Chapter 19

*Moon-Chasing Diary*
“When the heavy fog finally clears, light will appear.”
— *Moon-Chasing Diary*
_
In senior year, ten days before the college entrance exam, the last class of the day was homeroom. The theme was “Growth and Ideals.”
At that time, they didn’t have a clear understanding of the future. They only knew that the gaokao was important, that they had to be fully prepared—because it was the last door they’d push open toward what came next.
Once they walked through that door, they would be “adults” in their parents’ eyes.
Their experimental class’s homeroom teacher was on the verge of retirement. He’d taken many senior classes. Normally he was stern and rarely smiled. But that day, for homeroom, he went against his usual style—lifting a chipped black thermos cup, taking a sip of strong tea, and speaking slowly:
“You all know the gaokao is coming. After you endure these last ten hard days, you’ll step into a new life.”
“Before your lives enter the next stage, I want to ask: have you thought it through? What kind of person do you want to become in the future?”
In the classroom, students looked at each other. Most were like her—lost and helpless about what lay ahead.
They only knew the college entrance exam was a threshold. If they crossed it bravely, they wouldn’t waste their youth, wouldn’t fail the parents who’d raised them, or the years of hard study and cold nights.
But what about after crossing?
After the gaokao came a new life, a new starting point.
Where was the finish line?
Beyond that door—did it hold a fragrant paradise full of blossoms, or thorny, treacherous paths?
No one knew what the future looked like.
The future was too abstract.
So near, yet out of reach.
But—
Not everyone was as ignorant as she was.
At least, someone knew.
The homeroom teacher looked over the class, then spoke. “Classmate Xie, tell us about your ideal. What do you want to do in the future?”
The boy called on had shed much of his youthful rawness. In his blue-and-white uniform, washed until it was spotless, he stood like a cluster of straight green bamboo—wind couldn’t topple it, snow couldn’t bend it.
He stood on the podium, expression calm. His voice was clear. When he spoke of “future” and “ideals,” his words flowed.
He said, “What I want to do is simple: in a limited life, I’d like to shine as much as possible.”
The universe was as mysterious as the ocean. Humanity had developed only five percent of the sea, and only about five percent of the universe.
Human life was limited, and so was exploration of the unknown.
“Right now, exploration is limited by our technological level. But I believe that one day, all the problems we can’t solve now will be easily resolved.”
“What I want is, before that day comes, to make a small contribution toward it.”
Because space was boundless. Personal power was limited. Life was limited. But ideals had no limits. The combined strength of countless aerospace workers was limitless.
…
While she was still ignorant of the future, holding only the fuzzily narrow concept of “dream,” he had already set off, pushing open a door called “growing up.”
There are always people advancing for the sake of dreams. Even if the road is long and fog thick—even if ahead is either flowers and brocade or bruises and scars—they go without regret.
To persist is always harder than to give up.
_
“Senior Zhou says those things because he doesn’t really understand you. He doesn’t know how great a price you’ve paid for so-called ‘freedom.’”
From a bystander’s perspective, it was hard for her to say who was wrong.
Because neither was wrong—they just stood in different places, so their views misaligned.
In this world, there is no real empathy.
If you’re not in that position, you don’t know its pain.
She used to think Xie Yuncheng was born to be envied—born in Rome, while others struggled for a lifetime just to reach his starting point.
He had everything. What he wanted was within reach. His life looked smooth, without ripples.
But later, she learned she’d been wrong.
“Actually, in second year, I once saw Auntie come to school to see you.”
At the start of sophomore year, her grades had dropped badly. Subject teachers talked to her in turn. The homeroom teacher told her to correct her mistakes, write a self-critique, and hand it in after school.
It was just after dismissal. The teaching building had only a few students left. The office building was quiet too. Most teachers had gone home; only a few on duty remained.
Holding her self-critique, Qin Sang walked to the office door and was about to knock when she heard the homeroom teacher speaking inside.
“Mrs. Xie, maybe you don’t fully understand what the ‘Strengthening Basic Disciplines Plan’ is,” he said. “It’s a special enrollment track at top universities—a talent development plan for foundational disciplines. It’s good for your child.”
“Look at Classmate Xie—he’s done competitions since childhood and his records are excellent…”
“And he wants to major in aerospace and go into research, right? Just last year, the Plan added cross-disciplines like aerospace engineering, propulsion, and unmanned systems. Given his ability and aspirations, joining the Plan now is all benefit and no harm.”
…
Separated by a door, Qin Sang slowly lowered her raised hand. She looked down at her self-critique and pulled a silent half-smile—ashamed.
Then a cold female voice came from the office.
“I know all that. But my husband and I already have better plans for our son’s future. Research? I absolutely don’t agree to my son taking that road.”
“He didn’t even ask our opinion before wanting to apply to the Plan.”
“My husband and I want him in politics—China University of Political Science and Law, a better track, a better life.”
“That…” the homeroom teacher hesitated. “In the end, the child has to walk his own path. Don’t we need to respect his wishes about what he studies and what he does?”
“Respect? I don’t respect him enough already?” The woman scoffed. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be this busy and still make time to come fix his mess. Teacher Tang, you’re an educator. Your job is to guide my son onto the right path. Why are you encouraging him to defy his elders? To go astray, ignore his parents’ words?”
“What does he know of ‘future’ at his age? What does he know of ‘what’s best’? I’m his mother. I’d hurt him?”
The woman’s aggression left no room.
“Enough.”
The boy’s voice was clear, yet strangely hoarse—as if tamping emotions down.
“Mrs. Xie—what you do at home, high and aloof, isn’t my business. But this is school. Could you please not bring that imperial manner here? It was my idea to apply to the Plan. Mr. Tang only did his duty as a teacher. As for you…”
He sneered.
“In all these years, have you fulfilled your duties as a mother? Why bother pretending here?”
“You ungrateful brat!” Zhou Wanqing was furious. Maybe she felt humiliated. She stepped forward, raised her hand, and slapped him hard. “I raised you and this is how you repay me—won’t even listen? You know how tight things are at home right now, and you still team up with outsiders to anger me? Do you want me to die in front of you?”
The slap was loud enough to hear through the door.
Qin Sang was startled. Her own home wasn’t rich, but it was harmonious. Her parents loved each other and loved her. They’d never even spoken harshly to her—let alone something like this, tense and vicious, as if the son before her was an enemy.
Through the crack, she could only see the boy’s slim figure. He lowered his eyes; she couldn’t see his face. His left cheek was a bit swollen. On cold-white skin, the red handprint was stark.
Zhou Wanqing’s hand was numb. She stared at her own palm, then instinctively moved to touch his face. “Yunchen, Mom didn’t—”
But he seemed to feel no pain. He only curled his lips in a bitter smile. “What? Mrs. Xie—still not vented?”
Her outstretched hand froze.
The homeroom teacher was also shocked. Quickly recovering, he frowned and tried to mediate. “Mrs. Xie—talk calmly. Why argue with your child? And… Classmate Xie, I think the test papers aren’t passed back yet. Go back to class and bring them for me.”
Xie Yuncheng’s lips twitched. “Okay.”
He grabbed the papers and opened the door—running right into Qin Sang.
She held her correction notebook. The critique was pressed to her chest. She’d been about to explain.
But he only glanced at her coldly. His gaze swept past, unconcerned and indifferent. He left with the papers.
Qin Sang watched his back and lowered her lashes, disappointed.
Inside the office, Zhou Wanqing fumed. “Teacher Tang, look at this child. Does he treat me like a mother? I’m his mom, and he’s this cold—even ignores me.”
A moment later, she took a deep breath and forced down her temper. “Anyway, I came today for my son’s matter. You don’t need to play peacemaker or persuade me. I will never agree to him joining the Plan. My husband won’t either. We parents already planned his road. We don’t need outsiders worrying.”
“And I hope the school respects parents’ wishes. As a teacher, you can’t just listen to the child. At his age, he can’t tell right from wrong. How can you let him decide? At least… you should tell us first. If I hadn’t found out and let it become a done deal, wouldn’t you have ruined his life?”
“Isn’t it sick—giving up a broad road to squeeze into a goat path and fall flat?”
The homeroom teacher didn’t comment on their family business. He only tried patiently to comfort her. “I understand. Parents always worry more for their children. But he’s grown up. Maybe he has his own thoughts and things he wants to do. Perhaps you could sit and talk with him calmly.”
…
“I was bringing my self-critique to the office,” Qin Sang said after two seconds of silence. “I happened to hear you arguing with Auntie.”
Xie Yuncheng paused. He did remember such an incident. He twisted his lips in self-mockery. “Scared you?”
Qin Sang hesitated, then nodded. “To be honest—a little.”
Her family situation wasn’t good, but the atmosphere was. She’d never seen a mother as domineering as Zhou Wanqing.
“Sorry,” he said.
He was always courteous; that was in his bones.
Even when she’d been eavesdropping and stumbled upon their ugly family scene.
Qin Sang sighed softly. “Why apologize? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“We can’t choose our original families, or our parents, or our backgrounds. But…”
“We can choose what kind of person we want to become.”
“In my eyes, Classmate Xie—you’re already braver than most.”
Not everyone dared break free from the shackles of their family.
That was why she’d been so shocked when Liu Chengcheng told her he’d joined the aerospace institute.
With a mother like his, always using death as a threat, he must’ve paid a heavy price to throw himself into this field.
Others only thought of him as free as the wind—envied his ease, his prospects, his safety net. No one knew the pain and pressure he endured along the way—all from his own kin.
What they called a “home port” was, to him, a cage—a bottomless, lightless pit.
Sensing the mood was too heavy, Qin Sang thought a moment and abruptly changed the subject.
“Classmate Xie, actually I’m pretty good at palm-reading. If you don’t mind, I can take a look for you. Maybe your current confusion will clear up.”
She said it with full seriousness, such a straight face that it made people want to laugh.
Xie Yuncheng’s gloom dissolved. His brows relaxed; his mouth curved faintly. “Didn’t expect that, Classmate Qin—you have a wide skill set.”
“Not bad,” Qin Sang said. “You know how boring being an actor can be. On set you just wait around. Off set there’s nothing to do. So I expanded my ‘business scope.’ Where there’s demand, there’s a market. And I’m really decent at it—many colleagues ask me to check their fortunes.”
“Seeing as we’re classmates, I’ll read yours for free this time. If you think I’m accurate, you can come again.”
She paused, then winked playfully. “But next time, you’ll have to make an appointment first.”
Xie Yuncheng chuckled—a low, slightly hoarse sound, inexplicably alluring. “Then…”
“Next time, Classmate Qin—would you mind giving me a back-door appointment?”
The coldness in his eyes vanished. He hooked his lips casually. His gaze was clear, outlining her silhouette—cool and quietly teasing.
Qin Sang couldn’t stop her ears from heating. She gave a soft “Mm” and lowered her eyes, looking at the hand he extended.
His hand was large, bones lean, fingers long. The lines on his palm were clean.
She looked carefully, voice soft. “Your life line is long—clearly a long-life fate. Your wisdom line is good. As for career…”
She used a fingertip to draw a character in his palm.
Xie Yuncheng lowered his gaze. She was looking down. The swirl of hair at the back of her head was very shallow. Maybe because she was too thin, the vertebrae on her neck were obvious. Her hair slipped from her shoulder and fell across his palm. With each stroke of her finger, it brushed his skin—tickling.
She wrote very carefully. Her soft fingertips glided over his palm like a feather.
“Wait?” he guessed the character.
Qin Sang looked up at him, eyes curved in a smile. “Mm. Even if fog is thick right now, it will clear one day. All we can do now is wait.”
Wait for the heavy fog to clear, and light to appear.