So I Had No Choice But to Stop Being the White Moonlight – Chapter 77

I’m Not Going to Be the White Moonlight

More than that, I want to know if I truly love you.

The damp air was layered with vapor. The spot in the center of the lake was perfect for escaping the summer heat, the kind of place that could truly nurture a person.

Lukewarm oxygen clung to the roof of Chi Qian’s mouth, sliding moistly and smoothly down her throat. She suddenly understood why Shi Jinlan had arranged for her to be here.

Her hoarse breaths were weak and fading, yet they were filled with a stubborn will to live.

Chi Qian lay on the floor, staring up at the extravagantly luxurious crystal chandelier, becoming more and more convinced that she wouldn’t die.

Two minutes had passed. She could still hold on.

This damn System doesn’t want me dead either, Chi Qian thought. Ten minutes—not too long, not too short. It’s just meant to teach me a lesson.

The severe asthma attack pushed her infinitely close to the edge of death, pressing down on her, demanding she repent. Don’t remember what you’re not supposed to remember. Be a good puppet, and you’ll get to live a good life.

But Chi Qian had never been one to retreat in the face of difficulties.¹

She was someone who did not know good from bad,² and she had no regrets.

Even after this punishment was over, she would try again.

This bracelet was definitely the problem.

Absolutely!

Chi Qian clenched her fists, stubbornly fighting against the System.

Lying there on the floor, she could feel every pore on her body trembling. A cold, clammy sweat stuck to her back, draining her of all strength.

Chi Qian desperately gasped for air with all her might, but the tightness in her chest and the feeling of suffocation only intensified.

Her eyelids began to grow heavy. The world around her was now bright, now dark.³ The chandelier overhead seemed to be falling, the light refracting through it in mottled, blurry flashes.

I’m going to die…

Why are these ten minutes dragging on for so long…

The summer cicadas seized their chance. No matter where the scorching sunlight fell, their shrill cries followed.

The sunlight drew a white film⁴ over Chi Qian’s pupils. She was suspended in that whiteness, the clamorous noise around her threatening to devour her completely.

But then, a brilliant white light appeared in her line of sight.

Someone pushed open the door to this isolated island of a room. The dim entryway was suddenly illuminated.

Chi Qian’s eyes were like an old film reel. She closed them and opened them again, and the figure that had been standing in the entryway was suddenly right in front of her, like a dropped frame in a movie.

Backlit, the person’s figure was shrouded in shadow. Chi Qian couldn’t make out who it was at first, but as her drowsy eyes lifted, she seemed to recognize the tightly furrowed brow.

“Ah, Lan.”

Chi Qian’s lips parted slightly, but her throat, like broken-down bellows,⁵ couldn’t produce a sound. She could only mouth the name of the person before her.

“It will be over soon. Don’t be afraid,” Shi Jinlan said, lifting Chi Qian’s body.

The light skirt draped over her legs. Holding that very same person in her arms, she felt like she was holding a wisp of smoke.

The sensation made the color in Shi Jinlan’s eyes shift.

A bone-deep terror, one that always knocked when she let her guard down, rose within her. Shi Jinlan refused to let the past repeat itself. She immediately uncapped the asthma inhaler in her hand and placed it in Chi Qian’s mouth.

But then, a distinct electric current surged toward Shi Jinlan.

The fine, sharp sting shot fiercely through her fingers, threatening to make her drop the inhaler.

The punishment period wasn’t over. How could the System let Chi Qian off so easily?

Shi Jinlan realized this too. A layer of dark, somber gloom settled over her furrowed brow.

The sting of the electricity was nothing compared to the sight of Chi Qian’s knitted brow. Her parched breaths sounded as if they could stop at any moment, as if she would slip away from her hands once again.

No one is taking Chi Qian from my side.

Not even this invisible System.

“Five… five minutes… wait… for me… five minutes…”

The strength in Chi Qian’s grip was like a leaf drifting into her palm.

Shi Jinlan snapped back to the present and saw Chi Qian looking at her.

It was as if she could feel the pain of the electricity repelling Shi Jinlan. She put on a frail but resilient expression, as if that could persuade her to stop trying.

But how could that be possible?

They were so close. Sunlight fell into Shi Jinlan’s eyes, and Chi Qian’s suffering was crystal clear—silent and immense.

The clammy sweat on Chi Qian’s skin met Shi Jinlan’s fingers, seeping like ice into her blood.

She raised a hand to wipe the sweat from the back of Chi Qian’s neck, her eyes filled with a savage determination. “Not even one minute.”

With that, Shi Jinlan once again placed the asthma inhaler in Chi Qian’s mouth.

The electricity returned, fiercer than before, drilling into Shi Jinlan’s wrist like fine threads, warning her, screaming at her to let go.

The System arrogantly cordoned off this puppet it controlled, refusing to let her interfere with its execution.

And arrogance was destined to meet with retribution.

Shi Jinlan had the power to expel Thirteen from her world; she could certainly do the same to this punishment.

What was a little pain? Pain was the one thing she feared least.

The sun shone brightly, but a thick bank of clouds gathered on the horizon, as if poised to press down on the world.

Shi Jinlan’s expression was even calmer than before, but her pupils had, at some point, filled with a deep, dark gloom.

She had made up her mind. She would contain the electricity emanating from Chi Qian within her own hand. The current piercing her palm, a pain like a knife’s cut, meant nothing to her.

The white mist from the inhaler, which had been lingering in Chi Qian’s mouth, finally entered her throat. Her drifting consciousness began to return.

But she still couldn’t tell if the noise in her ears was the chirping of cicadas or the crackle of electricity. She could only stare at Shi Jinlan’s hand.

Chi Qian wondered if it was her imagination, but this woman—this woman who was always so calm and composed in front of her, so unmoved by the eight winds⁶—seemed to be trembling.

On the back of her pale hand, blue veins bulged, taut. She gripped the small inhaler tightly, fighting against something unseen.

What could possibly be making her struggle like this?

It could only be the punishment coursing through me.

A rush of hot tears suddenly welled, clean and fierce, blurring her entire vision.

She couldn’t see Shi Jinlan’s expression. All she knew was that lying in her arms brought an unprecedented sense of peace, a peace she understood this person had forcibly snatched from the System’s punishment.

The countdown timer in her vision was still running, but Chi Qian’s breathing was no longer so strained.

And so she found a sliver of strength, enough to raise her hand and grip Shi Jinlan’s wrist tightly.

Sharing her pain.

“Don’t bear this alone.”

Chi Qian mumbled, her words muffled by the inhaler.

But then she heard another voice in her ear—a different voice, saying the exact same words.

The electricity continued to jolt Chi Qian’s heart. As she shared the burden with Shi Jinlan, a vision of lush, spring green filled her sight.

She seemed to see two hands clasped together. Shi Jinlan held her, her arms tightening as if to break her, yet also to protect her.

The world seemed to turn upside down, and the scene before Chi Qian’s eyes changed.

The same hand was still in front of her, but now a salty sea breeze blew past. The damp floor was far colder than this one, but the embrace she leaned against was even warmer.

Vague memories tangled in the current, and the ache in Chi Qian’s chest grew stronger.

She held onto Shi Jinlan’s wrist, struggling but stubborn, her tear-filled eyes never leaving the other woman’s face.

Shi Jinlan had saved her.

More than once.

The ten minutes were both an eternity and an instant. In a daze, Chi Qian thought she heard a piercing shriek.

A vast white light pulsed in the sunlight, as if something had been turned to dust.

When Chi Qian came to her senses, the punishment notification in her vision was gone.

She looked at Shi Jinlan, dazed but certain, and asked, “Have you saved me like this before?”

Shi Jinlan’s gaze darkened for a moment. Then, as if in understanding, she asked, “You don’t remember.”

“I forgot.” A layer of guilt coated Chi Qian’s voice. Her pale lips fluttered like a weak butterfly. “I’ve forgotten so many things.”

She was out of danger, but her strength hadn’t returned.

Her slender wrist felt heavy as she struggled to lift it, showing the bracelet to Shi Jinlan. “I think… this is what made me forget.”

“It’s alright.” Shi Jinlan gently wiped the sweat from Chi Qian’s forehead, her voice laced with heartache and guilt.

So when Chi Qian wished for me to have ‘children and grandchildren fill the hall,’ it wasn’t what I thought.

She had assumed Chi Qian was doing it on purpose. In the past, she could pretend to be in love to complete her mission. Now, for her mission, she was trying to push the out-of-control Shi Jinlan onto someone else.

Shi Jinlan had been unwilling to face it.

She, who had always preferred to face problems head-on and shatter them with a single strike, had never imagined she would one day be deliberately avoiding something.

But the pressure, the coercion, the panic born from her desperation to keep Chi Qian by her side—it was all because Chi Qian had simply forgotten.

Her System had ripped away her memories of Shi Jinlan.

But in this house, it seemed only one of them could be at peace.

Hearing Shi Jinlan’s response, Chi Qian felt a pang of sorrow.

“Why is it alright?”

She didn’t want Shi Jinlan to be so nonchalant. She clutched at her sleeve, speaking, questioning.

Her round, almond-shaped eyes were bright red—whether from the punishment or something else, she didn’t know.

“It does matter,” Chi Qian insisted, almost obsessively.

The catastrophic punishment had just passed, and she was still struggling to breathe.

Her stubborn voice held a muddled sob as her fingers tightened, relentlessly stressing the importance of the matter to Shi Jinlan.

The cicadas were suddenly banished from the summer air, and the world fell silent, leaving only the sound of their two breaths.

Shi Jinlan cradled the nape of Chi Qian’s neck in her palm. The glaring sun veiled Shi Jinlan’s features, making her seem blurry and distant in Chi Qian’s eyes, seemingly close yet distant,⁷ as if she might float away at any moment.

And yet, Chi Qian knew she was supposed to have the rope that could tie her down.

But she had lost it.

“If I remembered, I would never have thought of handing you over to someone else.”

“I want to know why my heart hurts every time I think about our past.”

“I want to know why sometimes, when I want to get closer to you, some force holds me back and pulls me away.”

The tears welling in Chi Qian’s eyes could no longer be contained, streaming, clear and warm, from their corners.

She leaned weakly into Shi Jinlan’s embrace and suddenly began to cry, completely in a mess, and yet it felt as if there were traces to follow⁸ all along.

It all pointed back to that night, to the question Shi Jinlan had relentlessly, obsessively, kept asking her.

“More than that, I want to know if I truly love you.”

Or was it that ‘love’ had been spoken so many times that the truth had become buried in lies?

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The author has something to say:

Dumb Ah Qian, this is love QAQ

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