Chapter 27

*The Moon Runs to Me*
The young man’s arrival cut off the whispers. Tall and straight in a black wool coat, shoulders filling the sharp lines, he had the calm chill of winter snow—polite, distant, just warm enough to be proper.
“What took you so long?” Old Master Xie asked.
Qin thought he flicked a glance at her—one brief, unreadable look—before he replied mildly, “Traffic.”
Uncle Wen smiled. “Ningjiang’s changed in the past few years. To protect the heritage district, many side roads are closed. It’s rush hour—you’re bound to get stuck. Since we’re all here, let’s sit.”
Qin stood dazed. Her mother came up behind her. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” she whispered.
She just hadn’t been ready to see him here. Their last parting hadn’t been pleasant. She’d buried her head in the sand and hidden ever since.
Though they called it a “family meal,” several other uncles and aunts had joined with their children—ostensibly to welcome Wen Hengyu home.
Talk turned quickly. “Hengyu, now that this posting’s over, you’ll be promoted, right?”
He’d been in line for one. Official paperwork hadn’t come, so he only said, “We’ll see what the ministry decides.”
They’d already caught the scent. They’d wanted to throw him a big banquet but had been refused. Now, a joint “family” dinner was a polite compromise.
With so many people present, open flattery felt awkward. That didn’t mean the schemes stopped.
Especially with Old Master Xie present—the retired commander everyone had whispered about. Plans started shifting.
Question by question, people circled Xie Yuncheng—his work, his age, his hobbies. Praise poured like water. Their intent was obvious.
“So this is Old Master Xie’s grandson,” Uncle Tang exclaimed. “No wonder. They say generals don’t raise cowards. Such a fine young man—already in the space institute, serving the country.”
Old Master Xie replied coolly, “He takes after his uncle—mind all on research. He’s never around. Even this old man barely sees him.”
The Xies were practically a line of service. His mother’s family was no less. But Zhou Wanqing had chosen badly and refused to leave, wasting herself in a dead marriage.
Her family had tried to persuade her and finally drifted away. Only her brother, Zhou Yiqing, still cared enough to stand by her.
Zhou Yiqing, an academician, was the real reason Xie Zhenting had never divorced. He’d pinned his hopes on their nephew.
It was largely thanks to Zhou Yiqing that Xie Yuncheng had chosen his path. From him, he’d seen the purest hunger for knowledge.
Qin only listened quietly. She barely knew his background. She only knew, from Liu Chengcheng’s half-joking confession, that his brilliance left his peers far behind.
“Want to pick someone else to crush on?” Liu had once teased. “Some people are born leads. No matter how hard we work, we’re just catching up to their starting line. If it were anyone else, I’d push you to chase. But Xie is… different. Gods and mortals have a wall between them. Liking him will hurt.”
Qin dropped her lashes, a wry smile tugging at her lips. She didn’t notice that across the table, Xie Yuncheng had been watching. Her bitter smile deepened the shade of his eyes; his brows drew together the slightest bit.
Uncle Tang, pleased with himself, went on, “They say nephews take after uncles, nieces after aunts. Little Chen doesn’t just share Academician Zhou’s temperament—he even looks a bit like him.”
“And Sang-sang too, doesn’t she?” another aunt chimed in. “She looks just like her uncle—the same brows and eyes.”
All gazes shifted to her. Under the warm lights, her face was even more striking than on screen.
She truly did resemble her father, Qin Dahai, but her eyes were her mother’s—gentle, smiling. Wen Hengyu had once been called the ‘light of the Foreign Ministry’ for that same gaze. His UN speeches had gone viral.
Qin’s eyes, though, held a dash more allure. The small tear mole at the tail softened their sharp tilt.
Her beauty was undeniable—even her haters rarely attacked her looks. On screen, distortion dulled it somewhat. In person, it hit like a wave.
Soft inhales sounded around the table. Old Master Xie, who’d been ignoring everyone’s flattery, finally smiled.
“She looks like you,” he said to Wen Hengyu. “Only more likable.”
Uncle Wen laughed. “You’re right. She’s far more popular than I am.”
“Your name is Qin Sang, isn’t it?” Old Master Xie asked her kindly. “I remember you. I just watched your film. My wife was in tears. She praised your acting. Said if she ever had the chance, she’d love to meet you.”
The table rippled again. People began to weigh his words, minds turning.
Many had come tonight with an eye on the Xie family. Now, seeing Old Master Xie so openly favor a junior, their hearts skipped.
Had he set his sights on Wen Hengyu’s niece?
Alarm bells rang in Minzhu’s head. She thought back—her brother had enlisted her to “help,” but he’d only vaguely mentioned the man’s conditions, not that he was a Xie, nor that he was the commander’s grandson.
Her eyes flicked between Xie and Qin, assessing. Young as he was, he carried himself with a composure she’d never seen in any rich heir.
She’d met plenty of wealthy boys while looking for a match for Penny. None had his calm, self-possessed grace. This was the kind of polish only a true background could raise.
Greed and regret twisted inside her.
“Old Master Xie,” she said quickly, “our Sang-sang has a cousin too—very accomplished. Her name is Song Penny. She’s doing her PhD in Australia. Sometimes I envy my sister, being able to see her child often. Mine insists on going so far away.”
She launched into praising Penny, terrified someone would miss her angle.
Qin only listened, used to her aunt’s ways. Minzhu had always feared anyone overshadowing Penny. As kids, she’d compared them endlessly. Penny was smarter, quicker, better at everything. When Qin failed, Aunt would mock her stupidity.
Her mother squeezed her hand under the table. Qin just smiled back, unbothered.
“Funny coincidence,” Minzhu added. “Penny’s major is aerospace engineering—same field as Little Chen. Once she graduates, I’ll bring her to visit you and Madam. I’m sure they’ll have plenty to talk about. Young people need common topics.”
She even shot Qin a sidelong look, pride and contempt mingling in her eyes. “Choosing a person is like buying something—appearance is just the vase. What matters is knowledge and talent. Usefulness above all.”
Her words were ugly; everyone there was sharp enough to catch the barb.
They were outsiders, though. No one wanted to offend, so they only plastered on awkward smiles.
After a beat, she put on a show of surprise. “Oh, Sang-sang, Aunt wasn’t talking about *you*. Don’t overthink. People need self-awareness. Don’t pine after what isn’t yours. You’ll only end up with nothing and a lot of heartache.”
Qin kept her head down and drank water.
She didn’t want to start a fight in front of guests—or ruin her uncle’s welcome dinner.
Besides…
Whatever schemes Minzhu had were for Penny’s sake. And Penny *was* excellent. That much was true.
And she—she was just an ordinary person, tipping her head back to gaze at a moon that didn’t belong to her.
“A vase,” a cool voice cut in, “is beautiful because it is pure and gracious, and because it has room to hold things.”
Xie Yuncheng lifted his lashes. His gaze was calm, unreadable. “I think Classmate Qin is very good.”