After Constantly Courting Death, I Became the White Moonlight - Chapter 9

Wen Hemian, titled the “General Star,” was one of the six great elders of the Xuanxu Sword Sect—a swordsmanship prodigy whose single strike once shocked the world.

Unfortunately, he was gravely injured during the great war between immortals and demons. Since then, he had retreated to Qingxu Valley, withdrawing from worldly affairs and spending his days with nothing but nature and the sound of a zither for company.

Rumors even said he was cold and emotionless, distant from others like an untouchable flower on a snowy peak—the textbook example of the “beautiful, powerful, and tragic” archetype.

At this moment, most of the mountain mist had been dispersed by the zither’s melody. Through the veil-like, drifting smoke, a figure slowly emerged not far away.

His long hair was unbound, fluttering gently in the breeze like a cascading black waterfall. It brushed past his fair, delicate neck and spotless white robes.

He sat beneath an ancient tree, opposite Ning Ning. The tree’s thick, knotted roots sprawled across the ground, partly hidden by lush greenery, casting a deep shadow over the young man.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves and spilled over his features, glistening black eyes like polished glass, refined brows, a tall nose bridge, and pale lips, thin and bloodless, like fragile paper.

The golden daylight radiated outward, illuminating even his cool-white skin with a faint sheen. Mist twined around his black hair; the breeze lifted the edge of his robe—it was as if a deity had descended into the world.

Anyone else witnessing this scene would be awestruck by his celestial appearance.

But Ning Ning simply sneered coldly from the depths of her heart.

What’s more infuriating than being left to die?

It’s when that person lets you fend for yourself but occasionally lifts their head to glance at you—with an expression that looks a bit comforting, as if trying not to laugh.

Elder Jiangxing had professional training—he wouldn’t laugh easily…

Unless he really couldn’t help it.

Was it that funny? Huh? So what if she brought disaster to herself?

Idiot! Jerk! Stingy old man! Fine, don’t help! She’ll still be alive after one incense stick burns!

That was the harshest insult in Ning Ning’s mental dictionary.

But in the original story, Wen Hemian wasn’t this black-hearted.

Pei Ji was born twisted, and the senior disciple was a cold, untouchable black lotus. Only Wen Hemian and the little white dragon Lin Xun remained truly righteous from beginning to end—true paragons of the righteous path.

Lin Xun was like the village idiot of a rich family, while Wen Hemian was the real deal: unwavering Dao heart, upright and dignified.

He had a smooth journey in his youth, untouched by human ugliness. Even after achieving fame, he maintained a cool, aloof demeanor, unwilling to be bothered with others, but inwardly his heart remained as clear as a mirror.

He disdained bullying the weak, refused to cling to power, always walked alone. Even when repeatedly provoked and insulted by the original host, he only responded with cold indifference—never stooping to revenge.

So how did he end up like this?

Eventually, her pain numbed her to everything. Ning Ning simply stood there expressionlessly, letting the cold wind slap her face at random. Who knew how long it took before the numbness in her limbs gradually faded?

She bit her lip and tried to move her right leg.

The coagulated blood in her body suddenly jolted like a violent spasm, surging wildly. A tingling current shot up from her foot to her knee. Her strength hadn’t returned, and she lost balance immediately, collapsing to the ground.

The sound of the zither abruptly stopped. Wen Hemian frowned silently—

He assumed she’d grieved herself unconsciously. What sort of tragedy could cause such an understanding young woman to collapse in sorrow?

Though he disliked interacting with others, it was rare to find someone who appreciated his music. Without thinking too deeply, he approached Ning Ning and bent down to offer his hand. “Fellow Daoist?”

His voice was as clear and cold as distant snow-covered mountains—utterly devoid of emotion.

Ning Ning lifted her head from the grassy meadow, fragrant with the scent of wildflowers, and the first thing she saw was a hand, extended just inches from her face.

The fingers were long, snow-white like jade, with thin calluses typical of a sword cultivator, yet still beautiful.

Although Wen Hemian’s spiritual sea had been destroyed, his immense internal foundation remained untouched. The scent of the soul-bewitching flowers had no effect on him, and naturally he didn’t realize the tiny white flowers surrounding them were actually potent poisons.

And now he comes acting like a nice guy.

Ning Ning silently cursed him in her heart. With some dignity, she replied, “I’ll do it myself.”

She was so weak her voice was barely louder than a mosquito’s buzz. Though she tried to sound firm and a bit annoyed, the frailty of her tone softened every word into cottony fluff.

Add to that the flush on her cheeks from frustration, and the teardrops still clinging to her eyes—

Wen Hemian understood. Clearly, this little junior was shy and reserved by nature. Too embarrassed to be touched by a strange man, she was just politely refusing with a red face and gentle voice.

He had been out of touch with people for too long and acted too abruptly.

The poison from the soul-bewitching flowers still lingered in her system. To maintain the dignity of her villainous persona, Ning Ning had to muster all her strength just to get herself off the ground.

But before she could stand fully upright, the moment her legs locked, that sharp current returned—so intense it made her gasp—and she once again lost her balance and toppled sideways.

This time, she didn’t hit the ground.

A large, callused hand grabbed her arm just in time, keeping her from falling forward. The faint scent of sandalwood surrounded her, and Ning Ning heard the youth’s voice—cool and clear like melted snow:

“Fellow Daoist, your stance is unsteady. I suspect emotional distress has disrupted your meridians. You must not move recklessly.”

He paused, then lightly coughed. A faint flush colored his pale cheeks—soft pink against snow-white.

“Otherwise, your meridians could rupture, and your limbs might be permanently damaged.”

What “internal fire attacking the heart,” what “severed meridians”—
Ningning was almost completely fooled by him, nearly believing she’d really had such bad luck.

But then she thought it over and felt something wasn’t right.

She was a cultivator. Could she really collapse just from smelling a poisonous flower and standing for a bit? If that were true, she shouldn’t be a sword cultivator—she might as well star in a Barbie Princess movie.

Half-convinced, half-skeptical, Ningning’s heart pounded wildly as she cautiously wiggled her toes. Her cold body gradually warmed up, and with the flow of spiritual energy, the numbing sensation finally faded completely.

Damn it.
It really was just her foot falling asleep.

“Severed meridians” and “fire attacking the heart” her ass—anyone would go numb from standing still this long. She almost got completely duped by this smooth-talking fraud. Damn sword cultivator!

“As expected of the General Star Elder.”

Ningning was now sure he was just messing with her, so she embraced her role as a venomous supporting character and fired back sarcastically:

“Such sharp eyes. Truly unmatched in the world.”

Wen Hemen paused.

Then, the rims of his ears turned slightly red as he pursed his lips awkwardly and replied in a soft voice.

“I’m just a cripple… unworthy of such praise.”

Ningning: …
Wen Hemen, what are you doing?! I clearly just insulted you, and you didn’t even notice? Can you at least pretend to be offended?!

The unparalleled General Star Elder lowered his eyes slightly, seeming hesitant as he spoke in a cool tone.

“I saw little Daoist friend shed tears upon hearing the zither. I don’t know the reason, but though my abilities are humble, perhaps I could be of some help.”

Ningning slowly formed a question mark in her mind.

She wasn’t sure if the man in front of her was off, or if she was the one being weird—whenever she was with him, she felt like a soulless punctuation machine spitting out endless question marks.

Had this guy won the Oscar Grand Slam in the past or something? He’d been strumming his zither so cheerfully while she was crying, and now he shamelessly pretended to be a good person and asked her why she cried? Could it be that he really didn’t know—

Wait.

Wen Hemen might not know why she cried.

The valley had been filled with mist, and they were some distance apart. The stone was covered by weeds, easy to miss. When she tried to speak, she could only mouth the words, and she had been so weak that her lip movements were barely discernible—it made sense that he hadn’t understood.

And now he’d said “shed tears upon hearing the zither”…

Wen Hemen’s playing had subtle hints of self-loathing and melancholy hidden within, but to the average listener, it would just sound serene and free-spirited.

Could he have thought… she was moved to tears by understanding the deeper meaning of his music?

No no no no! If that were the case, wouldn’t it be like… two soulmates drinking late into the night, and then warming the bed under a spring canopy—
Pft!
No way.

In short, being moved to tears by the hidden emotions in someone’s song—this was not the kind of plot a vicious female supporting character should be part of.

The system in her head chimed in:
[Please complete the task as soon as possible.]

Ningning stole herself, yanked her hand from Wen Hemen’s grasp and declared:

“I wasn’t crying because of your song! I hate that kind of sad, miserable music! I don’t ever want to hear it again!”

She gritted her teeth and picked up the stone that had been kicked aside, then—just like in the original novel—smashed it against the ancient zither.

“I don’t like it! You’re not allowed to play it again!”

Not used to speaking so harshly to others, Ningning’s face burned like it was on fire. She had to summon all her courage just to force out the next line from the original plot.

“A mighty sword immortal, willingly hiding away here, reduced to a useless cripple. At this rate, you’ll spend your life with nothing but this broken zither for company!”

Ah, someone please just kill her.

That line was so mean.

Ningning quietly took a deep breath. Even though the line wasn’t directed at her, as the one saying it, she almost felt guilty enough to cry.

Strings snapped. The zither made a loud, discordant clang, its golden nanmu wood frame cracking apart.

The harsh sound pierced the silence of the valley like a blade, scattering the startled birds. Even the mist seemed to part slightly. Through the swirling white fog, Wen Hemen caught sight of the girl’s flushed face.

And the red at the corners of her eyes.

She looked like she was about to cry.

She… didn’t like that kind of sorrowful music.

She didn’t want him to play it anymore.

Ever since losing his cultivation, the elders of his sect had visited him, offering vague words of comfort, telling him not to worry, to rest and recover.

Only this girl had bluntly told him.
Don’t play such sad music anymore.

Otherwise, all he’d have left was the music—and the sadness—to keep him company.

She was so foolish.

Even if she smashed the zither, it wouldn’t be enough to make him leave this place.

He… was already beyond saving.

A cripple with no cultivation had no future to hope for.

Wen Hemen wasn’t good at talking to people, nor did he know how to comfort the girl who had clearly reddened her eyes because of him. He was about to say something when he heard Ningning’s flustered voice:

“I’m leaving!”

And she added:

“I hate you, and I hate your music! I was crying because… because I got hit by a rock!”

She had come so suddenly and left just as fast. The girl light on her feet—her figure vanished in the blink of an eye, leaving behind only a gentle breeze.

The white-robed young man stood alone before the ruined zither. His long lashes cast a shadow in his eyes, and a faint, bitter smile touched his lips.

Got hit by a rock, huh…

What a dumb excuse.

Ning Ning couldn’t eat or sleep well.

Although she knew she was just a vicious side character, and had previously been diligently completing her missions, those times she had muddled through without causing anyone real harm.

But this time was different.

She had said something truly cruel to someone who was already on the verge of breaking down from depression. Even in the original novel, it was mentioned that after the original Ning Ning mocked Wen Hemián, he became even more self-conscious and gloomy.

Yet he had asked her so gently why she was crying for no reason, and whether she needed help. He was just a silly, sweet guy who couldn’t even recognize sarcasm.

And… she really did love the way he played the zither.

But she had ended up saying such hurtful things. It was awful.

Ning Ning, who had never even argued with anyone since childhood, was filled with guilt. After much reflection, she decided to become the cultivator world’s version of Uncle Lei Feng—doing good deeds without leaving her name.

Wen Hemián lived alone in Qingxu Valley, had little contact with the other elders, and certainly no disciples willing to seek him out.

He had been isolated for so long, forced to endure rumors like “cripple” or “fallen genius.” Naturally, his heart must have been heavy, and it was only normal for him to feel self-doubted.

She decided to pretend to be an anonymous young disciple and secretly write letters to encourage him.

Within the Xuanxu Sword Sect, all communication was done using message talismans. Like letters in modern society, they could be delivered accurately to the recipient, but if the sender didn’t sign their name, their identity would remain unknown.

That way, she could impersonate a little fan of the Elder General Star and comfort him during this hardest time.

What a clever little fox she was!

No sooner had she thought of it than she grabbed a stack of message talismans from her desk and began scribbling away boldly. To avoid being found out, she even smartly changed her handwriting style.

She’d bet a year’s worth of pocket money—there was no way she’d get caught. The talisman flew like it had wings, instantly arriving at the entrance of Wen Hemián’s residence under the support of spiritual energy.

The young man, who rarely left his quarters, hadn’t received news in a long time. Puzzled, he opened the talisman. When he saw its contents, his frosty, snow-like expression slightly softened.

Scrawled in messy, dog-like handwriting on the talisman were the words:
…

[Greetings to Elder General Star! I’m a newly admitted disciple of the sect and have always, always admired you. If you’re reading this letter, that would make me so happy!

I heard you were injured in the great war and are now in seclusion to recover. I wonder how you’re doing—I really hope I can see you in person someday.

Please don’t be sad. Many others have never forgotten you. Though the Frost-Returning Sword hasn’t left its sheath in years, the Sword Saint General Star lives on in our hearts.

I’m not very strong right now, but I swear I’ll cultivate hard, just for you, and find a way to restore your spiritual sea one day.

Then I’ll come to Qingxu Valley and take you out of it.

Please hang on until that day! I’ll work hard!

Also, don’t mind my name—for now. I’ll come find you myself when I’ve fulfilled my promise.]

…

The words were clumsy and childish yet brimming with sincere emotion.

The youth’s pale fingers held the page. For some reason, a rare low chuckle escaped his throat.

This message talisman…

A cultivator with high cultivation could sense the unique spiritual energy of others. That girl would never guess—even though he had lost his powers, he could still sense the sender’s aura.

The spiritual energy on the talisman was gentle and soft yet carried a sharp sword intent. No matter how vaguely she wrote, Wen Hemián recognized the sender immediately.

If he hadn’t sensed that familiar energy and reduced the barrier around Qingxu Valley, this talisman wouldn’t have gotten through at all.

And to think she even wrote that she looked forward to seeing him in person someday.

Quite the act she put on.

Wen Hemián had never liked entangling himself with others. But this time, for reasons even he couldn’t explain, he picked up a brush, leaned forward, and used the same talisman to write a reply—

So long as the same talisman was used, the message would automatically return to the sender.

…

[Thank you for your misplaced admiration.

Today, a disciple trespassed into Qingxu Valley. She wore a white dress, her hair tied up, with a sword at her waist that held a pearl ornament. Judging by her sword aura, she’s likely in the Golden Core stage. Would this junior perhaps know her name?]

…

The girl, full of joy, thought she had successfully fooled Wen Hemián—completely unaware she had walked right into his trap.

Soon after, she sent another reply, still in that same bold and messy handwriting.

…

[Oh! That’s Senior Sister Ning Ning, one of Elder Tian Xianzi’s disciples. She’s super fierce! We’re all scared of her! If she did something today to upset you, I apologize on her behalf.

Please don’t mind, she’s always had a terrible temper.

Please, whatever you do, don’t be sad!!!]

…

That silly girl even bent over backward trying to apologize, even though she hadn’t really done anything wrong.

Within the youth’s deep black eyes, it was as though stars had fallen into them. He quietly stared at the letter for a long time, then moved his fingers slightly and, with great care, slowly wrote on the white paper.

So that’s her name.

For the first time in ages, a smile played at the corners of his lips. Lowering his gaze to the words on the page, he softly mouthed her name in his heart:

Ning Ning.