After Constantly Courting Death, I Became the White Moonlight - Chapter 22

“After All, Working for Others Just Isn’t My Style.”

“Place the Heart of Heaven Grass into the furnace. After seven days of refining, the pill will be complete.”

Tian Xianzi watched the delicate white smoke curling out of the furnace and couldn’t help but sigh with genuine admiration. “Worthy of its title as a Saint-grade spiritual herb. Even the smoke from refining it is brimming with spiritual essence. If you take this pill, your cultivation will surely rise by leaps and bounds.”

The Heart of Heaven Grass was incredibly beneficial for cultivation. Ever since returning from Luming Mountain, Tian Xianzi had eagerly offered to help Ningning refine it into a pill. In his own words.

“Those bookworms at Nianspring Hall only know how to amuse themselves. When it comes to actual alchemy, they’re not fit to hold a candle to your master.”

“And I’m not bragging, but back in my younger days, I nearly broke my neck mastering pill-refining just to earn money for sword manuals. Even high-tier alchemists praised my talent and said I had a natural gift for it.”

Once Tian Xianzi started reminiscing about his glorious past, there was no stopping him. His grin practically reached his ears, and his tail might as well have been wagging with pride. There wasn’t a shred of a master’s dignity in sight.

“The Hall Master of Nianspring Hall even invited me to study medicine under him. I rejected him on the spot without a second thought.”

Ningning took a long breath, letting the sweet, almost tangible aroma of herbs and rain settle in her lungs. The spiritual energy around her thickened, calm and nourishing, flowing into her meridians like a gentle stream.

She couldn’t help but ask, “Master, if you were so talented, why didn’t you keep refining pills to earn money?”

The refined, handsome youth raised a brow. His eyes gleamed with that wild, untamed glint of his.

“Because refining pills to make money means handing over my hard-earned work to someone else. I don’t like that feeling.”

He stretched his hand toward the drifting smoke, idly letting a wisp coil around his fingertip. The pale skin flushed faint pink from the heat, but he didn’t flinch.

“No one gets to boss me around. Rather than listen to their endless nit-picking, I’d much rather unsheathe my sword and have a proper duel.”

Ah, yes. Working a job? Absolutely not.
This was Tian Xianzi, after all—famous across the cultivation world as a sword cultivator through and through. Even if he ended up dirt poor, he’d never lower himself to being someone else’s lackey.

Ningning silently nodded again. Her master, truly, was a man of principle—albeit chaotic ones.

Tian Xianzi noticed her thoughtful expression and tilted his head curiously. “What’s on your mind?”

“I was just thinking…” She responded quietly, eyes still fixed on the drifting smoke, “That cultivation—at least for most people—isn’t all that fair.”

“For ordinary folks without great innate talent, there’s almost no chance to get the opportunities that others take for granted. Treasures like this Saint-grade herb? Most will never even see one, let alone touch it. Their entire lives will be spent in mediocrity.”

She’d once thought cultivation was no different from the college entrance exams in her past life—just a matter of working hard, improving steadily, and climbing upward step by step.

But now, she realized… cultivation was far crueller.

In terms of talent, decades of gruelling practice still couldn’t compare to someone born with sword bones or a divine spirit root.

In terms of background, children born to noble clans or top sects were spoon-fed elixirs and guided by elites. Their cultivation soared without effort. Meanwhile, ordinary people, lacking both resources and opportunity, might go their whole lives without ever seeing a single high-grade pill.

Power and resources were monopolized by the elite. The weak had nowhere to go, locked in a vicious cycle where the strong grew stronger, and the rest were left further behind.

Tian Xianzi glanced at her, brow lifting slightly.

“What’s gotten you thinking about that all of a sudden?”

Tian Xianzi arched a brow, then smiled slowly. “There’s an old saying—In the unseen currents of fate, the heavens guide all things. In cultivation, beyond talent and birthright, there’s another key element—destiny.”

The little girl beside him showed a trace of confusion, so he paused, then added with rare patience, “A lot of people believe destiny is predetermined. Even someone utterly ordinary, if the time comes and they seize the right opportunity, can rise from nothing and soar to the heavens.”

Destiny is written in the stars…

Ningning lowered her gaze, thinking quietly to herself. That novel she’d read—wasn’t Pei Ji’s fate exactly like that? A script already written?

But—
Was everything truly so fixed?

“Master,” she said, almost instinctively.

She couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out. “There are those who rise with fortune, yes… but what if someone’s destiny is a path of calamity? Are they supposed to accept it quietly, lie down, and just wait for death to come?”

Tian Xianzi gave a thoughtful “hmm.”

Then he curved his lips into a faint, lazy smile and lowered his head to look at her. “Repeat your master’s name for me.”

Ningning blinked, a little baffled, but obediently said, “Tian Xianzi.”

“Tian Xian. Tian Xian.” His voice was low and slow. “When I chose those characters back then, it was for one reason only—to live free and unbound. To make sure even the heavens couldn’t touch me.”

His features blurred faintly in the curling mist, but his eyes—crystal clear and brilliantly bright—shone like twin stars piercing through storm-laden skies, dragging out light from the darkest night.

“All that nonsense about ‘destiny must be obeyed,’ about ‘knowing fate and doing one’s duty’—it’s just empty talk. If the heavens are unjust, if fate is unfair…”

Tian Xianzi tapped her lightly on the forehead and raised a brow. “Then shatter the heavens. You’re a sword cultivator—your sword, your will. Not the will of the heavens.”

…

After parting ways with Tian Xianzi, Ningning checked the time.

If the plot was still tracking, it should be right around the moment Zheng Weiqi made her appearance.

Following the system’s guidance, she made her way to the mountain gate. And sure enough, the moment she looked up, she saw her eldest senior sister standing there behind a street stall, hawking wares with all the elegance of a market rogue.

Zheng Weiqi.
Her name sounded delicate and refined—like someone who’d recite poetry beneath falling blossoms.

But in reality?

She was the complete opposite.

To put it plainly: she was the undisputed battle god of verbal abuse. An explosion in human form. Word was, after her last trip down the mountain, she returned with a mouth full of filthy curses that could turn the air blue. Her tongue was faster than her sword, and she never shut up. Before she could finish penning her legendary guidebook “How to Dump a Scumbag and Make Him Cry at His Own Funeral,” Master Tian Xianzi had already slapped her with a Speech-Binding Curse—

Now, whenever she so much as tried to curse, she’d instantly lose control and do something ridiculously humiliating.

Worse than the Monkey King’s golden circlet.

A psychological nightmare, perfectly tailored to Tian Xianzi’s… unique brand of discipline.

At this moment, Zheng Weiqi was leaning lazily against the mountain gate, arms crossed over her chest, shooting a sidelong glance at two junior disciples who were busy browsing the wares spread across the vendor’s stall.

Her dark hair was tied high into a ponytail, and her robe—cut in the style of a man’s—fluttered lightly in the breeze. The silhouette it outlined was long-limbed and unhurried, with a careless sort of grace.

At a glance, she truly looked like a handsome young nobleman—carefree and unrestrained, with narrow, upturned eyes that always seemed to hold a smile (or a threat).

The two junior disciples couldn’t help sneaking glances at her, giggling softly to each other.

Zheng Weiqi tapped her knuckles against the stall. Her voice was low and casual.

“You like this one?”

One of the young girls had just picked up a book and was examining it curiously when Zheng Weiqi lazily yawned and took a step forward.

“Junior Sister,” she said, voice light and languid, a hint of chill laced between the syllables, “I see your bones are extraordinary—surely you’re a once-in-a-century martial arts prodigy. This copy of ‘Flowing Light Sword Style: From Beginner to Buried’ was illustrated by yours truly. With your talent? A perfect match. Worth every spiritual coin.”

Her voice was crisp and elegant, with an offhanded detachment that was strangely pleasing to the ear.

The female disciple jolted at her words. “This is a sword manual? Oh no—I’m so sorry! I thought it was a comic book… about a centipede demon going on an adventure!”

“Centipede demon?!” Zheng Weiqi’s expression twitched violently. “I swear—let us set aside all grievances and calmly discuss this, my stunningly beautiful Junior Sister—”

She was clearly about to blow up. But the second the words formed, she seemed to recall the speech-restriction curse that Tian Xianzi had slapped on her. Her eye twitched, and she forcibly twisted her face back into something resembling a smile—a strained, eerie grin like someone who’d just eaten a pork bun with people meat in it.

“Junior Sister,” she said through clenched teeth, “how does this illustration remotely resemble a centipede demon?”

The girl was startled. With shaking hands, she pointed to the first page—where a grotesquely muscled creature was proudly displayed, boasting twelve massive abs, each one more bulbous than the last, each one bigger than its head.

Forget a centipede demon—this thing looked like it could pass for the human version of the Leifeng Pagoda. If you followed the abs all the way up, you might actually end up shoulder-to-shoulder with the sun.

“That’s called a six-pack! Do you even know what abdominal muscles are?!” Zheng Weiqi roared internally, gritting her teeth in frustration. Clearly, this manual wasn’t going to sell anytime soon.

Just as she raised her head to complain, her gaze happened to lock with Ningning’s.

They weren’t close, but as fellow disciples under Tian Xianzi, Zheng Weiqi still found her vaguely familiar. Her scowl melted instantly, brows smoothing out as she offered a warm greeting.

“Junior Sister.”

“Senior Sister,” Ningning responded softly.

In the original novel, the original host had absolutely hated this wild and unruly senior sister—believing her to be a disgrace to their sect’s refined image. Not to mention, Zheng Weiqi was outrageously talented, especially in swordplay. Naturally, jealousy followed. Every time they met, the original Ningning would inevitably start sniping at her with cutting remarks.

Now that Zheng Weiqi had returned from her trip down the mountain with all kinds of strange little trinkets to sell, Ningning had come specifically to mock them—to ridicule these cheap, low-quality goods and loudly declare that she would never buy trash like this.

Trash talk? Easy.

She paused for a beat, then smoothly delivered her first jab:
“Senior Sister, your trip down the mountain must have been long indeed. You’ve changed so much that it’s hard to tell… are you still a lady, or something else entirely?”

Zheng Weiqi blinked. “Huh? What did you say?”

Ah, right. She almost forgot—Senior Sister wasn’t very literate. Anything too poetic or roundabout would just go right over her head.

Ningning smiled, lowering the bar:
“I mean, since you came back, you really don’t look like a girl anymore. That flat terrain of yours is… truly vast and majestic.”

Zheng Weiqi instinctively followed Ningning’s gaze downward—only to land squarely on her own flat chest.

She was silent for about three seconds. Then she burst out laughing, genuinely delighted, like she’d just received the highest of compliments.

“Junior Sister’s got a sharp eye! This chest binding of mine is made from heavenly silkworm thread—smooth, soft, and stretchy! If you like, I’ll gift you a few strips. Oh, and this outfit—it’s a mix of shark gauze and azure silk. Keeps you cool and breezy all summer. Interested?”

She might be barely literate, but she at least understood that “vast and majestic” were compliments, right? Compliments couldn’t possibly be insults… right?

Ningning: …

Senior Sister, please… I’m begging you… realize you’ve just been roasted! Why are you so happy about it?! And can you not look at me like I just paid you the world’s most insightful compliment?!

Rubbing her temples, Ningning gave up on sarcasm altogether. Clearly, it wasn’t working.

Time to go for the direct kill: attack the stall itself.

Zheng Weiqi was, unfortunately, a rich sword cultivator who ran her stall like a seasoned pro. She had essentially become a low-budget livestream queen—Lingxu Peak’s one and only countryside shopping goddess.

Sensing Ningning’s interest, she sneakily pulled a book from the pile and handed it over.

“Junior Sister, interested in this one?”

Ningning glanced down—and nearly choked.

Across the cover, bold and unashamed, were the words:
“365 Days With Sword Sovereign Zhenxiao”

Beneath that was a packed blurb:

The entire Xuanyu Sword Sect knew that the Sword Sovereign Zhenxiao was cold, aloof, and untouchably noble…
Until one day, a little disciple stumbled upon him pinning his newly accepted protégé against the wall, lips pressed hard against hers.
His eyes burned red.
“Scared of me? Hm? Say ‘Master,’ and I’ll give you my life.”

Zheng Weiqi beamed proudly. “This one’s been a bestseller lately! It’s a passionate love story between a cold, sharp-tongued Sword Master and his mischievous, troublemaking disciple. Angst, fluff, heartbreak, forbidden romance—you name it. Totally worth the read.”

Ningning: “…”

This stall… this woman… this entire sect is doomed.

The blurb was just too much. Ning Ning nearly got a full-blown case of second-hand embarrassment just reading it. She forced out a polite refusal. “…No need.”

After a pause, she added with a faint smile, “The whole cold-faced master and mischievous disciple setup? I’ve seen it before. The leads were called Tang Sanzang and Sun Wukong. I wonder if Senior Sister’s ever heard of them?”

Zheng Weiqi shook her head honestly. “I’ve never really read storybooks. Never heard of it.”

The two junior sisters who had been loitering around the stall had disappeared without a trace. Ning Ning casually swept her gaze across the mess of books and gossip novels, eventually landing on a corner filled with powders and cosmetics.

In the original plotline, the original Ning Ning had ridiculed these cheap cosmetic goods for being utterly tasteless, even starting a fight with Zheng Weiqi right then and there. It was the spark that led to their long-standing grudge.

And now, she was supposed to follow that script.

In the novel, the original line was:
[Ning Ning picked up a box of rouge and sneered, “What is this, lime dust? Anyone who wears this looks like they’re about to marry a ghost.”]

But right now—

She stared at the various unfamiliar items crowding the stall.
What the hell was rouge?
Which one of these was lipstick?!

Once again, Ning Ning found herself in a tragic impasse.

The original Ning Ning had been raised in luxury, pampered since birth, and naturally knew cosmetics like the back of her hand. She could probably tell you the brand, scent, and blend of every rouge just by sniffing it.

But the impostor her? Yeah, no.

She could confidently tell a Dior from an Armani or spot a L’Oréal foundation from across the aisle at Sephora. But someone please tell her what these oddly shaped, ancient-looking jars were even for?!

Taking a steady breath, Ning Ning pretended to be calm.

Most of the items on the stall were red and white. The white ones probably acted like foundation, and the red ones… maybe lipstick or blush?

She activated all her street-smart modern knowledge and focused on one particular round case.

Not too vibrant, softly pigmented—didn’t seem like lipstick or lip stain. This had to be blush.

In the original novel, this was the exact item the original Ning Ning had used to start the drama.

She decided to follow the script and obediently picked up the suspected blush, dabbing a little onto her hand, then gently applying it to the right side of her face.

The texture was surprisingly smooth. As soon as it touched her skin, it melted in and blended into a delicate, flushed pink. She was just about to begin her critique when—

Zheng Weiqi suddenly gasped. “Junior Sister, what are you doing?!”

A cold sweat broke out on Ning Ning’s back.

Then Zheng Weiqi, looking absolutely horrified, said the next sentence—

“Why are you smearing nail polish on your face?!”

Ning Ning: …

So that’s why the “blush” felt so smooth. It wasn’t blush.
It was nail polish.

She barely managed to force out a rigid smile.

Zheng Weiqi was still staring at her, stunned into silence, clearly wanting to say something but unsure how.

What kind of girl couldn’t even tell the difference between makeup and paint? Even the most average family would prepare some basic powder and rouge for their daughter!

Unless…

“Junior Sister…”

Zheng Weiqi had spent most of the past year at the foot of the mountain and barely knew anything about her fellow disciples. Now, she deliberately lowered her voice, softening her tone. “Before you joined the Xuanxu Sect, did you ever learn how to apply makeup?”

Ning Ning had already made a fool of herself. If she insisted on pretending to be a cosmetics expert now, she’d only dig herself into a deeper pit.

So she gave a simple, honest reply.
“My family said I was too young back then… not suitable for learning such things.”

Zheng Weiqi’s heart ached at the answer, and she let out a deep sigh.

How pitiful.

In this day and age, girls began learning to use makeup practically from the time they could walk. There was no such thing as “too young.” The only reason a child would be told that… was because her family simply couldn’t afford it.

It must have been a pair of poor parents who, in order to protect their daughter’s fragile pride, came up with that kind little lie.

“Yes, yes, of course. You were too young,” Zheng Weiqi murmured, a bit moved by the story. She didn’t have the heart to tear apart the gentle illusion. “But now that you’ve grown into a proper young lady, didn’t your mother ever teach you a bit?”

“I…”

Ning Ning had no memory from the original host, so she could only bluff her way through.
“She did teach me some things, but… the tools we used weren’t like these.”

Trying to sound convincing, she said thoughtfully, “Lip color came in a long tube you could apply directly to the mouth. Face powder was close to skin tone, so it didn’t look too pale once applied. And eye shadow—there were all kinds of colors and styles you could paint around your eyes.”

As she rambled on, Zheng Weiqi’s expression grew increasingly stunned.

Her junior sister… did she say… her family made their own makeup?

Something that could be squeezed from a tube had to be liquid. Why would they turn lip color into a liquid form? It must’ve been because they had so little of it, and they mixed it with water to make it last longer for the child.

And powder that matched skin tone? That made no sense. Whether lead or pearl-based, traditional powders always left a white, cakey look. The only way to match it to someone’s complexion was by… adding something else. A mix of pale brown and white—could that have been…?

Dirt and lime?!

Zheng Weiqi’s brain was already teetering, but the so-called eye shadow nearly pushed it over the edge.

“All sorts of colors and designs”? What kind of ordinary household could afford pigments in so many shades? The only explanation she could think of was—pressing flowers to squeeze out their dye and smearing that on her eyes.

Heavens above…

What kind of life had her little junior sister actually lived?

She imagined a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old girl squeezing the last drop from a tiny, precious tube, smearing it gently over her pale lips. Her face still bore traces of dirt and lime, her eyelids colored by the faint hues of crushed flower petals. And yet, she smiled—so bright and so content.

Behind her stood a humble, middle-aged couple, also smiling. Their faces were weathered, etched with time and hardship, but warm with simple joy.

Zheng Weiqi suddenly couldn’t speak. After a long pause, she murmured, “You truly had… a pair of good parents.”

Ning Ning frowned faintly, clearly puzzled. She could tell the other woman didn’t understand what she meant by that, and after a moment’s hesitation, asked tentatively,
“Your honored father and mother… Are they still doing well these days?”

A shadow passed through Ning Ning’s eyes.

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “They’re… in another world now.”

Zheng Weiqi: ！！！

Zheng Weiqi didn’t dare ask any more questions.

Even her dearest parents had already left this world before her.

There would never again be anyone who’d mix dirt and lime into makeshift makeup and put on a brave face just to make her smile.

She had heard whispers about this junior sister—that she was so poor in the Xuanxu Sect, she barely had enough to eat. And if her childhood had already been that harsh, how could they let her enter the sect only to remain lonely and pitiful?

Her sense of justice surged. Right then and there, Zheng Weiqi made a solemn vow: from this day on, she would give her junior sister the warmth of a family she never had.

“Junior Sister.”

Her eyes were filled with emotion. Like a miser finally plucking out a feather, she spoke with rare tenderness as she looked upon Ning Ning.
“Fate brought us together today. Don’t be shy about what’s on the stall. Take whatever you like.”

Ning Ning shook her head at once. “I don’t want anything.”

Silly child. Why must you be so stubborn?

Zheng Weiqi felt a pang in her heart. Her junior sister was rustic, yes—but it was a stubborn, simple, and unyielding kind of rustic.

That kind of “rustic” was like a wildflower blooming from barren soil. At first glance, it was plain and unremarkable, but only through closer contact could one see the hardship and resilience behind its growth.

She was sure that somewhere, in another world, the girl’s parents were watching with pride.

Zheng Weiqi was deep in thought. Meanwhile, Ning Ning, watching her suddenly cry and laugh to herself, quietly inched away with utmost caution.

Only to be met with a syrupy-soft voice that made her skin crawl.

“That section over there holds snacks I brought back from outside. You can try whatever you like—right in front of you is milk cream jelly. The little spoons are in the white brocade pouch beside it.”

If it were Ning Ning herself, she would’ve awkwardly refused. But the “vicious supporting female” role loomed large in her head, forcing her to swallow her pride and pick one up.

She opened a box and scooped out a bit with the tiny spoon.

The flavor was so horrifying it could pierce the heavens and make ghosts weep. Her face twisted with genuine pain.
“This milk cream jelly of yours—”

She didn’t expect Zheng Weiqi to suddenly gasp and shout, eyes wide like copper bells,
“This milk cream jelly of mine?!”

Ning Ning: ???

Why are you stealing my line?

Before she could react, Zheng Weiqi cried out,
“This isn’t milk jelly at all! Which blind little gremlin put face cream here?!”

Face. Cream.

No wonder that weird little thing looked so fancy.

Heh.

Ning Ning’s heart practically flatlined at those two words. And as the saying goes—life is just one long series of ups and downs… mostly downs. When God shuts one door, He definitely bolts the windows too.

In a daze, she heard a panicked voice ringing in her ears:
“There’s arsenic in that stuff! Not enough to kill, but still—come on, quick! We’re going to Nianspring Hall!”

Arsenic.

Expressionless, Ning Ning slowly looked down at the creamy white lump in her hand.

Little demon.

Who the hell sent you into her life?

=====

He Zhizhou had just been punished by Tianxianzi with an entire day and night of sword practice. The moment it ended, he staggered into Nianspring Hall and collapsed like a corpse. Who knew how long he’d been asleep—until a frantic female voice jolted him awake.

The voice belonged to someone he knew: Zheng Weiqi, a disciple under Tianxianzi. She was rarely seen in the sect and—if he remembered right—one of Ning Ning’s possible romance targets.

As for the person she was carrying over her shoulder—

He Zhizhou’s pupils shrank.

Ning Ning was dazed, her face blotched with a nasty, swollen red mark like she’d been socked hard in the face.

Even the healer at Nianspring Hall gasped in shock.
“Who beat Junior Sister Ning Ning up like that?!”

Zheng Weiqi whispered something in his ear, but He Zhizhou didn’t catch a word of it.

All he heard—loud and clear—was the healer’s flabbergasted voice:
“You’re saying she ate arsenic?!”

Zheng Weiqi buried her face in her hands, no longer even trying to lower her voice.
“It’s all my fault! I shouldn’t have—this is all on me!”

Then came Ning Ning’s faint mumbling, every word soaked with grievance and heartache.
“Senior Sister, I don’t want your stuff anymore… really, I don’t… Senior Sister, am I really that rustic…?”

And suddenly, everything made sense.

Ning Ning, you silly girl. Truly.

Everyone knew you were a soft-hearted little thing, sensitive about appearances. Getting caught trying to take something and getting smacked for it—you must’ve felt so ashamed.

—But that doesn’t mean you had to go and eat arsenic just to end it all!

He Zhizhou felt like he’d plunged into an icy abyss. The future looked bleak. His heart ached.

Other villains in other stories—they lived the life: eating fine food, wearing fine clothes, spouting suave lines and charming readers left and right.

But look at him and Ning Ning.

One collapsed on a hospital bed like a battered rag doll, the other emotionally imploding with a full-on “I’ll kill myself!” arc.

He wanted to cry. He wanted his mom.

Just when, when would they, the pitiful villains… finally rise again?!