So I Had No Choice But to Stop Being the White Moonlight – Chapter 55

I’ll Take You Home

Just as Thirteen finished speaking, the communication link floating in Chi Qian’s line of sight flickered after a few seconds.

After flashing three or four times like a breathing light, the communication link transformed into a vortex, opening a chaotic channel entwined with different shades of blue right in front of Chi Qian.

With the explanation Thirteen had just given her, plus the sci-fi movies she usually watched, it wasn’t hard for Chi Qian to guess what this was.

It was the first time in her life she had ever encountered something like this. She was cautious yet curious, and couldn’t wait to say to Thirteen, “I’m going in then.”

Thirteen nodded. “I will wait for you here.”

The channel didn’t really feel like anything. Chi Qian took a step through, and before she could register any particular sensation, she had arrived at the other end in the blink of an eye.

A vast and empty arc-shaped room unfolded before her. Electronic clouds drifted slowly around a circle of glass. This seemed to be the highest point of the system’s internal world; even the sun felt within arm’s reach.

Does an electronic world need a sun?

There was no one in the room, so Chi Qian grew a little bolder.

She stared curiously at the sun outside the window as all sorts of images of strange lights and bizarre colors¹ popped into her head.

“You’ve arrived.”

Just as Chi Qian was about to walk toward the window, a vast and ethereal voice came from all directions.

Chi Qian was startled. She didn’t dare take another step and just stood frozen on the spot.

She had wanted to follow the sound with her eyes, but the voice filled the entire room. She had no idea where to look, and her gaze had nowhere to land.

Could this room be the Main System?

Chi Qian muttered in her heart, breaking into a cold sweat over her reckless behavior just now. Fearing she would be impolite again, she replied to all four directions, “Hello, Lord Main System.”

“Haha, you really are an interesting child.”

Two warm laughs echoed through the empty room. Chi Qian’s act of spinning around to answer seemed to have pleased the Main System greatly. In an instant, it was as if a breeze had swept by, and the clouds outside the window stirred twice.

Chi Qian was still nervous, but this time, when she looked for the source of the voice again, it was as if a white film had grown over her pupils.

That seemed to be where the voice had come from. A mist flickered in and out of view, gradually condensing into a tall, blurry shape. It was like wind, like rain—visible but untouchable.

They say you can’t imagine things you’ve never seen, yet as Chi Qian looked at the mysterious and unfathomable thing before her, she blurted out, “Lord Main System.”

“How do you feel? Are you getting used to your first mission?” the Main System’s voice was gentle as it hovered around Chi Qian.

“It’s alright,” Chi Qian gave a universally standard answer.

Even though she had run into all sorts of drama² along the way and had even truly experienced the pain of jumping off a cliff at the end.

But how could she dare complain about these things to the big boss? No matter how even and easy to approach people³ the Main System was, she still had to weigh her own rice bowl⁴ before she spoke.

“I saw your mission performance. For a novice, you’ve done very well,” the Main System acknowledged.

Hearing this, Chi Qian felt like a student whose homework was being graded face-to-face by a teacher. She couldn’t help but feel nervous. “You saw everything?”

“Don’t be nervous.”

Although the Main System had no eyes, it seemed to chuckle at Chi Qian’s reaction. “I don’t have that much time to stare at every task-doer’s⁵ mission process. I only look at the results.”

The Main System was using the gentlest voice to help Chi Qian relax, but for some reason, her words were chilling to hear.

The careless detachment and cruelty of the ruling class emanated from them.

Thinking of that sentence, the image of Shi Jinlan appeared in Chi Qian’s mind.

She wouldn’t be like that. Even when she was acting in her own self-interest, she still left behind Emergency Rations (the rabbit) in the end.

“I hope you will live well in the system from now on. Don’t waste your second life,” the Main System said. Its formless body unhurriedly extended a wisp toward Chi Qian, which materialized in mid-air as a hand, and meaningfully tapped her on the forehead.

Chi Qian hadn’t expected the Main System to be so approachable. She couldn’t help but say sincerely, “Thank you.”

“You’re too polite,” the Main System said, unconcerned. It then told Chi Qian, “Hold out your hand.”

Chi Qian didn’t understand why, but she did as the Main System instructed.

She still looked the same as before, but maybe not quite.

Her slender wrist extended, appearing as white as silk under the faint blue light, not at all like someone who had been directly exposed to the sun on a sea island for years.

Before Chi Qian had time to wonder about these small changes, a silver bracelet appeared in front of her.

The bracelet was carved with ancient patterns. Chi Qian couldn’t tell what kind of flower it was, but looking at it, she found it familiar.

The silver-white light was pure and clean, completely different from the cold-toned light sources that permeated the system. It didn’t seem like something from within the system. It was more like…

From a certain small world.⁶

The thought had just popped into Chi Qian’s head when the Main System put the bracelet on her, giving her no time to accept or refuse.

The Main System’s hand was an illusion, without a trace of warmth.

The silver bracelet circled Chi Qian’s left wrist, reflecting a gentle silver glint in her vision.

Chi Qian stared at that silver glint, feeling dazed for a moment.

Her round, almond-shaped eyes froze slightly, as if something had been secretly stolen from her in that second.

“It suits you,” the Main System praised before retracting its hand. It added, “Go back. Your system is still waiting for you.”

“Okay,” Chi Qian nodded, subconsciously wanting to leave as quickly as possible.

The feeling the Main System gave her was strange.

It was clearly formless and shapeless, yet its voice was gentle.

But while its tone was gentle and kind, it always calmly said things that were hair-raising.

Just like a moment ago.

How did it know Thirteen was waiting for her?

Strange.

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The electronic sun cast gentle sunlight from the balcony, warming the entire room.

The small ball on the bed lay with its round body facing up. With every breath, the snot bubble from its nose rose and fell. It looked extremely comfortable.

Suddenly, the channel in the room lit up with a flash.

Like a cat, Thirteen sensed the movement from the channel and immediately flew up, arching its body to smooth out the bed it had messed up while sleeping.

“I’m back.”

Just as Thirteen finished making Chi Qian’s bed, Chi Qian walked out of the channel.

Feeling sheepish, Thirteen immediately zipped over to Chi Qian’s side. “So fast? What did Lord Main System call Host for?”

“Nothing much. She just praised me for completing the mission well.” Chi Qian was too preoccupied with what had just happened to notice Thirteen’s guilt, finding it all unbelievable. “Is your Main System really that free?”

“How could that be?” Thirteen retorted. “Lord Main System maintains the stability of all the small worlds. She is managing ten thousand affairs a day.”⁷

“Then what was that about?” Chi Qian was even more confused.

Thirteen hovered in the air and thought for a long while. “Maybe it was a random spot-check from the Main System.”

Chi Qian was familiar with that.

She was often spot-checked when she was in school.

She just had the kind of constitution that attracted spot-checks.

And it was still the same now that she was in the system.

“I’m not trying to complain, but why does your system pull this kind of stuff too?” Chi Qian felt her life was so bitter. She plopped down on the bed and lay back.

Seeing the bed that Chi Qian had wrinkled, Thirteen was completely relieved.

It flew leisurely beside Chi Qian and suddenly noticed the bracelet on her hand. “Hey, Host, when did you get this?”

“Oh, the Main System gave it to me.” Chi Qian raised the wrist with the bracelet, and for some reason, she didn’t really want to take it off. “Maybe it’s a reward for completing the novice mission well? She was just praising me like that.”

“Is that so?” Thirteen was exceptionally surprised. It had guided several successful hosts before, but none had received such generous treatment from the Main System.

As if moved by ghosts and sent by gods,⁸ Thirteen moved closer to the bracelet on Chi Qian’s wrist to examine it carefully.

An electric current flickered and slid through its crystal-blue body. For some reason, Thirteen found the object familiar.

Where had it seen it before?

Thirteen couldn’t figure it out, and its database had zero records of this bracelet.

But it figured that something given by the Main System shouldn’t be a problem. Besides, there was something more important to do right now—

“Right, Host, everything’s ready. We can go to the mission world anytime.”

Hearing Thirteen’s words, Chi Qian showed no signs of being wriggling and about to move,⁹ but instead looked bewildered. “Huh? So soon?”

Thirteen didn’t get the reaction it wanted from Chi Qian and couldn’t help but feel a little dissatisfied. “Host, what kind of reaction is this? Why so lukewarm?”

“It’s nothing.” Chi Qian raised a hand to scratch her nose, looking thoughtfully at the empty ceiling. “I just suddenly feel like I don’t really want to go back to that world that much anymore. Maybe we should just forget it.”

Thirteen was astonished, its entire ball-like body recoiled.

It discovered with horror that Chi Qian’s emotional fluctuations regarding Shi Jinlan’s world had just flatlined into a straight line.

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A dim, cold light shone through the crack of the door as it was pushed open. An overly sterile smell overpowered the scent of disinfectant lingering in the hallway.

The door to the hospital room was pushed open from the inside by a doctor, making a dull, heavy thud, like a defibrillator slamming onto someone’s chest.

Shi Jinlan’s gaze lifted, her eyes fixed tightly on the doctor.

Sometimes, being too perceptive wasn’t a good thing.

When the hallway light fell on the doctor’s face, the first thing Shi Jinlan saw was the apology he was deliberately trying to hide in his eyes.

“The patient passed away at 4:23 on April 17th. Please, restrain your grief,”¹⁰ the doctor announced Chi Qian’s death gravely. The apology in his eyes was no longer concealed as he looked at Shi Jinlan.

The world was deathly silent in the early morning. In that instant, Shi Jinlan felt her world had been drained of everything too.

The doctor’s words were like tens of thousands of arrows fired from a distant place, all of them densely piercing her land.

The soil that had been so painstakingly softened by Chi Qian was now battered until the eye is filled with sores and wounds.¹¹ The sunlight was once again obscured by dark clouds, and beneath the desolate whistling wind were broken walls and ruined fences.

“Young Miss.”

Shi Jinlan staggered.

Ah Ning reacted quickly, supporting Shi Jinlan from behind.

She had already pulled four or five big nights¹² in a row. The blood vessels in her eyes had formed a net, shrouding her entire being in blood, and she finally let out a laugh.

“Heh.”

She had foolishly clung to that sliver of hope, treating that 0.01% probability as a possibility.

And reality had once again proven to her that such a probability would absolutely never come true.

Fate had never favored her. She needed a one-hundred-percent certainty.

One hundred percent…

The orderly clicking of high heels on the tile floor echoed—da da da.

A figure approached Shi Jinlan’s side, her graying hair far more immaculate than Shi Jinlan’s own disheveled long hair.

The crimson-purple satin flowed with light, making the woman look noble and proper.

She stopped right beside Shi Jinlan, her well-maintained appearance forming a sharp contrast with Shi Jinlan’s gaunt face.

“You know, I don’t have that much time to wait,” the old woman said faintly, showing none of the affection a Grandmother would have for her granddaughter.

“Rest assured,” Shi Jinlan replied indifferently, her defeated eyes having regained their focus.

Those pitch-black pupils now held a gloominess more dangerous than before, like a bottomless abyss.

“There’s a banquet tonight. People from the municipal group will be there too. You’ll come with me now—”

“I’m not free today.”

Before the old woman could finish, Shi Jinlan cut her off.

Her heavy voice was filled with a coldness, like the snapping of an icicle.

The old woman looked at Shi Jinlan with a hint of anger.

But she saw that the broken icicle was now held in Shi Jinlan’s hand. A bone-chilling wind blew through the warm night. The old woman’s heart skipped a beat as Shi Jinlan’s gaze fell on her. She felt that beneath those eyes hid a heaven-storming¹³ hatred and killing intent.

The old woman was, after all, long seasoned on the battlefield,¹⁴ but she still took a deep breath.

She knew she couldn’t do anything about Shi Jinlan right now; no one could.

But she also understood that as long as what her granddaughter wanted to do was related to the corpse lying inside, she would accomplish it.

Even if it was against that now-ascendant Shi Cheng, even if it was against the entire Ning City that had abandoned her.

The old woman understood. She didn’t stay long. After standing there for just a few minutes, she left with her people.

The world finally returned to silence. Shi Jinlan finally had time to be alone with Chi Qian.

The heavy door of the intensive care unit was pushed open, but the sound of it closing was not as violent as before.

Shi Jinlan walked into the room. Looking at Chi Qian lying on the hospital bed with all kinds of tubes inserted into her, she walked with light steps, afraid of waking the sleeping girl.

Outside the high-floor window, there were no tree branches, no green leaves. A lonely, round moon hung in the sky, yet it wasn’t perfectly full.

It was clearly missing a corner, forlornly holding a handful of bright moonlight, swaying in the wind as it sprinkled down upon the world.

Shi Jinlan sat on the side of Chi Qian’s bed and watched the moon for a long while. She remembered the night she met Chi Qian; the moon was just like this.

But Chi Qian was so much thinner than before.

There was no flesh left on her pale little face. Traces of medical tape still stuck to her skin, not exactly clean.

Shi Jinlan reached out her hand and, bit by bit, wiped the tape residue from Chi Qian’s face. The pad of her finger brushed against the corner of her lips, caressing her face inch by inch.

After so many days, she could finally touch her.

She finally felt her cheek again, then her neck, her shoulders. The protruding bones were distinct against her fingertips. The sharp feel of them was a blow to the heart, making her chest ache with sorrow.

“You’ve lost weight,” Shi Jinlan said, measuring Chi Qian’s body, her hand familiarly stroking every inch of her skin.

The stitched wound was still covered with a scab, the white medical sutures soaked in dried blood.

But Shi Jinlan didn’t find it frightening. She just lifted Chi Qian from the bed, carefully, longingly, and fervently pulling her into her embrace.

In the past, it was always she who sought warmth from her, but now, Shi Jinlan felt that Chi Qian was seeking warmth from her.

She let her hand slide down Chi Qian’s arm and held her hand with infinite tenderness.

Her downcast eyes held a hint of reproach, and a hint of heartache. “How could you be so cold?”

“This hospital is no good. We won’t come here again in the future, okay?” Shi Jinlan held Chi Qian, nestling against her, insisting that her own left shoulder press against Chi Qian’s right.

Because that was the direction where the heart was.

In the silent hospital room, the monotonous beat of a single heart echoed. Shi Jinlan leaned against Chi Qian, stubbornly believing that this was Chi Qian’s heartbeat too.

They were both still alive.

On the edge of the cliff that day, no one had ever jumped.

Time trickled slowly through Shi Jinlan’s fingertips. She watched as the horizon began to brighten, and when the golden light fell into her eyes, her somber pupils were fractured, reflecting a mix of unrealistic fantasy and reality. “Look, the sun is coming out. The roses by the dam are blooming especially well.”

She murmured softly, describing to Chi Qian the world she had missed these past few days. Her left hand slowly slid down Chi Qian’s fingers until their ten fingers interlocked. “Ah Qian, I’ll take you home. Grandfather is still waiting for us to come back.”

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