So I Had No Choice But to Stop Being the White Moonlight – Chapter 148
by Little PandaExtra
Song Tang x Yuan Ming (3)
The Song Tang of Tang-Song-Yuan-Ming.
Cicada song pierced the azure sky. On the athletic field, the sound of running footsteps broke through the oppressive heat.
A warm breeze brushed the young woman’s cheek and swept toward the teaching building.
The Senior Three building, empty just days ago, now bustled with people. No sooner had the college entrance exams1 ended than every teacher and student from Senior Two moved early into the Senior Three section.
From the next classroom, a lecture drifted into the study hall, drowning out the wind, drowning out the scratch of pens on paper.
“Qianqian.”
“Qianqian?”
“Qianqian!”
Two calls from her deskmate, accompanied by a gentle shove, yanked Song Tang from the daze she hadn’t even noticed slipping into.
“Huh?”
Even after all these years, Song Tang still wasn’t used to the name “Chi Qian.”
She snapped back to attention and stared at the black dot where her pen point had bled into the paper, startled to find herself propping her chin on her hand, lost in thought.
“I’ve been watching you stare at that question forever. What are you thinking about?” Her deskmate regarded the way Song Tang had looked frozen, as if someone had pressed her acupoints—utterly strange. She didn’t think the question was particularly hard. After all, it was just a simple cloze passage2.
“I…” Song Tang hedged. She shifted her numb arm and looked at her deskmate—also her good friend—and delivered that classic line: “I have a friend.”
Her deskmate immediately straightened up and played along. “Oh? And what’s wrong with this friend of yours?”
“Well… she has a childhood sweetheart. An older girl.” Song Tang scratched her cheek, completely unaware she’d already given herself away. “Since they grew up together, they know everything about each other. But if something suddenly came up that my friend didn’t know about—wouldn’t it be normal for her to feel uncomfortable?”
“Normal.” Her deskmate nodded in agreement, then shook her head. “Also not normal.”
“Why?” Song Tang asked.
“Because I think a lot of childhood sweethearts just haven’t recognized their love yet.” Her deskmate looked at Song Tang earnestly.
“Think about it—you said yourself they’ve been together every day since they were small. You—”
The moment the word “love” slipped out, Song Tang’s ears pricked at everything that followed. She immediately corrected: “Not us. My friend and her childhood sweetheart.”
“Right, right, right. Your friend and her childhood sweetheart.” Her deskmate watched Song Tang’s serious expression with a hint of helplessness in her eyes.
She studied Song Tang’s solemn face and went along with it, correcting herself as she continued: “They spend far more time together than most people do. Not only has that bond not faded with time—it’s grown deeper, more seamless. That’s not ordinary friendship. It’s very likely love!”
Her deskmate’s enthusiasm surged. She leaned toward Song Tang like Satan coaxing a soul3: “And you—your friend has already shown possessiveness, hasn’t she? If she didn’t like this person, where would that possessiveness come from?”
“Like…?” Song Tang turned dazedly toward her deskmate, who nodded with such certainty. She’d already forgotten the “you” that had just slipped from the other girl’s mouth.
“Yes. Like.” Her deskmate nodded inside Song Tang’s gaze, her expression earnest.
The cicadas abruptly swelled, loud as an arrow drawn to full tension, suddenly piercing Song Tang’s chest.
It wasn’t a particularly reliable answer—just a teenage girl’s speculation.
But Song Tang suddenly discovered she was accepting it with fierce joy.
Her awkwardness had an answer. Her racing heart had an answer. Her anticipation had an answer.
She didn’t feel even a trace of resistance—as if this answer had been buried in her bones long ago, buried in every day and night she’d spent with Yuan Ming.
She liked Yuan Ming.
That was why she’d followed her so stubbornly, like a shadow, step by step tracing her footprints. Wherever Yuan Ming went, she would go—even she found herself childish.
But…
Song Tang suddenly saw the mission that had hung in her mind for so long. The thoughts that had just accepted everything so readily ground to a halt.
That soaring joy hadn’t even had time to take flight before someone swatted it down.
“She can’t like her.” Song Tang’s mood plummeted.
“Why? Because she’s like an older sister?” Her deskmate looked confused, but a knowing smile crept onto her face. “Qianqian, do you know that pseudo-incest4 is really popular right now!”
“Consume something normal, would you?” Song Tang’s gloom was replaced by exasperation. Hearing herself and Yuan Ming described as pseudo-incest—she couldn’t feel more awkward about it.
Her deskmate was unbothered. She giggled and stroked the novel hidden on her desk: “Pfft, you don’t understand the tastes of us niche hobbyists.”
But she still had Song Tang’s earlier words on her mind, so she returned to the main topic: “But other than that, what reason is there not to like her?”
Just as Fang Xincheng had said Yuan Ming always had Song Tang’s name on her lips, Song Tang always had Yuan Ming’s name on hers.
Her deskmate had long known who this childhood sweetheart was. She had a very good impression of this older girl with her gentle words and gentle smiles.
This older sister should belong to her deskmate!
With this thought, Song Tang’s deskmate became her wingman: “Qianqian, be bold. Age isn’t a problem. And if you’re talking about the gap—we’re only eighteen. Just work hard to get closer to her.”
Then she started hedging: “I’m not cursing you—your friend, I mean. I just think that whether the ending is good or bad isn’t what matters most. The process is what matters. Even if it ends badly, at least you truly loved each other.”
Yes.
No matter how it ends, they would have loved each other.
In truth, their ending had been set from the beginning.
She would die. She would become Shi Jinlan’s white moonlight5, and she would become Yuan Ming’s white moonlight.
If the ending was already fixed, why couldn’t she give her true love what she gave her mission targets?
Song Tang’s mission list had always been stuck on: Wait for Shi Jinlan.
Her system had contacted her once at the very beginning, then left her alone ever since.
Perhaps she could change this story too.
The one waiting for Shi Jinlan was Chi Qian.
She wasn’t Chi Qian.
In the days that followed, Song Tang studied with fierce determination.
On New Year’s Eve, she was still grinding through practice problems. Chi Qingyan, who usually felt his granddaughter wasn’t working hard enough, felt a pang of heartache for the first time. He even specially prepared a tonic medicine that wasn’t so bitter.
The cicadas returned the next year, still shrill and noisy, no different from the year before.
But in the clean little courtyard where the sea breeze passed through, the atmosphere was grave and silent.
Today was the day the results would be released.
Yuan Ming arrived at the Chi home right around the time the scores would come out.
But when she knocked, she didn’t see Song Tang coming to welcome her as usual.
Chi Qingyan emerged from the sickroom with a trace of worry and told Yuan Ming that the girl had gone out before the results were released.
That fearless girl had finally learned fear, it seemed—she’d slipped away to face it alone.
As for where she’d gone.
Chi Qingyan didn’t know, but Yuan Ming thought she could guess.
Lush trees spread their leaves as they had for decades, blocking the direct sunlight that would have poured into the Ancestral Hall6.
On the wide red threshold worn smooth by years of worshippers sat a small figure. The phone in her hands glowed brighter than the dappled leaf shadows, illuminating her face.
Yuan Ming’s eyes lit up too.
She was glad she could find Song Tang even without the System’s power.
Her unhurried steps quickened in that instant.
Yuan Ming walked over and sat beside Song Tang. She asked gently, “Well? Have you seen your score?”
But Song Tang’s expression showed no relief.
She looked up at the person who’d sat down beside her. Her eyes were rimmed with red, as if she might cry at any moment. “…Ah Yuan.”
Yuan Ming heard that voice and seemed to understand. She immediately stroked Song Tang’s back, comforting her: “You’ve worked so hard this past year. Both Teacher and I have seen it.”
“Then can I still know who you like?” Song Tang stammered, looking at Yuan Ming with pleading eyes.
How could Yuan Ming not know? Song Tang’s efforts this past year were all for a promise made at the night market.
Those eyes, rimmed with red, seemed to drown her heart. Their gazes locked, and Yuan Ming leaned in, pressing a kiss to Song Tang’s lips.
That was her answer.
The young woman’s lips were soft and full. Perhaps from her low spirits, they still held a trace of moisture.
These were the lips Yuan Ming had dreamed of countless times. She drew close to Song Tang, kissing slowly, reverently, as if determined to leave no imperfection on this first kiss in Song Tang’s memory.
But in the end, a sudden soft laugh reached Yuan Ming’s ear.
Quite suddenly, Song Tang laughed against her lips.
Confusion filled Yuan Ming’s eyes. But the person before her was grinning so boldly that realization dawned—she seemed to understand: “Ah Qian, did you trick me?”
Song Tang’s eyes sparkled with even more laughter.
She waved her phone at Yuan Ming and unlocked the screen again: “I never tricked you. You just assumed from my expression that I’d done poorly. Can’t I be crying from joy because I got into your university?”
Yuan Ming looked closely at the phone screen Song Tang held up.
- That score was enough for Song Tang to get into her medical university—as long as she didn’t aim for the top programs.
This little liar.
On the bright screen, a look finally appeared in Yuan Ming’s eyes—something different from her usual gentleness.
But before she could act on it, she lifted her gaze and met Song Tang’s deep, earnest stare.
A heavy breath passed through Song Tang’s throat. She gripped the phone whose screen was about to go dark, and said to Yuan Ming: “Ah Yuan, I like you. Be my girlfriend. Okay?”
Her heart pounded like a drum. The four words “I like you” flooded her ears in an instant.
She could barely hear Yuan Ming’s voice. And the moment she said it, her courage deflated like a punctured balloon—
“Okay.”
No prolonged agony. Yuan Ming answered Song Tang with easy lightness.
Her gentle eyes overflowed with love, exposed in that instant, so full it was about to spill over.
After countless cycles, Yuan Ming finally had her own “Chi Qian.”
She knew clearly: what she loved was not Chi Qian, but this blazing, brilliant soul.
She was simply herself. No one’s substitute.
One question, one answer—like a covenant sealed.
Song Tang summoned her courage and leaned in just as Yuan Ming had, pressing a kiss to her lips.
Inexperienced, awkward. The pain of teeth clashing pressed against Song Tang’s tongue.
But Yuan Ming kissed her back without haste, fingers tracing the curve of Song Tang’s neck, adding tenderness and sweetness to the moment.
Sunlight fell on the stone statues of A-Qing and Ling Ji in the Ancestral Hall, wrapping around them both.
They kissed,
paying no homage to the gods.
In that moment, they could never have imagined that one day, the world would be upended by the decision they were making now.
Yuan Ming’s vow to protect Song Tang was broken in the end.
Even after revealing her identity as a Reserve Main System, she still let Song Tang be captured by the Main System—making her one of the thousands of taskers sacrificed under Shi Jinlan.
As the information flow pierced her body, something suddenly flashed through Song Tang’s mind.
She’d told Yuan Ming before that she wasn’t Chi Qian.
And she’d thought for a long time about this new life of hers. She didn’t want to be called by her old name, so she’d thought for a long time about a new one—always meaning to give Yuan Ming an answer.
And now, in this final instant before her life slipped away, she suddenly thought of it.
She wanted so badly to tell Yuan Ming right now—she’d chosen her new name.
Song Tang.
The Song Tang of Tang-Song-Yuan-Ming.
The author has something to say:
Tangtang and Xiao Ming’s story has ended, sob sob sob sob…
Tomorrow is the final chapter!
Footnotes
- Gāokǎo: China's National College Entrance Examination, held annually in June. A student's score determines university admission.
- Wánxíng tiánkōng: a standard section on Chinese English exams where students fill blanks in a passage, testing vocabulary and reading comprehension.
- A playful exaggeration common in Chinese internet slang, likening a persuasive friend to the devil tempting someone into sin.
- Wěi gǔ kē: internet slang for shipping non-blood-related siblings or family members who are not biologically related. 'Gǔ kē' refers to the 'orthopedics department' trope in fandom culture.
- Bái yuèguāng: Chinese internet slang for an unattainable, idealized love—someone deeply cherished but forever out of reach. Originates from the idea that moonlight is beautiful but impossible to possess.
- Cítáng: a traditional Chinese family shrine where ancestors are worshipped. Often contains spirit tablets and statues of revered ancestors or legendary figures.
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