I’m Not Going to Be the White Moonlight
“Can you… let me go now?”
In the dead of night, the sound of Chi Qian’s heart pounding against her ribs was deafeningly loud.
Isn’t this family supposed to be caught up in some rich-family dog blood1 drama? Am I, a brand-new little assistant2, getting set up by the head housekeeper? I thought Mrs. Housekeeper looked so kind, so why would she bring me to Shi Jinlan’s room? Is there some kind of misunderstanding?
Chi Qian still couldn’t quite believe Mrs. Housekeeper would trick her, but she instinctively propped herself up on her arms, trying to pull herself out of Shi Jinlan’s embrace and get to her own room. “I’m sorry, Miss Shi, I didn’t realize this was your room. I’ll leave right now.”
But as Chi Qian tried to sit up, an arm wrapped around her waist, stopping her.
After telling Chi Qian whose room it was, Shi Jinlan didn’t let go. Instead, she gently pushed her back, drawing her even closer. “I was just answering your question.”
The woman’s voice was lazy, her demeanor languid.
She held Chi Qian by the waist, leaning against her with a casual confidence, like a sleepy cat making a non-negotiable demand. “From today on, this is your room, too.”
Shi Jinlan’s words confirmed that Chi Qian hadn’t gone to the wrong room, nor had Mrs. Housekeeper set her up.
But that didn’t bring her any peace of mind.
As Shi Jinlan’s personal life assistant, do I have to sleep with her, too?! Is the half-a-million monthly salary she offered me after-tax or after-sleeping3?!
The bright moon shone down, following Chi Qian’s gaze as it landed on Shi Jinlan. She was wearing a sea-green nightgown, the overlapping collar pulled to one side by gravity. In the boundary between light and shadow, the curve of a collarbone was exposed—cool-toned, delicate, and faintly radiating a gentle warmth.
This was fatal.
Chi Qian’s heart hammered in her chest. If this really was an “after-sleeping” arrangement, she was afraid she’d never get a good night’s rest again.
“Five o’clock.”
Just as Chi Qian was spiraling about whether she’d have any personal space from now on, Shi Jinlan stated a time.
Chi Qian looked up, her almond-shaped eyes wide with clueless confusion.
Shi Jinlan showed no sign of annoyance, continuing more specifically, “I have a flight to France tomorrow at five.”
Though this was her first day on the job, Chi Qian had a strong sense of professionalism. After reading so many novels over the years, she immediately understood. Shi Jinlan was telling her she was going to bed, and that she, the special life assistant, needed to wake her at five tomorrow.
It had been a long time since Chi Qian had woken up at five, but she would definitely be up on time tomorrow. After all, she had modern technology on her side—her phone.
Chi Qian was making mental calculations when Shi Jinlan’s next words seemed to suggest that wasn’t what she meant at all. “Is there anything you want me to bring you?”
Chi Qian’s budding professionalism was instantly annihilated by the question. Her thoughts scattered, veering toward the topic of gifts from abroad.
But she’d never been abroad in either of her two lives. What kind of specialties did France even have?
The Eiffel Tower?
She remembered talking with a friend about going to see it after they watched a movie once.
But Shi Jinlan couldn’t possibly get her that… right?
Chi Qian shook her head furiously. She decided it was best not to joke about something like that. If Shi Jinlan took it seriously and actually tried to get it for her, the world would truly be on the brink of destruction.
To be safe, Chi Qian decided it was better to ask for nothing. “There’s nothing I want.”
“I’ll find something for you,” Shi Jinlan said instead.
Her whispered promise was light, yet utterly solemn.
Chi Qian looked down at Shi Jinlan resting in her arms. Her heart beat with a light, cheerful rhythm, as if delighted by the promise of a gift.
But then she realized it again. A promise like this wasn’t for her, but for that Chi Qian.
No one acted this way with someone they’d just met, wrapping an arm around their waist with such unguarded intimacy.
The fragrance at the tip of her nose swirled and spread, the warmth a constant reminder that everything she was enjoying now was built on the deceptions and lies of her past self.
Chi Qian had never imagined she would resent her past self, but her expression couldn’t help but darken slightly. “Miss Shi, you don’t have to do this.”
“Ah Lan,” Shi Jinlan said.
Chi Qian froze.
“You used to call me Ah Lan.” Shi Jinlan moved an inch closer, her head and soft, long hair resting against Chi Qian’s shoulder.
This was a level of intimacy her past self had never shared with Shi Jinlan. Her heart, always the traitor, skipped a beat.
Chi Qian couldn’t betray the System, but she also felt an inexplicable urge to cut ties with her past self. She forced herself to remain calm and clarified, “Miss Shi, I think you might have the wrong person. I’m not—”
“Then who are you?” Shi Jinlan cut in. Her tone was as calm as ever, but the atmosphere had suddenly shifted.
Outside the window, a gust of wind rustled the leaves. Night had fallen.
A dark cloud passed over the moon, and the light in the room was swallowed by darkness.
Shi Jinlan’s eyes gave Chi Qian no room to hesitate or deny. “Look at me,” she said.
Her dark pupils were as deep as the night itself, like a venomous snake lurking in the shadows. Its scales seemed to wrap around Chi Qian’s waist and legs, slithering up inch by inch, sinister and cold, piercing her to the bone.
Being watched by Shi Jinlan like this, Chi Qian felt as if those eyes could see right through her.
Even without any overt flames of anger, she could feel it: Shi Jinlan was furious at her denial.
There was a quiet obsession about her. She seemed utterly convinced that Chi Qian was “Chi Qian.”
But shouldn’t she find this contradictory? That Chi Qian is already dead. She herself said she fell from a high cliff. The Chi Qian in front of her has a completely different life story, a completely different path of growth. How could she be her?
Does Shi Jinlan bring every person who looks like her home? Does she get this close to them, too? Does she hold them just like this, lying in this same bed?
Chi Qian’s thoughts veered off course, stirring an inexplicable resentment.
But why should I resent it? Didn’t I decide to be an emotionless salted fish4?
The clouds hung low in the sky, and the room remained dim. Chi Qian’s eyes, unable to mask her feelings, flickered.
Shi Jinlan watched the change in Chi Qian’s expression without a trace of movement, the hidden fury in her eyes dissipating. The Shi Jinlan of this moment was the very picture of her famously unpredictable demeanor. One second, she was seething while holding Chi Qian’s waist; the next, she was gentle again. “Stay home. Don’t think about leaving.”
“I can’t take you with me this time. But next time, as my personal special assistant, you must stay by my side at all times. Understand?”
Shi Jinlan’s arm around Chi Qian tightened, leaving almost no distance between them. Her forehead rested on Chi Qian’s shoulder, her elegant nose pressed against the fabric. Her warm breath came in soft puffs, making her voice sound muffled and sticky, as if she were negotiating with Chi Qian, or perhaps even begging.
She was the bad guy, but she was also the good guy.
Chi Qian was a little dazed, not understanding why Shi Jinlan’s attitude had changed so suddenly. She only felt as though the woman had just scraped a nail across the tip of her heart.
It didn’t hurt. It just itched.
She even wanted her to do it again.
This is a dangerous thought, Chi Qian told herself, then said earnestly, “I’ll do my job properly.”
“Good,” Shi Jinlan replied, seemingly pleased with the assurance. Hidden by the dim light, her eyes curved into a faint, unreadable smile.
Chi Qian didn’t notice. Her mind was already on waking Shi Jinlan at five tomorrow morning. Her phone was on the nightstand, but she’d have to turn over to get it, and with Shi Jinlan’s arm still around her, she couldn’t move.
She had already tempted fate once tonight by making her boss angry; she didn’t want to do it a second time.
She gently patted Shi Jinlan’s arm. “Miss Shi…”
“Ah Lan,” Shi Jinlan interrupted before she could finish.
Chi Qian pressed her lips together. It wasn’t that she found the name awkward; she just resented it. After a moment of internal struggle, she finally said it. “Ah Lan.”
Shi Jinlan let out a soft “En?” Her warm breath ghosted across Chi Qian’s shoulder, slow and lazy, like a contented cat. “Is there something else?”
In the quiet of the night, Chi Qian felt a jolt of electricity shoot through her. Her hand hanging by her side clenched slightly as she fought to keep her voice steady. “Can you… let me go now?”
“No,” Shi Jinlan said flatly, rejecting the proposal. She settled her head on Chi Qian’s shoulder again, her gaze lifting from below. A sly, cunning smile danced in her dark eyes, making her look like a fox that has become a spirit5. She watched Chi Qian, her expression full of seduction. “Unless… you’d rather we do something else.”
Beneath the covers, the fingers resting on Chi Qian’s back moved. The soft pads of her fingertips tilted slightly, replaced by smoothly filed nails. Shi Jinlan slowly, deliberately, drew a line down her back to her waist.
The tingling thrill overpowered any hint of pain. Chi Qian felt as if tiny insects were crawling up her spine, a dense, shimmering swarm. Commanded by Shi Jinlan’s fingers, they danced through her bones and veins, threatening to make her collapse onto the bed and surrender completely.
Chi Qian knew her limits. She knew she didn’t have the self-control of Liu Xia Hui6.
Her body tensed. “I don’t!” she denied quickly.
“Goodnight, Shi… Ah Lan.”
With that, Chi Qian turned over in the limited space. She couldn’t handle the temptation. It was better to face away.
Shi Ah Lan.
Shi Jinlan’s gaze was fixed on Chi Qian’s stubbornly turned back. She mulled over the name Chi Qian had just called her and let out a silent laugh.
Outside, the swirling shadows stilled. The last of the clouds were pushed away from the moon.
Ripples of light painted a long, thin shadow across the room. Only, it no longer smelled of the sea.
In that case, was it still the sea?
The first ray of morning sun grazed the earth, the premature warmth rousing the cicadas into a chorus.
Chi Qian woke up before her alarm. It wasn’t that she’d slept poorly—on the contrary, she’d had a remarkably good night’s sleep. Despite the unfamiliar surroundings, she’d felt a sense of rightness, of finally being where she belonged, and had slept straight through till dawn.
Her lowered lashes fluttered twice before her eyes lazily opened.
Chi Qian, the human plush toy, realized the restraint around her waist was gone. She glanced behind her and saw that the spot where Shi Jinlan had been lying was now empty.
There was no one else in the room. Her shoes were gone, too.
Did Shi Jinlan leave?
The thought made her instantly tense up. She reached for her phone on the nightstand.
It was 5:20!
For some reason, the 4:30 alarm she’d set hadn’t gone off! Neither had the ones for 4:45, 4:50, 4:55, or even 5:00!
What happened? What’s wrong with my phone?!
Chi Qian never expected that a comfortable, natural awakening would result in her forgetting to wake Shi Jinlan. She was on the verge of freaking out.
Shi Jinlan had given her one single task, and on the very next day, she didn’t even know when she’d left.
Will she dock my pay for this? I didn’t hear a thing. I hope I didn’t make her late for her flight.
I’m so screwed, I’m so screwed, I’m so screwed.
She wanted to be a salted fish, but not this thoroughly. Getting her pay cut on the first day of work—this was truly being defeated in the first battle. Everyone wants a good start on their first day. Chi Qian stared at the side of the bed where Shi Jinlan had slept, her heart like dead ashes7. She felt like one of her grandfather’s salted fish left out to dry in the yard as she stiffly rolled over.
But just as she slowly reached the edge of the bed and lifted her head, a pair of legs appeared in her line of sight.
Slender, long, well-proportioned, and fair.
And they looked familiar.
Chi Qian’s gaze froze for a second before she woodenly looked up.
Standing before her, wearing a short white dress, was Shi Jinlan. The dress looked like a slip, meant to be worn underneath something else to prevent exposure. It was light and short, barely covering the essential areas. Her long hair, not yet styled, fell in lazy, gentle waves, cascading down as she tilted her head.
Sunlight enveloped them. Shi Jinlan’s cool eyes curved slightly as she smiled and greeted Chi Qian. “Good morning?”
The author has something to say:
Qianqian: The benefits of working at my wifey’s place are great.
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