So I Had No Choice But to Stop Being the White Moonlight – Chapter 37

“Miss Chi, You Can’t Do Two Things at Once.”

The afternoon sun slanted down, making the green shadows in the courtyard sway.

Emergency Rations (rabbit) leisurely chewed on a blade of grass, the infirmary building reflected in its gray-blue eyes.

The room was quieter than the courtyard outside.

Shi Jinlan’s hand rested on Chi Qian’s forehead. The back of her hand was as cool as a splash of cold water, while Chi Qian’s skin was like red-hot iron.

In an instant, the rising steam transformed into a white mist, thick and heavy, that crowded Chi Qian’s entire world.

She felt her heart was about to pound out of her chest.

In the past, Chi Qian had seen Shi Jinlan’s sinister, cold, and ruthless side. She had heard her utter the most terrifying words in the calmest of voices.

But now, her tone was just as even, betraying no emotion, yet her meaning was unmistakably clear.

She was comforting her.

She was clearly the one who needed comfort the most.

Yet, she was the one reaching out, telling another that she wasn’t in pain.

Shi Jinlan pressed her hand against Chi Qian’s forehead, rubbing it gently a couple of times.

A casual, languid motion.

Yet it was also a motion born of exhaustion, of someone enduring immense pain.

In the daylight, the hand in her line of sight seemed to burn with a silent, black-gold flame, as if delivering the night and its stars right to her.

Who knew that black could be such a gentle background?

Shi Jinlan left her hand on Chi Qian’s forehead for a good while. At the bedside, Chi Qingyan’s expression grew increasingly grim.

His gaze, heavy and unreadable, was fixed on his granddaughter. He then cleared his throat and said, as a reminder, “Ahem. The needles can only be removed in half an hour. Miss Shen, please don’t move.”

His words were directed at Shi Jinlan, but also at Chi Qian.

Hearing his voice, Chi Qian blinked rapidly, having completely forgotten there was a third person in the room.

And that person was her grandfather, no less.

Wasn’t it improper to be so intimate in front of an elder?

Shi Jinlan, however, seemed unconcerned. After Chi Qingyan spoke, she calmly withdrew her hand.

Chi Qingyan watched the two of them, his tone as grave as his expression. “Miss Shen, your pulse is stable for now. The change in treatment hasn’t caused a backlash from the residual toxins in your body, so we can relax for the time being. All that matters is what happens tonight.”

For once, Chi Qian was quick on the uptake. “So tonight is the critical period!”

“Yes.” Chi Qingyan nodded. “Miss Shen’s current treatment isn’t as gentle as the last one. At night, the body is naturally more relaxed and less guarded, and the residual poison in her system has yet to be cleared. As I’ve said before, this thing is adept at picking its moment, so it’s highly likely to flare up tonight.”

“Since Miss Shen requested this, I trust she can withstand it.”

“I can,” Shi Jinlan said with a slight nod of acknowledgment.

Listening, Chi Qian went on high alert. “Don’t worry, Grandpa. If anything happens, I’ll come get you immediately.”

“Don’t rush. You need to assess the situation first.” Chi Qingyan raised a hand and explained carefully to Chi Qian, “A fever is a normal reaction. It means the energies in Miss Shen’s body are realigning, which is nothing to worry about. But if she starts getting cold like last time, you must come find me immediately.”

“I’ll remember,” Chi Qian said, nodding seriously.

Chi Qingyan still remembered her reluctant expression when he had first asked her to watch over Shi Jinlan.

The girl had no guile and was incapable of hiding her feelings. The contrast between then and now was stark.

A shadow passed over Chi Qingyan’s eyes. His gaze deepened as he looked at her. “Wasn’t Miss Shen’s medicine brewed this morning? Go heat it up and bring it here for her.”

“Okay.” Chi Qian nodded, not sensing his ulterior motive, and promptly left the infirmary.

Chi Qian might not have seen it, but Shi Jinlan did.

Chi Qingyan watched Chi Qian’s departing figure intently, his eyes following her from the doorway to the window, until she entered the kitchen and disappeared from his sight.

The old man’s deep eyes—dark and heavy—held the traces of passing time.

Chi Qingyan unhurriedly withdrew his gaze and turned to Shi Jinlan. “I don’t believe I’ve ever told you about Qianqian, have I?”

“No,” Shi Jinlan replied, shaking her head lightly.

But she already knew that Chi Qian was Chi Qingyan’s adopted daughter.

After contacting Ah Ning, she had already had the Chi family thoroughly investigated.

In truth, it hadn’t taken much effort on Shi Jinlan’s part.

The Chi family was simple—just two people, with no blood relation between them.

It wasn’t hard for Shi Jinlan to imagine how Chi Qingyan had come to adopt Chi Qian.

She had a congenital condition, and Chi Qingyan was a doctor. It was likely a story of abandonment and rescue; there were many such stories in the world.

“Qianqian is a child I found,” Chi Qingyan began. “Or rather than found, it’s more accurate to say her mother had just enough conscience left to abandon her on my doorstep.”

“A strong wind was blowing that night, and it blew my door open. When I went out to check the courtyard, I heard a baby crying. The sound was so faint, it was as if the wind might carry it away at any moment.”

He seemed to find it difficult to continue, pausing for a moment before going on. “Because of her asthma, Qianqian’s little face was purple from lack of air. She was on the verge of death. I stayed by her side, administering acupuncture and medicine, for three days and nights without a wink of sleep before I finally managed to snatch her back from the King of Hell.”¹

Chi Qingyan’s account was nearly identical to what Shi Jinlan had surmised.

And yet, for some reason, as Shi Jinlan listened to his description of Chi Qian’s condition back then, her heart gave a sharp pang.

Both reality and Chi Qingyan’s story told Shi Jinlan that Chi Qian was alive now—healthy and happy.

She had a foolishly kind heart and seemed to be made of sunshine itself. No one would ever imagine that such a sun could have once been on the verge of setting.

But more than twenty years ago, long before they had ever met, this person had nearly lost the chance to ever exist in her world.

At the thought, Shi Jinlan’s brow furrowed slightly.

She felt this thought of hers was truly a case of moaning without an illness.²

At that moment, Shi Jinlan didn’t understand that what was sprouting from the barren soil of her heart was an emotion called empathy.

The rationality that had held sway over her for more than twenty years was slowly beginning to crumble, and cracks were starting to form.

“Others cast her aside because she was sick, but to me, she is a treasure. Even if she never marries, I am capable of providing for her for the rest of her life, even after I’m gone.”

Chi Qingyan’s tone was firm, his eyes filled with the involuntary tenderness that always appeared whenever he spoke of his Qianqian.

He had accepted that Chi Qian liked girls and had long ago paved a future for her.

“She was abandoned once. I will absolutely never let her go through that a second time.”

As he said this, he looked up at Shi Jinlan.

His aged eyes were as sharp and piercing as a hawk’s. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Shi Jinlan’s expression remained unchanged. She understood what he meant.

—Her actions just now had unsettled him.

—They had an agreement: she was not to involve Chi Qian in her affairs.

Her own family background—the one she took pride in, the one so many people would kill to be a part of—was nothing special.

In Chi Qingyan’s eyes, it couldn’t compare to a single blade of grass on this island.

They were ultimately on different paths.

And yet, despite this clear understanding, Shi Jinlan hadn’t been able to control herself.

She just hadn’t wanted to see Chi Qian sad.

This desire had even overridden the restraints her own grandfather had placed upon her.

That flash of empathy had been incredibly real.

Even if she was so weak from the pain she could barely move, Shi Jinlan had to lift her hand.

Don’t be sad.

It’s not worth feeling sad for me.

The wind threw the shadows of the trees into disarray, obscuring the light in the room.

No one noticed the hand resting on the bed clench into a fist.

She’d lost count of how many times she had felt her emotions stir because of Chi Qian.

It felt like losing control.

Calmly, with great restraint, Shi Jinlan forced her reason to regain the upper hand.

She looked at Chi Qingyan calmly and agreed with what he’d just said. “You’re right.”

She was bound to leave this island. Her original plan had never involved staying for long.

Since she had to leave, she should make a clean break of it and leave nothing behind.

Chi Qingyan’s final words were correct. Chi Qian shouldn’t be treated like that.

Chi Qian deserved to live in the sun, to be forever happy and radiant. This was what was best for both of them.

But…

Doesn’t the sun shine everywhere? And if she wasn’t going to leave anything behind, why couldn’t she take Chi Qian with her?

Shi Jinlan didn’t know where the thought had come from. Obsession and possessiveness, like twisting vines, began to crawl out from the muck and mire of her world.

The idea was like a snake flicking its tongue—without clear purpose, yet monstrous and terrifying.

Even as reason told her that Chi Qian was not like her, that she could not be used, that she would bring her no benefit, the thought persisted.

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Night fell, and the island grew quiet.

A few distant barks echoed, as if welcoming a master home late.

Shi Jinlan stayed up later than usual that night, her fingers tapping incessantly on the phone Chi Qian had given her.

The soft but distinct tapping sound continued. Chi Qian, who had turned a few pages in her book, couldn’t resist sneaking a glance.

In the room’s dim, yellow light, Shi Jinlan’s gaze was lowered, her expression intent.

Chi Qian figured she was discussing something with her subordinates. Leaning back against the pillow, her posture was both upright and relaxed. The unapproachable aura around her intensified with the slight furrow of her brow, yet it never gave the impression that she was facing any real difficulty.

Though they were only a short distance apart, Chi Qian felt that Shi Jinlan was a world away.

Her current focus was one of complete composure, an understated ease coupled with an innate nobility that made one completely forget she was wearing a cheap cotton nightgown.

Chi Qian secretly drew her gaze back to her book, thinking that this must be what Shi Jinlan was like when she was back with her own family.

A pity she would never get to see it.

A thread of melancholy wove its way into Chi Qian’s heart for no reason.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d even thought about wanting to finish her mission and leave as quickly as possible.

“You’ve been staring at that same page for a while now.”

Before Chi Qian could even sigh, Shi Jinlan’s voice sounded beside her.

“Huh?” Startled, Chi Qian looked down at her book and realized it was true.

Shi Jinlan watched the guilty look on her companion’s face, and her eyes curved slightly. “Miss Chi, you can’t do two things at once.”

“I wasn’t…” Chi Qian said stubbornly, refusing to admit she’d been staring at Shi Jinlan. “It’s just… hard to understand.”

“Is that so?” Shi Jinlan nodded as if she believed her.

She unhurriedly turned off her phone screen and set it aside, her calm, steady gaze fixed on Chi Qian.

She waited until Chi Qian’s heart was pounding like a drum before looking away, choosing not to expose her lie.

“Time for bed?” Shi Jinlan asked.

“Yes!” Chi Qian let out a huge breath of relief. After watching Shi Jinlan lie down, she decisively flipped the switch on the wall.

Starlight scattered across the dark curtain of night. Only a few scattered lights twinkled on the island.

The entire island sank into slumber, but Chi Qian didn’t dare let herself fall into a deep sleep.

In a daze, Chi Qian felt herself drifting off.

Before her was a boundless azure sky. She was standing on a cloud, soaring freely through the heavens as if the world was hers.

This must be what it feels like to complete the mission, Chi Qian thought. She took a light leap, aiming for another cloud.

But this time, she missed.

The cloud she had been aiming for suddenly vanished. With nowhere to land, she plummeted from the sky.

The wind howled coldly past her ears, and the feeling of weightlessness threatened to pull her soul from her body.

She struggled desperately, and somehow, her thoughts turned to what Shi Jinlan must have felt when she jumped from the cliff.

Did Shi Jinlan also feel this helpless?

The thought flashed through her mind, and then she felt arms wrap around her.

The warmth in the midst of the cold wind was startlingly clear. A delicate fragrance emanated from the embrace, instantly steadying Chi Qian’s falling body.

And her heart.

She hadn’t landed, yet Chi Qian already felt safe.

She was being held…

No, that wasn’t right.

A sensation from the real world threaded its way into her dream, pressing against her waist.

It felt as if she really was being held.

The distinct heat grew more intense, washing over her thin back in heavy, slow waves.

Her eyes flew open. She turned her head, and her gaze fell upon Shi Jinlan, who was breathing raggedly and pressed tightly against her.

Moonlight spilled into the room from the opposite window. In the hazy light, the flames on Shi Jinlan’s body were burning brightly.

But this time, they weren’t the black that devoured the stars and moon.

They were silver-gray.

It was as if millions of stars were glittering, determined to drive away the darkness.

Chi Qian had never seen such flames before. Her breathing grew shallow.

She didn’t know what state Shi Jinlan was in; it seemed a nightmare had invaded her sleep. The high fever had drained all the color from Shi Jinlan’s face, and her pale lips parted and closed as if she were trying to say something.

In the hazy moonlight, Chi Qian, like a mortal bewitched by Satan, leaned closer to Shi Jinlan.

But as she drew near, she heard what Shi Jinlan was calling out:

“Ah Qian.”

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The author has something to say:

Lanlan: Sooner or later, I’m going to tear this System apart with my bare hands.³

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