novelraw Chapter 117: Blade Meets Sugar—A Total Whiplash
Chapter 117: Blade Meets Sugar—A Total Whiplash
The grand and mournful music gradually faded away.
Without any preamble, the large silver screen directly cut to a fiery, high-stakes confrontation scene.
Deep within the palace, candlelight flickered dimly.
Qin Feng, playing the old emperor, sat upright on the dragon throne. His thumb rubbed a jade thumb ring of exceptional quality, his face as calm as still water.
Standing below him was Zhao Xueling, playing the empress.
Her back was ramrod straight, her magnificent robes shimmering brilliantly under the candlelight. Only the fingertips hidden within her sleeves trembled faintly.
"We have heard that the Imperial Brother-in-Law has been… quite active at the border recently."
Qin Feng's voice was not loud, yet it carried the oppressive aura of one long accustomed to supreme authority.
Zhao Xueling's head snapped up.
A flash of panic flickered in her eyes, immediately covered by a facade of forced composure."Your Majesty is wise. My brother's heart is solely devoted to the state, without a shred of disloyalty."
"Is that so?"
Qin Feng chuckled lightly.
*Crack!*
A crisp sound rang out.
The jade thumb ring was slammed heavily onto the red sandalwood desk.
"Is his heart devoted to the state… or to his family?"
This sharp sound was like a judge's gavel, striking directly at the heart of everyone in the screening room.
Zhao Xueling's knees buckled, and she fell to the floor, her forehead knocking heavily against the cold, golden bricks.
"This consort's life and family are entirely tied to Your Majesty. I would never dare deceive you in the slightest!"
Only two minutes into the opening.
The clash between the two top-tier actors instantly saturated the atmosphere with the treacherous, convoluted intrigue of palace politics.
The screening room fell deathly silent.
Even the most critical film critics held their breath, forcibly dragged into this oppressive world of imperial power.
In a corner.
Jiang Ci lounged lazily against the back of his seat, completely out of sync with the tense atmosphere around him.
His gaze was not directed at the large silver screen.
Instead, in the darkness, he silently scanned the audience seats in the front rows.
Third row, middle.
That Zhang Rui, the famously sharp-tongued "Iron Pen Judge," was pushing her black-framed glasses up her nose, leaning forward in her seat.
This was her signature posture when she was completely immersed in a story.
In the media section on the left, several young female journalists had already forgotten to take notes, the glow from their phone screens long extinguished.
Good.
Jiang Ci mentally counted the seconds.
The more oppressive the political intrigue at the beginning, the tighter the audience's nerves would be wound.
Only then would the impact of that "White Moonlight" appearance later be truly explosive.
Twenty minutes later.
The plot shifted into a flashback.
The oppressive, somber palace scenes abruptly transformed.
The large silver screen unfurled a vast, boundless grassland.
The sky was as clear as if washed, with low-hanging white clouds.
A magnificent white horse, swift as lightning, cleaved through the green waves of grass, galloping from the depths of the frame.
On the horse's back was a young man in moon-white riding attire, his spirit soaring.
He reined in his horse and turned.
Facing the camera, he revealed a smile brighter than the grassland sun.
Pure, blazing, without a trace of shadow.
In the stifling screening room, the air seemed to be torn open by this smile.
The audience, suffocated for twenty minutes, finally found their breathing rhythm again.
It was breathtaking.
Zhang Rui's previously tense mouth unconsciously relaxed.
She had watched countless films and seen too many newcomers whose eyes were filled with naked ambition.
But this young man on screen was different.
His eyes were clear and transparent, like a spring whose bottom was visible at a glance.
A few suppressed gasps came from the back rows.
Hearing these sounds, Jiang Ci's index finger, resting on his knee, tapped lightly once.
White Moonlight anchor point, successfully established.
Next, the real "killing blow" began.
The scenes on the silver screen flowed.
The young general dismounted, his movements crisp and graceful.
He walked towards the young princess not far away.
At this moment, Su Qingying, not yet tainted by the decay of the palace, carried an air of aloofness mixed with the unique, dignified nobility of a royal maiden.
"Princess, please mount the horse."
Jiang Ci's voice, rendered by the Dolby sound system, was clear and bright, with a trace of barely perceptible caution.
He extended his hand, gently supporting Su Qingying's elbow.
A close-up shot perfectly captured his hand.
His fingers were slender, his knuckles distinct. His movements were restrained and proper, yet they radiated a sense of reverence.
This extreme sense of tension instantly shattered the defenses of countless female audience members present.
"Oh my god… this is too pure…"
A girl in the back row covered her mouth, her voice leaking through her fingers.
On screen, the two of them and the horse strolled across the grassland.
The wind rose, their clothing hems tangling.
"A'Gu," Su Qingying's voice was as soft as a dream whisper, "do you think… we can be like this forever?"
In that moment.
The hearts of everyone in the screening room hung in the air.
They anticipated that promise.
That sweet lie about "forever."
Yet, the young man stopped walking.
He turned and looked up, his gaze locking onto the maiden on horseback.
He did not answer immediately.
Instead, he reached out, naturally and effortlessly, and gently tucked a stray strand of hair, tousled by the wind, behind her ear.
This detail, not in the original script, saw its lethality increase exponentially under the magnification of the large screen.
In the VIP seats at the front.
Su Qingying sat beside Qin Feng.
When she saw this scene, the fingers resting on her armrest suddenly curled tightly.
The sensation from that day of filming, across months of time, transmitted itself clearly throughout her entire body once more.
On screen, Jiang Ci finally spoke.
His eyes held the entire starry river of the grassland.
"Princess, do not speak of 'forever'."
His voice was light, yet heavy as a thousand pounds.
"'Forever' is too long."
"I only want 'now'."
"As long as you are by my side now, that is enough."
An extreme sweetness, mixed with an indescribable sense of inescapable fate, permeated the entire screening room.
Zhang Rui took off her glasses.
She rubbed the bridge of her nose, which felt slightly sore.
As a film critic long immune to artificial, saccharine romance, she had, for the first time in ages, experienced the feeling of a heart flutter.
This was the purest love, grown from the very soul of the character.
It made one unable to resist believing that such beautiful feelings truly existed in this world.
"I'm shipping this CP so hard! They absolutely must have a happy ending!"
"Puppy General x Aloof Princess, a perfect match!"
Listening to the gradually heating discussions around him, the corner of Jiang Ci's mouth lifted into a cold, sharp arc.
Sweetness was always as fleeting as fireworks.
The film's pace abruptly accelerated.
The border reported emergencies, barbarian tribes invaded, court infighting intensified, military provisions were withheld.
News of the old general's death in battle reached the capital, and the entire nation donned mourning white.
The once vibrant, carefree young man was forced to grow up overnight.
The color palette of the large screen shifted from warm to cold, until it was utterly frozen.
A grim, austere military camp. A biting cold wind whipped the tattered military flag bearing the character "Gu," making it snap violently.
Inside the commander's tent.
The young general was donning his armor alone.
The moon-white robe was cast aside, replaced by heavy, cold, black iron armor.
The camera panned from bottom to top, slowly and cruelly.
Combat boots, knee guards, waist cincher, breastplate…
With each additional piece of armor, a fraction of his youthful spirit was worn away.
When he finally put on the helmet and tightened the red tassel under his chin.
The A'Gu who had laughed freely on the grassland died.
What survived was the Great Xia's lone general, burdened with national and familial hatred, about to march towards a certain death—General Gu.
He turned, facing the camera.
The sweet, saccharine atmosphere in the screening room froze solid in that second.
It was still the same face.
But the eyes that once held galaxies of stars now contained only unwavering resolve.
"This…"
A girl in the front row tilted her popcorn bucket, spilling it all over the floor.
She didn't bother to clean it up, instinctively clutching her chest as a vague, dull ache began to spread.
"No… I have a bad feeling about this…"
"He's not going to die, is he? Screenwriter, have a heart!"
A sense of unease spread rapidly.
The audience keenly sensed the direction the plot was taking.
That young man who said "I only want now" probably truly… would never have a "forever."