Chapter 18

*Moon-Chasing Diary*
“After circling and circling, she still found the mint candy she wanted.”
— *Moon-Chasing Diary*
_
Qin Sang really wasn’t listening very carefully. Guiltily, she looked away. Eyes lowered, she held her glass and sipped lightly, moistening her tight throat.
At the table, at some unknown time, alcohol had been served. Zhou Yihong got drunk the moment he touched liquor—his tolerance was bad. His speech turned slurred, and he said hazily, “Honestly, in my life I’ve never really admired anyone… but Junior Xie, you’re the only one who can make me convinced from the heart.”
Zhou Yihong belched. “Back then, I lived muddleheaded. I didn’t know what I wanted to do or what I should do. I don’t have such noble sentiment—to give everything for an unseen future and a vast, illusory universe.”
“So,” Zhou Yihong laughed at himself, “I became a deserter. You know how ironic the world is? I didn’t want to do it—but you were forced to give it up.”
Even if Zhou Yihong usually acted carefree, deep down he always felt wrong.
He’d betrayed his advisor’s painstaking hopes first, and he’d also failed his own years of hard work. After leaving the aerospace institute, his former mentor avoided him—blocked him on WeChat, blocked his phone.
Some time ago, he ran into a colleague from the institute by chance. They exchanged only two lines and then fell into silence.
Because they were no longer people of the same world. The institute’s matters were confidential. With an outsider, there were no topics to talk about. What remained was only polite small talk—stopping at courtesy.
That day, Zhou Yihong stood at the restaurant entrance smoking for a long time. Through the glass window, he could still see colleagues sitting, eating, talking. He stood outside for a long time. Only when night deepened and lights lit did he stub out his cigarette on the trash-can lid and turn away without looking back.
At this fork in life, he truly couldn’t persuade himself to return to that place with no daylight—to guard a nameless post and live out the rest of his life sloppily and without recognition.
So he chose another road—a road with no turning back.
Shen Yi reminded, “Senior Zhou, you’ve had too much.”
“I’m not drunk,” Zhou Yihong waved, fully intoxicated, eyes still locked on Xie Yuncheng. “I know you look down on me.”
“But I can’t help it. I really can’t.”
Maybe guilt about his choice gnawed at him. Under alcohol, regret and self-blame swelled. He patted his chest. “I’m thirty. I’m thirty.”
He repeated only that one line over and over. His eyes were red. “Two years ago, when I went back to my hometown to pay respects to ancestors, I saw my mom’s grave—the grass was as tall as my leg. My dad and I took sickles and cut it down, stroke after stroke. That was when I realized I wasn’t young anymore. And my dad was old too.”
The year Zhou Yihong went to college, his mother’s kidney failure reached late stage. She didn’t even wait for his admission notice—she died on the hospital bed.
On the day of her burial, the funeral text the clan elder read was written by Zhou Yihong himself.
Because he was the only college student in their family.
He knelt before the coffin, listening numbly.
Ironically, the admission notice arrived that same day.
The red cover proclaimed a happy event.
The white funeral text proclaimed grief.
Before leaving his hometown, he’d sworn at the grave: he would make something of himself.
But after all boats passed, ten years like a grain in the sea—he was still muddleheaded, with a home he couldn’t return to.
He hadn’t gone home in five years. That year, he finally had time to go back for New Year.
The father who used to be forceful and domineering had grown silent. His hair had whitened. The spine that used to be straight now had to hunch.
Hearing he was coming, his father slaughtered chicken and pig, got up early to go to a market five kilometers away, and bought the cut of meat he liked.
But that New Year’s Eve dinner wasn’t just him and his father. It was a whole extended family. The village was lively during the holidays—more fireworks and human warmth than any city.
Younger relatives said sweet flattering lines for red envelopes, running around indoors. Outside in the yard, fireworks crackled.
Zhou’s family had many relatives. Zhou Yihong came back too rarely; many faces were familiar but he couldn’t remember who was who.
There were many younger cousins—tables full. During conversation, relatives kept probing, turning corners: asking about work, salary, assets.
A cousin slapped a Mercedes key onto the table. “Bought it before New Year. Mercedes S450. Not expensive—just over a million. But that’s small money, not worth mentioning. Big brother works in Jingcheng—your salary must be high, right? Big brother, you didn’t drive back this time?”
Zhou Yihong’s car was a cheap BYD commuter he bought after graduating. Later he waited two years in the license-plate lottery. Even after he got a plate, he rarely drove. Jingcheng had restrictions; driving was less convenient than the subway.
Zhou Yihong wasn’t stupid. He understood the cousin’s show-off. He smiled vaguely and brushed it off.
The cousin sighed. “These days prices are soaring, housing too. Business is hard as hell. Last year I worked all year and only made a few million. My kid’s about to start primary school. My wife made a fuss to change to a school-district apartment—said we can’t let our son lose at the starting line. I gritted my teeth and switched—over five million. When I paid, my heart bled. But for my son’s future, it’s worth it.”
“If my son can be as promising as big brother one day, study at the capital’s best university—I’d be satisfied.”
He paused, then changed tone. “Oh right. I heard from Uncle that you work in a confidential unit, and you bought a house. Jingcheng is a good place—housing is expensive and residency is hard. Big brother, where did you buy? In the city? Paid in full or mortgage? Must not be cheap, right?”
Jingcheng housing was expensive. Zhou Yihong’s annual income was only around two hundred thousand. Wanting to buy downtown was like climbing to the sky.
He bought in the suburbs. Even then, a classmate introduced him—knew the real-estate boss and got him a discount. The total was lower, but the down payment was still heavy. He didn’t have that much cash and even borrowed money from Xie Yuncheng.
He smiled. “In the suburbs. Small place. Not expensive.”
…
That New Year’s dinner tasted like nothing. After, he went out for air. When he returned, he heard relatives whispering.
“Didn’t they say his son is doing well? He hasn’t come back for years. Comes back and still empty-handed—doesn’t know做人.”
“I said long ago he studied himself stupid. You all said he’s smart. Look—an elite-school graduate doing worse than Third Uncle’s kid. That kid does business and makes a lot.”
“Seems studying so much is useless. ‘Civil servant,’ my ass—still a poor bastard. Not young anymore and still not settled. No car, no house. Young girls are realistic these days. With his conditions, who’d want him? They said he was the village’s first college student. After all this, he’s still this pathetic. If I were him, I’d have no face to come back.”
…
Zhou Yihong stood at the door a long time. His father came at some point and patted his shoulder.
His father said, “You leave the day after tomorrow. Tomorrow go visit your mom with me. You haven’t seen her in years—she misses you too.”
Zhou Yihong froze, then nodded.
He’d been away too long. He’d forgotten the way home—he’d even forgotten how to walk to his mother’s grave.
His father was old, and the grave was far, deep in the mountains. In earlier years, his father had broken his waist on a job and his health declined. So these years he rarely came to sweep the grave.
On the first day of the New Year, he accompanied his father to clear the weeds. Every time his father bent, he had to rest a long time, pounding his waist, taking long to recover.
Zhou Yihong watched, and his heart grew heavier.
Actually, it wasn’t different from other fathers and sons. With his father, Zhou Yihong also mostly stayed silent.
He wanted to care, but didn’t know how to speak.
After sweeping the grave, his father went home and cooked a farewell meal himself. That night there were only the two of them. He drank a few cups with his father.
After the liquor went down, his father suddenly said, “Do what you want to do. Don’t worry about me. I’ve lived my life in mountain gullies. I’ve seen too little. Back then I never asked what you wanted. I heard civil engineering was good and made you study it. Now you’re thirty. You spent thirty years being an obedient son. Now—you should live for yourself.”
“Don’t worry about me. When I die, bury me beside your mom. Don’t pressure yourself. At my age, gold and silver, fame and profit are all outside the body—no longer important.”
…
Later, Zhou Yihong returned to Jingcheng.
He thought for a long time and decided to resign.
To outsiders, he was crazy—near middle age, giving up a stable job, diving into another abyss, using everything accumulated in the first thirty years to exchange for a doomed gamble.
Zhou Yihong said drunkenly, “Junior Xie, you don’t know how much I envy you. You’re good-looking, smart—popular anywhere. You have a back road. You have family to catch you. Even if you’re mediocre your whole life, you’ll still never worry about food and clothes. But me—I have nothing. When I see my dad’s muddy eyes, I can’t persuade myself to be selfish even once. From beginning to end, I’ve never fought for anything for myself. I drifted with the current. Everything I said and did was what others wanted me to do.”
“I really envy you—free like wind, able to decide your own life.”
“I can’t afford to lose.”
Zhou Yihong smiled bitterly. “If I had even one ten-thousandth of your intelligence, maybe I could persuade myself to use ideals to light up bleak reality, to use faith to hold myself through every silent, lightless night.”
He hadn’t lacked love for aerospace.
He had paid, he had hoped.
But he wasn’t Xie Yuncheng.
Sometimes, he truly envied Xie Yuncheng—envied that he possessed timing, place, and people, yet could still go all-in without hesitation, focused on what he loved.
“You’re heaven’s favored. I’m only an ordinary mortal.”
“Our starting points are different. Our endpoints are destined to diverge.”
…
Zhou Yihong drank far too much. Shen Yi helped place him in the back seat. Before leaving, Shen Yi removed his glasses and said, “Senior Zhou is drunk and talking nonsense. Don’t take what he says to heart.”
Xie Yuncheng curled his lips lazily, looking like he hadn’t cared.
All of them had drunk; no one could drive. So they called a designated driver. As for Qin Sang, she called Sister Wen—her driver would come later to pick her up.
Shen Yi’s designated driver arrived first. After he left, only Xie Yuncheng and Qin Sang remained waiting by the river. As for Zhou Yihong, he was already too drunk to know anything.
Xie Yuncheng’s craving hit. Long fingers pinched a cigarette, but because Qin Sang was there, he didn’t light it.
Suddenly, a thin, fair hand reached out before him.
Qin Sang smiled and suggested, “Try this. At times like this, if you have a candy to suck on, your mouth won’t feel so lonely.”
In her open palm lay a transparent glass-wrapped candy: white body, blue-green filling.
Xie Yuncheng lifted his brows, surprised. “Mint candy?”
Qin Sang nodded. “Try it. It should taste close to the mint candy you used to like.”
Xie Yuncheng took it, unwrapped the glossy paper. The sharp, cool taste spread on his tongue. He hadn’t bought mint candy in a long time, but this flavor was strangely familiar.
Qin Sang pressed, “How is it? Exactly the same?”
Xie Yuncheng paused, then gave a low “Mm.”
“I used to think that factory went bankrupt,” Qin Sang said. “Later, when I went to Shaomingshan for a promo, I ran into the factory owner by chance. Isn’t it funny? He’s still running that candy factory—it’s just smaller. That’s why you can’t find that candy on the market anymore.”
Back then, when she couldn’t buy that brand, she bought every mint candy on the market, but it was never the same.
Mint candy wasn’t complicated to make. The flavors were mostly similar. But she always felt that the taste in memory couldn’t be replicated.
Later, when she went to promote a film, the old factory owner brought his daughter to the premiere. When they drew a lucky audience member, by coincidence, they drew his daughter.
His daughter was only six, so she needed a guardian to go onstage. In a simple interaction, Qin Sang unexpectedly learned he was the factory owner. Because of poor business, traditional manufacturing methods had been gradually replaced. The factory cut production. And the sharp mint taste wasn’t widely accepted—so naturally it disappeared from the market.
Now he still ran a small candy factory in Shaomingshan.
But distribution was limited. The candies were sold only in Shaomingshan shops.
So Qin Sang felt: she wasn’t a lucky person, yet she still held gratitude.
After circling and circling, she still found the mint candy she wanted.
“See—what you thought was discontinued mint candy is actually still stubbornly alive somewhere in the world, waiting for you to discover it. Maybe it only changed names, changed packaging. But—”
“Its taste didn’t change.”
When Qin Sang looked at him, her eyes were clear, bright, focused. “Isn’t that why persistence is so precious—because so many people give up, and giving up is so easy?”