So I Had No Choice But to Stop Being the White Moonlight – Chapter 101
by Little PandaI’m Not Going to Be the White Moonlight
The Beginning of the Beginning
“Say goodbye to your bride.”
The countdown that appeared in the sky cast no shadow on the sea. Sunlight passed through its outline, scattering across the long stone embankment without obstruction, creating a profound sense of disconnect.
Chi Qian gripped the thin bamboo handle of her fan tightly, her almond-shaped eyes filled with astonishment.
She couldn’t quite grasp the current situation. How could this be happening? Why, after the story had reached its perfect conclusion, were they being met with a world restart?
This couldn’t be a trick by the System, could it…
In times of danger, people subconsciously look to the person they trust most.
Chi Qian turned to look at Shi Jinlan and saw that she, too, was staring at the countdown in the sky. Her eyes seemed to hold something within them, her pupils terrifyingly dark.
Song Tang, still immersed in the blissful moment of her friends’ happiness, hadn’t yet processed what was happening.
She simply didn’t understand. One second, she was holding her camera, documenting Chi Qian and Shi Jinlan’s perfect ending; the next, the System popped up to tell them the world was about to restart.
This wasn’t what Ah Qian had told her.
What was going on?
Just as Song Tang was feeling lost and bewildered, Yuan Ming walked up to her.
In a calm and gentle voice that was completely at odds with the situation, she said to her, “Shall we go?”
Hearing this, Song Tang whipped her head around.
The System had paused this world, freezing everyone except the Mission-Takers. She could understand why Shi Jinlan wasn’t affected, but how could Yuan Ming also move freely?
But what astonished Song Tang the most was what Yuan Ming had said.
What did she mean, go?
Could it be that she wasn’t from this world either?
“I should have known long ago.”
The entire world was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Everyone heard Yuan Ming’s words clearly.
Shi Jinlan’s aura turned glacial. She turned to Yuan Ming with a cold smile, her eyes bone-chillingly frigid. “You’re the Main System.”
“It’s not too late to know now,” Yuan Ming said with a warm smile, admitting her identity to Shi Jinlan with great composure. “There are still twenty seconds until the restart.”
Compared to the tension and vigilance of the other three, Yuan Ming appeared far more at ease.
She unhurriedly walked toward Chi Qian. Thirteen, who was sitting in Song Tang’s lap, instinctively bristled. With a pounce, it landed in front of Chi Qian, blocking the way.
“Meow!”
“Get lost.”
But Yuan Ming paid the threat no mind.
She simply lifted her hand slightly, and Thirteen was sent tumbling to the side by an unseen force. Its fluffy fur landed in a puddle, soaked and pathetic. It didn’t get back up for a long time.
“Thirteen!” Chi Qian anxiously tried to check on it, but Yuan Ming stopped her. “It’s fine. It’s just asleep.”
“Ah Qian, you’ve worked hard all these years. I will give you a good ending.” Yuan Ming stood before Chi Qian, her gaze as gentle as it had always been. She raised her long fingers, as if to brush them against her cheek.
But Chi Qian dodged.
Looking at the person before her, she felt a sense of familiarity and strangeness all at once.
She never would have imagined that the Main System who had put the bracelet on her, who had nearly gotten her killed, was actually Yuan Ming.
So the figure she had seen in the middle of the lake that time wasn’t a hallucination.
So Yuan Ming could freely talk to her about deviating from the script setting.
Fate, like a hairpin, had drawn a line and pushed them to opposite shores.
Chi Qian gazed into Yuan Ming’s still-gentle eyes and at the countdown beside her, asking in return, “Ah Yuan, what do you consider a good ending?”
“A smooth life, free of sickness and disaster,” Yuan Ming promised her.
It truly sounded like a wonderful ending.
If it were taken as a blessing for this wedding.
“Then let this story continue,” Chi Qian said, her eyes firm. She didn’t understand why Yuan Ming wanted to restart this world.
And then, Yuan Ming gave her the answer. “But this is a blessing I only want to give to you.”
Yuan Ming looked at Chi Qian, her expression unchanging. Her gentleness was that of a friend, but the ruthlessness hidden beneath it was directed at Shi Jinlan, who stood to the side.
“It seems I have displeased our Lord Main System,” Shi Jinlan said, staring coldly at Yuan Ming. She finally understood why she had felt that the seemingly gentle and harmless Yuan Ming was the same kind of person as her.
“Defective products should not exist in this world.” Yuan Ming shot Shi Jinlan a cold glance, her voice filled with the arrogance of a System toward its puppet.
Shi Jinlan was unfazed. A smile tugged at her lips as she walked closer to Yuan Ming. “And are you so perfect?”
Not understanding, Yuan Ming’s pupils suddenly changed as she looked at Shi Jinlan.
She felt the blood surge within her, and an electric current shot through her body. For a moment, it felt as if her flesh and bones were about to separate.
She looked at Shi Jinlan in disbelief, then quickly accepted the reality. “You can access the System’s internals.”
“Yes,” Shi Jinlan nodded.
To better control the System, the Main System’s nerves were spread throughout its internal network. Shi Jinlan had merely acted on this theory, testing it effortlessly, and had gotten the answer she wanted. “If you restart this world now, you will be restarted as well. The person you’ve spent so long looking for will forget you because of the restart.”
A human body was truly not a very good vessel. Yuan Ming’s entire left arm was wracked with the pain of being torn away.
She didn’t like this feeling, but she was forced to slow the restart countdown. “You’re very clever.”
Shi Jinlan’s expression, however, was indifferent. “It’s not that I’m clever. This program was already inside you. I just picked up something ready-made.”
Her gaze was so cold it could have been coated in a layer of ice. She looked Yuan Ming up and down. “In fact, this is also why you’ve been trapped in this world, isn’t it?”
Yuan Ming gritted her teeth and gave a small laugh, shaking her head at Shi Jinlan’s words.
Her gentle features looked down from on high at Shi Jinlan as she said, “Miss Shi, the one who wrote this program… was you.”
“You forgot, because I made you forget.”
“You want to restrain me? I won’t give you the chance.” Yuan Ming stared at Shi Jinlan with hatred, her gentle expression no longer able to hide the sudden ferocity within.
She would not tolerate being controlled by another. She would break her arm to forge a sword.
A cool-toned blue light dripped like blood from her arm as it was torn off. The shimmering, cold light coated her severed limb, turning it into a blade that stabbed straight toward Shi Jinlan.
There was no blood.
A strange chill filled the wind. The world didn’t feel like a world.
If the Main System wanted to eliminate someone, it was far too easy.
Chi Qian didn’t know if Shi Jinlan’s power was enough to withstand Yuan Ming, and she didn’t even have time to consider it. The hem of her red dress billowed in the sea breeze like a rushing flame as she threw herself in front of the unprepared Shi Jinlan.
If I die, I die.
She was a Mission-Taker for the System. The Main System probably wouldn’t erase her directly.
Voom—!
With a tremor, the cold blade in Yuan Ming’s hand seemed to be blocked mid-air, her entire wrist hovering in place. The cold blade, wrapped in blue light, streaked past the side of her face.
Her coronet was knocked off, falling to the ground. A drop of blood landed on a snow-white pearl.
Chi Qian had been prepared to be injured by Yuan Ming, but the pain she expected never came. There was only a faint, sharp sting on her cheek.
She was still the same coward she had always been. Her eyelashes trembled as she mustered all her strength to open her eyes.
She saw the bracelet she detested glowing with a dazzling light, forming a barrier of countless hexagons in front of her, blocking the sword Yuan Ming had thrust at her.
“Ah Qian.” Yuan Ming’s pupils trembled. She couldn’t believe her eyes, nor could she believe what was happening.
Her original intention in giving Chi Qian this bracelet was simply to have it protect her. She never expected that it would one day protect Shi Jinlan.
And that Chi Qian would, once again, so recklessly throw her life on the line to shield Shi Jinlan.
There was no script setting anymore.
Why was she still willing to die for her?!
Yuan Ming stared at the scene before her, her composure cracking for an instant.
Seeing that they weren’t in a completely passive position and that there was still room for negotiation, Chi Qian quickly said to Yuan Ming, “Ah Yuan, can we sit down and talk this over properly?”
“Yeah, whatever it is, let’s just sit down and talk. Haven’t we all been getting along pretty well these past few days?” Song Tang had also finally snapped out of it. She stepped forward to join Chi Qian in persuading Yuan Ming—or rather, the Main System.
“Is that what you think, too?” Yuan Ming heard Song Tang’s voice and turned her gaze toward her.
Things had changed too quickly. Song Tang had no time to process whether the person before her was Yuan Ming or the Main System. A month of getting along wasn’t short, but it wasn’t long either. And it was nothing compared to the length of time the Main System had existed in her world.
Song Tang nodded, answering Yuan Ming in a tone that was respectful yet distant. “Yes, Lord Main System.”
Those five simple words pushed the distance between them miles apart.
“Lord Main System…” Yuan Ming murmured Song Tang’s title for her, her eyes suddenly dimming. “You’ve never called me that before.”
Yuan Ming’s voice sounded heartbroken, her gentle features filled with sorrow.
Chi Qian and Song Tang were both stunned by her words. Only Shi Jinlan stood up from behind Chi Qian, looked into Yuan Ming’s eyes, and gave a look that said, ‘I knew it.’ “This isn’t the first lifetime we’ve met, is it?”
“No.” Yuan Ming forced a pained smile. In just a brief moment, she seemed to have made a decision. “But this will be our last.”
“Shi Jinlan, you were supposed to die in this sea from the very beginning.” Yuan Ming’s expression was laced with hatred, the gentleness in her eyes long gone.
“Say goodbye to your bride.”
In an instant, thousands of electric currents swirled around Yuan Ming’s severed arm, and it grew back.
She swept an arm around Song Tang, then slashed through the air with her blade. In the distance, the sea rose into a high wall.
Shi Jinlan had no time to stop the tsunami formed from countless data streams. In an instant, she was submerged.
This catastrophe was tailor-made by Yuan Ming for Shi Jinlan. She disliked disobedient puppets. She wanted to discipline her into compliance. The process didn’t matter; she just had to follow the ending written by fate and walk toward her death.
But humans were different from programs.
Humans have obsessions, and obsessions can magnify that 0.01% until it’s large enough to overturn the entire world.
Things went from bad to worse in an instant. The suddenly rising waves surged thousands of feet high, as if swallowing the sun itself. The sea churned endlessly, the massive waves crashing down before anyone could react.
Chi Qian was completely unprepared. Seawater rushed up her nose, and a stinging, swelling sensation shot through her entire body.
Even so, Chi Qian did not let go of Shi Jinlan’s hand.
Red silk ribbons drifted in the water, twisting and tangling, but always staying close together.
The electric current, amplified by the water, became exceptionally clear. Chi Qian never would have thought that the person who wanted Shi Jinlan dead would be Yuan Ming.
An inconsolable grief clogged Chi Qian’s heart. She held Shi Jinlan’s hand tightly, refusing to let go no matter how much it hurt.
She couldn’t let go of Shi Jinlan.
She couldn’t let Shi Jinlan die.
A great roar echoed from the depths of the sea, squeezing Chi Qian’s slender, tiny frame until her heart nearly stopped beating. And because of it, she finally realized: she and Shi Jinlan had met, known, and loved each other in more than one world. The memories Yuan Ming had deliberately erased weren’t just of her past with Shi Jinlan in this lifetime.
But why did Yuan Ming want to kill Shi Jinlan?
Weren’t they friends?
Friends…
Chi Qian gently stroked Shi Jinlan’s unconscious face. The seawater against their skin was bone-chillingly cold.
She didn’t know what she was feeling. She couldn’t summon any hatred, but her heart was twisted in agony.
Humans were powerless against a tsunami, let alone one that was a program specifically targeting Shi Jinlan.
A deep sense of helplessness wrapped around Chi Qian’s palm. She had only been given the memories of a programmer; in reality, she was completely clueless about programming. She couldn’t enter and exit the System freely like Shi Jinlan, nor could she even write a piece of code within the System like Song Tang.
The only reason she could protect Shi Jinlan right now was because of the bracelet Yuan Ming herself had placed on her wrist.
Right, the bracelet.
The waves churned, crashing against Chi Qian’s back. She felt her strength draining, her grip on Shi Jinlan weakening.
Too many mysteries remained unsolved.
Since this wasn’t their first meeting, why did Shi Jinlan still exist as a character in this world while she had become a Mission-Taker?
How could Yuan Ming be the Main System?
And what was the deal with Song Tang and Yuan Ming?
Was the one Yuan Ming was searching for in this world… Song Tang?
Chi Qian wanted to take a gamble.
She would bet that if Shi Jinlan lived, she would figure everything out. She would find her way back. She was an internal staff member of the System; even if she died in a Small World, she would just return to the System, like last time.
And Shi Jinlan had succeeded last time.
She would definitely succeed this time, too.
Using the water as a lubricant, Chi Qian resolutely reached for her left wrist. The bracelet, programmed to protect her at critical moments, was still working.
The moment her wet fingers touched the bracelet, an electric current erupted. It was as if it could sense the purpose of her every move, fiercely repelling her fingers, almost tearing at her.
But this time, Chi Qian wouldn’t let go so easily.
She looked at Shi Jinlan, who was nearly unconscious in her arms. Her fingers trembling, she fought to pry open the soft yet unyielding silver.
“…”
The bone-deep pain was beyond description. Chi Qian felt as if her throat had closed up. Her oxygen was running out. She mustered the last ounce of her strength and pressed the bracelet onto Shi Jinlan’s wrist.
The sun hung high above the sea, seemingly within reach, yet untouchable.
Her vision blurred. Chi Qian felt that she was probably done for again, about to return to the System. She greedily drank in the sight of Shi Jinlan, hoping only to get one last look at her before she left.
It wasn’t that she was afraid she would forget.
She knew that no matter how many times she forgot Shi Jinlan, she would always fall in love with her.
She just couldn’t bear to part.
She simply couldn’t be separated from Shi Jinlan.
They had just held their wedding.
Red dress, high coronet, the congratulations of the crowd… they hadn’t even spent a single day as wives.
“Ah Lan,” Chi Qian called out to Shi Jinlan in her heart. She laboriously raised a trembling hand and, with infinite tenderness, cupped Shi Jinlan’s face.
The seawater was cold, but their lips were warm and soft.
A thin stream of bubbles escaped from the corner of their lips, clear and clean, filled with the bright light of the water. The sun refracted on the surface, and the churning waves swallowed the stars, pulling their light down into the depths.
Greed and reluctance intertwined. Chi Qian measured Shi Jinlan’s warmth, inch by inch.
There was no sound under the sea, and her breathing grew faint. Chi Qian slowly felt her body getting lighter, and lighter…
Shi Jinlan finally felt her surroundings become real again. She sluggishly opened her eyes.
But this time, her eyes were no longer calm.
They held a panic that was too slow to react.
The joy Chi Qian had felt upon seeing Shi Jinlan wake up was completely crushed by this look. She didn’t understand why Shi Jinlan was looking at her like that. But just as she was about to ask, she noticed that the hand stroking Shi Jinlan’s cheek was turning transparent, like a scattering of pink dust, powerless and ethereal.
“Ah Lan…” A wave of panic hit Chi Qian as she cried out Shi Jinlan’s name in her heart.
Shi Jinlan saw it too, but what she saw was even more real than what Chi Qian saw. Beneath the red clothes were ten fingers as transparent as water. No matter how she searched, she couldn’t grasp them.
Helplessness overwhelmed the pain, spreading throughout her body.
No one saw Shi Jinlan’s arms, hidden by her sleeves, trembling uncontrollably.
“Ah Lan… I feel… I feel like something’s very wrong.”
Chi Qian gradually felt as if she were about to merge with the seawater. The farewell finally took a concrete form, painfully swirling in her mind. She couldn’t tell if what streamed from her eyes were her tears or the seawater. They fell one by one, like rain, only to be swallowed by the sea, never taking shape.
She didn’t want to leave yet.
This was too soon…
Shi Jinlan’s arms suddenly tightened, holding Chi Qian closer than ever before. “It’s okay. I’ll take you up.”
As she spoke, Shi Jinlan gripped Chi Qian’s hand tightly and began swimming toward the surface. She hadn’t yet realized that the tsunami was no longer attacking her, nor had she seen the bracelet that had once been on Chi Qian’s wrist beneath the layers of fabric. She just wanted to get Chi Qian out.
But Shi Jinlan hadn’t swum far when she heard Chi Qian’s voice in the vast sea, as faint as a drifting duckweed. “Ah Lan, why aren’t you holding me anymore?”
The voice was so weak it was almost swallowed by the sea, nearly drowned out by the sound of breathing. “Am I heavy?”
Shi Jinlan looked back, bewildered, only to see Chi Qian’s body turning completely transparent.
She searched for Chi Qian’s arm and gripped it tightly, but she couldn’t hold onto anything.
The sunlight was more blinding than ever, so warm it felt like it was about to burn.
Chi Qian looked into Shi Jinlan’s eyes and seemed to understand.
Seawater poured into her body, making a fervent sound.
Chi Qian froze in a daze, and then she finally remembered how she had felt when she jumped off the cliff back then.
Death was nothing to fear.
She would be reunited with Shi Jinlan countless times within the System.
Chi Qian gazed into Shi Jinlan’s eyes with a look full of love. With her last ounce of strength, she said to her, “Shi Jinlan, I love you.”
Shi Jinlan was suddenly reminded of a long, long time ago, when she had told Chi Qian a fairy tale because of the legend of Ah Qing and Ling Ji.
Back then, Chi Qian had played the role of Ah Qing, but now, like the Little Mermaid, she was turning into sea foam just as they were about to reach the surface and greet the sun.
That smile, transparent to the extreme, was imprinted in Shi Jinlan’s eyes, as distant as a mountain range.
Submerged in the cold seawater, Shi Jinlan let out a silent, sorrowful cry. A dense, stabbing pain was about to pierce through her body.
She desperately tried to hold onto Chi Qian’s disintegrating data, causing electric currents to run rampant through her body. But she had only ever known how to destroy; she had never thought about how to repair.
She clenched her fist around the fine powder of Chi Qian’s fading form, but she couldn’t stop the constant washing of the sea, which carried the dust away from her palm.
Shi Jinlan had said she wouldn’t let the System do anything to Chi Qian again.
And she had kept her word. She had set up heavy defenses around Chi Qian; the System shouldn’t have been able to do anything.
How could this happen?
How…
Shi Jinlan’s brow furrowed deeply, a blue vein popping on her tense arm.
And then, her sleeve was washed aside by the seawater, revealing the bracelet that had been on Chi Qian’s wrist.
Shi Jinlan’s mind went blank with a roar.
She had overlooked the most important link.
Herself.
The waves calmed their fury, surging to wash over the shore. The white foam dragged a pathetic red figure onto the beach. Shi Jinlan knelt on the sand, her fingers, pale from the water, digging tightly into the fine grains.
That idiot had once again chosen to sacrifice herself for her.
“So stupid.”
No one saw Shi Jinlan’s slumped back, her tense body wracked with fine tremors, like water droplets constantly falling from soaked clothes.
It was impossible to tell if she was seething.
Or crying.
“Ring ring ring.”
The moment the phone alarm went off, a hand shot out from the bed and skillfully pressed the off button.
Chi Qian lazily opened her eyes and slowly pulled the duvet off her neck, still muddled with sleep.
She felt like she’d had a very chaotic dream last night. Her head was groggy.
Sunlight filtered through the cheap curtains, filling the room with a bright and beautiful light.
The windows in the old residential complex weren’t soundproof. Summer was ending, and the chirping of the cicadas grew more shrill. Chi Qian vaguely remembered that the cicadas at this time of year were called autumn cicadas.1 Just from the name, she felt their days were numbered.
She felt a pang of pity for the cicadas as she slowly took off her pajamas and put on her work clothes.
That crappy coding job wasn’t worth much of her energy. To get a little more sleep, Chi Qian had given up on makeup. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, wiped her face, and headed out.
The city was a bustling scene in the morning. The large screen in the subway station cycled through arrival times. Chi Qian followed the crowd and stopped in front of the doors of her subway car. She was early today and managed to stand right in the middle of the boarding area. The subway approached with a whoosh of wind. Chi Qian braced herself and squeezed in the moment the doors opened.
Her luck was exceptionally good today. The old lady right in front of her got off at the next stop. Pushed by the people on either side of her, she muddled her way into the seat, becoming the winner of this round of the seat-grabbing competition.
Having a seat allowed her to relax, and the early-rising Chi Qian grew drowsy. She felt that being a corporate slave2 was really tough. If only she weren’t a corporate slave, but a private life assistant earning a salary of five hundred thousand.
Chi Qian’s head bobbed up and down. Just as she had this thought, her gaze froze.
Why five hundred thousand?
And what kind of job was a private life assistant?
The author has something to say:
Qianqian is about to remember everything ovo
Footnotes
- The original term is ‘hanchan’ (寒蝉), literally ‘cold cicada’. They are associated with late summer and autumn, and their name evokes a sense of the coming cold and the end of life, hence the character’s thoughts.
- The original term is ‘shechu’ (社畜), a popular slang term borrowed from Japanese (shachiku). It’s a self-deprecating term for an overworked office employee who is as loyal and exploited as livestock.
0 Comments