So I Had No Choice But to Stop Being the White Moonlight – Chapter 109
by Little PandaI’m Not Going to Be the White Moonlight
The Beginning of the Beginning
A book whose ending was spoiled in advance.
Jealousy always makes one lose their way. It is the emotion the System has determined should be avoided most.
Just like that, with Yuan Ming gripping her wrist, Chi Qian heard an extremely faint sound amid a wave of unstable electricity.
A mechanical female voice was issuing a command to someone other than her, a cold reminder: “This emotion has been recorded. Please eliminate it in a timely manner.”
What emotion? Recorded what?
Chi Qian hadn’t yet processed what was happening when Yuan Ming’s voice sounded.
Her tone was low, devoid of its usual gentleness, as she responded to the mechanical female voice with a flat expression, “Understood.”
So the command wasn’t for her, but for Yuan Ming?
Isn’t Yuan Ming the Main System? Why would she be constrained by another system?
Chi Qian remembered Song Tang telling her once that as the supreme commander within the System, the Main System maintained thousands of worlds and handled more complex matters, and therefore could not possess human emotions.
Then what was this about recording and eliminating?
Did it want her to experience this feeling, only to not let her keep it and then immediately eliminate it?
If it wasn’t meant to exist, why let her experience it at all? Wasn’t that just making an unnecessary move?
Chi Qian didn’t understand, yet she felt as if she had grasped the loose thread of a clue.
In her heart, she still held a sliver of hope for Yuan Ming. They had grown up together. She couldn’t believe that the ever-gentle and kind person she knew could be so cold-blooded.
There had to be another reason.
The exquisitely woven flower crown was cherished, hung on the wall of the hospital room.
Sunlight fell through the window, and the bright colors still filled the space with life.
Lying on the gurney that was about to be wheeled away, Shi Jinlan took a long, deep look at the floral circlet.
Her gaze was calm and devout, like a believer gazing upon the deity she worshipped.
No one knew what Shi Jinlan prayed for in her heart. The approaching nurse’s figure blocked her view of the flower crown.
Shi Jinlan’s surgery was scheduled as the first of the morning. Soon, she was pushed into the operating room.
The scent of disinfectant drifted through the corridor. After the automatic doors closed, the surgical light switched on, displaying the words “Surgery in Progress.”
Though it was a bright, sunny day outside the corridor, it made the people sitting by the operating room door feel an unwarranted chill.
Chi Qingyan and Yuan Ming were in a conference room watching a live feed of the surgery. Chi Qian didn’t go with them; she wanted to be there the moment Shi Jinlan came out of surgery so she could see her immediately.
Besides, the sight of a scalpel cutting open skin, bloody and raw, always made one worry.
The more you cared for someone, the more unbearable it was to watch such a scene.
Chi Qian sat by the door, waiting nervously.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over her shoulder. An elderly woman, white-haired and slender, had sat down beside her. “You must be Miss Chi.”
Chi Qian recognized the old woman. She was Shi Jinlan’s maternal grandmother. “Grandma, hello.”
But upon hearing Chi Qian’s greeting, Shi Jinlan’s grandmother’s expression did not soften.
Though the years had stooped her back, her posture remained ramrod straight. Her hands, clutching a purse on her lap, instantly created a distance between herself and the person beside her. “They all call me Madam Yu.”
Though Chi Qian hadn’t had much contact with such figures, she could still sense the distance in Shi Jinlan’s grandmother’s tone. Her eyes flickered, and she corrected herself, “Madam Yu, hello.”
“Hello,” Madam Yu replied to Chi Qian, her polite tone steeped in distance. “I heard you were the one who saved our Xiao Lan. I must thank you for that.”
“It was nothing, just the effort of raising a hand,” Chi Qian responded just as politely.
“You are a kind and good child,” Madam Yu acknowledged, before her tone shifted. “But sometimes, kindness doesn’t lead to good things.”
“Xiao Lan’s mother was very kind since she was a child. Once, a fledgling fell from its nest in our courtyard. She cupped it in her hands, climbed the tree, and put it back. But when it was time to come down herself, she found she couldn’t.”
Here, Madam Yu paused, as if observing Chi Qian’s reaction.
Seeing that Chi Qian remained silent, listening quietly, she continued, “In the end, she had no choice but to jump from the tree. She scraped up both her knees.”
This was the first time Chi Qian had heard a story about Shi Jinlan’s mother.
She also understood what Madam Yu was implying.
Kindness, without the corresponding ability to back it up, would only get you hurt.
The world Shi Jinlan lived in was full of open spears and hidden arrows,1 something a person like Chi Qian, who had never experienced such things, could not imagine.
Madam Yu was not pleased with her presence by Shi Jinlan’s side. In the eyes of people like them, kindness was the most worthless of traits.
And at that moment, Chi Qian seemed to understand the subtext in Madam Yu’s words.
She gently lifted her head, looking at Madam Yu with an expression that was both harmless to humans and animals and resolute. “But if Ah Lan’s mother came across it again, she would still do the same thing, wouldn’t she?”
This retort was clearly not what Madam Yu had expected. A flicker of frustration crossed her eyes.
She was not satisfied with Chi Qian’s answer, her displeasure mingling with a sense of melancholy. “You’re right.”
“But that’s because she had me. I later instructed the household staff.”
At this, Madam Yu looked at Chi Qian. “And Xiao Lan… may not be able to protect you.”
“Ningcheng City is not your little island.”
The words were like a bucket of cold water poured over Chi Qian’s head.
Her eyes wavered. Chi Qian could feel it—at that moment, her heart sank.
On the island, Shi Jinlan was her patient, and she was her nurse.
But off that island, Shi Jinlan no longer belonged to her alone.
Shi Jinlan was the Eldest Miss of the Shi family, the Eldest Miss of the Yu family.
Her love at first sight had been a tightrope walk from the very beginning—steep and perilous.
But what did that have to do with Madam Yu?
Chi Qian was far from as placid as she appeared on the surface. Her dark eyes were filled with stubbornness.
And an obvious rebellious bone.2
So what if she was Shi Jinlan’s grandmother? The woman had tried to intimidate her from the moment she arrived; Chi Qian wasn’t about to grovel.
Just as Chi Qian was about to retort, the surgical light went out.
The automatic doors sensed someone approaching from inside and slowly slid open.
Shi Jinlan’s lead surgeon emerged.
Madam Yu ignored Chi Qian, rising to walk over and ask with concern, “How did it go?”
“The surgery was a success. You can rest assured,” the surgeon said, removing his mask to reveal a smile.
“When can she come out?” Madam Yu asked, showing no panic, her questions orderly and methodical.
“Very soon. If you’ll just wait a moment,” the surgeon replied. He gave Madam Yu a respectful nod and headed toward the conference room where the others were watching the broadcast.
Before Shi Jinlan’s surgeon had gone far, the hospital bed was wheeled out of the operating room.
The anesthesia hadn’t worn off yet. Shi Jinlan was still in a deep sleep. It was as if she had just gone through a battle of life and death. Watching from a distance, Chi Qian thought her lips were paler, her frame even more fragile than the day she had found her.
The people waiting at the door swarmed the hospital bed the moment it emerged.
Chi Qian couldn’t squeeze through at all. She followed the group toward the hospital room from the periphery, her gaze never leaving Shi Jinlan.
The world at night was so quiet it seemed to be sinking. The rhythmic beeping of the monitor was the only thing holding it up.
A gentle night breeze blew from somewhere, but the sound of seagulls was gone.
“!”
Realizing this, Shi Jinlan’s eyes flew open.
She seemed to be in a panic; the heart monitor spiked with a loud beep.
Shi Jinlan stared blankly at the hospital room, an environment that was at once unfamiliar and rapidly becoming familiar again. A layer of confusion clouded her eyes.
She was puzzled by her own subconscious. She felt that the place her subconscious thought she was in, if not her current location in Can City, should have been Ningcheng City.
But the facts proved otherwise.
Though she had only stayed there for less than a month, Shi Jinlan’s reliance on the island far surpassed that of Ningcheng City, where she had grown up.
“You’re awake?” An elderly woman’s voice sounded by Shi Jinlan’s ear. She turned her head and saw her grandmother.
Then Shi Jinlan looked around and saw that her room was encircled by people.
Her trusted subordinates, led by Ah Ning; her maternal relatives, led by Madam Yu…
But the person she most wanted to see was not there.
She put her relationship with her grandmother last, ignoring her.
Her searching gaze continued to scan the room, passing over the people standing there, until Shi Jinlan finally saw Chi Qian, squeezed to the very outside of the crowd.
After Shi Jinlan’s surgery, Chi Qian had never been able to get into the hospital room.
The people here all had the same aura as Shi Jinlan, but theirs was sharper, more chaotic. Scrutiny and unfriendliness were written in the corners of their eyes.
Chi Qian found these people truly strange. They didn’t even know her, yet they had already developed a hostility toward her.
They arrogantly judged her by her clothes and did not welcome her into Shi Jinlan’s world.
But what good was their disapproval?
Chi Qian had just heard Madam Yu’s “You’re awake,” when Shi Jinlan’s voice reached her ears. “Come here.”
Instantly, everyone’s gaze turned to her. The hand with the monitor clip attached to it lifted slightly.
Her voice sounded extremely faint, but it was as decisive as ever. She repeated, “Come here.”
In that one instant, Chi Qian felt her heart grow much more solid.
She thought, since Shi Jinlan wants me to go over…
Then I have a thousand, ten thousand reasons to walk over.
Madam Yu was wrong.
No matter the situation, no matter the outcome, she had to go and see for herself.
Kindness wasn’t useless. Kindness was a precious quality.
Watching Chi Qian walk through the crowd, head held high and utterly unflustered, a hint of a smile appeared in Shi Jinlan’s eyes.
She didn’t need to think to know what had likely happened. Right in front of her grandmother, she hooked Chi Qian’s hand with her own. “What are you doing standing so far away?”
The gesture was too intimate. Chi Qian’s gaze froze on her own fingers.
She stilled her racing heart and forced herself to remain calm. “There are too many people. I didn’t want them to disturb you.”
“Indeed.” Shi Jinlan lowered her eyes, finally letting out the dissatisfaction she’d felt upon waking.
Ah Ning kept her eyes on her nose.3 As Shi Jinlan’s most capable subordinate, she took the cue from Shi Jinlan’s words and took the initiative to speak to Madam Yu. “Old Madam, now that Miss is awake, everything is fine. We shouldn’t crowd around here. Let’s all head back.”
Madam Yu’s gaze fell on Shi Jinlan and Chi Qian, and her expression darkened for a moment.
This granddaughter of hers had a mind of her own. She was not easy to control, so she didn’t press the issue. “Alright. I’ll come see you again later.”
“Rest well, Xiao Lan.”
“We’ll come see you again.”
…
Once Madam Yu moved, the others followed.
The huge hospital room finally revealed its spaciousness once more.
“Then I’ll also…”
Seeing that everyone had left, Chi Qian wondered if she should leave too.
But before she could finish, Shi Jinlan pulled her back.
“Where are you going?” Before Chi Qian could speak, Shi Jinlan questioned her first. “You’ve always been the one in charge of my leg. Why are you being so irresponsible?”
“Now you’re just forcing words and snatching logic,”4 Chi Qian retorted.
Having just been personally summoned by Shi Jinlan, and seeing the expressions on the faces of those who looked down on her shift, she was in a very good mood. Her courage grew, and she said deliberately, “Miss Shi, if you want me to stay, you can just say so.”
Shi Jinlan saw through the reason for Chi Qian’s newfound boldness and pointed it out coolly, “You were scared by just this many people. If I had said it directly, wouldn’t you have been scared to death?”
“I’m not that timid.” Chi Qian felt a pang of guilt and raised a hand to scratch her nose.
“Since you’re not timid, next time, stand by my bed,” Shi Jinlan declared.
She wanted to see Chi Qian the moment she opened her eyes, no matter the reason.
“Actually, I’m tall. You can see me even if I don’t stand by the bed,” Chi Qian hesitated. The spot by Shi Jinlan’s bed belonged to her grandmother.
She was someone who remembered both kindness and grudges, and she didn’t like being too close to that old woman.
“Hmph.”
Hearing Chi Qian finally show her cowardice, Shi Jinlan snorted softly.
She squeezed the hand she had just pulled over. The soft fingers pressed against her palm, making her a little reluctant to let go.
How strange.
She had never relied on anyone like this before.
As Shi Jinlan was puzzling over this, Ah Ning’s voice came from the side. “Miss, it’s all ready.”
Hearing this, Shi Jinlan composed her expression, released Chi Qian’s hand, and gestured to her. “Open the curtains.”
“The curtains?” Chi Qian was mystified. It was already dark, and the world outside the window was pitch-black.
What was there to see?
Though she didn’t understand, Chi Qian did as Shi Jinlan said.
As the curtains were drawn back, the midnight of Can City looked like a dark, silent ocean.
Whoosh—BOOM!
Suddenly, a streak of golden light shot across the pure black sky.
Before Chi Qian could react, a flower of light exploded in the sky—red, white, all sorts of colors, a truly lively sight.
Her upturned eyes stared straight out the window, filled with the reflection of one firework after another.
Chi Qian had never seen such a beautiful sight. As if realizing something, she abruptly turned to look at Shi Jinlan.
“Is this… for me?” Chi Qian couldn’t believe it.
“Mhm.” Shi Jinlan nodded. With Ah Ning’s help, she had already propped herself up to sit against the headboard.
She watched the scene outside the window calmly. For a moment, it was hard to tell which was more dazzlingly beautiful—the fireworks outside the window, or the person before her.
At that time, Chi Qian didn’t know, and Shi Jinlan hadn’t realized it either.
Only the Chi Qian of the present knew.
For Shi Jinlan to be willing to do these things for you, she had already placed you in a special position.
Chi Qian was an idiot, and so was Shi Jinlan.
Neither of them had realized this affection that had long since been mutual. They were still lost in the fireworks display that had captured the entire city’s attention, unaware that they were already the protagonists of a story people relished with relish and delighted in the Way.5
Another firework shot into the air. As the light streaked across Chi Qian’s vision, she suddenly felt an inexplicable sadness.
So in this life, did Shi Jinlan ever confess to me?
Did the two of us end up together?
Chi Qian felt as if she were reading a book whose ending had been spoiled in advance.
And the spoiled ending was not a good one.
She and Shi Jinlan had not been able to grow old together.
As the other protagonist, she had died very early on.
Footnotes
- Original: míngqiāng’ànjiàn (明枪暗箭). An idiom that literally means ‘open spears and hidden arrows.’ It refers to both overt attacks and covert schemes.
- Original: fǎngǔ (反骨). The term ‘fǎngǔ’ literally means ‘rebellious bone,’ a concept from Chinese physiognomy said to mark a person as inherently treacherous or defiant. It’s now used more generally to describe a rebellious spirit.
- Original: yǎn guān bí (眼观鼻). This phrase, ‘eyes watch the nose,’ is part of a longer expression describing a posture of meditative focus or, more colloquially, of deliberately minding one’s own business and ignoring surrounding events.
- Original: qiǎngcíduólǐ (强词夺理). The idiom literally means ‘to force words and snatch logic,’ and describes the act of arguing stubbornly with fallacious reasoning.
- An idiom meaning to delight in talking about something.
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