burn through tonight together]

She smiled—the corners of her mouth lifted barely a centimeter.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, like she’d just woken up.

The people below kept shouting—not in unison, screams forced out from deep in their throats, uncontrollable.

She jumped.

Jumped high.

Her ponytail swung behind her in a pink circle.

Her skirt fully opened, like a flower suddenly blooming.

When she landed, her knees bent slightly, then the stage floor thudded.

[Alice—Alice—]

[Let the whole venue dye into a pink ocean]

[Alice—Alice—]

[My name is the sea of light you wave]

She extended the microphone.

[From the first second to the last beat]

[Every frame is worth replaying again and again]

[Alice—Alice—]

[When tonight is over, you will still remember]

[There was a gem that once lit up for you]

Thirty thousand people opened their mouths.

They shouted, completely out of tune, all over the place—but the volume was enough to blow the roof off the venue.

She listened.

Tilted her head.

Blinked.

Then laughed out loud.

“Pfft—that was terrible—”

—This part was also improvisation.

She ran to the other side of the stage again, waved—the left side screamed.

Ran to the right side, made a heart—the right side screamed.

Ran to the very front of the stage.

Crouched down.

The audience was thrilled.

But inside, she was thinking:

‘This is the last time I’m playing this…’

Then she kept running.

Ran to the very back of the stage.

Stopped.

Turned around.

Facing that sea of pink below, breathing hard, chest heaving, sweat streaming down her forehead.

She stood there, looking at the audience.

Then raised the microphone.

Continued.

Opened her mouth.

Her voice was softer than before, soft like she was talking to herself.

[Maybe tomorrow, I’ll return to the crowd. Take off the starlight, become an ordinary girl.]

A pause.

[But right now. This existence beneath the spotlight. It’s that future I lit up for you.]

After she sang, she stood there.

Didn’t move.

The audience was silent.

No one knew why.

But Alice smiled.

Very lightly.

The lights didn’t go dark.

The stage was still lit.

Chuxue walked out from the other side.

—Not from behind the curtains.

From the audience.

No one knew when she had gone down.

She walked through the aisle between the audience seats, step by step, up the stage stairs.

Lightsticks lit up on both sides of her, white and pink, impossible to tell whose was whose.

She stood at the edge of the stage, looking at the pink-white sea of stars that hadn’t yet dispersed.

Then she smiled.

Gently nodded toward the audience.

This was the final segment.

According to the original plan, they should have chatted a bit here, then ended.

But—Alice deliberately ran to the side stage and hid.

Then popped her head out, saw Chuxue smiling, and smiled herself.

“What are you laughing at?”

Chuxue turned her head, looking at her with confusion.

“None of your business,” Alice shot back directly.

Chuxue was stunned for a moment.

Then she laughed even more happily.

“Fine.”

With that, Alice bounced out from the side stage again, jumped onto the stage, and stood next to Chuxue.

The two stood shoulder to shoulder—one pink, one white; one tall, one short.

The audience started shouting again.

“Encore—Encore—Encore—”

Alice looked at Chuxue.

“Ohhh~ I knew it~”

Alice’s tone was smug and infuriating.

—Chuxue instinctively covered her mouth.

But quickly looked back at the eager audience.

“Sing what?”

The pink one thought for a moment, then said:

“Your choice.”

After a brief exchange, Alice blinked.

Then she raised the microphone and said to the audience:

“The next song—Chuxue picked it.”

Beside her, Chuxue’s ears turned a little red.

Someone in the audience laughed.

Alice turned back and looked at Chuxue.

Chuxue looked back at her.

The music started.

Not “Prism.”

Not “Snow.”

It was—

” ‘So Cute! So Cute! So Cute Love Love——!!!’ “

“Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-You’re the cute one!!!”

Alice jumped up, her ponytail whipping into a familiar pink-white circle.

Chuxue stood there.

Didn’t move.

Her face was red.

Starting from the tips of her ears, spreading bit by bit—flushing her cheeks, flushing her neck.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

Alice turned back to look at her.

Grinned.

“Sing.”

—She chose this song herself!

So Chuxue’s lips moved.

But still no sound.

Her face was still red.

She hesitated, then jumped along.

The movement wasn’t as smooth as Alice’s, but she was serious.

A little clumsy.

[So cute! So cute! So cute love love——!!! You, you, you, you—I’ll keep saying it forever—!]

Her voice squeezed out of her throat, a little cracked, a little shaky, but loud.

After shouting, she froze for a second.

Then laughed—a laugh she couldn’t help at her own silliness, the corners of her mouth lifting.

[So cute! So cute! So cute love love——!!! You, you, you, you—I’ll keep saying it forever—!]

Alice didn’t let go of her hand.

She pulled her, running from the left side of the stage to the right.

Chuxue’s skirt was caught by the wind, floating behind her.

She stumbled a little but didn’t fall.

Alice yanked her along and kept running.

The audience started singing along.

“So cute! So cute! So cute love love——!!!”

Alice stood in the center of the stage.

Chuxue stood beside her.

Their hands still linked.

Alice raised her microphone.

“Are we—”

Chuxue picked it up.

“—cute?”

The audience answered in unison: “Cute—!”

Laughter, screams, applause—all mixed together, impossible to tell who was who.

Chuxue hugged Alice.

Alice leaned against Chuxue.

Alice’s voice was very, very sweet.

Chuxue’s voice was very, very gentle.

[Scrolling through yesterday’s pictures on my phone]

[Every single you, smiling so sweetly]

[Zoom in, zoom in, zoom in again]

[Curved lashes, even the strands of hair are cute]

The two stood in the center of the stage, in the center of the sound waves.

Singing together—

[—Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-You’re so cute!!]

After this line, Chuxue couldn’t help turning around.

The audience howled.

“Even the Snow Girl is super cute~” —things like that.

Alice laughed, holding the microphone but not lowering it.

Her voice was a little lighter than before, a little more serious:

“I could say it a hundred times.”

Because—

[What’s wrong with this person?]

[How can she be this cute?]

[She’s just standing there,]

[And my heart goes thump-thump-thump-thump]

[Today too, from the moment I open my eyes,]

[It’s a day of thinking about you]

[Brushing my teeth, facing the mirror,]

[Practicing the expression for saying ‘good morning’]

After Alice sang in her funny tone, she ran back again, leaped up, and threw an arm around Chuxue’s shoulder.

Chuxue was knocked sideways by the hug, off balance, but she didn’t push her away.

The two faced the audience together.

They kept singing.

[Help, help, someone save me]

[One more glance, and I’m going to faint]

[But but, I can’t help it]

[My finger keeps scrolling down]

[So cute! So cute! So cute love love——!!!]

[You, you, you—I’ll keep saying it forever]

[Until my voice is hoarse, until I run out of breath]

[I still can’t finish describing your cuteness]

Midway through the song, Alice leaned over and whispered something in Chuxue’s ear—but actually, she didn’t say anything at all.

Because this whole part was completely improvised.

[So cute! So cute! So cute love love——!!!]

[Every second, I love you more than the last]

[The last picture already lost to this one]

[What to do? I like you more and more]

So Chuxue didn’t answer.

But her hand—it held Alice’s hand tightly.

***

Everything was the same as always.

The same brilliant performance.

The same satisfied audience.

Only this time, at the very end of their joint stage—

Chuxue looked at Alice, who was just like usual.

Suddenly had an idea.

While that someone stared in stunned disbelief, she lifted Alice up.

—A princess carry.