So I Had No Choice But to Stop Being the White Moonlight – Chapter 43

“That’s not how you kissed me in the sea that day.”

Standing in this spot once again, what she saw was still those two silhouettes.

Light spilled over the flower clusters, illuminating the center of the scene, while the surrounding darkness crept endlessly into the distance, as if creating a world exclusively for the two of them.

Her cane mercilessly crushed the bustling¹ flowers. Seeing this tableau again, Shi Jinlan walked over at a leisurely pace.

An inexplicable competitive streak² drove her steps, compelling her to speak before Yuan Ming could.

“Ah Qian.”

She called out the name so naturally.

It was as if she had always addressed Chi Qian this way in the past.

People always learn their lessons from bitter failures.

She had replayed the events of that night many times since; every time she recalled her thief-like guilty appearance³ at the time, she would secretly swear in her heart—if given another chance, she absolutely would not act as if there was something going on between her and Yuan Ming!

Who would have thought this second chance would arrive just like that.

Chi Qian watched Shi Jinlan walking toward her. This time she acted more calmly than the last, blurting out, “Ah Lan, what are you doing here?”

Hearing Chi Qian call her by this address once again, the clear enunciation landed in Shi Jinlan’s ears, causing her to pause for a moment.

Then she walked right between Chi Qian and Yuan Ming, her expression cold and her voice flat: “Am I interrupting you two?”

“Interrupting what? Yuan Ming and I were just chatting,” Chi Qian immediately clarified.

“Chatting.” Shi Jinlan repeated Chi Qian’s words in a low voice, her gaze shifting imperceptibly to the design drawing displayed on the screen in Chi Qian’s hand.

Yuan Ming keenly caught this interaction. Her eyes smiling, she said to Shi Jinlan, “I’m staying at the university to do research. This is the dormitory the school assigned me; I did a little design work on it and brought it to show Ah Qian.”

As she spoke, Yuan Ming extended an olive branch⁴ to Shi Jinlan: “Would Miss Shen like to take a look? You could help give me some advice.”

Such candid generosity actually made Shi Jinlan feel ashamed of herself.

Once again, she scented the smell of a peer⁵ on Yuan Ming. Maintaining her boundaries, she replied, “No need. Design is a rather personal matter; I am not as close to you as Ah Qian is, Miss Yuan.”

As the words fell, Chi Qian suddenly felt like she had awns on her back⁶.

She kept her gaze lowered, refusing to make eye contact with Shi Jinlan, only watching as that silver-gray flame swept toward her, curling around her fingers, lingering as if reluctant to leave.

It didn’t hurt, though.

Chi Qian curled her fingers, secretly hooking onto Shi Jinlan’s flame.

But before she could glimpse whether Shi Jinlan’s mood was good or bad at that moment, Yuan Ming’s voice sounded by her ear: “I see we aren’t as close as we used to be.”

“Back in high school, I talked with Ah Qian about how if we had a home in the future, both she and I wanted a bar counter and high stools so we could have a little wine after work. As it turns out, she’s forgotten it herself. I don’t know who her thoughts are occupied with now.”

Yuan Ming spoke with pointed implication⁷, lifting her eyes to look at Shi Jinlan as she finished.

She acted exceedingly generous, yet the look in her eyes when recalling the past was full of nostalgia. Shi Jinlan saw it clearly, yet didn’t quite understand, a question mark drawn within her calm depths.

As the protagonist of Yuan Ming’s memories, however, Chi Qian furrowed her brows slightly.

Was it because they had talked about it when they were little, so she also had this layout in her original world?

But how could that be…

Every effect must have a cause; isn’t this sequence of hers reversed?

And how could things that happened between Yuan Ming and the original host in this world affect her in another world?

Before becoming the unlucky sod chosen by the system, she hadn’t even read this book.

“I’ll go see if Aunt Zhou needs any help over there.” Yuan Ming was the first to leave, patting Chi Qian on the shoulder as she spoke.

Chi Qian was still out of it; shaking herself back to reality, she nodded dully: “Okay.”

Things seemed a bit complex, and Chi Qian couldn’t figure it out at all with these pitifully few clues.

The night wind suddenly picked up, blowing through the treetops. Several wisps of chilliness caught her off guard, drilling into her neck.

Why is it so cold?

Chi Qian grumbled inwardly. Lifting her eyes, she noticed Shi Jinlan standing in front of her.

She had been so focused on the coincidence of the bar counter and high stools that she had neglected Shi Jinlan, who was still standing right before her.

“Is standing for a long time uncomfortable? Do you want to sit down?” Chi Qian hurriedly packed away her confusion and showed concern for Shi Jinlan.

Shi Jinlan didn’t speak, simply looking at Chi Qian.

Chi Qian took the hint and immediately scampered off to the side to move a flat stone over for Shi Jinlan: “Miss Shen, sit.”

“Didn’t you just call me ‘Ah Lan’ a moment ago?” Shi Jinlan asked faintly, watching Chi Qian dust off the stone for her.

“Ah?” Chi Qian froze at the sound.

It seemed she really had called Shi Jinlan that just now.

So strange.

Why would she call Shi Jinlan “Ah Lan”? Although she remembered wanting to change the address “Miss Shen,” she didn’t recall settling on another name for Shi Jinlan.

However, “Ah Lan” did sound quite nice, and it rolled off the tongue.

And most importantly, she really liked addressing Shi Jinlan that way.

Since she had already said it, Chi Qian didn’t overthink it. She chalked it up to a subconscious reaction and tested whether Shi Jinlan liked it: “Is that okay? Can I call you ‘Ah Lan’ from now on?”

“You may.” Shi Jinlan nodded.

Used to people calling her “Miss Shi”, “Little President Shi”, “Boss”… the name “Ah Lan” seemed particularly special among them. It carried no connotation of status; she was just herself.

The hair hanging by her face was gently teased by the wind. Unknown to her, the displeasure in Shi Jinlan’s heart dissipated.

A bit of interest rose in her. Turning to look at the large bunch of flowers in Chi Qian’s hands, she took the initiative to ask, “What are you doing?”

“Weaving a flower crown for you.” Chi Qian raised the flowers in her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Didn’t you leave the last flower crown here? Look, it’s all wilted. I’m weaving you a new one.”

Listening to Chi Qian, Shi Jinlan followed her gaze to the outstretched hand.

The dehydrated, shrunken petals were still brilliant, clinging to the girl’s fingers, reluctant to part.

“Go ahead and weave it.”

Shi Jinlan wanted it.

“Wait for me.” Chi Qian suited action to words, immediately sitting down on the grass beside Shi Jinlan.

The breeze stirred up a fragrance of flowers, and the sound of people talking drifted over from the distance now and then.

Because they were at the ancestral hall, everyone kept their voices down and restrained their behavior—except for a certain someone.

An informal shadow fell onto Shi Jinlan’s palm; the casually tied long hair floated gently, as if wanting to fall into her hand as well.

The night was thick; lush, interlaced leaves blocked the sky tightly.

Insects chirped. In a trance, it felt like returning to that cave where it was just the two of them.

Shi Jinlan sat on the stone Chi Qian had moved for her, watching Chi Qian from slightly behind.

Loose strands of hair covered her forehead; her long lashes drooped, her eyes filled with a serious expression.

The brightly blooming wood sorrel⁸ trembled with the plucking of Chi Qian’s fingers.

Petals interlaced. Chi Qian’s long fingers flew, her movements practiced as she wove the bouquet into a chain.

Shi Jinlan watched from the side, unable to see exactly how she did it, but a thought suddenly flipped through her mind: This person’s fingers are quite nimble.

Meanwhile, our nimble-fingered Miss Chi didn’t notice the gaze from diagonally behind her at all. She wove the flower crown with single-minded focus and finished it in moments: “All done!”

Chi Qian was very satisfied with her work. Arranging the position of a few petals, she turned sideways to display it to Shi Jinlan: “Look.”

The lights around the ancestral hall illuminated this area as bright as day. The flowers, mistaking the time, bloomed tirelessly and brilliantly.

The interlaced petals seemed to blend together like watercolor, winding warm tones into a gentle ring. It was bright as a ball of sunlight, held in the hands of another sun.

Shi Jinlan watched, narrowing her eyes slightly.

Chi Qian could indeed be called dexterous, and her aesthetic sense was on point.

“Aren’t you going to put it on me?” Shi Jinlan looked up at Chi Qian, her calm pupils pitch-black and deep.

Chi Qian was stunned for a second, but that blank look was soon replaced by a sense of being flattered⁹.

Her heart gave two little skips, rejoicing because of Shi Jinlan’s liking: “Sure.”

Sitting cross-legged on the ground, Chi Qian’s feet were a bit numb when she got up.

But she didn’t know where she got this brute strength; ignoring the numbness and stinging pain from her soles, she walked straight to Shi Jinlan to put the flower crown on her.

The wind suddenly surged again, rustling the branches and leaves.

Stars leaked down from the night sky, falling into the silver-gray flame—it was another kind of galaxy.

Chi Qian placed the flower crown on Shi Jinlan’s head with a great sense of propriety, yet her suspended hands were in no rush to withdraw.

The wind-blown hair was a bit messy. Chi Qian’s sense of propriety flickered in and out as she reached out to brush away the strands blocking Shi Jinlan’s face.

Then, as if clouds were parting, a pair of jet-black, deep pupils barged into Chi Qian’s line of sight.

Chi Qian looked down from above. Her shadow fell on the top of Shi Jinlan’s head, but it could not suppress the light in her eyes.

Shi Jinlan, wearing the flower crown she had given her, looked up and gazed back. Her pitch-black pupils were like the world’s most expensive gems; beneath the customary coldness, they refracted cleanliness and transparency.

The starry sky pushed aside the leaves and fell; amidst the dazzling light and shadow, they held Chi Qian’s reflection.

So, they were locking eyes…

Chi Qian’s brain finally realized the situation with hindsight, and for a moment, she didn’t know what she should do.

Shi Jinlan’s hair was still wrapped around her fingertips. The infinitely closing distance seemed like a slow-motion shot, baking up increasingly obvious heat in the gentle night.

They were too close; their breaths were intertwining.

Chi Qian’s fingertips rested seemingly nonexistent against the side of Shi Jinlan’s ear. The suspended shadow followed the path of light, landing on Shi Jinlan’s lips.

The last time she looked at Shi Jinlan’s lips like this was at the seaside.

That damn Thirteen had deprived her of her bodily rights, making her give breath to Shi Jinlan.

The seawater that night was very cold, icy as a blade.

But Shi Jinlan’s lips were soft, pale and frail, like drifting petals; a light touch with a fingernail would leave a mark.

But that probably wouldn’t happen now.

Or maybe it would.

A brazen, dangerous notion climbed along the strands of hair entangled in Chi Qian’s fingertips.

——She wanted to kiss Shi Jinlan.

Then go ahead.

If you don’t try, how will you know if Shi Jinlan’s lips have changed since then?

Chi Qian was itching to make a move, and a voice belonging to her whispered in her ear, bewitching her, pushing her, urging her to give it a try.

Try it.

Go quickly.

Maybe she wants it too.

…

A long gust of wind suddenly rose, blowing people’s thoughts into a flutter.

So, with one hand caressing Shi Jinlan’s hair, Chi Qian leaned in and kissed her.

The light before her eyes was suddenly blocked by the falling shadow; Shi Jinlan could hardly believe her eyes.

The late night floated with the scent of the sun. Shi Jinlan’s lips were pressed against by a moist softness, leaving no gap.

Chi Qian had no kissing skills; the kiss was simply lips against lips.

Shi Jinlan felt that in the instant just now, Chi Qian’s teeth seemed to have bumped against hers. There was a slight tartness in their kiss, spreading along the root of her tongue straight to her heart.

Thump!

Thump!

It was impossible to tell whose heartbeat had gone chaotic. Beneath the light and shadow, two hands hanging by their sides clenched tight in unison.

Chi Qian felt like her heart was about to jump out.

She was truly afraid her heart would embarrassingly fall right out.

So, before she couldn’t hold on any longer, she was the first to pull back and separate from Shi Jinlan.

Moonlight met the incandescent light, leaking through the curtain of interwoven tree shadows. Chi Qian’s face was abnormally red.

It was clearly she who had come over to flirt, yet she was the one blushing first.

Shi Jinlan sat where she was, looking up at Chi Qian, and suddenly smiled.

She had never seen anyone react like this. Extending a hand, she clasped Chi Qian’s waist.

“That’s not how you kissed me in the sea that day.”

The light voice was wrapped in heat, leaning in close to Chi Qian’s ear.

Before she could react to what was happening, those lips that had just separated from hers kissed her back.

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The author has something to say:

Cane: Whoa~

Flower Crown: Whoa~

Thirteen: Whoa~

Pigeon: Whoa~

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