Chapter 24

*Moon-Chasing Diary / The Moon Runs to Me*
“Because—I wanted to see you.”
_
The alley was still. Only two cats stayed by the hedge.
The tabby glanced at the man on the phone, then at the man on the steps.
Under the moon, his features looked even sharper. He lounged on the step, lazy and poised.
The tabby watched him for a while, then padded closer and butted its head against his hand, meowing.
Xie Yuncheng’s lips lifted. He let the tabby curl into his lap and stroked its head. It purred, stretching out with eyes slitted in bliss.
Not far away, Qin Sang was on the phone. Her mobile had slipped from her hoodie pocket earlier and hit the ground. The screen cracked and the touch failed. She could only watch her mother’s call flash by, helpless.
In the end, she had to borrow his phone.
“Hello?” her mother said. “Who is this?”
“Mom, it’s me.”
“Why didn’t you pick up? And why is your number different?”
“I…”
Qin Sang’s words faltered. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him on the step—tabby in his arms, tame as a kitten.
That cat had never been like that. It’d been released more than once. It tolerated being petted only by people who fed it regularly. Even then, it had moods.
Yet now it was sprawled on a stranger’s lap as if it belonged there, tugging open the neck of his black sweater with its paws. The collar slipped, exposing bright collarbone and pale skin. It even leaned in to lick his jaw.
He chuckled and gently pried its claws free. “You do take advantage.”
Qin Sang suddenly felt parched. She dropped her gaze.
Her mind flashed back to a moment earlier—her legs numb, body tipping, falling backward straight into his chest. Even through layers of fabric she’d felt his heat and the steady drum of his heart.
He’d laughed quietly then, a sound that rumbled through his chest.
“Classmate Qin,” he’d said by her ear, voice low, thread of amusement snaking through it. “We haven’t seen each other in a few days. No need to be that enthusiastic.”
Heat had shot to her ears. She’d scrambled out of his arms in a panic.
The words still tingled at her earlobe. Warm breath had brushed the tiny hairs there; they’d all stood up—more intoxicating than alcohol.
Her ears still buzzed. She rubbed them unconsciously. Thankfully her hair hung down, hiding the flush.
“As long as you’re okay, that’s what matters,” her mother was saying. “You said this is a classmate’s phone?”
“Mm,” Qin Sang murmured, scuffing a stone with her shoe.
“Then you’d better thank him properly. Don’t be rude.”
“Got it.”
After hanging up, she leaned against the wall and exhaled. The night air was cold and clear. It woke her more than coffee. She slapped her cheeks gently, then walked over to return the phone.
The tabby lay sprawled over his legs, eyes slitted, tail limp. His long fingers smoothed its thin back. The white cat had vanished into the bushes; only a hint of its round shape showed under leaves.
“Done?” he asked.
“Mm.” She held the phone out, eyes lowered. “Here.”
He looked at her hands. Petite fingers held the device; her pinkie rested by the charging port, nudging it anxiously.
He picked up the cat and set it aside, then stood. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”
She froze.
His fingers brushed the back of her hand—cool, a brief shock. She pressed her hand to her chest, wanting to refuse, but he’d already turned. She only saw the spare, easy lines of his back.
She followed without thinking.
He seemed to pace himself to her steps, walking slowly, like he was just taking a stroll.
She’d walked this stone-paved lane for over ten years. Every crack in every brick was familiar.
Cars weren’t allowed into the old alleys to protect the stones. When she was young, her father had pedaled her to school on a bicycle—up and down these streets in all seasons.
In summer, the pomegranates at the courtyard entrance bloomed red, branches heavy with flowers against green.
Now, instead of a bicycle, she walked with him—steps unhurried under the long lane of blue stone.
It felt like he was walking through her world—passing, one by one, the fleeting years she’d spent here.
“How did you come here?” she couldn’t help asking.
They hadn’t met since the last meal. He was exactly as Shen Yi described—measured, distant. But that last line he’d said had broken the distance, stirring her carefully still waters.
She didn’t dare guess. Didn’t dare think too much.
She’d thrown herself into work—ads, shoots, schedules—barely leaving room to breathe, terrified of letting her mind wander.
Even so, when she had a spare moment, she still peeked into his life.
His Moments were almost bare. Others shared food, trips, anxieties. He only forwarded aerospace POS articles now and then.
Except that day, when the promo dropped. For once, he shared it.
Her classmates had added her after the reunion; she hadn’t refused. Through his feed, she saw their comments.
[Rare sight—Xie God posting.]
[Is that our Qin Sang? How’d you get involved with the institute?]
[Skipping our reunion but meeting Qin alone? That’s favoring beauty over friends, man.]
Liu Chengcheng had messaged her too.
[What’s going on? You two met?]
[We met.]
[When? Why didn’t you say?]
She’d recounted the whole story, still half in disbelief.
[Makes sense now,] Liu wrote. [No way he’d post your promo otherwise.]
[*The* institute’s promo,” Qin corrected. “He posted it for work.”]
Liu didn’t reply for a long time—then dropped a screenshot.
It was that same post. Beneath it were classmates’ jokes and questions. He hadn’t replied to any. Only to the one that teased “favoring beauty over friends,” he’d left a single character:
“Mm.”
Liu: [Is *that* for work too?]
Qin Sang had had no idea he’d answered anything.
More screenshots followed—from the class group. Someone had shared the screenshot of his “Mm,” and the chat had blown up.
[Am I dumb? Classmates, help me analyze. What does this mean? Did he agree to the first half or the second half?]
[Gotta be the second. There’s definitely something there.]
[After all these years—still getting a big melon.]
[Trust Xie God to turn this into reading comprehension.]
[So is this a soft launch or what?]
Her feelings then had been impossible to parse. She’d stared at the flood of lines, as confused as they were.
Liu: [Group’s going nuts. Everyone’s asking what’s going on with you two.]
Back in high school, Liu had been her only real friend. The class had been too focused on grades; people were cold out of obsession, not malice. Only a few had looked down on her county background. The rest barely noticed—caring only about scores.
That was why, even with how distant Xie was, they’d still happily followed in his wake. Strong people drew others whether they meant to or not.
Liu: [(shrug) So how do I answer? What are you now?]
What were they?
She didn’t know.
At first, she only wanted to approach him with “classmate” as an excuse. But after a few brief meetings, her heart had grown greedy—desire breaching the dam like a flood.
She couldn’t read him.
If it wasn’t guilt, what was it? If he didn’t care, why speak up for her? Why reply to that joke?
Something hovered on the edge of revelation—but she didn’t dare open that box.
So she’d done what she did best: run.
Now he was here, in her alley, under her hometown’s moon—saying:
“Because…”
He stopped.
The moon spilled silver over the stone. He stood beneath it, lips curved faintly, eyes more focused and soft than she’d ever seen.
“Because I wanted to see you.”