Chapter 14

*Moon-Chasing Diary*
“She pretended not to care, pretended not to know her heart was dancing, her blood was boiling. The cells in her body seemed to answer one another, together playing a passionate dance.”
— *Moon-Chasing Diary*
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Back in high school, Qin Sang was like every young girl—standing at a fork in life, holding the most fervent expectations for an unknown future, and also clinging to someone from the past she could never forget.
She remembered his every movement, every expression. On the court he would sweat freely. Every time he sank a three-pointer, he would unconsciously twist his right wrist a little. The movement was so small that unless you watched carefully, you wouldn’t notice.
She heard it was because in the summer of his third year of middle school, he’d been in a car accident and broken his right hand. Even though it healed well later, habits formed during recovery couldn’t be changed.
She remembered he liked mint candy. He could always produce two pieces from somewhere. He didn’t like to suck and wait for it to melt; he preferred to bite it to pieces and swallow.
The closest she ever got to him was during the short ten minutes after class in high school—at the school store. At checkout, he came from behind. Someone beside him hooked an arm over his shoulder bonelessly.
“God Xie—help me just this once. Otherwise my dad will confiscate it for sure. I haven’t even warmed the keys in my hand yet.”
His voice was lazy, without his usual cold distance. He reminded, “Hand.”
“Xie God, Boss Xie, Big Bro Xie—ancestor?” the boy begged shamelessly. “Just help me. If you show up, my dad will have nothing to say. Besides, don’t you want to touch it too? Haven’t you touched it in so long—aren’t your hands itchy?”
The boy carried the clearest lemon scent of youth. Heat poured out endlessly; just standing side by side felt like being melted.
Then he angled slightly and reached out. A cold-white, slender hand swept past her eyes and stopped at the shelf closest to her. He picked a box of mint candy, paid, and walked away.
Qin Sang stood in place, looking up. At checkout, as if possessed, she also grabbed a box of mint candy.
It was hard candy in glassy wrappers with a filling—white and translucent with blue mint jam inside. The candy was hard. When you bit it, the mint burst on your tongue instantly—sharp and cool, making you feel refreshed in one moment, very bracing.
Qin Sang couldn’t say why. At first she wasn’t used to it, but later she seemed to get addicted to that sharp taste. Then the factory went bankrupt. After that, she searched every mint candy on the market and never found the exact same flavor again.
It felt like she was always looking up at him, silently watching everything about him from a corner he couldn’t see—though his joys and sorrows had nothing to do with her.
Her attention was absurd to the point that she even knew clearly: from the lectern to her seat took fifteen steps; from him to the lectern took only five. Between them—only ten steps.
Ten short steps. Ten long years.
Ten years later, on an ordinary day, she again had the chance to stand shoulder to shoulder with him. He stood beside her, close enough that she could see how long his lashes were, how straight his nose bridge was. His lips moved as he spoke; his voice was gentle and clear.
“This is the upper stage of the new-generation carrier ‘Expedition-3.’ Its shape is closer to an aircraft. It supports multi-satellite deployment in different orbits and rapid constellation networking. On its maiden flight, it ignited in orbit twenty-one times, delivering seven satellites separately into circular orbits at different altitudes.”①
He was a qualified guide, she thought.
It was just a pity he’d met a listener who wasn’t very focused.
“What’s wrong?” His eyes were very clear. His pupils weren’t deep, like clean glass marbles—bright, pure, without a trace of impurity.
So close.
Qin Sang shook her head. “Nothing.”
As if nonchalant, she pointed to the other side. “What’s that?”
Xie Yuncheng explained, “That’s the Long March-6X— a vertical takeoff-and-landing reusable carrier rocket.”
She asked curiously, “Long March-6X? What’s the difference from Long March-6?”
“Long March-6X is the reusable variant of Long March-6. After the first-stage mission is completed, it can achieve vertical pinpoint soft landing recovery.”
“So that’s how it is.” She nodded as if she understood.
Xie Yuncheng watched, and in the depths of his eyes a faint smile surfaced. “In simple terms—it’s an improvement based on Long March-6, making repeated use more convenient.”
He asked gently, “What else do you want to know?”
Qin Sang drew out her tone and said softly, “I’m curious about everything. Classmate Xie, you don’t mind introducing them all to me, do you?”
“What if I say I mind?” His expression was gentle. He hooked his lips in a smile. “Classmate Qin—what are you going to do?”
Qin Sang looked at him. His eyes held laughter. That face, usually austere and handsome, seemed more vivid now—brows and eyes gentle, with a teasing smile, like clear wine filled with cold moonlight—intoxicating.
She froze. He was joking with her?
Qin Sang came back to herself. “Isn’t this your job?”
When she saw him appear, she was surprised—but not shocked. He belonged to the aerospace institute. And thinking of what Director Shen said before leaving—he’d arrange a colleague to host them—she’d already guessed that colleague was Xie Yuncheng.
She even suspected it wasn’t coincidence. She looked at him suspiciously. “This wasn’t arranged by you, was it?”
Xie Yuncheng raised an eyebrow, waiting for what she’d say next.
She asked, confused. “Was the promo film opportunity something you helped me get?”
Ordinary people couldn’t reach this kind of resource. She’d acted for ten years, and even now reaching mainstream “official” resources wasn’t easy. Yet this time, Aerospace Technology Group proactively invited her—like a pie falling from the sky. From the start, she had doubts. With her current status, trying to touch this kind of “red” resource usually cost a steep price.
“No,” Xie Yuncheng explained. “The purpose of a promo film is public outreach and dissemination. This one’s theme is ‘dreams.’ Besides aerospace personnel, it also includes practitioners from many industries. Actors are just one among many professions.”
“Your image is good, your background is clean, and your influence is broad. That’s why they chose you as a key representative of young actors.”
“It’s not that I got it for you—”
“It’s because you’re excellent enough.”
When Xie Yuncheng said this, he looked straight at her.
His eyes were truly bright, like a clear mirror. At this moment, they reflected her plainly—so plainly it made her feel timid.
Qin Sang’s heart jumped. One slip, and her rhythm went chaotic. Her throat felt dry. Nervously, she pressed her lips together and gave a vague “Mm,” lowering her eyes and pretending to be calm.
“Then I misunderstood. I thought, Classmate Xie, for classmates’ sake, you opened a back door for me.”
“If I could, I wouldn’t mind opening one,” Xie Yuncheng’s gaze was gentle. “After all, Classmate Qin is worth it.”
Some people didn’t need to do anything. Just standing there—just one casual line—was enough to make her heart move.
“Let’s keep walking,” she said.
Wait a little longer. Wait until her heartbeat wasn’t so deafening. Wait until she wasn’t dizzy and lightheaded, secretly happy over a simple sentence—pretending not to know that his words were only polite courtesy.
Wait until the sound of footsteps could cover her panic. Wait until her turning away wouldn’t look so awkward and deliberate.
She pretended not to care, pretended not to know her heart was dancing, her blood was boiling. The cells in her body seemed to answer one another, together playing a passionate dance.
…
So strange.
In the past, to get close to him, she’d thought up countless reasons—but in the end, out of cowardice, she’d hesitated and never acted.
Now, they walked slowly together. If possible, she truly hoped the hall could be a little bigger, the road a little longer.
He talked about so many aerospace things—gentle, unhurried. The long aerospace history unfolded like a scroll. She saw generations of aerospace people striving for ideals, saw the hardships of their predecessors, saw today’s vast star river and boundless universe. Under the persistence of one generation after another, even the cosmos seemed smaller, nearer—almost within reach.
When they passed the testing workshop and labs, Qin Sang stopped and stared for a long time. In those many aerospace people, she seemed to see his silhouette.
To see him in a corner no one watched, in a boundless black night, working for his ideal.
That was a Xie Yuncheng she’d never seen—a past she’d had no chance to participate in.
Those scattered fragments gradually pieced into a complete picture.
The boy rode with spear and sword, high-spirited and fearless. He didn’t fear hardship ahead. He cut through thorns—white clothes, furious horse.
What a pity.
Thinking of what she’d learned from Liu Chengcheng, her mood grew heavier, quiet regret rising.
She wanted to pretend not to care, yet her eyes couldn’t help secretly stealing glances at him. His face was calm and indifferent, but when he spoke of aerospace, the emotion in his eyes was different.
At those times he was vivid—three-dimensional—as if his consciousness had found an anchor, his drifting soul finally found a home, carrying a stubborn resilience that refused to lose.
After giving so much, and with aerospace always being his dream—how could he easily let it go?
She still remembered his expression in high school when he spoke confidently. Youthful, vigorous; cold brows carrying a fierce pride. It wasn’t annoying; instead it held the unruly spirit of: “A young man should ride the wind upward, seize stars and moon, chase the sun’s light.”
Seeing the fleeting emotion in his eyes as he looked at the lab, Qin Sang thought for a long time and asked, “Will you give up?”
“No.” His answer was decisive. He lowered his eyes and looked straight at her. “Someone once told me: life isn’t a fixed track—it’s a wilderness of hope. If you hold hope, what hardships are there to fear?”
His eyes were bright and gentle—like the boiling boyish heart from ten years ago, scalding and hot.