So I Had No Choice But to Stop Being the White Moonlight – Chapter 89
by Little PandaI’m Not Going to Be the White Moonlight
An Inside Job
The clamorous chirping of cicadas quieted as night fell. The central air conditioning ran without a sound, filling the air with a comfortable coolness.
A temperate breeze blew silently across one’s arms, and most of the heat on Shi Jinlan’s body dissipated.
The other half of that heat, however, was pressed against the person she held in her arms, advancing without obstruction.
In the complex, silent air, the clean fragrance of flowers began to spread.
Hot breaths sprayed from the tip of Shi Jinlan’s nose, landing without fail on the back of Chi Qian’s neck. They brushed over nerves that shivered uncontrollably, conquering the high ground.
Even though Shi Jinlan’s earlier “sleep with me” had been spoken with placid calm, the breaths now coming from behind her forced Chi Qian’s body to tense up.
Chi Qian felt that the four words ‘to get a taste for something and want more’ were the most lethal idiom in the world.1
They were the simplest of phrases, yet they effortlessly sketched out her current state of mind. It was as if something was scratching at her from within her very bones, making her restless and eager to move.
Chi Qian swallowed lightly.
But reason still pulled her back to the patient’s perspective. She turned around and gently placed a hand between herself and Shi Jinlan, a subtle reminder. “Ah Yuan said you can’t catch a chill right now.”
Only, Chi Qian had yet to realize that this statement would have no positive effect.
Shi Jinlan’s arm suddenly exerted force, pulling Chi Qian flush against her chest.
The arm between them no longer seemed like a barrier to maintain distance, but more like a caress. It rested against the slightly open collar of Shi Jinlan’s nightgown, so close it felt as if she could hear the other’s heartbeat clearly.
“You listen to everything she says?”
Chi Qian couldn’t see it, but Shi Jinlan, who rarely let her feelings show, had frowned upon hearing the name “Ah Yuan” spoken in Chi Qian’s voice.
Her hand clasped Chi Qian’s waist as she spoke, her fingers moving up to her neck. Slender, scallion-stalk fingers toyed with her collar, a touch that was barely there.
A tightness gripped her throat. Chi Qian clearly sensed Shi Jinlan’s displeasure with her previous statement.
Realizing her mistake a moment too late, she quickly tried to explain, “It was a doctor’s order for you, the patient.”
“Mm,” Shi Jinlan hummed in agreement, then added, “So I can choose to listen, or not to listen. You can’t make that decision for me.”
This person seemed to have her own brand of logic. The world’s order seemed to be in her hands, to be used as she saw fit. With a single sentence, she had twisted things around until they became her truth.
A dark breeze drifted by. The enamel table lamp on the other side of the bed cast a dim light.
Chi Qian was held in Shi Jinlan’s embrace like this, the lamplight leaving their faces half in shadow, half in light. Only a pair of clear eyes reflected the brightness, dark and profound. They watched her unhurriedly, like a leopard hiding in the shadows.
And what was she like?
The cool pads of Shi Jinlan’s fingers were still on her waist. She was held in her hand like a rabbit, like a puppy, though she could perhaps stretch her imagination and see herself as a leopard to match Shi Jinlan.
“Ah Lan, don’t mess around. I have something to tell you.” Chi Qian wanted to divert Shi Jinlan’s attention, forcing a semblance of seriousness into her eyes.
Seeing Chi Qian’s expression, a hint of a smile appeared in Shi Jinlan’s eyes.
Intrigued, she propped her head up with the hand that had been caressing Chi Qian’s neck and said softly, “Then speak.”
“Ah Lan, I feel like… I might have remembered something from the past,” Chi Qian said earnestly.
“Is that so?”
This was unexpected for Shi Jinlan. Surprise flickered in her eyes. “What did you remember?”
Chi Qian wasn’t actually sure when the memory fragment that appeared after she kissed Shi Jinlan’s forehead had taken place. She could only offer a tentative guess. “Did we ever encounter some kind of danger? Before I jumped off the cliff?”
“There was one time.” Shi Jinlan nodded, the memory of them rolling down the hillside after leaving the hot spring inn surfacing in her mind. “Before the assassin came, my uncle sent people after us once. That was also very dangerous.”
Hearing this, Chi Qian’s eyes lit up. She eagerly sought confirmation from Shi Jinlan. “Was that the time I couldn’t grab your hand?”
At Chi Qian’s words, Shi Jinlan’s expression, which had been steeped in darkness, suddenly changed.
She calmly gazed at the eagerness in Chi Qian’s eyes, then denied it. “No, you caught me.”
She seemed a little too eager to overwrite the memory Chi Qian had recalled. As she denied it, she continued to recount what had happened. “We rolled into a mountain ravine together. There was a patch of Japanese hops there. That’s also when we met Chubei Liang.”
With the mention of “Chubei Liang,” the version Shi Jinlan was telling became much more credible.
Chi Qian vaguely felt there was such a shadow in her mind. The dim light was covered in dust, and her memory was like a mirror that could never be wiped clean, reflecting the light in a chaotic jumble.
“But why do I remember not catching your hand?”
That memory fragment had been so utterly shocking, and it felt real with a pain that was piercing to the heart and bone.2
Chi Qian looked at Shi Jinlan in a daze, her hand resting on Shi Jinlan’s chest clenching into a fist. “We were so close then. I tried so, so hard to grab you, but in the end, I remember… I still couldn’t catch you.”
The scream that surfaced in her mind didn’t seem fake. As Chi Qian recounted this to Shi Jinlan, the pain and sorrow of having once let the person before her slip through her fingers overflowed from her eyes.3
In the dim light, the glistening moisture in her eyes looked like two stars, streaking across Shi Jinlan’s vision with trails of hazy, cold white light.
The color in Shi Jinlan’s eyes deepened several shades.
She pulled Chi Qian tighter into her embrace. Just as she was about to spiral into memory-induced confusion, Shi Jinlan told her with conviction, “You caught me.”
Her long, slender fingers traced down Chi Qian’s thin shoulder and then slipped between her fingers.
Shi Jinlan interlaced their fingers, repeating it to her over and over again. “You held onto me very tightly.”
The pain and regret were not so easily assuaged. Chi Qian felt as if she were stuck in that single moment when she had screamed Shi Jinlan’s name. “But why is what I saw different…?”
“Perhaps there was just an error in the image. What you remembered isn’t a continuous memory. It might not just be from when we rolled down the hill, but also from when you fell off the cliff.” Shi Jinlan’s voice was gentle as she spoke close to Chi Qian’s ear. Her lips brushed a light kiss along the wet corner of her eye, consoling her self-blame. “You didn’t catch my hand then either, did you?”
“Could that be it?” Chi Qian was wavering.
“It could,” Shi Jinlan said firmly.
Wrong.
Shi Jinlan gazed deeply at Chi Qian, appearing to have given her a reasonable explanation.
But it was obvious that on this matter, she had lied to Chi Qian.
Shi Jinlan had encountered these kinds of inexplicable memories that didn’t align with reality long before Chi Qian had.
But compared to Chi Qian’s painful images, hers were much gentler.
It seemed to be a warm afternoon. Thirteen was curled lazily on her lap, and behind her was the sound of Chi Qian brewing medicine.
The sunlight in that memory was too gentle, a stark contrast to Shi Jinlan’s world.
Clearly, one of them lived in the light and the other in the darkness, so how could the aesthetic of their memories have been swapped?
Shi Jinlan’s gaze was obscure and unreadable. It seemed an answer had already formed in the depths of her heart.
But even so, she didn’t want Chi Qian to remember these things.
She had already forgotten them. There was no need to recall them because of these scattered fragments.
In Shi Jinlan’s heart, compared to the physiological pain these fragments caused Chi Qian, past memories were not worth mentioning.
She didn’t care if Chi Qian remembered the past or not.
She didn’t mind if Chi Qian forgot about her, either.
People had to move forward, and new memories would be made.
No matter how they moved forward, they would certainly be in love. That was enough.
Besides, even if there was pain, it should be her, Shi Jinlan, who bore it.
She was long used to it.
“I shouldn’t have let go of your hand,” Chi Qian murmured, the self-reproach lingering in her mind, refusing to dissipate.
She always felt that things weren’t that simple. She looked at Shi Jinlan with reddened eyes. “Ah Lan, I still want to try taking off the bracelet…”
“If it’s just to get your memory back, don’t.”
Before Chi Qian could finish, Shi Jinlan cut her off.
She looked at Chi Qian seriously, her voice layered with gentleness. “Even if you don’t remember, it’s okay.”
“Mmph!”
Chi Qian had just started to ask Shi Jinlan why when her open lips were sealed by another’s.
Shi Jinlan was the most cunning of predators. With a sweep of her tongue, she slipped past Chi Qian’s teeth.
In an instant, Chi Qian’s every breath was filled with Shi Jinlan’s fragrance.
She couldn’t escape at all. Her lips half-parted, she once again brought up Shi Jinlan’s still-recovering body. “Mmph… Shi Jinlan, no, you just got better.”
“Hmph~”
A short, soft laugh escaped Shi Jinlan’s nose. She watched Chi Qian’s neck tilt back instinctively and reached up to hook a finger through her exposed collar. “Then Ah Qian should be careful to help me keep the blanket on, so I don’t catch a chill.”
The night was silent, the undulating calls of insects like the accompaniment of a symphony.
Shi Jinlan’s voice was light and ethereal, each word gently lifted, like a low chant.
As she spoke, before Chi Qian could react, she felt her legs, which were pressed together as she lay on her side, being pushed apart.
A rounded knee, unthreatening, pressed against her, the thin fabric warm. Without any room for negotiation, it nudged against the lips tucked secretly away.
“!”
A muffled sound escaped Chi Qian’s nose, and her eyes flew wide open.
“Ah Lan, don’t.” Chi Qian’s rational mind was rejecting Shi Jinlan. The hand placed between them tried to push Shi Jinlan away, but there was little sincerity in the gesture.
“But you shouldn’t be remembering those terrible things.” Shi Jinlan cupped Chi Qian’s face, her gaze deep and imperious.
Since Chi Qian was unwilling to let go of this awful memory, she had her own methods to make her not think of it so easily again.
The skin, as clear as a white scallion stalk, covered the blunt curve of the knee. Bone was the most lethal weapon.
The weave of the thin fabric was distinct. A light rub was enough to make delicate nerves tremble violently.
The night deepened. Dark clouds drifted over the moon, and a storm was brewing.
The dim light swam about, softening a figure that had originally been tense.
Chi Qian wanted to struggle, but Shi Jinlan held her by the collar. The air-conditioning blanket she was forced to stare at became a net, binding her and Shi Jinlan together, so airtight that the sounds of water echoed within.
Her restless hands were caught, one on each side. There was more than one tool for this crime.
The light nightdress was bunched between her legs, weighed down heavily by the blanket, completely powerless to resist.
Sometimes, Chi Qian really wondered if Shi Jinlan had been like this when they were together in the past.
Where on earth had she learned these unhurried movements? They made it very difficult to believe she was a novice doing this for the first time.
Unable to bear such a hot-and-cold torment, Chi Qian’s pupils gradually clouded over with a lost, white mist.
Shi Jinlan held her, having presumably succeeded in burying the matter, and made no further moves.
The hand holding the collar moved to caress her cheek. Full of tenderness, it wiped away the tears gathering at the corners of Chi Qian’s eyes. Then, thoughtfully yet maliciously, she withdrew her knee. “Sleep now?”
Her lips had just parted from Shi Jinlan’s. That was the last thing Chi Qian wanted to hear.
With reddened eyes, she looked up at Shi Jinlan, her voice a soft, dissatisfied, yet restrained hum. “Ah Lan…”
“What is it?” Shi Jinlan asked, feigning innocence.
“Hand,” Chi Qian prompted.
“What?” Shi Jinlan acted as if she hadn’t heard clearly. She kissed her way up Chi Qian’s neck until she was close to her ear, as if she were Satan holding the apple, tempting her to say the full sentence, to take a bite of the fruit in her hand.
“Hand.” Chi Qian’s throat bobbed. Her cheeks burning hot, she repeated herself to Shi Jinlan.
This was not what Shi Jinlan wanted.
She feigned confusion, murmuring, “Is it in the way?” then made a show of pulling her hand out.
But just as her hand was about to withdraw, it was stopped halfway.
Chi Qian’s hand shot out, her soft fingers surprisingly strong enough to clamp tightly around Shi Jinlan’s wrist.
Her pride was only worth so much, anyway.
Chi Qian had made up her mind. She had to get her fill from Shi Jinlan. With reddened eyes, she stared straight at her, looking for all the world like a puppy trying its best to control itself, not allowed to pounce without a command, yet desperately eager.
Forget it.
Shi Jinlan’s heart melted instantly. She was completely helpless against those glistening, tear-filled eyes.
Her lazy disposition disliked taking action.
But who could refuse a puppy begging with its eyes?
“I know.” Shi Jinlan nodded softly. She brushed the hair from Chi Qian’s forehead and, with practiced ease, pried her lips open.
A sudden gust of wind outside swallowed the sounds of water in the room. Chi Qian was encircled in Shi Jinlan’s arms, the collar tight around her neck, leaving a faint crimson mark.
Chi Qian felt her heart beating wildly. At a certain critical point, her tensed toes suddenly hooked the blanket. The corner that had been barely hanging onto Shi Jinlan’s waist finally fell away.
One just had to wonder if this was an unintentional mistake,
The author has something to say:
Lanlan: I envy Qianqian.
Qianqian: Ying~5 (makes a ‘big fierce top’6 sound)
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Song Tang (happily looking at the comment section): Aunties, I’m making my debut tomorrow! (flips hair) Wait for me~
Footnotes
- The idiom is 食髓知味 (shí suǐ zhī wèi), literally “to eat the marrow and know its taste.” It means to develop a taste for something after trying it once, often something forbidden or pleasurable.
- The idiom used is 锥心刺骨 (zhuīxīn cìgǔ), meaning “piercing the heart and stabbing the bone,” used to describe extreme emotional or physical pain.
- The original uses 失之交臂 (shī zhī jiāo bì), an idiom that literally means “to lose something that was right by your arm.” It signifies missing a golden opportunity.
- The chapter title, 监守自盗 (jiānshǒu zìdào), literally means “to guard something and steal it yourself.” It refers to someone entrusted with protection who instead takes advantage of the situation for personal gain.
- Ying (嘤) is a sound word, often used in online contexts to convey a cute, soft whimper or cry, sometimes coquettishly.
- “Big fierce top” (大猛一, dà měng yī) is internet slang where ‘1’ (yī) refers to the dominant/insertive partner in a same-sex relationship (from the 1/0 system). The phrase is used humorously here, as Chi Qian is in the submissive role.
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