After Constantly Courting Death, I Became the White Moonlight - Chapter 33

At that moment, the scene was… truly awkward.

Drizzling mist, a lone beauty, a fateful encounter along the riverside—this should’ve been a fleeting, romantic episode worthy of poetry and longing.
Instead, thanks to He Zhizhou’s very public butt-plant, it now looked more like a premeditated murder scene.

That blood-curdling “Help! Murder!!” still echoed in the wind, when suddenly—out of nowhere—a deep, refined male voice rang out, full of dramatic inflection like a documentary narrator.

The voice was resonant and smooth, like the golden voiceover of a nature film. Its sudden arrival hit like thunder on a clear day.

[“Wind drifts, rain veils—so many towers lost in mist and longing.
A chance meeting by the riverside… whose tears stir whose heartstrings?
Whose outstretched hand offers her a lifetime of tender devotion?
That elegant hand drew close—she blushed shyly and gently reached for—”]

The narration abruptly stopped.

Then came a horrified shriek, teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown.

[“WHAT THE HELL—WHERE’D SHE GO?!”]

“…It’s the floating tower’s built-in narration system,” Zheng Weiqi explained softly after a moment’s silence. “Some stages are too difficult, so the tower provides clues using narrated scenes.”

Unfortunately, He Zhizhou had just demonstrated the perfect counter to that strategy:
“If I act recklessly enough, even the clues can’t keep up with me.”

He moved faster than the storyline.
Faster than logic.
Fast enough to confuse even the official narrator.

As the green-robed girl spun away down the embankment like a Beyblade of doom, He Zhizhou scrambled to his feet in panic.
“W-Wait! Don’t panic—I can still fix this!”

Judging by how much emphasis even the narrator placed on that girl, she was obviously a major character in this tower’s story arc. If she really died here, their whole tower run might end in failure before it even began.

—Besides, he was just an innocent, sweet-faced young man! He didn’t want to go down in history as a teenaged murderer!

Without hesitation, He Zhizhou leapt into the water.

Thankfully, with his natural “scallion pancake filter” aura (i.e., unexplainable main character attention magnetism), he spotted the green blur flailing around not far from shore in no time.

She thrashed in the water like a scallion pancake frying in hot oil—honestly, it kind of made him hungrier.

Despite being unreliable in most things, He Zhizhou took this seriously. It was a life-or-death matter, after all. And with his sword cultivator physique, swimming and even diving were second nature.

By the time Ning Ning and the others rushed to the riverbank, He Zhizhou had already pulled the girl to safety.

The girl was pale as a ghost—whether from choking on water or from spinning too much like a human fidget spinner, it was hard to say.
In any case, she looked miserable, nothing like the soft and delicate damsel from earlier.

The moment her eyes landed on He Zhizhou’s face, she spit out a mouthful of water and scuttled backward like a frightened deer, tears shimmering in her eyes.

The narration system, likely some outdated AI cobbled together by the tower, was clearly confused by the sheer absurdity of the situation.
Lacking a scripted reaction for whatever this was, it defaulted to the next most “fitting” scene in its memory banks.

[“Her body soaked by rain, she looked so fragile, helpless, and pitiful.
Perhaps it was fate from a past life, now blooming in this one—
Upon seeing him for the first time, tears welled up in her long lashes.”]

Cue a wistful zither solo in the background. Romantic as hell.

Except, Ning Ning thought, the actual scene probably called for a different line.

[“Having narrowly escaped death, the flower of youth stared silently at her would-be killer.
Their eyes met. She trembled, her eyes rimmed red—
Not from longing.
But sheer, bone-deep terror.”]

“…Sorry about that, Miss Scall—Miss… girl.”

Zheng Weiqi was nearly dragged into He Zhizhou’s nonsense and had to swallow the word “pancake” before it left her lips. Composing herself slightly, she stepped forward and said solemnly,
“We are disciples of a cultivation sect. My junior brother was careless in his actions and has clearly offended you. We humbly ask for your forgiveness, Miss.”

“Forgiveness?”

The green-robed girl was still trembling with anger, her voice quivering with tears.
“He kicked me into the river! Absolutely not—someone has to compensate me!”

At the mention of compensation, He Zhizhou’s face turned green.

Everyone knew he was a sword fanatic who cared more about his blades than any hypothetical wife. His cultivation level wasn’t much to boast about, but he poured his heart into accessorizing and polishing his swords. Add that to his habit of chasing novelty—buying every flashy but impractical sword manual in existence—and his stash of private funds had long since run dry.

If you wanted him to cough up some money? Forget it.

But if you were looking for a pile of useless manuals like Flirtatious Glance Sword Style, Three-Day Mantis Step, or Frosty Misery and Fiery Joy, well—he had plenty of those.

Thankfully, Zheng Weiqi was good at diplomacy. She immediately picked up the thread and said with a composed smile,
“Miss, are you asking for compensation in the form of spirit stones? I’m afraid we left in haste and only brought a few hundred with us—it likely won’t be enough to satisfy you.”

He Zhizhou’s face twisted into a cold, bitter smile.

A few hundred spirit stones…?
That wasn’t “money” to him.

That was his lifeline. His entire savings. His soul, practically.

He had only agreed to come to the Floating Pagoda with Ning Ning for one reason—to try and earn a little personal fortune. And now? He hadn’t even gotten his hands on a single artifact or fated opportunity, and he was already about to lose his entire net worth.

He wanted to cry but had no tears left.

Just as he was silently wailing over his tragic fate, the green-robed girl croaked out, “I don’t want money. Are you really cultivators?”

Zheng Weiqi nodded. “We are.”

The name of the Xuanxu Sword Sect carried considerable weight, which sometimes brought more trouble than it was worth. So she simply added,
“We’re from a small sect. But if Miss has encountered any difficulty, please feel free to speak openly.”

“Even if you’re from a small sect, cultivators are duty-bound to vanquish demons and protect the innocent. And now that I’m technically your creditor, if I ask a small favor of you… you wouldn’t refuse, would you?”

That line drew a flash of understanding across all four of their faces.

It seemed the Floating Pagoda wasn’t completely heartless. Even after He Zhizhou’s chaotic detour, the storyline was generous enough to give them another chance at a clue.

Since this green-robed girl was clearly a key figure in the scenario, this so-called “small favor” must be directly tied to the main plot of this floor.

Seeing that none of them refused her request, the girl took a deep breath and clumsily wiped her dripping face. When she lowered her sleeve, it was hard to tell whether the moisture on her cheeks was rainwater or tears.

She looked sheltered and inexperienced—likely a pampered young lady from a wealthy household. Her eyes still carried the arrogance and innocence that came with being spoiled since birth.

“My name is Chen Lubai,” she said. “The reason I’m seeking your help… is because something strange has happened at my estate.”

She didn’t say “home.” She said estate.

That alone hinted at her elevated background.

“My father is the magistrate of this Goose City. I also have an older brother.”

As she bent down to retrieve a rain-soaked parasol from beneath a willow tree, her gaze accidentally landed on He Zhizhou again—and the corner of her eye visibly twitched.

She clearly hadn’t forgiven him.

“My brother has been married to his wife for half a year now. Normally, they’re the very picture of marital bliss—loving and affectionate, always together. But five days ago, a strange rumor began to circulate in the manor. One of our household servants claimed that while fetching water from the well late at night, he saw something…”

Ning Ning leaned in, quietly focused as she listened.

The girl’s voice dropped lower.

“He said he saw my sister-in-law… standing alone by the well, her hands reaching behind her neck. Then—with one smooth motion—she peeled the entire skin and flesh off her body… like she was taking off a robe!”

Chen Lubai shivered as she spoke, her face twisting in disgust.

“And beneath that skin—there was nothing but a bloodstained, skeletal frame. The bones moved as if alive, and while they creaked and shifted, she carefully lowered her skin into the water… and began washing it.”

“She’s not human—she’s a full-on demon in disguise!”

Ning Ning exchanged a glance with He Zhizhou, then asked in a calm voice, “That is certainly terrifying, but if it’s only a rumor… Miss Chen, do you have any concrete proof?”

Since the green-clad girl was clearly a key character, her so-called “small favor” was almost certainly tied to the main plotline of this level of the tower.

Seeing that none of them refused, the girl drew in a deep breath and wiped her rain-soaked face with her sleeve. When she lowered her hand, it was hard to tell whether the moisture on her cheeks was rain—or tears.

She looked young, clearly sheltered from the world, with the delicate arrogance and innocence of someone raised in a wealthy household. “My name is Chen Lubai. The reason I’ve asked for your help… is because something strange happened in our household.”

She didn’t say home, but manor.

That alone revealed her status.

“My father is the magistrate of Goose City. I have an older brother.”

Chen Lubai picked up the oil-paper umbrella beneath the willow tree. When her eyes brushed over He Zhizhou, she couldn’t help but twitch again at the corner of her mouth.

“My brother and his wife have been married for six months now. Their relationship has always been affectionate and harmonious. But five days ago, a strange rumor began to spread in the manor. They say one of our servants went to fetch water at the well in the middle of the night and saw—”

Ning Ning held her breath, listening closely.

“He saw my sister-in-law standing alone by the well, placing both hands behind her neck. Then, with a gentle tug… her skin peeled right off! Like clothing falling to the ground!”

Chen Lubai shivered as she spoke, her face twisting in disgust. “Underneath the skin… was nothing but a bloodstained skeleton, creaking and groaning as it moved, while it carefully washed the skin in the well—if that’s not a monster, I don’t know what is!”

Ning Ning and He Zhizhou exchanged a glance. She asked calmly, “But that’s still just a rumor. Since you brought this to us, do you have any solid evidence?”

“You might not know,” Chen Lubai began, her voice a little tense, “my brother was born with a pure yin constitution. The fortune-teller said… that kind of body is like a delicacy for demons.”

She clenched her jaw in frustration. “After the rumor spread, my father invited a Daoist priest he trusts most to conduct a ritual. The monster didn’t show its true form, but my sister-in-law fell unconscious for an entire day and night afterward. She only woke yesterday, completely mute and extremely weak. I think the Daoist spell must’ve harmed her.”

Her tone softened, hope flickering in her eyes. “Have any of you heard of a monster like this?”

There were thousands of types of demons in the world. As young disciples who had spent most of their lives in the mountains, they naturally weren’t familiar with every bizarre tale in the mortal realm.

After a moment of awkward silence, it was Pei Ji who finally spoke.

“Perhaps… a Painted Wraith,” he said quietly.

Ning Ning blinked in surprise and turned to him. Pei Ji pressed his lips into a thin line before continuing, “I only heard the name when I was a child. They say the Painted Wraith is born from the resentment of women who die tragically. When it sees a loving couple, it grows jealous and begins to paint the wife’s appearance onto a thin layer of skin—”

“Then replaces her?” Ning Ning asked, intrigued by how unusually chatty he was being.

Pei Ji nodded slightly. “The real wife would be hidden away in some cold, dark place, where the wraith compares her again and again to perfect its skin. Once the painted skin becomes indistinguishable from the original…”

He paused.

“She dies.”

He continued, voice low and steady. “Painted Wraiths not only drain a man’s yang energy, they also bring disaster to those around them—destroying families and homes. But—”

He furrowed his brows, his voice growing colder.

“Painted Wraiths aren’t powerful. Just low-level demons that lurk among mortals.”

He didn’t say the rest, but Ning Ning instantly grasped the implication.

According to Zheng Weiqi, this level of the Pagoda was especially difficult—enough to make even seasoned disciples struggle. If the monster was really just a low-grade Painted Wraith, it would be far too easy. Something didn’t add up.

The more details they uncovered, the more unnatural the situation became. It was like standing in the eerie calm before a storm—deep beneath the ocean’s surface, something vast and dangerous lurked, waiting for the right moment to devour them whole.

But for now, clues were scarce, and the group was at the mercy of the plot. They had no choice but to agree to Chen Lubai’s request and follow her back to the Chen Manor.

Upon hearing their answer, the girl finally broke into a wide grin. Gone was the miserable face of someone who had just lost a five-million-spirit-stone lottery.

“Deal! I’ll take you to see that monster right away!”

Seeing her mood lighten, He Zhizhou stepped forward, eager to repair his image in the NPC’s eyes. With exaggerated mystery, he said, “Miss Chen, I’ve realized something… something very important. I don’t think anyone else has noticed it yet.”

Still wary of him, Chen Lubai reluctantly glanced over. He Zhizhou leaned in, voice low and grave.

“Your servant said he saw the creature wash its painted skin in the well, didn’t he? So the water your family uses every day… doesn’t that mean—”

Chen Lubai’s face instantly crumbled.

Like a tower of blocks collapsing all at once, her delicate features twisted into horror.

“…Sister.”

Her scalp tingled as nausea surged up her throat. She tugged lightly on Zheng Weiqi’s sleeve, trying her best not to look in his direction. “The reason you all came down the mountain… was it to hunt demons for money? To treat that young master’s brain illness?”

He Zhi Zhou: “?”

Something didn’t add up with this plot.

Shouldn’t she be praising him for being smart and observant, then follow it up with that classic line: ‘Watson, you’ve found the missing piece!’?

===

Being stopped outside the room by the Chen family’s eldest son was something Ning Ning had fully expected.

True to its scholarly roots, the Chen residence was styled like a traditional garden estate. Lush greenery softened into fractured jades beneath the rain and mist, accenting curved bridges, flowing streams, dark tile roofs, and whitewashed walls.

The group swaggered in behind Chen Lubai, who chattered non-stop along the way.

“My brother’s love for my sister-in-law runs deep. Ever since Father performed that ritual behind his back while he was away and he found out, he’s refused to leave her side. Won’t even let anyone else near her.”

The young lady huffed, face filled with frustration. “Why can’t he listen to reason? If he truly loved her, then even if he believes she’s the same person, he should help us verify the truth to be absolutely sure!”

Past a small stone bridge and a dense bamboo grove, they finally reached the most secluded corner of the residence—Chen Yaoguang’s private quarters.

Rain pattered noisily against the bamboo leaves as Chen Lubai pounded on the door without the slightest restraint.

After quite some time, the door creaked open from within.

Ning Ning began to understand why Chen Lubai was so convinced her brother had fallen under demonic influence.

The young man before them looked to be in his early twenties, with a delicate and refined face—but his complexion was unnaturally pale. His eyes were bloodshot, dark circles hanging under them like ink stains. Before he could even speak, he broke into a violent coughing fit.

When he finally heard the reason for their visit, he coughed even harder, his voice rising in anger: “Nonsense! My wife is not a demon! It’s all just baseless rumors spread by charlatans and conmen trying to sully her name!”

He Zhi Zhou leaned toward Ning Ning and whispered, “Doesn’t he kind of look like that panda meme? You know, the one that says ‘I swear I have nothing left in me’?”

Chen Yaoguang’s fierce rebuttal made Chen Lubai stamp her foot and cry out, “Brother!”

“If you still care about me as your sister,” he said coldly, “then stop bringing this up.”

He stood in the doorway, blocking all view of the interior. Only the scent of medicine and incense wafted out. With a glare at He Zhi Zhou, who stood at the front of the group, he barked, “You’d best leave. If you want to see my wife, you’ll have to step over my dead body.”

Silence fell.

The narrator’s voice chimed in with solemn flair:

[Seeing the young master’s unwavering stance, the group could only sigh in defeat. It seemed today’s visit was doomed to end in failure. Perhaps it was better to retreat for now, gather more information in the city, and return another day—]

It paused.

And then… said nothing more.

He Zhi Zhou, who had been mostly silent till now, suddenly took a step forward—like a swan in full throttle—and locked eyes with Chen Yaoguang.

Then, under the other man’s furious gaze, he slowly raised his hands.

Chen Yaoguang’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Cultivators were capable of leaping through the air, but—

The man before him curved his fingers into an exaggerated orchid gesture, pinky extended, thumb and forefinger lightly touching. He pressed his wrists together and began to rotate them—clockwise, slowly at first, then faster and faster.

It was a move laced with theatrical defiance, as if in retaliation for Chen Yaoguang’s rude behavior. His entire posture screamed, “I am elegant. I am untouchable.”

Chen Yaoguang instinctively looked up, watching as the stranger’s wrists spun faster and faster, creating a wind current that lifted his entire body into the air.

With a graceful leap, he soared straight over Chen Yaoguang’s head.

Just like that.

Just as Chen Yaoguang had literally said moments ago—they would only get past him by stepping over his body.

And so he did.

What the hell is wrong with this man?!

[The wind rises—one moment, startling the heart; the orchid blooms—one dance, shattering the city.]

The narrator, ever the dedicated dumb AI, struggled to process what was happening. Whether it had short-circuited from the absurdity or been visually assaulted by He Zhi Zhou’s movements, it crackled with static before dramatically intoning.

[Years later, standing at the threshold of the old home, Chen Yaoguang would still recall that distant afternoon when he witnessed, He Zhi Zhou slowly ascend into the sky. Dressed in flowing white robes, his every twirl etched poetry into the air. It was so beautiful… painfully beautiful.]

Chen Yaoguang gave up entirely on maintaining his expression.

His face now bore the tortured look of The Weeping Woman in a Picasso painting.

Ning Ning stood there, stunned.

Help. Senior Brother He just flew away with a flourish!

He Zhi Zhou landed lightly, striking what he thought was a cool pose, then clasped his fists and said with a smile, “A gentleman never goes back on his word. Thank you, Brother Chen. I’ll be going in now.”

The narrator: …

The narrator: STOP RIGHT THERE!!! THIS IS NOT HOW THE STORY IS SUPPOSED TO GO!!!