Chapter 23

*Moon-Chasing Diary*
“She thought—she really was a very foolish person.”
— *Moon-Chasing Diary*
_
Qin Sang had always been slow. Push her and she moved; otherwise she stayed. Sister Wen called her a paper tiger—tough outside, hollow inside. She looked hard to deal with, but poke her once and she crumpled.
She had her shell. When something upset her, she didn’t face it—she hid, curling up inside until she was forced out.
National Day and Mid-Autumn joined for a week-long holiday. It was rare downtime. Sister Wen generously gave her seven days to rest and reset before their next film.
Qin Sang didn’t travel. She went back to Ningjiang, stayed home for two, three days, and shut off her phone. Cut from the world, she slept until she woke naturally.
When her mother came to wake her, she was like a child again. “Mom, five more minutes. Just five.”
She mumbled from under her eye mask, curtains drawn tight. No light, no air.
Her mother opened the curtains. “No. You have to get up today. Your aunt heard you’re back. She called—she’s coming.”
She shot up. “Auntie’s coming?”
“Mm. She saw Grandma Sun at square dancing. Learned you’re home and insisted on coming over.”
Qin Sang groaned. “Grandma Sun still can’t keep her mouth shut…”
Ningjiang was tiny. Neighbors all knew each other; most were related somehow. When she came home the other night, it’d been late. Grandma Sun had been taking out the trash and caught her on the stairs. Qin Sang had known it was over. The whole town would know soon.
She flopped back into her pillow. “I don’t want to see Aunt.”
The one she dreaded most was Aunt Wen Minzhu.
Minzhu had married to Hong Kong years ago. She rarely came back. But every time she did, she had to compare—first smarts and grades and looks, then jobs, then money, then cars and houses.
Last time was four years ago. Minzhu had held her and talked endlessly—how much did she make per film, how impressive Cousin Penny was doing her PhD overseas, all with an air of superiority.
Her mother sat at the bedside and patted her back. “I know you don’t want to, so I told her you went out—that you’re not home. Hurry and get dressed and slip out.”
“Oh,” Qin Sang muttered and dragged herself up.
In Ningjiang she dressed simply. Knee-length hoodie, hood up over her head, most of her face hidden. Sharkskin leggings, plastic clogs. She wandered to Xiao Yan’s noodle shop.
She slumped at a table. “Old order, boss. Three-flavor noodles, extra chili and vinegar, no scallions.”
Xiao Yan peeked out from the kitchen. “Sang-sang—it really is you.”
“Grandma Sun said you were back. I was going to close up and go see you. Why’s your phone off?”
“Probably forgot to charge it,” Qin Sang said, breaking apart chopsticks. “I’ve just been resting. Didn’t pay attention.”
“Too tired, huh?” Xiao Yan said. “I’ve seen the gossip online. You know how they are—bored and cruel. Don’t let it get to you.”
She meant the Huitai mess. The storm around her had finally quieted.
China Aerospace had just released the new promo—and an official post:
“To pursue knowledge, to chase dreams. With light in our hearts, we walk forward in plain shoes; with roads at our feet, we ride dreams as our horses. Welcome outstanding young actor representative @QinSang.”
Fifteen professions were chosen for the film. The response had been big.
Major official accounts amplified it—Youth Daily, People’s Daily, central outlets, youth league accounts, local bureaus. Seeing so many blue badges tagging Qin Sang, netizens rubbed their eyes.
“What’s going on?”
“Am I hallucinating? All the blue Vs at once?”
“This sis just quietly does big things. Others are still clawing for billing. She’s already become an official representative. Look—‘excellent young actor’ stamped by the state. If this isn’t big, what is? The pattern is wide.”
…
Most attention had shifted to the promo. Huitai’s story faded.
Xiao Yan still chattered over the posts. The waiter brought her noodles. Qin Sang ate quietly. Steam fogged her lashes. The taste she used to miss so much now felt bland.
“Right—Sang-sang,” Xiao Yan said suddenly, ducking into the back. She rummaged around and came out with something. “Here.”
“You’re getting married?” Qin Sang stared at the red invitation.
Xiao Yan smiled, sweet and shy. “Mm. I was going to bring this to your mom’s. Since you’re here, I’ll give it straight to you.”
Qin Sang’s smile turned real. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Xiao Yan said. “If it hadn’t been for you and Aunt Wen when my dad had his accident, my grandma and I wouldn’t have what we do now. I’d never have imagined I’d get married.”
“Don’t say ‘someone like me.’ You’re a girl people line up for. Whoever marries you is lucky,” Qin Sang said. “Don’t sell yourself short.”
Xiao Yan sighed and brushed Qin Sang’s cheek. “You’re the best girl in the world.”
Her father’s accident had left only her and her grandmother. The project lead had run off, compensation out of reach. Without the Qins, they might have starved.
And Xiao Yan had been born with hearing loss—deaf without aids. No money for treatment, no money for school. Qin Sang had kept them afloat for years.
“Enough,” Qin Sang said. “It’s over. Keep bringing it up and I’ll stop visiting.”
“Alright,” Xiao Yan laughed. “I’ll shut up.”
The shop was busy. Besides her, there was only one server. Customers came in one after another. Xiao Yan rushed between tables and bowls.
Qin Sang had only come to hide. When she finished, she paid by code and slipped out quietly.
The city had changed in ten years, but the old district was mostly preserved—ancient buildings repaired, not rebuilt. Residents weren’t allowed to remodel heritage structures.
She wandered until midnight. Leaving a convenience store, her phone finally buzzed—her mother’s WeChat:
[Your aunt’s gone. Come home.]
Gone, at last.
She exhaled, backed out of the chat, and her eyes fell on a dark avatar.
“If I said it wasn’t because I owed you?”
She thought—she really was foolish.
Why else couldn’t she understand?
What else could it mean, if not guilt?
She didn’t dare dig deeper. She was afraid she was making something out of nothing.
So she chose avoidance.
Luckily, they didn’t have to see each other often. Funny that besides those few random encounters, she couldn’t find a single excuse to meet.
She told herself: past or present, they were from two different worlds. Even if their paths crossed, they’d return to their own tracks. Why force it?
Outside the shop, she popped the tab on a beer can. The fermented malt spread bitter on her tongue.
Bag in hand, she walked home slowly over quiet stone. Old-town folk slept early. The alleys were still. Only the moon poured down.
Ningjiang was safe. Tourists had swelled in recent years, and police booths sat at every corner. She’d gotten used to it. In her worst years, she’d sneak to late-night convenience stores to buy beer alone. Her tolerance wasn’t great, so she only dared drink at home.
Lately she’d barely touched alcohol—Sister Wen forbade unsupervised drinking. But now, no one was guarding her.
She finished her can, crushed it, and tossed it in recycling.
On the way back, a rustling came from the hedges. She froze. The alcohol burned away. A tabby cat hopped out, dainty and sure-footed, tilting its head at her.
She let out a breath. “Just you.”
The tabby was a stray, roaming the neighborhood. Someone had adopted it once or twice, but it hated confinement and ended up back out.
It was popular. People fed it often. When she’d last visited years ago, she’d also seen it. She hadn’t known why her mother kept a bag of kibble until the cat had sauntered over the wall.
Now it meowed like it was acting cute.
She dug in her bag, found some beef jerky, and crouched. “It’s all I’ve got. Make do.”
The tabby sniffed, wary, then moved in. It didn’t eat right away. Instead it turned and meowed toward the bushes.
Rustling followed. A white cat waddled out, round-bellied—pregnant. Shy and skittish, it took a long time to creep up.
The white ate. The tabby stood guard, grooming her, licking her ears and fur.
The white was well-kept, fur sleek—not like a stray. The tabby, on the other hand, was too thin. With its scavenging skills, it shouldn’t have been. Likely it’d been saving its food for her.
“So you have a partner,” Qin Sang chuckled. “Proper wife-guard.”
“Nice,” she said softly. “Xiao Yan’s getting married. You’ve found your home too.”
Maybe it was the night. Maybe the drink. Something loosened in her chest.
“You all found someone,” she said. “I don’t even dare let him know how I feel. Am I useless?”
The cats couldn’t possibly understand. The white ate on. The tabby watched her, then stepped close, rubbing its head against her hand.
She patted its head. “Alright. I’ll leave you two alone.”
She stood. Her legs had gone pins-and-needles. As she staggered back, her shoulders hit something solid. Mint washed over her nose, clearer than the beer.
She jerked her head up. Light blurred; her vision swam. The clouded moon slid free. Cold, clean light poured down, outlining a familiar, clear-cut face.