Chapter 35

*The Moon Runs to Me*
Qin had seen many versions of him.
In high school, he’d been all straight lines and sharp edges—cool, proud, wrapped in his uniform like it had been tailored just for him. The same blue-and-white everyone wore somehow looked lazy and wild on him.
But she’d rarely seen him in formal dress. Today was one of the rare times.
He wore a blue shirt, ironed crisp, and black suit pants that made his long legs look even longer. A small red pin gleamed at his chest—the national emblem.
He looked proper enough.
But unlike her uncle, who seemed born in a three-piece suit, he radiated a quiet rebellion. The top two buttons of his shirt were loose. His throat showed, lines clean, collarbones catching the light.
On the surface, he was composed.
Underneath, there was still that streak of defiance—a certain careless sensuality he never seemed aware of.
“Ms. Qin, long time no see.”
Shen Yi had come too. Unlike Xie, he was entirely by the book in a charcoal suit and thin-rimmed silver glasses—a textbook “elite.”
“Hey, Jon,” Penny called cheerfully.
Qin only inclined her head in greeting, then dropped her gaze. Standing this close, the faint mint on him mixed with the softest trace of smoke. It surrounded her, made her light-headed.
Jon was Shen Yi’s English name. From the ease between them, it was obvious they were old friends.
“Susan,” he replied, smiling. “Good to see you. You’re looking better and better.”
“Cut it out,” Penny laughed. “I actually need a favor. Busy?”
“Always have time for you,” he said, and the two of them moved off.
Penny turned back once. “Sang-sang, I’m going to borrow Jon. Will you be alright on your own?”
She’d only dragged Qin along for company anyway. Qin nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Then I’ll leave my sister to you, Engineer Xie,” Penny added lightly. “Keep an eye on her for me.”
Qin’s ears went a little hot at that tone—like a parent handing off a child.
Xie only dipped his head slightly. “Alright.”
Penny was truly busy. As a guest speaker, she still had to polish her talk. She wanted Shen to look it over. The room would be full of top people from the field; afterwards the videos would be published for the public. Every word had to be right.
When they were gone, Qin shrank her shoulders a little. Not because she was afraid of him—but because they were standing very, very close.
She had no idea how to start.
Ever since the scene at the restaurant, something between them had twisted. She didn’t know what attitude to take toward him now.
After a long silence, she blurted, “Your Director Shen and my cousin… seem close. Did they know each other before?”
“Mm.” Xie’s gaze rested on her. “Shen did a year at HKU as an exchange student.”
To strengthen ties, Qingda had multiple exchange programs—with Hong Kong, Macau, Taiwan. Shen had gone to Hong Kong in his second year.
“Oh,” Qin said. “That makes sense.”
Penny had done her undergrad at home, then taken a guaranteed spot at HKU. Shen’s exchange year lined up neatly. No doubt they’d met then.
“Walk?” Xie suggested.
She hesitated, then nodded. “Alright.”
The conference was a big deal. Besides the Fifth and Eighth Institutes, people from the Sixth, Ninth, and other aerospace units had come. Professors from top universities, scientists from various research institutes, engineers and designers—they filled the venues.
Walking beside Xie, Qin noticed how many people greeted him.
“Engineer Xie.”
“Xie Gong.”
Scientists from sibling institutes, experts she’d only ever seen on TV—they all seemed to know him.
Her earlier worry—that her presence would cause a scene—melted away. No one cared that “Qin Sang, the actress” was there.
They cared about him.
Here, ability was what mattered. A star, even a very famous one, was a footnote next to a name like his.
The lack of attention calmed her. Listening to the passing greetings, she joined in once, half teasing.
“Xie Gong?”
He looked down at her. “Mm? What is it, Classmate Qin?”
The words were the same as always. Somehow, they sounded different.
Something in the way he bit off the syllables, the lazy drag in his voice, the light in his eyes—made it feel almost… intimate.
Her ears went hot again. She’d only meant to copy everyone else. Instead, it felt like she’d been the one teased.
He’d done nothing, really.
He just had that face.
“God-tier looks, righteous lifestyle,” she remembered Zhou Yihong saying once. “He’s like the top card in some seedy club—only he doesn’t know it.”
…
A promo video was playing on a nearby screen.
“The thirty-ninth remote-sensing satellite, launched by Long March 2D from the Xichang site on August 17, has successfully entered its target orbit…”
“Remote-sensing satellites and BeiDou satellites aren’t the same thing?” Qin asked, frowning.
As a complete outsider, she really couldn’t tell. She’d only ever heard of “BeiDou”—China’s own GPS.
Remote-sensing was new to her.
He paused, then answered patiently. “BeiDou and remote-sensing have different jobs. BeiDou is mainly navigation and positioning—roads, military uses. Remote-sensing is used for forestry, oceans, land, agricultural meteorology—for example, monitoring environmental change, forecasting weather, warning of disasters.”
“Oh,” she said, eyes brightening. “So the Meteorological Bureau uses remote-sensing satellites?”
“Mm. Their Fengyun-1 meteorological satellite is China’s first transmission-type, polar-orbit remote-sensing satellite.”
“Got it,” she said, drawing out the words. She clearly didn’t—but she wanted to.
He raised a brow and chuckled. “You’re good at connecting the dots, Classmate Qin.”
There was teasing in his tone. She ducked her head. “You’re making fun of me.”
“I don’t really understand your field,” she said softly. “But I know you—and all the others on the front line—put in a lot for what we see now.”
Every news line that flashed briefly past a screen hid years of effort. She’d once never thought about it.
Now, because of him, she tried to.
“Does it ever feel lonely?” she asked. “Most people don’t pay attention. They don’t even understand what you’ve done.”
Actors and scientists. Two opposite worlds.
Actors enjoyed the most visible rewards. Their “contributions” were light and color and taxes.
Scientists stayed in the dark. No one noticed them. Few even tried to understand.
Take the thirty-ninth remote-sensing satellite. How many people outside this room grasped what it meant?
To most, it was just another banner headline. A few seconds of TV.
He stayed quiet a moment, then said, “We’re just doing our jobs. For ordinary people, this is just another profession. For us, too.”
The ribbons and medals, the flowers and applause—that was extra. Nice if it came. Not necessary.
“Every field has its own standards and needs,” he went on. “Anyone who’s worked hard at theirs—whatever their reasons—deserves basic respect and understanding.”
Over-glorifying any one path—painting it in gold—tilted things out of balance.
It made it hard to stay objective.
“Zhou Yihong wants attention. Needs it, even. That doesn’t make him wrong. It’s just his way,” he added.
“But not all of us want to be in front of cameras.”
He paused, then said her name.
Softly. Almost like a sigh.
“Sang-sang.”
It was the first time he’d called her that.
Two ordinary syllables.
From his mouth, they wrapped around her like a thread of warmth.
“I’m just a normal person too,” he said. “Ordinary. Flawed. I’m not as noble as you think. There are problems I can’t solve. Situations I can’t handle. Like now.”
His eyes stayed on hers.
“Right now, I don’t know how to make you understand that I don’t want to be just classmates with you.”