Chapter 15

*Moon-Chasing Diary*
“In that deep winter, a secret love buried a seed. When spring returned the next year, it quietly broke through the soil.”
— *Moon-Chasing Diary*
-
After touring the exhibition hall, Qin Sang called to check on Xiaoxiao. Learning that Xiaoxiao had acute gastroenteritis from eating unclean food, she felt worried. “Is it serious?”
Sister Wen stayed at the hospital. “Not serious, but she needs an IV drip. We can’t come over that fast. I’ll have the driver go pick you up first.”
The hand holding Qin Sang’s phone grew slightly warm. Her gaze drifted to the not-far-away figure.
He was tall—outstanding even in a crowd. For a moment, it was as if she’d returned to that year in high school.
Back then their classroom was on the third floor. Her seat was close to the window. Between them there was only an aisle and a row of seats. The window at the front-right closest to her was broken. The metal hinge was aged and rusted; the window couldn’t close tightly. When you tried, it screeched. When the north wind blew, the noise was worse. So she especially hated winter.
In winter, cold wind poured in through the window. She was afraid of cold. Sitting there, every winter felt like torture.
Class 1 High was a key high school with strong faculty, and it followed that “temper the bones, starve the body” kind of teaching creed. So even though they reported the window problem upward, the school still didn’t send anyone to fix or replace it.
Yet even so, she never thought of changing seats. During breaks, through that half-open window, she could occasionally glimpse his silhouette once or twice.
Winter sunlight scattered down—thin, yet warm. He stood on the third-floor corridor, posture upright but relaxed. The same uniform jacket on him looked inexplicably stylish.
The boy leaned an elbow on the railing, body naturally leaning back, bathing in sunlight. His short black hair looked fluffy—soft and glossy, like a puppy’s wet eyes. The eyes that were usually indifferent revealed a sleepy smile without care—lazy and unrestrained.
She thought: she truly hated the cold of barren winter.
But at that moment, in that long winter, she felt the warmth of spring—like spring revived, green everywhere, lush in all directions.
In that deep winter, a secret love buried a seed. When spring returned the next year, it quietly broke through the soil.
…
Qin Sang’s lashes trembled. She lowered her gaze quietly and answered gently, “No need. I happened to run into… an acquaintance.”
“An acquaintance?” Sister Wen was about to ask, but the hospital started calling numbers. A nurse was calling names. She answered hurriedly, not thinking further, only reminding, “Alright. Then rest early. Don’t worry about Xiaoxiao—she has me.”
Qin Sang answered lowly and hung up.
…
By coincidence, Xie Yuncheng had also just finished a call. His attitude on the phone was light—neither warm nor cold.
When she came over, he paused and asked, “Do you mind two more people?”
“It’s fine.” Qin Sang smiled, but her eyes no longer dared to meet his directly. “More people, more lively.”
She pretended to be fine, doing her best to ignore the strange sourness from earlier.
-
The “two more people” Xie Yuncheng mentioned weren’t strangers. They were acquaintances.
Zhou Yihong had just come out of the apartment. He had no money. These days, he wasn’t only freeloading at Xie Yuncheng’s place—his three meals a day also depended on “mooching” to solve his temporary subsistence problem.
The group arrived at a seafood restaurant. On the way, Xie Yuncheng’s phone kept vibrating. After they entered, he glanced at the screen; his eyes turned heavy. He said calmly, “I’ll take a call. You eat first—don’t wait for me.”
Zhou Yihong understood. He wasn’t surprised. He watched Xie Yuncheng leave and sighed, “Day and night, day and night—like they’re trying to kill him.”
Qin Sang didn’t understand and looked at him, confused. “You know who it is?”
“Who else?” Thinking of Zhou Wanqing, Zhou Yihong rolled his eyes internally. His words came out fast. “His mom. At least eight calls a day. Even after midnight she won’t stop.”
Only after saying it did Zhou Yihong realize it was inappropriate. This was Xie Yuncheng’s private matter; he shouldn’t comment. He coughed vaguely. “Anyway it’s annoying. Forget it—let’s not talk about that. Let’s go in and wait.”
“Okay.”
Qin Sang answered. Before entering, she unconsciously lifted her eyes and looked at the man’s back.
This seafood restaurant was introduced by Shen Yi. They said their department often held dinners here. Prices weren’t low, but the seafood was fresh.
As for Shen Yi—he arrived the latest. He came in, took off his suit jacket, probably hurried over. His glasses had fogged white. His breathing was a bit rough. He said, “Sorry. I just finished dealing with it. I’m late.”
As he spoke, he unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, then grabbed a cup and gulped down two full cups of water.
“You good?” Zhou Yihong joked. “Run two steps and you’re panting. Been in Publicity too long—gone soft? Want me to order you some oysters to ‘supplement’?”
Shen Yi was different from Xie Yuncheng. Though both worked at JetStar, Xie Yuncheng was frontline—important research personnel. Shen Yi worked in JetStar’s Aerospace News & Publicity Department—under the relevant division, mainly handling publicity planning and related news.
Privately, Shen Yi was more relaxed than when they first met at JetStar. He took off his glasses and wiped the fog clean, and his mouth didn’t spare words. “Instead of worrying about me, worry about yourself first. Stubbly, wrinkled clothes, sloppy. You walked in and no one stopped you?”
Zhou Yihong touched his chin. The stubble was hard and prickly, but he didn’t care. He lifted his chin proudly and snorted. “What do you know? This is art.”
“What art?” Shen Yi’s tongue was sharp. “Performance art? So now doing art means being unkempt?”
Zhou Yihong choked. “You don’t know crap. This is personality. Look around—what artist doesn’t have some personal characteristics? Who isn’t stubbly with long hair? Right, Teacher Qin? Aren’t directors of arthouse films all like this?”
Suddenly called on, Qin Sang saw two pairs of eyes looking at her—especially Zhou Yihong’s. She paused two seconds and could only answer tactfully:
“Every director has their own style, but…”
“I think, Director Zhou, you don’t have to go with the flow and blindly follow trends. Just like making films—keeping your original characteristics is the most important.”
Zhou Yihong stroked the stubble he’d finally grown, feeling depressed.
Shen Yi put his glasses back on, laughed without mercy, and raised his glass toward Qin Sang. “Teacher Qin—spoken like an artist. I’ve learned.”
Qin Sang smiled too and lifted her cup in return.
Zhou Yihong immediately surrendered. “Fine. I see it now—you two are singing the same tune, cooperating perfectly, just to squeeze me, huh?”
He narrowed his eyes and pointed at Shen Yi. “You brat. You’ve only been an ‘official’ for a few years and you’re putting on airs now? Back at school you weren’t like this. You used to call me ‘Senior Zhou’—so sweet.”
Shen Yi was calm. “Back then I was ignorant. Now I’m awake.”
Zhou Yihong cursed with a laugh. “Brat.”
Their tacit understanding didn’t feel fake. In their banter, there was the familiar ease of old friends—an atmosphere outsiders couldn’t insert themselves into. Even existing felt a bit extra.
Qin Sang smiled lightly, being a quiet guest. Occasionally she sipped water. Probably afraid she’d feel awkward, Shen Yi explained, “Teacher Qin, we’re used to talking without rules in private. Please don’t mind.”
“I don’t.” Qin Sang didn’t have many friends. She actually envied their unrestrained way of getting along. “But…”
She still didn’t quite get it. “Are you university classmates?”
“More or less,” Shen Yi said. “Senior Zhou did undergrad at Nanhang, then got into Tsinghua for his master’s—three years older than us. Xie— and I—were in the same year. We originally studied administration, but in sophomore year Xie switched majors to aerospace.”
“Later, Xie was recommended for grad school and became Senior Zhou’s junior under the same advisor. And privately, we were all in the same photography club. Spend long enough together and you naturally get familiar.”
In fact, Xie only joined the club because he’d been dragged in to make up numbers—as a “face.” His looks drew bees and butterflies. Every year during recruitment, they’d hang his photo out and the effect was absurdly good.
Zhou Yihong thought of something and said gleefully, “Chen Lei—the photography club president. Even after graduating he still gets scolded. Everyone says he’s the head of a scam ring. Promised a ‘face,’ but it turned out to be the kind of face you never see all year.”
Freshman year, Xie could still show up occasionally; he’d even join some club activities. His photography was good—some of his photos were even used by *National Geographic*. But his interest in photography wasn’t strong. After switching majors sophomore year, he truly didn’t have time for club activities. Over an entire semester, it was hard to see him even once.
So all those underclassmen—lured in by his face—complained endlessly after joining, calling it a scam.
Zhou Yihong got excited, gesturing animatedly. “You don’t know how crazy those young girls were chasing him. Followed him to class, followed him to the cafeteria—followed him everywhere. If our professors hadn’t been iron-faced and refused auditing, students from our own major probably wouldn’t even have seats.”
“The key is this kid—” Zhou Yihong clicked his tongue twice. “Men and women, he charms them all. Our younger juniors all treated him like a guiding light. Before exams they didn’t pray to gods or beg professors for mercy—they treated him as a leader and worshipped him sincerely.”
“What did people call him back then?” Zhou Yihong couldn’t remember for a moment.
Shen Yi seemed to recall it, pushed his glasses, and smiled without speaking.
Zhou Yihong suddenly slapped his thigh, remembering. “Right—back then people privately called him ‘Xie Top Courtesan’—that kind of ‘headliner.’”
“Xie… top courtesan?” That code name was… strangely fitting.
Qin Sang couldn’t help laughing, lips curving. “It does sound quite appropriate.”
“Does it?” A voice came from behind. Xie Yuncheng had returned at some unknown time. He stood behind her, eyes lowered lazily to look at her, half-smiling. “How appropriate?”