Chapter 13

*Moon-Chasing Diary*
“Secret crushes are like this: you’re afraid he’ll find out, and you’re also afraid he won’t.
Contradictory and absurd—like an unripe green apple. One bite and your mouth fills with sourness; only bitterness remains.”
— *Moon-Chasing Diary*
-
“This time you really turned misfortune into fortune—you hit the jackpot.”
After hanging up, Sister Wen smiled so wide her teeth showed. “Do you know who just called?”
Xiaoxiao’s curiosity was fully hooked. “Who, who?”
Sister Wen didn’t tease. “Shen Yi—the director of the Publicity Department at JetStar Aerospace Technology Group. Director Shen.”
Qin Sang looked up instinctively, surprised. “JetStar Aerospace Technology?”
“Yes.” Sister Wen could barely close her grin. “Director Shen called specifically to discuss cooperation. They want to work with you on an aerospace promo film.”
Qin Sang asked, “And you agreed?”
“Of course I agreed.” Sister Wen said, “What a great opportunity—why miss it? Lately, because of the Huitai situation, your public image took a hit. This promo film is perfect to pull your reputation back.”
Although Qin Sang had clashed unpleasantly with Tong Junjie at Huitai’s anniversary event, she’d still cooperated with Huitai for ten years. This contract ending was, on the surface, fairly dignified.
Madam Cai personally came forward to clarify the online rumors that Qin Sang had fallen out with Huitai. In an interview at the nursing home, when reporters deliberately asked whether there was hidden inside story behind Huitai terminating the contract with Qin Sang, the eighty-plus-year-old Madam Cai—silver-haired, kind-faced, gentle—only smiled and said:
“Happy when we gather; happy even when we part.”
Eight short characters shattered the “falling out” rumors. Immediately after, Qin Sang’s studio followed with a Weibo post as a response:
“A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step; a ship of ten thousand miles is guided by a compass.① Because of you, there is me. True to our meeting, true to our hearts.”
The difference in tone and class was obvious. She never denied what Huitai had given. On the contrary, she remembered deeply that in her hardest days, Huitai had extended a hand and pulled her up. So even if mountains and roads lay far ahead and they never met again, she would remember always—never forget.
Finally, Huitai’s official account also responded, reposting the studio’s Weibo with: “May the road ahead be full of flowers; may the future shine like fine jade.② Wishing you well.”
Both sides responded to the contract termination, and it ended very thoroughly and gracefully. Even though speculation continued, after this, the noise quieted a lot.
Still—Huitai had worked with Qin Sang for ten years. And back when she had nothing, Huitai had been the one to extend an olive branch and support her. Now that Qin Sang had proven herself again, for Huitai to suddenly refuse renewal at this moment—people who didn’t know the inside story could easily interpret it as her being ungrateful.
On top of that, Qin Sang had been preparing to enter a new production and had been less active in public lately. She needed a suitable platform to stabilize her increasingly shaky “passerby goodwill.”
Sister Wen was worrying—when JetStar proactively came knocking. How could she possibly let such a perfect chance slip away?
Xiaoxiao didn’t fully grasp the stakes yet. She asked in confusion, “Sister Wen, what does JetStar Aerospace Technology do? Is it related to Mr. Xie’s profession too?”
That stumped Sister Wen. She wasn’t a specialist and couldn’t tell the difference. “Uh…”
Qin Sang smiled and explained gently. “If I remember right, JetStar used to be an aerospace industry corporation—a state-owned enterprise. Later it was split into today’s JetStar Aerospace Technology and Aerospace Science & Industry.”
Xiaoxiao still didn’t understand. “What’s the difference? Why split into two companies?”
“Put it this way,” Qin Sang said. “Aerospace Technology Group is like the carrier—responsible for sending you up into the sky. Aerospace Science & Industry studies different directions—what they build can send you ‘to heaven’ the other way. One serves oneself, one serves against enemies. That’s the most fundamental difference.”
“Aerospace Technology Group has eight research academies under it. Classmate Xie’s Fifth Academy is one of them—a confidential unit. You can also think of it as: the Fifth Academy is a subsidiary under Aerospace Technology Group.”
Xiaoxiao suddenly understood. “So that’s how it is. Sang-sang, you know so much.”
“Yeah,” even Sister Wen was surprised. “How do you know it so clearly?”
Qin Sang smiled faintly and didn’t answer.
Why did she know it so clearly?
Because he was in that world.
Because anything related to him—she wanted to understand.
Even if the world he inhabited had nothing to do with hers. Even if mountains and roads were far. She still wanted to climb them and run forward—just to get a little closer to him, just a little.
_
JetStar Aerospace Technology Group did have university open days, but on non-open days, management was strict. Visitors had to register their identities in detail. After verification, they still had to pass rigorous security checks to enter.
Xiaoxiao had never seen such a setup. She was curious and a bit scared, patting her chest. “So strict. Kind of scary.”
“What do you think this is—an open market?” Sister Wen laughed. “You think anyone can just walk in?”
“True.” Xiaoxiao nodded. “It’s a confidential unit. Strict management makes sense.”
“Sorry I’m late,” Shen Yi arrived at last.
Shen Yi wore glasses, suit and leather shoes, and looked quite young. He didn’t look like a researcher in aerospace; by appearance alone, he looked more like a successful businessman.
His gaze landed on Qin Sang, and there was no lack of amazement in his eyes. He smiled. “Hello, Teacher Qin. I’ve long heard your name. Seeing you today—truly you live up to it. You’re even more beautiful in person than on camera.”
Qin Sang had heard such pleasantries countless times. She curved her lips in an official smile. “You flatter me.”
“I’m not just saying it for politeness.” Shen Yi seemed to see through her thoughts and explained warmly. “I’ve watched all your films. I’m a loyal fan. I’ve rewatched every movie you’ve starred in no fewer than ten times. But compared to your award-winning work *The Sound of the Wind and the Cry of the Crane*, I like even more the film you acted in when you first debuted—*A Letter from Afar*.”
Qin Sang was surprised. *A Letter from Afar* was indeed a film she participated in when she first debuted.
But because its theme was sensitive—tending to “encourage early romance”—it failed to release in mainland China. It only had limited screenings in Hong Kong and Taiwan, so mainland audiences didn’t know much about it. Only a small portion of old fans knew she’d once acted in a youth secret-crush film.
And her screen time in that film wasn’t heavy. Since the film unfolded from the boy’s perspective, she couldn’t really be called the main character.
She played a deaf-mute girl named Yu Sibei—born poor, parents divorced. Because she was disabled, neither parent wanted her. After they remarried, they treated her as baggage they couldn’t shake off and irresponsibly dumped her on the elderly at home. She never enjoyed fatherly or motherly love; she grew up lonely with her grandmother—yet she was sensible and well-behaved.
Until that year, her school held an exchange program with a high school in Taiwan. And so she met the only beam of light in her life.
The exchange student from Taiwan, Xu Jiashu—knowledgeable, humorous, gentle. He never disliked that she was deaf. He taught her to play the harmonica and learned sign language with her.
She liked him—fell in love beyond control.
But reality sat before her. She was the most ordinary of ordinary people—she had nothing, she couldn’t even speak, couldn’t even hear a voice. The gap between them was heaven and earth. She could never cross that chasm and go to his side.
Her overflowing affection—no matter how it boiled in her heart—couldn’t be spoken. She could only hide it in the deepest place, not let anyone notice, not dare let anyone know.
But meetings and partings always come. The exchange days ended. Xu Jiashu returned to Taiwan—perhaps never to be seen again. The night before he left, she wrote a letter and slipped it into the book he had once given her, then handed it to him.
…
“Back then, although Teacher Qin was young and her acting wasn’t as refined as it is now, she really made people empathize,” Shen Yi praised without stinginess.
Qin Sang drifted a little. Back then her acting wasn’t good. She hadn’t even graduated. Other classmates already had clear career paths; only she wandered from set to set, just to beg for a small role.
*A Letter from Afar* was her first time playing a role with important weight. At that time, she wasn’t “acting”—she was bringing reality into it.
Secret crushes were like this: you feared he’d find out, and you feared he wouldn’t.
Contradictory and absurd, like an unripe green apple. One bite—mouthful of sourness, only bitterness left.
But Yu Sibei was luckier than her. At least they had shared memories. She—three years in the same class, and Xie Yuncheng probably didn’t even know her surname, her given name.
To him, she might have been only a nameless classmate—an insignificant passerby in his life.
Qin Sang came back to herself and smiled lightly. “Thank you for liking it. Actually, after making so many works these years, my favorite is still this film.”
Shen Yi remembered something. “Do you mind giving me an autograph? Right here.”
Qin Sang was surprised. What he took out was actually merch postcards from *A Letter from Afar*.
That postcard was her solo cover. On the back was a printed handwritten letter—the letter Yu Sibei wrote to Xu Jiashu.
Qin Sang’s feelings were complicated. She took the pen and the postcard and signed beneath the letter. But when she handed it back, her clear gaze slid over the ending line:
“In the south, a fine tree; in the north, longing.”
Translated—it meant Yu Sibei liked Xu Jiashu.
A girl’s affection had nowhere to go. Even confession was so indirect and restrained.
Dare not say it. Cannot say it.
So pitiful.
Qin Sang lowered her eyes, a strange bitterness rising.
…
Shen Yi took them to tour the viewable exhibition hall, testing workshop, and labs. When they reached the hall, Shen Yi answered a call. His expression grew heavy. After hanging up, he said in a rush, “Sorry. I have something urgent to handle. How about this—I’ll have a colleague come and continue guiding you.”
Qin Sang was understanding. “It’s fine. Please go ahead.”
It must have been truly urgent. Shen Yi forced a smile and nodded, then turned and left quickly.
Before coming, Xiaoxiao had eaten something bad and had a stomachache. As soon as she arrived she ran to the restroom. Now her stomach churned again. She clutched her belly, face pale, barely able to stand.
Seeing her like that, Qin Sang felt uneasy. “Sister Wen, should we take Xiaoxiao to the hospital first?”
Sister Wen was worried too, but hesitated. “If I take her, will you be okay alone?”
“It’s fine.” Qin Sang joked. “In a place like this, are you still worried I won’t be safe?”
Sister Wen clearly thought of the unit’s special nature. She was annoyed and amused. “Alright, I’ll take Xiaoxiao to the hospital first. I’ll come pick you up later.”
“Mm.” Qin Sang nodded slightly. “Go quickly.”
After the two left, Qin Sang strolled the exhibition hall alone.
Suddenly, she stopped, looking at the instrument on display. Curious, she leaned closer—and then a tired, lazy voice sounded behind her.
“Classmate Qin—do you need a guide?”