Chapter 3

*Moon-Chasing Diary*
“If he saw her now, how would he react?”
“Surprised? Regretful? Or… not caring at all?”
— *Moon-Chasing Diary*
_
Qin Sang always felt that before sleeping, she’d heard Liu Chengcheng talk too much nonsense. So when she finally fell asleep, even her dream was a mess.
When her little assistant came to find her, she jumped when Qin Sang opened the door with dark circles. “Sang-sang, what happened? Insomnia again?”
Why “again”?
When she’d just entered the industry, Qin Sang had gone through some bad experiences—severe anxiety with mild depressive tendencies—and she’d been left with insomnia.
For a long time, she needed medication just to barely sleep.
But after systematic treatment, it was much better.
With a regular schedule, she almost never got insomnia anymore.
Right now, Qin Sang was dizzy. She dug an ice pack out of the fridge and pressed it to her forehead to wake up before answering, “Nothing. I just had a nightmare and slept badly.”
The assistant frowned. “A nightmare? Dreaming about the old stuff again?”
Qin Sang collapsed on the couch and sighed. “Yeah. Dreamt I handed in a blank exam in high school. I couldn’t solve a single question, couldn’t even read a word. I was so anxious I cried.”
The assistant clearly remembered the fear of exams too. She shuddered, then theatrically sprinkled some water. “Peh peh—go away, bad luck.”
Qin Sang just laughed. With the ice pack over her eyes, her eyelids were so swollen she could barely open them.
She had indeed dreamed about a high school exam—but it wasn’t as tragic as handing in a blank paper. Still, it wasn’t much better.
Her grades in high school really weren’t ideal. Back then, her homeroom teacher scolded her earnestly, probably hoping she’d come to her senses and put her mind on the right path.
The teacher kept a stern face and intentionally made the words heavy.
“You’re already in your second year of high school and you’re still so careless. What do you plan to do? Quit after graduation, find a factory job or work in a milk-tea shop, muddle through? Do you know what every inch of time you waste now represents? It means that in the future, even if you put in a hundred times, a thousand times the effort, you might still not catch up to this tiny score gap.”
It was lunch break. Teachers were in the office—subject teachers, other homeroom teachers, and students who came to ask questions. Qin Sang was probably the only female student called in to “reflect” because of grades.
She felt wronged too. It wasn’t that she hadn’t tried—she had. It just didn’t work.
She kept her head down, silent, until a knock sounded behind her. A boy’s voice—clear, magnetic, with a faint rasp—said, “Teacher.”
The teacher, parched from lecturing, did a complete 180 upon seeing him. Warm and welcoming: “Xie, come in.”
In high school, Xie Yuncheng was tall and slim. Per school rules, his hair was cut short; the fringe stopped about two centimeters above his brow bone. In a blue-and-white uniform, he looked fresh and clean—youthfulness rushing toward you.
When he came in, the already cramped workspace felt narrower. Qin Sang kept her head down; in her view were his long, distinct hands. His skin was very pale—cold-white by nature—so the veins on the back of his hand stood out. His nails were neatly trimmed; there were healthy white crescents at the edges.
He didn’t carry that sour, sweaty teenage-boy stink. Instead, he had a faint lemon scent.
If she guessed right, it was probably the lemon body wash sold at the school store.
Cradling his thermos, the teacher looked pleased. “Here for competition materials? Teacher Tang said you plan to apply for Tsinghua’s Strong Foundation Program—so your goal is Tsinghua?”
“Mm.”
The boy’s response was calm. Few words.
Qin Sang lifted her head unconsciously and looked at the person standing beside her—only a step away.
His back was straight. It was probably habit shaped by good family education; no matter when or where, his shoulders were always square.
So his target was the country’s top institution.
So there were worlds some people lived in—worlds she could never step into, no matter how she struggled her whole life.
Qin Sang stared at his straight back, momentarily lost. Her gaze drifted back to the desk. Her test paper—with her name on it—was spread out openly. The failing red score was painfully glaring.
She’d always been thick-skinned. Raised in an optimistic household, she rarely felt inferior because of her shortcomings.
But in that moment—just that instant—the sudden surge of shame made her want to die of humiliation.
Thinking about it now… maybe seventeen was just an age when pride was unusually strong.
It wasn’t even that serious, yet she could feel wronged as if the sky had fallen and the sun had vanished.
That suffocating embarrassment—nowhere to hide—was carved into her bones even today. Just dreaming of that past was enough to make her want to sob and vent.
Seventeen really was an age when it was easy to be sensitive and insecure.
_
The class reunion was set for Saturday at eight p.m.
To accommodate Qin Sang’s special status, they chose a fairly out-of-the-way Cantonese restaurant and even booked a large private room.
Because of work, Qin Sang finished late. By the time she hurried over, almost everyone had arrived.
Liu Chengcheng waited downstairs. Seeing Qin Sang come in with a mask and hat, she immediately brought her to the second floor, talking as they went. “Don’t worry. It’s all classmates—no family members.”
Qin Sang nodded and said nothing.
The private room was lively. Even though they hadn’t seen each other in years, they could still chat fluently about their recent lives.
Tang Minmin, the organizer, sat in the seat of honor, constantly moving around the table, joking and teasing to liven the mood.
The moment Liu Chengcheng and Qin Sang entered, Tang Minmin stood to greet them. “Superstar—we’ve been waiting for you.”
“Sit, sit.” Tang Minmin grabbed Qin Sang, intimate like they were sisters. “Why are you standing? Our class’s superstar is here—shouldn’t everyone applaud and welcome her?”
Qin Sang smoothly pulled her arm out. “We’re classmates. No need for that.”
Tang Minmin didn’t look embarrassed. She just ushered Qin Sang to sit.
A grown-up class reunion was, in truth, a marketplace of mutual flattery—quiet comparisons of status, connections, and accumulated wealth.
Qin Sang only realized after sitting down—after Liu Chengcheng’s reminder and friendly introductions—that Tang Minmin’s gathering carried very pointed intent.
Many classmates were in Jingcheng, but those present were almost all elites from various industries—or at least solid middle-income.
Liu Chengcheng complained, “I used to think Tang Minmin just liked cliques. Now I see it—she’s not into cliques, she’s just snobbish. You didn’t see her before you arrived—any time she met someone rich, her smile split like a flower.”
Qin Sang had a magazine shoot during the day. To look good on camera, she’d done a light fast for two days. Now she’d rushed over and her stomach was starving.
She wasn’t interested in this social scene. She lived in fame and profit already, so this routine wasn’t new. She lowered her eyes and ate quietly.
Only when unfamiliar faces occasionally came to greet her did she turn slightly and ask Liu Chengcheng in a low voice.
She hadn’t seen her classmates in years. Not unrecognizable, but changed: most of the men had gained weight; most women kept their figures fairly well, and nearly half were already married with children.
Even Tang Minmin had two kids. If she hadn’t been sharing childcare tips, you’d never guess she was a mother of two by her figure alone.
As Qin Sang was surprised, her manager messaged: “How is it? Having fun at the reunion?”
Qin Sang replied: “Four words: boring as hell.”
Manager: “After so long? No nostalgia at all? Didn’t you tell me passionately that you wanted to go to ‘remember youth’?”
Qin Sang regretted everything.
“Bad call. Absolutely a bad call. I apologize for my recklessness.”
“If you insist on asking how it feels, it’s probably: time flies like a song, years rush like a shuttle—everyone went from fresh-faced teens to the teens’ dads and moms.”
“May I ask: what am I supposed to discuss with a group of parents?”
“Share my weight-loss tips, or my acting notes?”
The topics they talked about weren’t ones she could jump into. Ordinary life and celebrity life were miles apart; she couldn’t find an entry point.
Now she was honestly wondering whether her brain had flooded when she decided to come. Otherwise, why come be a mascot?
Why had she agreed again?
Right—she’d wanted to prove something.
She was curious whether that figure that haunted her memory had long since faded with time.
And also curious: if he saw her now, what would he do?
Surprised? Regretful? Or… not care?
_
“By the way, after all these years—has anyone seen our class’s legendary top student, Xie Yuncheng?”
Someone suddenly mentioned the familiar name.
Qin Sang’s attention shifted from her phone for a moment. She pricked up her ears.
Strictly speaking, Xie Yuncheng wasn’t that close with the class.
Back then, people felt he was arrogant and out of touch. But thinking now, there was a wall between his class and ordinary people. And with the capital to be reckless in youth, plus intelligence far beyond his peers, the path he walked was destined to be lonely.
While ordinary students worried about functions and solid geometry, his world was already the stars and the sea.
How could you have common topics with someone like that?
Sure enough, a male classmate, cigarette in hand, said, “Could Young Master Xie be like us? He’s a genius who got into Tsinghua early. Always looking down from on high. He doesn’t like anyone—why would he keep in touch with ordinary people like us?”
It was an ugly thing to say. Xie Yuncheng wasn’t close with anyone—just polite acquaintances—but he wasn’t some freak loner either. It wasn’t that he had no classmate affection; he just didn’t have much.
His pride came from being exceptionally capable and overly excellent—edges unique to adolescence: sharp, but not vicious.
Qin Sang frowned, lifted her eyes to look at the speaker. The face seemed familiar but she couldn’t place it, so she asked softly, “Chengcheng, who’s that?”
Liu Chengcheng glanced. “You forgot? That’s our class’s study committee rep—the one who always got stepped on by Xie Yuncheng back then. Eternal runner-up. But he’s amazing now—CITIC’s top exec. His annual pay is around… this much.”
She gestured a number; Qin Sang was a little surprised.
She really had forgotten. Not only was Xie Yuncheng’s classmate affection limited—hers was too. She remembered very few classmates.
Back in high school, her mind was on Xie Yuncheng. She chased his footsteps, fantasizing that one day she could be as outstanding as him.
Thinking of her past self—timid, careful, trailing behind him—Qin Sang drifted.
A classmate tried to smooth it over. “Don’t say that. Xie was a bit cold, but he was pretty nice. And he really was smart. I heard he did an integrated bachelor’s-master’s, then entered the aerospace institute.”
Eternal runner-up sneered, as if years of being an executive had trained him to boss people around—or as if he still couldn’t forget being crushed by Xie Yuncheng. Even hearing the name made his teeth itch.
He scoffed. “No wonder. A ‘scientist’—they look down on money-grubbers like us. But in today’s society, what’s talent worth? If something happens, won’t he still have to bow his head and beg for help? The institute doesn’t pay much. The hole the Xie family has dug now—our lofty scientist classmate could pool all his savings and still not have enough to grease palms.”
“So what’s the use of only knowing how to study? Good grades don’t mean you’ll do well later. With his personality, he’ll be an odd one out anywhere.”
“And what’s wrong with only knowing how to study?” Qin Sang had barely spoken since she arrived. When people greeted her, she only gave polite smiles, rarely engaging.
Now she folded her arms, pressing down her temper, smiling like she wasn’t angry. “Studying is for understanding and wisdom—not for showing off. Working is for survival. Jobs don’t come ‘noble’ or ‘low.’”
“Xie Yuncheng is indeed different from people like us—his level is higher. He studied to realize an ideal, and he works to make that ideal real. Someone who strives for our country’s aerospace development has a big heart and a big-picture mind.”
“And besides—”
Qin Sang smiled sweetly, not looking sharp at all. But the words were, in fact, cutting.
“If the amount of wealth decides whether someone is successful, then weren’t you doomed from the start to be his subordinate—his loser in life? You keep bringing up the Xie family. Did he ever use his family’s power to beat you?”
She still wore that gentle, smiling face—only now, the smile hid a blade; her eyes carried clear mockery.
“If you’re not good enough, then accept your bad luck. Lack of ability isn’t shameful. After all, IQ is a kind of mysticism where a hair’s difference becomes a mile. But cornered-dog tantrums—that’s what really strips your dignity.”
“I came here to see old classmates—not to hear certain people boast and trample others.”
Qin Sang stood and walked out. Just before leaving, when she passed Eternal runner-up, her steps paused. “Oh right—do you know what Xie Yuncheng has that you don’t?”
Eternal runner-up clearly hadn’t recovered from her verbal barrage. His eyes were blank, stunned.
Qin Sang looked down at him, lashes lowered, voice unhurried.
“Xie Yuncheng—he’s truly excellent.”
“And he never uses his excellence to look down on others.”