So I Had No Choice But to Stop Being the White Moonlight – Chapter 149
by Little PandaExtra
Fulfillment
This time it’s real!
Seagulls spread their wings across the sky, seawater rushing ashore, sending up a spray of foam.
The cries of seabirds and the rhythm of waves wove together into a morning hymn, leisurely and unhurried, spreading across the dawn where the sun began its ascent…
“Pffft—”
And in the midst of this peaceful stillness came the abrupt, rough sound of someone blowing their nose.
A tissue was crumpled in Chi Qian’s hand, wrinkled into a ball.
She sat there on the beach, tears streaming, nose running freely: “Waaaaah, Tangtang, why did you have to suffer so much?”
Song Tang had just finished telling Chi Qian the story of how she and Yuan Ming ended up together, briefly touching on what happened afterward.
Listening to Song Tang’s account of everything that came after, Chi Qian couldn’t stop the tears from falling. Her expression completely out of control, all composure abandoned.
Song Tang watched Chi Qian’s deeply immersed reaction, amused, and reached over to pat her head: “It’s alright. In the end, we all turned out fine.”
“Thank goodness for that.” Chi Qian spoke, sniffling hard through her congested nose.
Slowly, she stuffed the tissue into a bag, her voice thick with congestion as she sighed: “That’s childhood sweethearts for you. So rare.”
At this, Chi Qian seemed to remember something. She leaned closer and whispered to Song Tang: “You know, Grandpa once told me he was very satisfied with Yuan Ming. He made Ah Lan jealous for the longest time.”
Song Tang knew why Chi Qingyan had been unsatisfied with Shi Jinlan: “Grandpa was just worried about President Shi’s family background.”
As she said this, Song Tang’s gaze toward Chi Qian hesitated.
Waves washed up along the edge of her vision, and she used the sound to speak softly: “Also, Qianqian… actually, when I was on my mission, Grandpa knew I wasn’t you.”
Chi Qian heard this and froze.
“After President Shi left the island, Yuan Ming and I started living our own lives there. But not long after, Grandpa fell ill. It came on suddenly—within half a year, he was skin and bones.” Song Tang glossed over this particularly cruel past as quickly as she could, bringing the story to Chi Qingyan’s final moments.
Song Tang looked at Chi Qian and said: “In his last days, Grandpa asked about you.”
That was a scene Song Tang would never forget—the gaunt old man lying in his bed at home. Perhaps knowing his time had come, he had asked her and Yuan Ming to dress him in the Zhongshan suit1 he had cherished since his youth.
Pale hands lifted the old man’s heavy, feeble one. Youth and age formed a stark contrast in that instant.
Song Tang recalled the memory, looking at her own hands resting on her knees, clenching them tight: “Grandpa said to me, ‘With Yuan Ming by your side, I can rest easy. But I still want to ask…'”
“‘Where did my granddaughter go?'”
Song Tang said this, her eyes filled with unbearable grief as she looked at Chi Qian.
In that moment, her heart had cracked open, aching and twisted, filled with shame and guilt.
Back then, she had believed she had displaced Chi Qian’s soul—not only surviving by stealing this body, but also failing to be with her destined bride.
It wasn’t until that day, when Shi Jinlan’s grip closed around her throat, that she learned in her dying moments she hadn’t caused “Chi Qian” to disappear.
She died at peace.
“Grandpa always knew I wasn’t you.” Song Tang told Chi Qian the story she hadn’t known, filling it with Chi Qingyan’s love for her: “His love for you exceeded the System’s constraints. Even though I took your place when I was very young, he still sensed something.”
Chi Qian heard Song Tang’s final words, and the tears she had been trying to hold back could no longer be controlled.
Her eyes, which had just barely dried, filled with tears again, instantly overflowing.
She finally understood. No wonder when she first came to the island, there were moments with Grandpa when his gaze toward her seemed to shift.
She had thought her acting was unskilled, that she’d given herself away. In truth, her grandfather had needed only one look to see through her.
This was the child he had raised with his own hands, time after time, across countless cycles of rebirth.
How could he fail to recognize her?
Grandpa had recognized her as his true granddaughter even earlier than Yuan Ming, even earlier than Shi Jinlan.
The thought made Chi Qian cry even harder.
Large teardrops fell from her eyes, pattering against the back of her hand.
Song Tang understood this feeling all too well. She reached up to pat Chi Qian’s back, letting her cry her heart out.
Waves kept washing ashore, their white foam concealing the sound of human weeping.
Suddenly a shadow fell over Song Tang and Chi Qian. Song Tang looked up to see Shi Jinlan arriving from the System Space.
“Finished your discussion?” Song Tang asked.
She and Chi Qian had come here to avoid disturbing Shi Jinlan and Yuan Ming’s “confrontation.”
“Mm.” Shi Jinlan nodded slightly, her gaze fixed on Chi Qian.
“Then I’ll leave Qianqian to you.” Song Tang said, brushing Chi Qian’s hair once more before carefully handing the tearful girl over to Shi Jinlan as she sat down beside them.
Shi Jinlan inclined her head in thanks to Song Tang, then continued watching Chi Qian—watching her cry until her face was covered in tears—and gently stroked her shoulder: “What’s wrong? Why are you crying like this?”
“Grandpa… Grandpa always knew who I was.” Chi Qian knew the person beside her was Shi Jinlan. She leaned against her shoulder, crying even louder.
The sea breeze carried a clean scent, every inch of it the familiar smell Chi Qian knew.
Leaning there, Chi Qian seemed to remember something. She suddenly lifted her head, both hands gripping Shi Jinlan’s arm, tightly, tightly: “Ah Lan, let’s go get Grandpa checked right away!”
“No need.” Facing Chi Qian’s panic, Shi Jinlan’s voice was clear and gentle.
Almost the instant Chi Qian spoke, she understood what Song Tang had told her. She said: “During the three years you were gone, Yuan Ming and I took Grandpa for an examination. The lesion was successfully removed. Grandpa won’t have to suffer from such a dangerous illness again. He’ll live a long life.”
“Really?” Chi Qian raised her tear-filled eyes, sunlight resting on them like a shimmering spring.
“Really.” Shi Jinlan nodded, reaching up to brush away the strands of hair stuck to Chi Qian’s tear-stained cheek. She saw how the tip of Chi Qian’s pale nose had turned red from all the blowing—a sight that stirred tenderness.
Though she didn’t want to bring it up, if saying it would put Chi Qian at ease, she would: “At the time, I thought Yuan Ming was simply concerned for her teacher. Now I realize—we just happened to reach an understanding on certain matters.”
Hearing this, Chi Qian finally relaxed.
Her smile overcame her tears. Though still choked with emotion, she couldn’t help teasing: “You and Ah Yuan really are fated rivals across lifetimes.”
“Without you, I would have killed her.” Shi Jinlan spoke calmly, her warm fingers tracing the tear tracks on Chi Qian’s face.
Her touch was gentle, but her eyes were dark.
They held earnestness, deep affection, and a ruthlessness that seemed bottomless.
Chi Qian knew Shi Jinlan too well. She was only startled for a second before leaning back into her arms, half-joking: “Then I’ll try to live a bit longer.”
Shi Jinlan dismissed this: “What does life and death matter to those in the System?”
With that simple sentence, she punctured Chi Qian’s melodramatic performance.
It wasn’t that she wouldn’t play along—she simply didn’t like jokes about life and death.
She had already lost Chi Qian too many times.
Love is like a glacier, revealing only one corner.
Under the gaze of those eyes filled with love, Chi Qian draped her arms over Shi Jinlan’s shoulders, leaning even more boldly against her: “But eternal life would be so boring.”
Shi Jinlan lowered her eyes, watching Chi Qian’s feigned listlessness, and offered a timely reminder: “So—can you undo the spell you used to turn yourself into a Samoyed now?”
That was their identity save from the Cultivation World.
After the war between immortals and demons ended, Chi Qian had transformed herself into a Samoyed. Because she never undid the spell, no matter how many times she entered or left that world, she remained a fluffy white dog.
Hearing this, Chi Qian’s eyes—which had been pretending to be bored—suddenly went wide.
Her almond-shaped pupils rounded, staring at Shi Jinlan with a mix of distress and indignation: “Shijie, not only won’t you help me, you’re making fun of me!”
“I could help you.” Shi Jinlan spoke evenly, her straight posture supported by her arms as she leaned back slightly.
She had been serving as Chi Qian’s support, but now, leaning back, she looked more like the one Chi Qian was trying to please.
Those cool eyes held a hint of a smile, meeting Chi Qian’s gaze. She said nothing, but the implication was clear.
Chi Qian looped her arms around Shi Jinlan’s neck, watching her for a long while. When maintaining the posture grew tiring, she leaned closer: “Shijie, you’re so easy to bribe.”
“You could try.” Shi Jinlan remained unperturbed, sitting upright and composed, her tall form inclined back, simply waiting for Chi Qian to come to her.
A long wind blew from the distance, lifting Shi Jinlan’s hair.
Her pale neck was like a swan’s, connecting to the curve of her collarbone, gleaming with the luster of jade in the sunlight.
Chi Qian had once thought of herself as a crow.
And this crow harbored a possessive desire for this pristine white jade sculpture.
Her lips pressed past the sea breeze. Chi Qian had long been planning to kiss Shi Jinlan.
Shi Jinlan lifted her long neck, leaning forward on her arms. Her long, thick lashes fluttered down like a sovereign receiving tribute, enjoying Chi Qian’s kiss filled with adoration.
Chi Qian teased her with light, shallow kisses, the tip of her tongue tracing here and there, filling the shared oxygen with her own scent.
The wet sounds made one sink into a haze. Soon Shi Jinlan’s eyes grew hazy with tenderness.
The summer sun was so hot, so scorching, as if it would burn through Shi Jinlan entirely. Finally, after Chi Qian pulled back once more, she raised her arm.
Those pale fingers, eager yet restrained, brushed Chi Qian’s chin. Her wrist flexed with strength, pulling her closer, demanding a deeper kiss.
Waves washed over the shore, repeatedly covering the shadows on the sand, as if washing them clean.
And then merging them, embedding them, becoming souls that belonged only to each other.
The author has something to say:
Today marks the complete conclusion of the story! Thank you all for your company these past few months. Little Pigeon even received deep water bombs—thank you so much, everyone, waaaaah!
After the chapter settlement, there will be one bonus extra chapter. Little Pigeon will announce it on Weibo2 when it’s posted!
Red packets for comments on this chapter will be distributed when the bonus extra is updated ovo
The next book will be either “Did I Succeed in Redeeming the Villain Today?” or “I Thought I Had a Rebirth Script.” Please add them to your collections, begging you QAQ!
Footnotes
- The Zhōngshān suit (中山装) is a Chinese tunic suit named after Sun Yat-sen (Sun Zhongshan). It features a closed collar, four pockets, and five front buttons, symbolizing constitutional principles. Widely worn in 20th-century China as formal attire.
- Weibo (微博) is a major Chinese social media platform similar to Twitter, widely used by authors to interact with readers and post updates.
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