So I Had No Choice But to Stop Being the White Moonlight – Chapter 112
by Little PandaI’m Not Going to Be the White Moonlight
The Beginning of the Beginning
“What about me?” “I like you the most.”
In the mountain forest, a flock of birds suddenly took flight.
Dry branches shook snow to the ground, which lay in a smooth, fresh blanket, marred by a trail of footprints stamped in utter chaos.
But it wasn’t just the footprints that had lost their order.
Shi Jinlan stumbled down from the cliff edge in pursuit. Her heavy overcoat weighed down her steps, and snowmelt soaked through her shoes and socks, rising past her ankles. Strands of long hair tangled in her vision; she would push them away only for them to fall back again. She was a complete mess.
Her mind was in turmoil. She tried to tell herself that everyone wore thick clothes in the winter, that maybe things weren’t as bad as they seemed.
She followed the trail of the fall, striding down the slope. Brittle winter branches, broken along the path, scraped her arms and legs. She paid no mind as a snapped branch gashed her raised arm, or as a sharp rock tore a large hole in the hem of her skirt.
The cut on her cheek had already scabbed over in the cold wind, but new blood was still falling.
Drop by drop, it fell onto the white snow, melting, blooming, and connecting into a bright red path.
Shi Jinlan didn’t dare to think, but the image of Chi Qian falling replayed endlessly in her mind.
She had been as light as a feather. Before Shi Jinlan could even reach out, the wind had already blown her away.
The cold winter air rushed back into Shi Jinlan’s throat, and the taste of rust clogged her airway.
She followed the trail of broken branches and marks in the snow for a long time before she finally saw the dark figure at the bottom of the slope.
Shi Jinlan’s feet seemed to freeze in place. Her heart, which had been pounding from the exertion, suddenly clenched tight.
Her pale lips, like a butterfly’s wings, trembled for a long moment before she could finally call out a name. “Ah, Qian…”
Her voice was anything but calm, shattered by countless tremors.
Chi Qian heard someone calling her. The familiar voice made her struggle to open her eyes.
She felt a dull ache all over her body but couldn’t pinpoint where it hurt.
There was no external bleeding, just a crushing difficulty in breathing. Her breath was as faint as a silk thread.
“Ah… Lan.”
Hearing Chi Qian’s response, the frantic tension in Shi Jinlan’s heart eased for a single second.
She finally found the courage to walk over, lift Chi Qian onto her back, and then turn to see the woman who had tried to kill her.
—She had unluckily slammed into a rock just a few steps from Chi Qian. She was already dead.
“Ah Qian, hang on.” Shi Jinlan would not allow this to happen to Chi Qian. She picked her way carefully over the scattered rocks, heading for the flat ground carved out by a stream.
“From here, we can get to the foot of the mountain. I’ll carry you,” Shi Jinlan said, judging the direction of the stream, trying to give Chi Qian a reason to hope.
But Chi Qian felt it was pointless.
She knew her own body. The sound of her life slipping away was as clear as the stream beside them, flowing on, impossible to stop.
She just didn’t have the strength to say it anymore. It was too late.
Shi Jinlan’s movements were swift and efficient as she lifted her, or perhaps Chi Qian’s perception of time had simply dulled.
Her legs, unable to support her, dangled in the air. Chi Qian leaned against Shi Jinlan’s back, her mind still on the other woman’s recently healed leg. “Ah Lan, your leg…”
The forest absorbed the sounds around them, weakening Chi Qian’s faint voice until it was nearly gone.
Though her words held no aggression, they felt like a wrench twisting in Shi Jinlan’s heart.
Can’t this fool think about herself for once?
Why, even at a time like this, is she still thinking about me?
Why can’t she just cry out in pain for herself?
Shi Jinlan’s brow furrowed as she answered Chi Qian’s worry. “My leg is fine, don’t worry.”
But when she said that to Chi Qian, had she thought about herself?
She carried Chi Qian like this, her own legs trembling.
But so what?
She couldn’t fall. She had to get Chi Qian out of here.
Shi Jinlan clenched her jaw, her breath coming in harsh, rapid gasps.
Her gaze was fixed on the path ahead, and the arms supporting Chi Qian were trembling so finely it was almost imperceptible.
But Chi Qian was right beside her ear. “Ah Lan… don’t force yourself,” she said.
“I’m not.” Shi Jinlan denied it again, her lowered voice sounding deceptively calm. In reality, it was the sound of her struggling to maintain control. “I can carry you. I can take you back.”
She could feel that Chi Qian didn’t want to be a burden, and she hated that kindness more than she ever had before. She resorted to threatening the already fragile person on her back. “We’re almost home. You have to hold on, or Grandfather will brew you some very, very bitter medicine.”
At her words, a wrinkle did indeed appear on Chi Qian’s face.
She slowly furrowed her brow, a sliver of reason still present in her mind. She argued with Shi Jinlan, “But… even if we go back… I’ll… still have to drink very… very bitter medicine.”
“I’ll plead your case,” Shi Jinlan countered. “I’ll secretly add some licorice for you, too. It won’t be bitter.”
But this tactic didn’t work on Chi Qian. Her consciousness was fading, her memories scattering. Things she remembered and things she couldn’t were all jumbled in her head. She latched onto one and said, “Grandfather said… good medicine is bitter to the mouth.1 What tastes good isn’t… medicine, it’s… poison.”
Shi Jinlan didn’t get angry at Chi Qian’s rebuttal.
She forced a smile. “See? You still have the strength to argue with me. Let’s talk about something else, okay?”
“Something else…” Chi Qian repeated Shi Jinlan’s request. She felt her mind’s grasp on Shi Jinlan’s words growing more and more tenuous, only catching scattered keywords that her brain processed with a dull slowness.
“I… I like you.”
The warmth had fled her full lips, which now rested coolly against the shell of Shi Jinlan’s ear.
Chi Qian’s voice was barely a whisper, as if she were sharing a girlish secret, shy and tender.
She had never formally said those words to Shi Jinlan before.
Even though they had kissed and watched fireworks together, Chi Qian was still afraid Shi Jinlan didn’t know.
And she was afraid she would never have another chance.
They say that a person will remember the last words of the dying for the rest of their life.
Chi Qian had the selfish desire to occupy a space in Shi Jinlan’s heart—big or small, it didn’t matter. She just didn’t want to be forgotten.
When Shi Jinlan heard those words, she could no longer hold back her tears.
It was just a faint confession, but it was like an arrow from a crossbow, piercing her heart in an instant.
She clenched her jaw and swallowed hard, forcing a calm reply. “Mm, I know. Is there more?”
But that wasn’t the response Chi Qian wanted.
She tapped weakly on Shi Jinlan’s shoulder in protest. “You, you’re supposed to answer me…”
“Answer what?” Shi Jinlan asked in return.
“An-answer me… that you like me too…” Chi Qian said, each word punctuated by a faltering heartbeat.
“Yes, I like you,” Shi Jinlan admitted.
She followed the stream downwards, their slanted shadows sinking into the water’s surface.
She watched the reflection of Chi Qian’s head, either satisfied or simply too weak to hold itself up, resting on her shoulder. She added, “If you fall asleep, I won’t like you anymore.”
Hearing this, Chi Qian frowned again, struggling to open her eyes. “How can you be so… cunning?”
“Every merchant is a cheat, after all.”2 Shi Jinlan’s reply was gentle and calm, tinged with a hint of a smile.
Her words seemed to remind Chi Qian of something. “Ah Lan… shouldn’t you be going back?” she asked.
“Mm.” Shi Jinlan nodded honestly. The hatred had been spreading into an abyss the entire way down from the cliff. “When I go back this time, I’ll pull them all up by the roots.”
Shi Jinlan was going to get revenge on Shi Cheng, but Chi Qian was worried about something else. “Then you have to take care of yourself… Your digestion is weak, you have to… remember… to eat on time…”
Shi Jinlan’s gaze faltered for a moment.
She would not grant Chi Qian’s wish right now. Instead, she made a demand of her. “You have to be there to watch me.”
“Are you a… child? You’re, you’re an adult, you still need someone to watch you,” Chi Qian chided gently, her chin digging into the bone of Shi Jinlan’s shoulder.
But the movement was so light that Shi Jinlan couldn’t even feel the pain.
Tears welled in her eyes. “I need it,” she insisted with a stubborn obsession. “You can’t leave me, do you understand?”
“But… in this world, no one… can, can stay with someone until the very end…”
The sound of life fading grew louder, and the wind began to howl.
Chi Qian could barely hear Shi Jinlan’s voice anymore. She struggled to answer, wanting to make her feel a little better.
Even after watching her handle business these past few days—imperturbable, methodical—Chi Qian still worried about Shi Jinlan.
The thought of the assassin who had appeared so suddenly made Chi Qian feel that Shi Jinlan’s world was not safe at all.
Her anxiety was a long, tangled thread, impossible to unravel.
Chi Qian clung to the little time she had left, urging Shi Jinlan, “Ah Lan, don’t look back. The path at your feet is one that we… we can never touch.”
“Don’t let your life be held in someone else’s hands… Go back, you’ll be safe if you go back… Only then, can I… rest easy…”
After saying all this with all her might, Chi Qian felt the last of her strength vanish.
The voice by Shi Jinlan’s ear suddenly cut off, and with it, Shi Jinlan’s heart seemed to stop.
“Ah Qian… Ah Qian!”
Shi Jinlan’s voice was thick with tremors as she repeated Chi Qian’s name.
The cold wind whipped past her eyes and the tip of her nose, painting them red.
Her face was deathly pale.
“…Ah Qian, you can’t… Ah Qian…”
Shi Jinlan couldn’t accept that Chi Qian had just faded away behind her. She kept repeating her name, over and over.
“Ah Lan.”
And then, finally, as if she had recharged her energy one last time, Chi Qian responded, her head resting on Shi Jinlan’s shoulder.
“The flowers I gave you… did you like them?” Chi Qian asked softly.
“I liked them,” Shi Jinlan nodded.
“The… dried salted plums I got for you, did, did you like them?” Chi Qian asked again.
“I liked them,” Shi Jinlan nodded again.
“What about me?” With a hint of nervousness and caution, Chi Qian asked about herself.
She had just told Shi Jinlan this, but she asked again anyway.
Shi Jinlan seemed to realize something. Her eyelashes began to flutter—or rather, tremble—uncontrollably. The words caught in her throat, coming out as a choked sob. “I like you the most.”
“Ha.”
A short, soft laugh escaped Chi Qian’s lips next to Shi Jinlan’s ear.
She felt her eyelids growing heavier and heavier. She clung to the feeling of being alive, greedily inhaling the scent and warmth of Shi Jinlan’s neck. “Ah Lan, don’t stop liking me.”
Her words were a response to what Shi Jinlan had said earlier: “If you fall asleep, I won’t like you anymore.”
A thump echoed in Shi Jinlan’s chest. She listened as the sound of Chi Qian’s breathing grew weaker and weaker, until, in a single moment, Chi Qian’s head slumped heavily onto her shoulder.
“Ah Qian…”
“Ah Qian—!!”
Shi Jinlan desperately shook the person on her back, but there was no response from Chi Qian anymore.
Their first meeting, she had carried her, walking a long way.
Their final parting, she was carrying her, walking a long way.
The branches crisscrossed overhead, and the world seemed to instantly decay into an endless, bitter winter.
Shi Jinlan refused to believe that Chi Qian was gone. She just kept walking along the stream, watching as the tangled, dead branches in her path were pushed aside, until finally, the sea came into view in the distance.
The bitter winter remained, but the sea was calm, and the sun hung high in the sky.
Everything was as it always was. Boats were docked or drifting, everyone was busy with their own affairs, and people still rushed about their lives, weary but vibrant.
Only the person who had just walked out of the deep forest had lost her love forever.
The end of that life did not end this memory. Chi Qian stood right beside Shi Jinlan, watching her carry her own body.
She was so close to Shi Jinlan, yet she couldn’t offer a single word of comfort. Snow from the branches had fallen on Shi Jinlan’s shoulder, and when Chi Qian reached out to brush it away, her hand passed right through.
She was not the Chi Qian of this time.
She couldn’t take her lover’s place, nor could she brush the dust of snow from her shoulders.
A sour, swelling ache filled her chest, and a boundless sorrow suddenly washed over her.
For a fleeting moment, Chi Qian seemed to connect with Shi Jinlan’s memories of that time.
She was not Shi Jinlan, so she couldn’t linger in her memories. The scenes flashed by at high speed.
The funeral, returning home, seizing power. Shi Jinlan returned with Thirteen, and on her path, if a god blocked, she killed the god; if a Buddha blocked, she killed the Buddha.3 Shi Cheng committed suicide in despair. Every single person involved in that day’s murder was driven to a dead end by Shi Jinlan.
But it all happened so fast that Chi Qian couldn’t register any distinct emotions, only an endless pain that wrapped around her.
Or perhaps, this was how Shi Jinlan had felt after she was gone.
After her death, Shi Jinlan’s life was gloomy and brutal, frantic and reckless.
Before she even encountered the male and female leads of the story, she had finished avenging Chi Qian. There was just one last thing left to do.
A brilliant light engulfed Chi Qian. When she came to her senses, she found herself standing on a reef.
It was the same reef where she had once stood, waiting to meet Shi Jinlan.
That year, the island’s winter was long and boundless.
Snowflakes drifted over the sea. Without the accompaniment of lights, everything looked silent and dead.
The waves lapped slowly at the shore. There was none of a storm’s violence; they simply carried the snowflakes, embracing the night in tranquility.
Chi Qian was still wondering why she was here when she saw a figure on the beach in the distance.
The slender, gaunt silhouette was like a stalk of green bamboo. The weight of the accumulated snow couldn’t bend her waist, yet it seemed as if she might collapse under it at any moment.
Chi Qian recognized Shi Jinlan’s figure at a glance and excitedly started to walk toward her.
But she was fixed in place, unable to go anywhere.
The waves washed onto the shore again, submerging the figure’s slender ankles.
It wasn’t that the waves had grown stronger, but that Shi Jinlan was walking slowly, walking into the sea, into the long night.
“In the text, Shi Jinlan finally returned to the island. From the beach where the Host first found her, she walked into the sea.”
Thirteen’s words echoed in Chi Qian’s ears.
The fate that had been written into the book long ago had befallen Shi Jinlan ahead of schedule.
It was impossible to tell which came first: the book, or this fate of hers.
Footnotes
- A Chinese idiom, liángyào kǔkǒu, literally ‘good medicine is bitter to the mouth.’ It means that frank advice or necessary hardship is often unpleasant.
- A cynical Chinese saying, wú jiān bù shāng, literally ‘no treachery, no merchant.’ It implies that all businesspeople are ruthless to succeed.
- A Chinese idiom, shén dǎng shā shén, fó dǎng shā fó, literally ‘if a god blocks, kill the god; if a Buddha blocks, kill the Buddha.’ It describes a ruthless, unstoppable determination to eliminate any and all obstacles.
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