So I Had No Choice But to Stop Being the White Moonlight – Chapter 107
by Little PandaI’m Not Going to Be the White Moonlight
The Beginning of the Beginning
“Stay with me a little longer.”
The bracelet formed a ring of silver light, lying pristinely in Yuan Ming’s palm.
Back then, Chi Qian knew nothing about how this bracelet could protect her.
She only felt that Yuan Ming seemed unusually agitated, the two sentences she spoke tumbling out one after the other.
Admittedly, Yuan Ming’s words could be taken to mean the bracelet offered Chi Qian some kind of real protection. But to an uninformed listener, it was more likely to be understood as a simple blessing to “keep you safe”—a beautiful sentiment and nothing more.
Chi Qian was a little lost, wondering if she was overthinking it.
Before she could figure it out, she felt a subtle hesitation in her own heart upon hearing Yuan Ming’s question.
This bracelet was the only valuable thing her mother had left her when she was abandoned.
The pattern encircling it was ancient and unique, seemingly in the exclusive style of some ethnic group. That was why, even when Chi Qingyan had added some silver to have it remade, he had specifically gone off-island to find an old craftsman on the mainland to create an exact replica of the pattern.
Chi Qian understood. It wasn’t, as Chi Qingyan claimed, that he didn’t understand the patterns and that an exact copy was just easier.
It was so that one day, she might be able to find her birth parents using this pattern.
But so many years had passed. No one had come looking for Chi Qian, and she had never made a point of searching for her birth parents.
In her memory, it had always been Chi Qingyan living with her. Chi Qingyan was her grandfather; she and Chi Qingyan were family.
Blood ties only meant so much.
They couldn’t compare to constant companionship, to the grace of having her life saved.
And yet, to truly let the matter go…
Chi Qian’s heart still ached.
Because she had been abandoned, the roles of “mother” and “father” were a tangible reality.
It was as if a thread was buried in Chi Qian’s heart. She had never noticed it, but when the bracelet came off, that thread was tugged. It had been buried in her flesh, and as the years passed, it had grown into her, becoming invisible.
Now, with that tug, it was ripped out, bloody and raw, sending a sharp pain through her chest.
Chi Qian understood that if she sold this bracelet, she might never be able to find her parents.
When people actively choose to give something up, they often grow greedy, hesitating over a possibility that was never that great to begin with, beautifying it again and again, thinking that if they hadn’t made that choice, things might have been different.
But what was the reality?
For over twenty years, Chi Qian had heard nothing from her birth parents.
Why would they suddenly think to look for her now?
Sunlight slid across Chi Qian’s eyes, the piercing glare landing right in her pupils—a lucid agony.
“Then let it keep Miss Shi safe, too.”
Chi Qian’s tone was light as she answered Yuan Ming’s earlier question. She was smiling, but her eyes as she looked at Yuan Ming were incredibly resolute.
The person right in front of her was always more important than a vague, ethereal hope.
“She’s suffered too much,” Chi Qian said.
Hearing this, Yuan Ming’s gaze grew even more obscure. “Can’t you think more about yourself? Why bother with whether she’s suffering or not?”
Yuan Ming spoke this sentence in a very low voice, as if it would scatter on the wind.
Chi Qian didn’t hear clearly and tilted her head. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Realizing the emotion she had just shown was inappropriate, Yuan Ming immediately schooled her expression. Her gaze upon Chi Qian was once again filled with gentleness. Clasping the bracelet Chi Qian had handed her, she didn’t give a final word. “I’ll hold onto this for now. If it becomes necessary, I’ll use it. If it’s not needed in the future, I’ll give it back to you.”
“Okay.” Seeing Yuan Ming agree, the serious look on Chi Qian’s face was completely replaced by a smile.
She was overjoyed, nodding as she extended her pinky finger to Yuan Ming. “Then it’s a deal.”
When they were young, Chi Qian often got into trouble and made Chi Qingyan angry, and Yuan Ming would always cover for her. At first, Chi Qian hadn’t wanted to drag the model student Yuan Ming down with her, but Yuan Ming would just stick out her finger, forcing her way into the partnership.
Over time, the gesture had become a habit, a period to punctuate any agreement they made.
The Japanese hop grew everywhere; a long, red scratch ran along the little finger that stretched into Yuan Ming’s line of sight.
Yuan Ming just watched, her eyes filled with a multitude of emotions, all of them wrapped in gentleness. The damp, bitter scent of earth rolled out from the wet grass. Yuan Ming didn’t say much. Just as she had every time in the past, she reached out her hand and linked their fingers, becoming partners in crime.1 “Mm.”
“Ah Yuan, you’re the best!” Chi Qian was delighted, swinging their linked fingers back and forth twice. Her round, apricot eyes were brimming with a smile, so overjoyed it was as if this promise alone could make Shi Jinlan stand up the very next second.
But the other Chi Qian did not share this lighthearted mood.
She looked at the bracelet held in Yuan Ming’s hand and seemed to understand how her bracelet had ended up with the Main System.
If Yuan Ming really was the Main System.
But why?
Why would the Main System take on such a role in this small world? This character wasn’t even a protagonist. She was just a marginal figure, mentioned only in passing in the story.
What was her purpose in coming to this world?
Chi Qian couldn’t puzzle out the reason for Yuan Ming’s identity and purpose.
But there was still good news in this world.
Thank heavens, despite tumbling down a steep slope, Shi Jinlan had no internal injuries, only flesh wounds. No broken legs, no fractured arms. Her loss of consciousness was purely from exhaustion. If it hadn’t been for the sugar from Chi Qian’s cup of milk tea, it might have been worse.
Chi Qingyan cleaned and treated Shi Jinlan’s wounds, with Chi Qian and Yuan Ming assisting him. The doctors Ah Ning had requested hadn’t even been transferred over yet, but the three of them had already finished the preliminary treatment.
The sickroom wasn’t suitable for Shi Jinlan to rest in. Chi Qian had just settled Shi Jinlan back in her room when she saw several people in suits and leather shoes arrive in the courtyard.
Though they weren’t wearing white coats, Chi Qian still had a subconscious hallucination. She had a vision of the time in university when she had snuck in to listen to a medical lecture, seeing the leading experts through the window.
And now, these leading experts were being politely escorted by Ah Ning into Chi Qian’s room to analyze Shi Jinlan’s condition with Chi Qingyan.
Each of these people had their own opinions, and all were incisive. Chi Qian and Yuan Ming sat to one side listening, unable to get a word in. Chi Qingyan, however, was unhurried, every word he spoke hitting a key point.
So, despite the presence of so many heavyweights, in the end, it was Chi Qingyan who made the final decision as the attending physician.
—Go to Can City, to one of the top hospitals in the country, for surgery on Shi Jinlan’s leg. After the operation, traditional Chinese medicine would supplement her treatment.
Chi Qian was very surprised by this outcome.
After all, she had experienced this event before, and in the version she’d experienced, Shi Jinlan had stayed on the island, treated entirely with Chi Qingyan’s traditional Chinese medicine. There was no surgery, no hundred-day recovery for a serious injury.2 Without suffering through a major ordeal, Shi Jinlan had simply stood up on her own one day.
Chi Qian didn’t know if the System learned from experience after a story played out, calculating a more logical plot development. But she knew that memories were not the future. She couldn’t change it; Shi Jinlan would inevitably have to go through this surgery. And all she could do was stay by Shi Jinlan’s bedside and wait for her to wake up after each time she fell unconscious.
The day was destined to be one of chaos.3 The full moon had been hanging outside the window for quite some time before Chi Qian finally dragged her exhausted body to bed.
But despite the house being a mess of people coming and going all afternoon, Shi Jinlan’s peaceful sleep remained undisturbed. She was still asleep, her raven-feather lashes fanned out beneath her eyes like a pair of thick fans.
The moonlit night was silent, and Chi Qian’s courage, hidden in the darkness, grew a little bolder.
She lay on the bed, turned on her side, and secretly watched the sleeping Shi Jinlan. Her eyes used the moonlight as ink, tracing the features of that face.
Shi Jinlan had very delicate brows and eyes. The moonlight half-shrouded her, hiding one side of her features in shadow and making her contours appear more three-dimensional. Her fine skin had a fairness that had never been ravaged by the sun. It would be even better if a hint of rosy color could peek through the pallor.
In the midst of this secret sketching, a pair of eyes suddenly appeared on the canvas, like dotting the eyes of a painted dragon.4
The person who had been sound asleep was suddenly awake. Moonlight fell upon black pupils, her gaze clear and cold.
Chi Qian froze on the spot.
She was completely unprepared for Shi Jinlan to wake up, her brazen stare caught red-handed.
And just as her heart began to pound, thinking she was done for, Shi Jinlan’s calm but somewhat hoarse voice sounded out. “What time is it?”
Amidst the weariness, an intangible sense of pressure was also released.
Chi Qian quickly opened her phone and gave Shi Jinlan the precise time. “Eleven twenty.”
Hearing the time, Shi Jinlan closed her eyes for a moment, considered, and said, “I slept for a long time.”
“Yeah.” Chi Qian nodded, proactively and considerately filling Shi Jinlan in on what she had missed while unconscious. “A lot of doctors came to the house this afternoon. They had a consultation with Grandfather, and the plan is, once you’re a bit better, we’ll go to the Can City First People’s Hospital. We’ll get your leg treated first, and then slowly manage the toxins in your body.”
Shi Jinlan lowered her eyes slightly at these words, as if to acknowledge she understood. She was the patient. She had nothing to say about her own condition; she would just follow the doctor’s orders.
But this person in front of her…
Shi Jinlan had no memory of the people coming and going that afternoon. The last frame in her mind before waking up to see Chi Qian was of Chi Qian running toward her, through the dense thicket of Japanese hop.
The Japanese hop was covered in fine thorns that would leave a scratch on anyone’s skin.
Shi Jinlan looked at Chi Qian and asked in a soft voice, “What about you?”
The woman had consciously reined in her oppressive aura, her gaze resting calmly on Chi Qian.
Chi Qian realized Shi Jinlan was concerned about her and couldn’t help but be a little surprised. “Me…?”
She didn’t really want Shi Jinlan to know what injuries she’d sustained, so her voice was deliberately light. “Nothing’s wrong with me. I’m tough as nails, I can run and jump.”
But Shi Jinlan clearly didn’t believe her answer.
Moonlight passed through the thin curtains into the bedroom. Shi Jinlan’s gaze slid from Chi Qian’s eyes down to her arm.
Faintly, through the dimness, a series of red, scabbed scratches appeared in her line of sight.
Looking at them, Shi Jinlan’s gaze suddenly paused.
She keenly noticed Chi Qian’s empty wrist and said, “What happened to the bracelet on your wrist?”
Even more surprising to Chi Qian than the concern for her well-being was that Shi Jinlan would notice she always wore a bracelet. To be honest, if Chi Qian herself hadn’t just taken it off, even she wouldn’t have noticed.
And compared to being covered in scratches from the Japanese hop, the matter of the bracelet was something Chi Qian wanted Shi Jinlan to know about even less.
The moment she heard the question, she very unnaturally tucked her left wrist inward and mumbled, “Ah… I didn’t feel like wearing it, so I put it away.”
Shi Jinlan didn’t believe her. “Did you lose it?”
“No,” Chi Qian denied at once.
Her reaction didn’t seem fake. Shi Jinlan saw it clearly, which only made her more confused. She subconsciously believed the bracelet was very important to Chi Qian, so she also said, “Don’t lose it over something that isn’t worth it.”
Hearing this, however, Chi Qian strongly disagreed. Perhaps in that moment, she felt the same way as the version of herself who had put the bracelet on Shi Jinlan during the tsunami.
She looked into Shi Jinlan’s eyes and stated stubbornly, “Whether it’s worth it or not is for me to decide.”
Shi Jinlan hadn’t expected a single sentence from her to provoke such a firm rebuttal from Chi Qian. She was a little surprised, and also a little pleased.
Pleased that this person wasn’t always docile and submissive, that she had a temper of her own, more alive and more like a person than herself.
With that thought, Shi Jinlan said softly, “My apologies. I overstepped.”
They had been together for so many days, but Chi Qian had never heard Shi Jinlan say something like that. She felt a little like maybe she had been too harsh just now, and she stammered an explanation. “That’s not what I meant…”
“Then what did you mean?” At her words, Shi Jinlan shifted her head on the pillow. Her shadow on the wall magnified, as if it had crept a little closer to Chi Qian.
A faint, clean scent, purer than the moonlight. Chi Qian watched the rustling sound fall toward her, her eyes blinking, her voice gone. “I…”
Her heart began to beat chaotically, as if it were no longer her own.
How could Chi Qian withstand this kind of intentional or unintentional teasing from Shi Jinlan? Feeling that this couldn’t go on, she quickly tried to deflect. “Miss Shi, it’s getting late. Let’s go to sleep.”
“Otherwise, if I wake up late tomorrow, Grandfather will scold me.”
With that, Chi Qian turned her back, trying to cut off the conversation with Shi Jinlan.
But Shi Jinlan clearly didn’t want the conversation to end.
She lifted the arm resting at her side and clasped Chi Qian’s shoulder in one swift motion. “Stay with me a little longer.”
Thump! Thump! Thump!
Chi Qian’s heart was about to leap out of her throat.
Then, a softer, warmer breath of air came from behind her ear. “I’ll wake you up tomorrow.”
The author has something to say:
Qianqian: How was my past wife so good at flirting?
Lanlan: I’m good at it now, too~
Footnotes
- The idiom used here is tóngliúhéwū (同流合污), which literally means ‘to flow in the same stream and mix in the same mud.’ It’s a negative term for associating with unsavory characters, but it is used here ironically to describe their innocent childhood pact.
- The phrase used is a reference to the common saying ‘shāngjīndònggǔ yībǎi tiān’ (伤筋动骨一百天), meaning ‘an injury to sinews and bones takes a hundred days to heal.’ It refers to a long and difficult recovery period for a major injury.
- The idiom bīnghuāngmǎluàn (兵荒马乱), literally ‘soldiers in panic, horses in chaos,’ is used to describe a state of utter turmoil and confusion.
- This idiom, huàlóngdiǎnjīng (画龙点睛), literally ‘to paint a dragon and dot its eyes,’ comes from a legend about a painter whose dragons would fly off the wall the moment he added the pupils. It means to add the crucial finishing touch that brings a work to life.
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