After Constantly Courting Death, I Became the White Moonlight - Chapter 37

Something serious had indeed happened at the Chen residence.

The young madam, Zhao Yunluo, had fallen into an unnatural slumber—one from which she would not wake. No matter how loudly anyone called her name or how hard they shook her, her eyes remained tightly shut.

It was said she had only been taking a midday nap with Chen Yaoguang. But when the young master awoke, he was horrified to find his wife’s face pale as snow, her brows furrowed in pain, and her body cold and stiff like iron. He tried calling out to her, even gently shaking her shoulders, but she gave no response at all.

In a panic, Chen Yaoguang immediately sent servants to fetch Ning Ning and the others. By the time they arrived and stepped into the room, the first thing they saw were the rims of his eyes, red and swollen from worry.

“Please, all of you… save my wife!”

Chen Yaoguang had always possessed the image of a refined and elegant young master—tall, graceful, and handsome. He should’ve been a gentleman of sun and moon, bright and untainted. But ever since being imprisoned by the demon in that painting, his body had grown gaunt, and now, overwhelmed with worry, his eyes were bloodshot and hollow with helplessness. His disheveled appearance carried a trace of pitiful despair, completely unlike the pampered son of a wealthy household.

Clearly, the bond between this husband and wife was genuine.

It was just… their luck was truly miserable. While other couples lived poetic lives of “you draw water, I till the fields”, these two seemed stuck in a cycle of “you suffer misfortune, I get possessed.” Misery had knocked on their door, walked right in, and made itself at home.

Among the group, Zheng Weiqi had the most extensive knowledge of demons and monsters. On the way over, she had already pieced things together from the servants’ report.

With a calm expression, she stepped forward. Just a single glance at Zhao Yunluo, lying motionless on the bed, was enough to confirm her suspicions.

“As expected,” she murmured. “It’s a Night Terror.”

Her tone grew solemn. “This type of demon feeds on dreams and spiritual consciousness. Once possessed by a Night Terror, the victim becomes trapped in an endless nightmare—experiencing death and reincarnation again and again until their mind collapses. In the end, their essence is completely drained, and they die in their sleep.”

Of course, the senior sister of the Xuanxu Sword Sect was no bumbling fool or lazy layabout—she was usually more than reliable, and today was no different.

She smiled slightly, the corners of her lips lifting with the ease of someone who’d seen it all. In that moment, she exuded the calm grace of an immortal master from legends. “It’s not difficult to handle. I’ll simply send my spiritual consciousness into her mind and drive the demon out. Once it’s expelled, the Night Terror will retreat on its own.”

Chen Yaoguang nodded repeatedly, not daring to interrupt. He obediently stepped aside to give her room. “Thank you, miss.”

The weather was clear that day, sunlight streaming gently through the wide-open wooden windows, casting golden rays over the quiet room.

A beam of light rested softly on Zhao Yunluo’s delicate face, brushing her features with a warm glow.

Unfortunately, her current state clashed starkly with the peaceful scene.

Even in sleep, she was clearly tormented—her lips tinged blue, breath short and shallow, tear tracks dried upon her cheeks. Zheng Weiqi’s brows furrowed. Unable to watch any longer, she lowered her gaze, whispered an incantation, and summoned her spiritual sense.

Her consciousness surged like a rolling tide, brimming with profound and powerful spiritual energy. A single thread of divine sense drifted outward—formless, invisible, yet firmly under her control—as it approached the slumbering Zhao Yunluo.

And then… something strange happened.

Zheng Weiqi suddenly froze.

“…That’s odd.”

Without making another move, she remained still for a long moment, then slowly opened her eyes, confusion written all over her face.

“I can’t sense the young madam’s consciousness at all.”

That shouldn’t be possible.

Not just humans—even demons and spirits could respond to a cultivator’s divine sense. The only things that couldn’t be detected were truly inanimate objects—like chairs, teacups, sunlight, or rain.

Zhao Yunluo clearly wasn’t one of them.

—From “After Courting Death Repeatedly, I Became the White Moonlight”

As soon as those words fell, doubt rippled through the room like a stone tossed into still water. He Zhizhou scratched his head and whispered through a soundproofing spell, “Say… do you think it might be because everything in the Pagoda of Samsara is just an illusion? Maybe they’re just fabricated characters inside that illusion—so they don’t have souls?”

Awkward silence ensued.

Just moments ago, Zheng Weiqi had confidently declared that the situation was “not hard to resolve.” Yet here they were—she hadn’t even touched the edge of the Night Terror, much less awakened Zhao Yunluo or given Chen Yaoguang an answer.

Honestly… He’s kind of got a point.

Ningning furrowed her brow, her thoughts sharp. “But if that’s really the case, then why would the pagoda have Zhao Yunluo be attacked by a Night Terror at all? This level is supposed to be extremely difficult—there must be a clue hidden in every plot trigger, right?”

“No spiritual sense at all?”

Chen Yaoguang’s face drained of all color. “How… how could that be?”

Of course, Zheng Weiqi couldn’t just blurt out, “Because you’re all fictional NPCs.” That would be socially disastrous and make things even more awkward. So, in an effort to save face and keep the atmosphere intact, she quickly shifted the topic. “I’m not entirely sure either… Young Master Chen, do you perhaps have any leads about how your wife came to be possessed?”

A trace of fear flickered across Chen Yaoguang’s refined features. His voice turned airy and uncertain. “If I had to say… it might be connected to a traveling Daoist who passed through the city not long ago. He claimed the feng shui of Goose City had turned foul and that on the fifth day of the sixth lunar month, a demonic gate would open and bring disaster to this region. He had no proof and looked like a beggar, so we dismissed him as a raving lunatic. But recently, strange things have been happening in the city one after another… I fear his words were not entirely nonsense.”

Then, as though struck by realization, the red veins in his eyes deepened. “The fifth day of the sixth month… That’s tomorrow!”

Ningning remained silent, carefully listening as he continued.

“I heard you all might be leaving soon, but Goose City is facing a catastrophe. Without your help—”

The plea in his tone couldn’t be more obvious. Zheng Weiqi, the ever-cooperative performer, didn’t brush it off. With a grave and righteous expression, she replied, “Worry not, Young Master Chen. We will do everything in our power to repel the demons and protect the people of Goose City.”

Chen Yaoguang nodded hastily. “I thank you all from the bottom of my heart. This debt, I shall remember for a lifetime.”

After a brief pause, he added, “As for my wife—”

Wow. Can’t go three sentences without mentioning her.

Zheng Weiqi smoothly picked up the line, “We will think of a way.”

Only then did Chen Yaoguang’s expression ease slightly.

Of course, “think of a way” was about all they could do. No one could establish a spiritual connection with Zhao Yunluo—or even with Chen Yaoguang himself. They tried. No response.

It was becoming more and more obvious: this illusion had a wall between fantasy and reality. Whether or not they’d be able to wake Zhao Yunluo would depend entirely on how the plot unfolded.

Chen Lubai stayed behind to watch over his sister-in-law, while the rest exited the room, each lost in their own thoughts. As Ningning stepped outside, still frowning deeply, He Zhizhou nudged her via voice transmission. “What’s wrong, our little Lord Ning Qingtian? Got something on your mind?”

“I just think… something’s off.”

She kicked a small stone along the path, not bothering with silent speech. “From the very beginning—when Chen Lubai deliberately drew our attention on the street, then the flash flood, then the painting demon, and now this Night Terror—it’s like every time we try to leave this place, something forces us to stay.”

She paused, her tone barely above a whisper. “And that whole ‘June fifth, demonic gate opens’ thing—if that’s so important, why wasn’t it mentioned from the start? It feels like it was thrown in last minute. Improvised, even. Besides—”

“Besides,” Zheng Weiqi interrupted, her eyes curving with an almost lazy smile, “you still think the whole spiritual sense thing doesn’t make any damn sense.”

She glanced sideways at Ningning, tone light but edged with sharpness. “Even if it’s all a setup—even if the entire Chen household is hiding something—so what? So what if a demonic gate opens on the fifth of June? For every demon that crawls out, as long as I’ve got my sword, I’ll send them back the way they came.”

Though doubts were piling up, they had no initiative. The illusion forced them into reactive roles, with no chance to strike first. For now, they could only shelve the topic.

As Zheng Weiqi put it:
“Wait till midnight. If something goes wrong, we fight. And if we can’t win? Worst case, we get kicked out of the pagoda and try again.”

Classic Senior Sister behavior.

So, the group decided to rest up and prepare for what tomorrow would bring.

Ningning, unable to settle, her thoughts churning in her chest, left her room and began to wander the halls of the Chen residence alone.

The heavy downpour from earlier had passed, but the lingering moisture in the air still carried a chilly dampness. Mist curled lazily through the bamboo groves and lush grass of the garden, everything painted in a dewy shade of green that looked like it could drip with water at a touch. Birdsong occasionally joined the gentle murmur of water, completing a picture of peace and quiet beauty.

Ning Ning wandered aimlessly for some time, until she spotted a familiar figure sitting by the pond in a pavilion—a slender girl with her back turned.

Chen Lubai was sprawled lazily on a circular bench, leaning against the railing and staring listlessly at the water. Sensing someone approaching, she turned around abruptly, her lips still pursed downward in a moody pout.

“Miss Chen.”

Ning Ning smiled. “Not in a good mood?”

“Not exactly,” Chen Lubai muttered.

She was still just a young girl, incapable of hiding her emotions. Hearing Ning Ning’s question only seemed to sour her mood further. There was a flash of irritation in her voice. “It’s just… my father’s trying to matchmake me again. Is he that desperate to marry me off?”

Ning Ning sat beside her, propping herself on the railing as she gazed at the pond’s vibrant green surface. “You don’t want to get married?”

“Not at all.”

Chen Lubai tossed a small stone into the water, propping her cheek on her palm, squishing her soft face into a round puff. “What’s so great about getting married, anyway?”

The stone landed in the still water with a soft plop, sending ripples outward in gentle waves. Her delicate reflection was shattered in an instant, then gathered again—just in time for a red goldfish to flick its tail and glide by, vanishing into the distance.

“It’s way more fun here in the Chen Manor,” she declared with complete confidence—the carefree arrogance of a pampered young miss. “Father may always be trying to marry me off, but he’s never refused a single one of my requests. He even promised to give me a huge, unimaginable gift for my next birthday!”

“My brother and sister-in-law are ridiculously lovey-dovey—it’s honestly kind of gross—but they’re both super, super nice to me. My sister-in-law even painted a portrait of me recently. I’ve decided I’m going to learn to paint with her. If I’m still single when I’m old, I’ll just sell my artwork to make a living.”

She paused, then added with utter seriousness, “Yueming looks like a little tomboy, but she listens to me about everything. I practically raised her myself, after all. And then there’s Chunmei, Xiaqing, Qiuxiang, Dongrui—all the maids in the manor, they’re all so wonderful! I don’t want to leave any of them.”

Ning Ning chuckled softly. “It really does sound like a place worth staying in.”

“Right? I—”

Chen Lubai lit up at finally finding someone who agreed with her. Her eyes gleamed—only for her sentence to be cut off by a sudden panicked shout from nearby.

The voice came from a servant Ning Ning didn’t recognize, his words frantic and tearful: “Help! The—the horses in the stable have gone mad!”

=====

All living creatures possessed a sense of the arcane. Just as animals could detect earthquakes before they struck, so too could they sense the presence of demonic energy. If the aura of a demon became too intense, even domesticated beasts would panic.

The Pagoda of Ascension was infamous for its cruel trickery. The higher one climbed, the more subtle and insidious the demonic energy became. The designers had labeled this as a “necessary evolution,” claiming that since evil cultivators were growing more adept at hiding their presence, disciples too must learn to “sense with their hearts and discover with love.”

In other words: humans weren’t as sharp as horses.

By the time Ning Ning and Chen Lubai arrived at the stable, a crowd had already gathered—among them were her fellow disciples, He Zhizhou and Zheng Weiqi.

The horses were in a frenzy, screaming hoarsely and thrashing wildly like broken tops that had lost all sense of direction. The entire scene was utter chaos.

Zheng Weiqi drew her sword with a cold gleam in her eyes and strode forward. Wherever her blade passed, the crazed horses collapsed to the ground, wounded and subdued.

Just as she was about to strike down the final horse, several servants lunged forward, desperately trying to stop her, crying out with anguish: “Miss, no! That horse is worth a fortune!”

“Ning Ning!”

He Zhizhou spotted her amid the crowd. His expression shifted from easygoing to serious in an instant. “These horses have definitely been corrupted by demonic energy. Their minds are completely clouded. But to push them into this level of madness… the aura must be overwhelmingly strong. And yet… isn’t the so-called demon gate supposed to open tomorrow?”

Before Ning Ning could respond, Zheng Weiqi’s voice rang out: “Anyone here know how to ride?”

They looked up in time to see their senior sister scowling as she sheathed her sword. With a sharp movement, she leapt onto one of the horses, gripping the reins tightly.

She had trained in the immortal arts since childhood, flying by sword whenever she traveled—who knew how long it had been since she last touched a horse? Her riding skills were completely rusted.

The stable boys and maids dared not approach, especially after witnessing the bloody mess made of the other horses. Chen Lubai’s face turned pale at the sight, and she nearly fainted on the spot.

Then, amid the chaos, a familiar male voice suddenly echoed in all three of their ears at once.

[He Zhizhou and Ning Ning gaze upon the chaos before them. Unbidden, both recall the feeling of once riding a steed, wind in their hair, freedom in their hearts.]

The narrator had a certain… intelligence. It could pluck thoughts straight from one’s mind and broadcast them in real time. Both He Zhizhou and Ning Ning were stunned—it was true. They had been thinking about their past horseback riding experiences.

Except…

“I only rode once,” Ning Ning muttered, “and…”

“I’ve only ridden once, but—”

The two exchanged awkward glances, the sentence left hanging in the air—only to be cut off by Zheng Weiqi’s loud bark.
“He Zhi Zhou! Be a man and get on the horse!”

He Zhi Zhou was speechless.
Back in the day, he couldn’t even make it past level five in that stupid game “If You’re a Man, Get Through 100 Floors.” He’d lost his title as a man long ago.

But the situation was dire.
That purebred stallion—rumored to be more expensive than he was—had gone completely mad, thrashing and bucking in every direction. It was only a matter of time before it flung Zheng Weiqi off for good. If he didn’t step in now, his senior sister would probably die before the clock even struck midnight—her journey to glory ending halfway in a spectacular failure.

As for horse-riding?
Sure, he’d never ridden a pig, but he’d at least eaten pork. He’d watched enough period dramas—how hard could it be to mimic the pose?

This was fate. This was destiny. This was the calling of a last-minute hero.

He Zhi Zhou gathered his strength in his dantian and shouted,
“Don’t worry, Senior Sister! I’m coming!”

With that, he leapt into the air, adopting the same technique he used to mount his old electric scooter: left foot on the saddle first, right leg swinging wide in a dramatic arc over the horse’s back.

It was a move as smooth as flowing clouds, fierce as a tiger’s pounce—anyone watching would’ve called him the Prince of Scooters.

But something felt… off.

He heard a low grunt behind him.
Then the unmistakable thud of something (or someone) crashing to the ground.

Just before that—he was pretty sure his right leg had hit… something.

His smile froze on his face.

Then came Ning Ning’s panicked shout.
“Senior Sister—!”

That’s when it hit him—literally and figuratively.
He’d never considered that when doing this maneuver… someone might be sitting behind him.

Because if your right leg swings backward mid-mount, it doesn’t hit the saddle first.

It hits the person sitting behind you.
With full force.
Like a martial artist delivering a roundhouse kick to the ribs.

—Dear heavens! Senior Sister didn’t fall off the horse—he kicked her off!

Meanwhile, the damn narrator—obviously holding back laughter—spoke in an overly solemn, theatrical tone:

[She leapt! She soared! The esteemed Zheng Weiqi of the Xuanxu Sword Sect performed a glorious backward somersault, assisted by her dear junior brother! A flawless midair spin, followed by a magnificent side flip—
Perfect! A bellyflop landing worthy of a pancake! Such form, such grace—this wasn’t just a fall, it was art. Let us congratulate Zheng Weiqi and He Zhi Zhou on this spectacular showcase of sect camaraderie!]

And if that wasn’t enough:

[She fell like a blossom, like a butterfly, fluttering down with tragic elegance. Was her fall the earth’s longing… or He Zhi Zhou’s failure to hold her back? Love, once scarred, is easily forgotten. In this forbidden game, both are losers.]

He Zhi Zhou:
“Get lost! Are you mentally ill?!”

He wanted nothing more than to turn around, check if Zheng Weiqi was still breathing, and curse the narrator into oblivion.

But the thousand-gold-worth steed beneath him had other plans.
Already half-crazed, now fully panicked by the sudden aerial acrobatics, it turned into something resembling a wild beast—or maybe even a frog, the way it bounced and twisted.

He Zhi Zhou clung on for dear life.

So this is what money can buy? A horse that can evolve into a parkour frog? Rich people really live in another world.

He was speechless. Absolutely, utterly speechless.

Back in the day, when he played that game “Be a Man and Descend 100 Floors”, he died on the fifth floor. Fifth. He hadn’t been a “man” since.

But now? The situation was critical.

That damn horse—which cost more than his entire net worth—had gone completely insane, trying to buck Senior Sister Zheng Weiqi off its back again and again. If he didn’t jump in and help, forget lasting through the night—she’d crash and burn halfway through her grand plan.

As for riding a horse? He might not have seen a pig run, but he’s definitely eaten pork. After watching hundreds of period dramas, surely he could fake the posture.

This… this was fate. This was destiny.

This was the moment when the heavens cried out for a savior.

He clenched his core and shouted valiantly, “Senior Sister, hang on! I’m coming!”

With that, he leapt into the air, striking a majestic pose reminiscent of his days riding a little electric scooter. Left foot on the stirrup first, right leg swinging in a perfect arc over the back of the horse.

It was graceful. It was bold. It was poetry in motion.

Anyone watching would’ve called him “Prince of the Electric Moped.”

But then—

Thunk.

A muffled groan.

Then something hit the ground—hard.

He froze. That… that didn’t sound right.

It felt like his right leg had smacked into something mid-swing.

Zhou froze, mid-smile.

Behind him, Ning Ning’s panicked scream shattered the silence: “Senior Sister—!!”

He suddenly realized something.

He was single. Had always been single. And because of that, he’d never once considered—

You’re not supposed to have someone behind you when you do that kind of mount.

Because when you swing your right leg back like that, the first thing you hit isn’t the saddle.

It’s the person behind you.

Like a clean, well-executed sweeping kick.

—OH MY GOD. Senior Sister didn’t fall off the horse—

He kicked her off!!!

The omniscient narrator—clearly holding back laughter—began reciting dramatically:

[She jumped! She jumped! With the assistance of her junior martial brother, Zheng Weiqi of the Xuanxu Sword Sect performed a stunning backflip off the horse’s back!

After a brief gliding motion through the air, she completed a full aerial spin, followed by a split-legged sideways somersault—

Beautiful! A pancake-flat landing with flawless form! This is not something a normal human should be able to achieve! Congratulations to Zheng Weiqi and her junior brother He Zhizhou—for their breathtaking display of camaraderie!]

[She drifted down like a falling blossom, like a butterfly in the breeze. Was her fall the earth’s desire… or Zhizhou’s unwillingness to hold on? Love has faded. Bonds are broken. In this forbidden game—they are both losers.]

Zhizhou: Shut up!!! Are you insane?!

He desperately wanted to look back, check on Zheng Weiqi, and maybe curse out the narrator.

But the horse wasn’t having any of that.

It was already half-crazy to begin with, and after being startled by the aerial ejection of Zheng Weiqi, it was now completely off the rails—bucking and shrieking like a wild animal with rabies.

Honestly, it was like the damn thing had mutated into a frog.

Rich people and their weird pets. He really couldn’t keep up.

Zhizhou used to be poor, but at least he was happy.

Now? He was still poor… and miserable.

The horse bounced and jumped like it was filming an MV for “Little Bouncing Frog.” One of the household servants finally couldn’t take it anymore and cried out in anguish, “Young Master, pull the reins! Pull the reins!”

Zhizhou was being tossed around like a ragdoll, molded by the motion of the horse. His voice trembled like a jackhammer, every syllable full of despair.
“I—I—I’m—n-not—ha-hap-py—uuhhhhghhhh——”

The narrator had completely lost it, looping the old song Zhizhou sang in the alley— “Snowflakes drifting, north wind whistling…”—as background music, soft and poignant.

[A young swordsman, white robes, fine steed—an image so dazzling it bent the spines of countless noble ladies.]

Zheng Weiqi was howling with laughter. “HAHAHA! Junior Brother, you’re so pathetic—Hahaha!”

Finally, Chen Lubai, unable to watch anymore, shouted between sobs, “Kill that horse! Kill it! Young Master He isn’t even human anymore!”

Such compassion! Such selfless mercy!

For the sake of meat barely worth a thousand spirit stones, she gave up the other piece worth a literal fortune.

In the end, Ning Ning sliced the horse down with one clean stroke. Zheng Weiqi, being a Nascent Soul cultivator, had only suffered some minor injuries—despite being full-on kicked off a horse by her fellow disciple.

Once the criminal steed had been executed, she and Ning Ning stepped forward, glaring down at a dazed and hollow-eyed He Zhizhou.

“Ning Ning,” he said, lying atop the horse’s corpse, face deadpan and eyes vacant, “…Riding horses is… really something.”

He forced a stiff smile. “Your first time must’ve been unforgettable too, right?”

“I once went riding with a friend,” she replied solemnly. “After we got off the horse, she looked at me and said—”

Ning Ning sighed deeply, trying to hold back tears. “She said, ‘That merry-go-round was so much fun.’”

She looked away, unable to face the tragic emptiness in his eyes. “Yours was probably the same… right?”

“No, no…” Zhizhou whispered, voice fragile. “Not a merry-go-round. You wouldn’t believe it—but I once galloped wild and free too…”

His expression grew increasingly far-off. His throat twitched as if someone were strangling him, and he began to tremble. “It was my junior year of college. The first time I mounted the horse, it started to talk to me…”

Zheng Weiqi frowned. What the heck? Since when do horses talk?

Had Junior Brother hit his head?

Ning Ning leaned in, barely breathing, as his eyes widened to the point they looked ready to fall out.

Zhizhou, as if in the final moments of life, whispered his last words in a raspy croak.

“It said… Daddy’s daddy is Grandpa… Daddy’s mommy is Grandma…”

Ning Ning: …
Oh.

So it was one of those coin-operated ride-on ponies outside a supermarket.

—Well damn. For a grown man, that was some wild galloping.