Chapter 12

*Moon-Chasing Diary*
“The moon doesn’t sleep, I don’t sleep. Dream-chasers never give up.”
— *Moon-Chasing Diary*
_
In past years, Zhou Yihong bought a house outright. To make his film, he mortgaged it to the bank for a loan. Not only that—his car, and the collectible figurines he’d treasured for years. Anything he could mortgage or resell, he sold. Now he was a bare commander—poorer than his own face.
So poor he could barely eat, with nowhere to go, he shamelessly moved into Xie Yuncheng’s place.
Xie Yuncheng was used to living alone, with low material desire. His apartment inevitably felt cold and quiet. After Zhou Yihong moved in, the place gained a little “human warmth.” Unfortunately, Zhou Yihong’s living habits were terrible.
In the two days Xie Yuncheng went to Tong City, Zhou Yihong trashed the apartment almost completely. Worn clothes were everywhere—on the sofa, the coffee table. Shoes scattered. Socks thrown around. Takeout boxes piled like mountains. He’d let the garbage accumulate for days without taking it downstairs.
Xie Yuncheng returned suddenly. Zhou Yihong didn’t have time to tidy. He was sitting there with a bucket of instant noodles, watching a soccer match. Hearing the door, he froze. Only when he saw Xie Yuncheng come in did he react, hurriedly stuffing the clothes he hadn’t cleaned up under his butt.
“You’re back so fast? Everything solved?”
Xie Yuncheng answered lightly, “I messed it up.”
The match was loud. Zhou Yihong didn’t hear clearly. Seeing Xie Yuncheng’s calm face, he assumed it was solved and nodded. “Solved is good—…Wait, what did you just say?”
“Messed it up?” Zhou Yihong couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t dare say much else, but he trusted Xie Yuncheng’s ability. Even if he was proud in daily life, at work his efficiency was high. Something he couldn’t solve?
Xie Yuncheng set a takeout bag on the coffee table. “For you.”
Zhou Yihong was flattered. He leaned in, sniffing, and looked. “Whoa. Didn’t you say it wasn’t solved? Why are you still so generous? Rongchunge isn’t cheap, and isn’t that place reservation-only, VIPs only?”
Rongchunge’s hype was something they’d marketed up. As for taste—depends who you ask. Zhou Yihong hadn’t tried it. He’d only heard the owner’s ancestors were imperial chefs, the craft passed down generations. People said one meal there cost two months of an ordinary person’s salary.
Zhou Yihong was smooth in dealing with people, but his thinking was still that of a typical small citizen. He couldn’t understand the meaning of worshiping an inflated value. Wasn’t it all to satisfy the appetite?
Passed down, ancestors were chefs, now still chefs. Back then they served nobles; now they do business—who comes and goes isn’t it still that same class? It wasn’t exactly “glorious.” In the end, people like him were never Rongchunge’s target audience.
Zhou Yihong was curious. Wasn’t Xie Yuncheng always uninterested in those “premium services” that only existed on top of strong material foundations?
Xie Yuncheng’s voice was tired and lazy. “Someone asked me to bring it to you.”
“Someone?” Zhou Yihong was shocked. “Who?”
Was his network really that good—someone treating him to a free luxurious meal?
Before he could ask further, Xie Yuncheng had already returned to his room.
After a shower, his phone buzzed twice. Two new WeChat notifications popped up.
Qin Sang’s avatar looked completely unlike her. It was a simple doodle: a moon and a rabbit—simple, cute.
[“Classmate Sanyou” patted “you”]
[Classmate Xie, are you home yet?]
Xie Yuncheng had just finished bathing. Steam still clung to him; water droplets slid from his hair and disappeared into his collarbone.
He casually pulled down a towel and replied one-handed.
[Home.]
The other side showed “typing.” The phone, placed casually on the table, suddenly vibrated; the screen lit.
[How is it? Does Director Zhou like what you brought back?]
Xie Yuncheng glanced at it and paused.
The living room was noisy. He could vaguely hear praise. Zhou Yihong shouted indistinctly with his mouth full: “You know what, Rongchunge really tastes good. Looks like influencer economy isn’t all IQ tax—this food is pretty damn tasty.”
Xie Yuncheng stood, opened his door, and leaned lazily on the frame with one hand in his pocket. He lifted his phone, aimed the camera toward the living room, snapped a photo casually, and sent it.
[Image]
[Looks pretty good.]
After receiving the photo, the other side went silent for a long time, then sent only a string of symbols.
[…]
How to put it—this photo was truly not elegant. Zhou Yihong was wolfing down food like a dedicated eater. The surroundings were a disaster: takeout boxes everywhere, dirty clothes that looked like they hadn’t been washed in days.
The moment Qin Sang saw it, her brows knit in disgust.
She pressed her lips together. No filter, however thick, could make her lie and say this was a livable space.
She hesitated, then finally squeezed out one line:
[That’s good, then.]
Xie Yuncheng’s mouth curved slightly. A faint smile surfaced in his eyes.
…
Two hours earlier, when he was eating at Rongchunge, Zhou Yihong called to ask when he’d return to Jingcheng.
Rongchunge was elegant and quiet. Qin Sang happened to be sitting beside him, and she heard every word clearly.
On the phone Zhou Yihong howled: “Junior Xie, when are you coming back to Jingcheng? If you don’t come back soon, I’m going to starve to death. You don’t want to come home and find me dead in your house, ruining your feng shui, do you?”
Qin Sang was surprised. “You live with Director Zhou?”
Xie Yuncheng explained calmly, “He mortgaged his house. Has nowhere to live. He’s staying at my place for now.”
Qin Sang nodded. “So that’s it. Then Director Zhou has really paid a lot for this film. If the response is bad… wouldn’t he end up with nothing?”
“You can’t really tell. Director Zhou is a warrior,” Qin Sang said, sighing with emotion.
Xie Yuncheng didn’t speak. He only lifted his eyes to look at her, meaning unclear. “Warrior?”
“Because not everyone can put everything down, break free of reality’s shackles, and chase their dream.”
She sighed, but her eyes were clear and bright, like they held endless energy—impossible to ignore.
Then she turned her head, as if it were only an offhand thought. “I think everyone’s dreams are amazing. Anyone with the courage to chase their dream deserves respect.”
“People struggle for food and survival. Maybe they’ve already drifted away from who they wanted to be at the start, so their ‘understanding’ of success becomes narrow. But there are always some people who cut through thorns and are willing to pay everything for their ideals. Maybe they’re idealists detached from reality, but can you say they’re wrong? They’re just more determined and braver than ordinary people, and so—without meaning to—they become ‘outliers’ in ordinary people’s eyes.”
“You know—people always envy those they can never become. So they smear, they envy, they keep pressing down with malicious eyes, because if they can’t get it, they want to destroy it.”
“Brave people enjoy the world first. Cowards only live forever in the fears they manufacture. Life isn’t a fixed track—it’s a wilderness of hope.”①
She only tapped lightly, and the high walls of defense cracked. Then spiderweb cracks spread everywhere; the tall wall wavered, ready to collapse.
And then—with a boom—the wall that had stood unmoved finally fell.
Xie Yuncheng leaned back naturally, long legs slightly bent. Suddenly, he lowered his eyes, curled his lips, and laughed—unable to hold it in.
Her thoughts always seemed this “shocking,” this different.
…
Meanwhile, Zhou Yihong had no idea his ugly scene had already been exposed. He looked up and saw Xie Yuncheng leaning on the doorframe, phone in one hand, chatting with someone. His mood was faint, but he still seemed different from usual—relaxed, brows eased, eyes holding a sleepy, lazy smile.
What was this? Smiling so strangely—almost heart-fluttering.
Zhou Yihong felt a chill and shuddered.
Now full and satisfied, he leaned back on the sofa and couldn’t help lighting a cigarette. After two puffs, he remembered: Xie Yuncheng did smoke, but he didn’t have a strong addiction. Other than when his pressure was high and he sought nicotine to numb his nerves briefly, he usually wouldn’t touch it.
Zhou Yihong lifted his hand and tapped his cigarette. “I’ll only smoke one. I’ll ventilate later, I promise I won’t leave any smell.”
What a contradiction. Who smokes but can’t stand cigarette smell?
“Oh, right.” Zhou Yihong didn’t even finish the cigarette. After two hard drags he stubbed it out, voice a bit hoarse. “I went to see Rongxing a couple days ago. Rongxing agreed to invest. The contract’s signed. In a few days I’ll probably move out. Then you’ll be all alone again.”
“What are you planning to do? You can’t go back to the institute for now, and your father’s side won’t have results anytime soon.” Zhou Yihong was truly worried for him. “Why not find a place to hide out, clear your head—treat it like vacation?”
During the time Zhou Yihong stayed at his place, he often saw Xie Yuncheng’s mother vent her anger on him over family matters. Yesterday Zhou Wanqing even came to block the door.
When she learned Xie Yuncheng wasn’t home, the accustomed-to-privilege Mrs. Xie turned her spear at Zhou Yihong. She looked him up and down with contempt, then mocked, disdainful and arrogant: “I told him long ago to make fewer friends with people who aren’t proper, so he won’t pick up that poor stink and get led astray.”
Zhou Yihong was furious, but she was Xie Yuncheng’s mother; he couldn’t curse back.
But after meeting Zhou Wanqing, he finally understood why Xie Yuncheng had cut ties with the Xie family. If he had a mother like that, he wouldn’t want to step into that house either.
Xie Yuncheng raised an eyebrow and quickly guessed. “She came?”
“Mm? Mrs. Xie?” Zhou Yihong laughed. “She came. Left when she didn’t see you. Told me to pass a message—when you’re back, go to the hospital.”
“Oh right.” Zhou Yihong remembered. “At the reunion a couple days ago, I saw Shen Yi. They’re busy lately, looking for actors for a promotional film—busy to the point of dizziness. He only just learned about your situation and asked me to ask you: do you have time to meet?”
Xie Yuncheng’s eyes swept over his phone absentmindedly. After she replied once, she didn’t send any more messages.
But her Moments updated with a new post: a selfie at the airport.
[The moon doesn’t sleep, I don’t sleep. Dream-chasers never give up 🌙🌙🌙]
Xie Yuncheng lowered his eyes. The person in the photo smiled brightly, like she could drive away a night with no daylight. His gaze was unreadable; his thumb slowly rubbed the edge of his phone.
“Sure,” he said lightly. His eyes were dark as ink, yet unusually gentle. “I happen to have some things I want to talk to him about.”