So I Had No Choice But to Stop Being the White Moonlight – Chapter 72

I’m Not Going to Be the White Moonlight

But I have also thought about the names for my children with you.

“Miss designed the house in the middle of the lake herself.”

The Madam Housekeeper’s words echoed in Chi Qian’s ears. The wind that had blown across the lawn that day was damp with moisture, lifting her loose hair.

Through the glass, the shimmering lake was framed like a painting, weeping willows brushing against its surface. Chi Qian suddenly realized where she was: the House in the middle of the lake, the one Shi Jinlan had designed herself.

The shadow of the doorframe was like an invisible line. Shi Jinlan stood where the light poured in, and her long, dark shadow trapped Chi Qian’s steps, pinning her inside the room.

Chi Qian met Shi Jinlan’s gaze, her hand cold on the doorknob. They were nearly the same height, yet Chi Qian felt as if she were looking up at her.

Shi Jinlan was smiling, her eyes gentle, but it made Chi Qian’s heart clench. She couldn’t pinpoint what detail had changed.

Her eyelashes, like crow feathers¹, were slightly lowered, her gaze calm and deep as she watched the person before her—or perhaps, what she considered her treasure.

Shi Jinlan’s slender form blocked the light from the hallway so completely that day turned to night. For the first time, Chi Qian felt a somber and vicious² pressure radiating from her.

In truth, that oppressive aura had always been a part of Shi Jinlan. Chi Qian simply hadn’t seen it before because it had never been directed at her. Shi Jinlan had shown her a gentleness she reserved for no one else, a gentleness that Chi Qian had carelessly trampled.

So, she had gotten angry. She had taken all that tenderness back.

And she had brought her here.

“Ah Qian, it’s better if you don’t wander off,” Shi Jinlan said, stepping into the room. She took Chi Qian’s hand and led her back inside. “There’s water on all sides. If you fall in…”

Shi Jinlan seemed to return to her usual self, smiling gently at Chi Qian. Her eyes held a hint of apology, a trace of lingering affection³. She pressed Chi Qian down to sit on the bench at the foot of the bed. “I forgot. You know how to swim, don’t you?”

That question was meant for the Chi Qian who grew up on an island.

Chi Qian didn’t know how to answer. Nodding would only encourage Shi Jinlan to continue conflating her present self with her past self. But shaking her head… Shi Jinlan couldn’t bear to hear her denial.

The situation should have been frustrating, yet a pang of heartache rose in Chi Qian’s chest. Not for herself, but for Shi Jinlan.

Chi Qian fell silent, watching as Shi Jinlan knelt before her. She rested her slender arms on Chi Qian’s knees and looked up like an innocent little girl. Beneath her straight, dark hair lay a somber melancholy, but her eyes were filled with yearning and desire. “It seems I really can’t keep you.”

Shi Jinlan’s voice was soft, like a murmur muttered after waking from a dream in the middle of the night. Listening, watching, Chi Qian felt a knot tighten in her stomach.

“Ah Lan, yesterday, I didn’t actually—”

“Right, I forgot to mention,” Shi Jinlan cut her off. And then, Chi Qian heard words she never in her life thought would come from Shi Jinlan’s mouth.

“This place is heavily shielded against all signals. Your System isn’t coming.”

Reflected in Shi Jinlan’s unnervingly calm pupils were Chi Qian’s own wide eyes. She couldn’t believe her ears. She stared at Shi Jinlan in astonishment, watching as the faintest hint of a smile touched the corners of her eyes and lips.

“Surprising, isn’t it? That I would know about these things.” Shi Jinlan’s hands, resting on Chi Qian’s legs, moved like two snakes, slithering up the sides of her legs to wrap around her waist.

Chi Qian slowly lifted her gaze, watching Shi Jinlan’s shadow as she rose to her feet. Her tall figure seemed to devour the light, closing in until she was right in front of Chi Qian, arms still around her waist.

The brief approach felt like a scene in slow motion, every frame saturated with Shi Jinlan’s scent. It was a fragrance so clean it was almost sterile, carrying a chilling cold.

Chi Qian’s eyes, fixed on Shi Jinlan, filled with a growing dread. Forced to look up at her, she stammered, “You… I… how could you…”

So that’s why Shi Jinlan never questioned my identity when I first appeared. That’s why she so quickly accepted a woman who looked exactly like her dead white moonlight⁴.

Shi Jinlan wouldn’t treat just anyone who resembled her as a substitute. She was too discerning, her perception sharp enough to see as clearly as watching a fire⁵. Why would she, for the sake of a memory, collect a counterfeit⁶? From beginning to end, the only one she ever wanted was her, Chi Qian.

Chi Qian’s eyes roamed over Shi Jinlan. She had never felt so ashamed of herself because of someone else. For the sake of her own logic, for the sake of escaping, she had thought of Shi Jinlan in such a crude and simplistic way.

“To exist only in a world written into being,” Shi Jinlan began, her voice methodical. “To be watched like a specimen by beings from a higher dimension. To have your fate written on paper from the very beginning, and even knowing it’s a tragedy, having to follow the plan step by step.”

She calmly recounted the things she had come to understand over the years. Every word was like a shard of broken glass, piercing Chi Qian’s heart one after another.

“Ah Lan, don’t say that.” It was painful to hear. Chi Qian stared, not daring to blink. She was afraid that if she did, the tears welling in her eyes would fall. She didn’t know how many tears there were, or if she’d be able to pull herself together once they started.

Shi Jinlan’s hand cupped her face.

I’m afraid my tears will dirty her fingers.

“Are you sad, too?”

But Shi Jinlan didn’t seem to think so. She watched Chi Qian, her fingers tracing a path up her cheek, outlining her brows and eyes as if sketching them from memory. “Tell me, why are you sad?”

Her voice had lost the sharp edge it held when she’d shattered reality moments before, becoming calm and gentle again. She could never remain harsh with Chi Qian for long. Cupping her face with one hand, she pressed, “Are you sad for my story, or for me?”

“To you, am I just a character in a book?” Shi Jinlan asked, biting off each word. Her fingers threaded gently through Chi Qian’s hair, but they were tense, trembling uncontrollably.

When Chi Qian heard the question, her heart seized violently, as if a nerve had been stripped bare. The pain was so sharp it stole her breath. They were in the same world now, but that one word—”book”—drew a line between them, placing them on opposite sides.

“No,” Chi Qian denied. Her voice was a whisper, so small it nearly vanished into the dust. When she questioned her heart, she had guilt⁷, and she didn’t even dare to look up at the person she had truly deceived for so long, treating her as nothing more than a character.

But Shi Jinlan made her look up.

The hand on Chi Qian’s back suddenly tightened, pulling her into a fierce embrace. Then, her tightly sealed lips were pried open.

After the night, Chi Qian’s lips were dry and chapped. But Shi Jinlan’s were soft as they pressed against them, slow and warm. Moisture and heat enveloped her, unhurried yet filled with a greedy lust.

The kiss became a tasting. The sharp point of a tooth pressed into Chi Qian’s lip. The pain was secondary to the tingling sensation that shot through the back of her head.

Chi Qian tilted her head back, her throat working unconsciously. But for every inch Shi Jinlan advanced, Chi Qian was forced back, her waist and back arching until even swallowing became difficult.

There was no wall behind the bench. With nothing to support her, Chi Qian’s arms gave out under the awkward angle, and she fell back onto the bed.

At some point, she had grabbed the hem of Shi Jinlan’s clothes, and as she fell, she pulled Shi Jinlan down with her. Shi Jinlan leaned over, pressing down on top of her.

Their summer clothes were thin. The motion made Chi Qian’s skirt billow for a moment, the light fabric settling in disarray on the bed. Without the effort of blowing away dust⁸, Shi Jinlan slid her leg between Chi Qian’s.

Chi Qian suddenly realized what was happening, but before she could pull her legs back to resist, Shi Jinlan’s kiss fell again. She wasn’t planning on leaving any room for escape, sealing Chi Qian’s lips completely.

Her mouth, parted to cry out, was invaded. A tongue swept past her teeth, plunging deep. Their breaths mingled, and the midsummer heat seemed to ignite the very air around them.

The oxygen was pressed from her lungs. Every breath Chi Qian took was given to her by Shi Jinlan. Drowning in a daze, she didn’t even notice that the hand stroking her back had already moved around to her front.

“…Mmph.”

The cool pads of fingertips explored a place they shouldn’t have, and a sound escaped Chi Qian’s throat. A thin strap slid down her shoulder. Her collarbone tensed, forming a small hollow, as if made to catch tears.

Chi Qian’s breath hitched. Shi Jinlan released her mouth, finally allowing her to breathe. She stared, panicked and trembling, at the instigator of it all. She wanted to struggle, but she was pinned by a single hand, unable to move.

“So this is why you wouldn’t let me touch you at the hotel last time.” Shi Jinlan didn’t let go. Instead, she smiled at Chi Qian as if she’d discovered a new continent.

Chi Qian’s flushed eyes widened with confusion.

What hotel? What last time? What does she mean? We never had a ‘last time’… Did she and Shi Jinlan… were they this intimate on the island?

“Ngh!”

As if to punish Chi Qian for her inattention, a fingernail scraped against a small peak.

Chi Qian’s neck arched. On instinct, she twisted her arm and clamped down on Shi Jinlan’s wrist.

Offense and defense reversed in an instant⁹.

Shi Jinlan didn’t have time to react. In one motion, Chi Qian flipped over and pinned her underneath. “Ah Qian.”

The breathy sound from Shi Jinlan’s throat was like melted snow, both icy and scalding against Chi Qian’s heart.

The billowing curtains stirred the sunlight, casting mottled shadows across the room. Chi Qian propped herself up on her arms, looking down at Shi Jinlan. In a daze, a white film¹⁰ seemed to pass over her vision.

“Ah Qian.”

“Mmh, Ah Qian…”

“Ah… Ah Qian.”

…

Shi Jinlan’s voice, her face framed by disheveled hair, echoed in Chi Qian’s ear. The silver bracelet slid slowly down Chi Qian’s arm until it rested against the bone of her wrist, a small gap forming between the metal and her skin.

Chi Qian finally understood.

She had lost a very, very important memory.

The white film was like a scar carved into her mind.

In her trance, Shi Jinlan reached up to cup her face, whispering in her ear, “Ah Qian, you told me you wished that I and my future partner would have children and grandchildren fill the hall.”

Shi Jinlan was bringing up her words from yesterday, words Chi Qian desperately wanted to take back today. But Shi Jinlan gave her no chance to speak. Her dark eyes stared deeply into Chi Qian’s, calm and restrained, yet shimmering with a reddish sheen of unshed tears. “But I have also thought about the names for my children with you.”

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The author has something to say:

Lanlan is really so good.

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