Chapter 38

*The Moon Runs to Me*
“Honestly,” Shen Yi said with a teasing laugh, smoking, “last time you asked me for the film source, I was a little surprised. Before, whenever I recommended something, you always said you weren’t interested.”
Shen Yi wasn’t flattering himself. He really was Qin Sang’s movie fan.
The year *A Letter from Afar* was released, he happened to be participating in Qingda and HKU’s exchange program, spending a year in Hong Kong. At the time, his then-girlfriend—whom he had only just started dating—dragged him to the cinema, on the grounds that he’d missed her birthday.
Strangely, he couldn’t remember what that girl looked like now—how tall she was, whether she was pretty, whether she had a good figure. No impression at all. He only remembered that she was spoiled, and if anything displeased her, she’d make a fuss for half a day.
He didn’t feel much about her. “Like” was too strong a word. It was just that she’d happened to catch him at a gap in his schedule. She’d pursued him for two or three months, and finally cornered him in the library to confess in public.
He had always been good at restraining his emotions. Perhaps because he’d worn that gentle mask for so long, people mistook him for someone easy to talk to.
He hooked a finger along the edge of his glasses and slowly wiped the lens. Under the frames, his peach-blossom eyes naturally looked affectionate—so it was hard for others to notice the impatience hidden in their depths. He smiled gently, coldness raging in his eyes.
“Then let’s try,” he’d said.
He couldn’t recall her exact features—after all, that relationship hadn’t lasted long. She chased novelty, liked to seek stimulation in men, to demand one hundred percent adoration. Shen Yi, though he looked like a courteous gentleman, had coldness etched into his bones.
He wasn’t interested in her quirky ideas, was perfunctory toward her willful demands, and couldn’t give her the romance and thrill she wanted. After a while, she couldn’t take it and broke up first.
He didn’t deny it: he was indifferent. People like them spent whatever little love they had on themselves. Two equally selfish people together could only exhaust each other.
He didn’t want to give; she didn’t want to give either—only to take.
The clearest memory was the night they went to the movies.
She dragged him in her sports car up a mountain in the middle of the night, insisting on waiting for sunrise at the top.
Maybe women that age had an inexplicable longing for romance; even a pampered young lady couldn’t escape it. She said happily, “They say if you watch the sunrise together on Lovers’ Mountain, you’ll be together forever—never break up.”
People’s hearts change. How could one sunrise hold anything steady?
Shen Yi curled his lip in a mocking smile.
Before sunrise arrived, the young lady—always three minutes of enthusiasm—had already crawled into the convertible, whining, “It’s so cold. I don’t want to watch anymore, Shen Yi. Let’s go back.”
Shen Yi raised his brow, not surprised at all.
As they drove down the mountain, she still refused to let it go. She grabbed his clothes and said, “My birthday was last Saturday. You missed it. Today you have to make it up to me—properly. You’re not allowed to go back to the dorm.”
“Or… come watch a movie with me.”
He agreed perfunctorily and booked a 24-hour private theater.
The private theater had plenty of titles—many European and American films, and niche ones too. It was late, and there weren’t many people. He booked a private room.
When it came to choosing a movie, Shen Yi didn’t care. He planned to pick any Western film to kill time. She tugged him and said, “Let’s watch this one. I heard it’s been well received in Taiwan recently. Good word of mouth.”
He glanced down and had no opinion. “Whatever.”
The film wasn’t short—about an hour and a half.
The person who’d chattered nonstop before it started went strangely quiet during the screening.
After a while, soft sobbing sounded in the dark. With tears in her eyes, she said, “If I were Yu Sibei, I wouldn’t be that stupid.”
Shen Yi raised his brow, eyes on the screen.
The plot wasn’t novel; the strength was in the visual language. The actors looked like newcomers; their acting was visibly raw. Yet that rawness matched the role settings.
Seventeen- or eighteen-year-old boys and girls were like that—reckless and stumbling, like unripe green apples, sour when you bit into them.
Shen Yi was a little surprised. A no-name team had made something… pretty good.
In the domestic market, art films rarely sold well. Bad films crowded the shelves. Beyond using Valentine’s Day as an excuse to give men and women some boring “seasoning,” there was little to praise.
The film’s final turn was heavy.
After the long ending theme, the last Easter-egg frame froze on the first meeting.
The actress looked very young. Her brows and eyes were all youthful. When she smiled, her eyes curved, and the tear mole beneath her eye corner was half-hidden, half-seen. Hugging a bouquet of sunflowers, she looked at the boy who’d come from far away. The image of two teenagers smiling at each other was more moving than any deliberately arranged scene.
The sea wind howled, lifting the pleats of her skirt. The smiling girl tucked windblown hair behind her ear. On the small curve of her left ear hung a hearing aid.
The wind chimes on the cliff wall spun as well; glass rings collided with a crisp, pleasant sound.
It was hard to tell whether it was the wind moving—
or the heart.
The chime of the rings was probably the rhythm of that first heartbeat.
“Youth is a hymn of regret.”
“A secret crush is an unripe fruit.”
“This film is dedicated to the you of that time—”
“the secret you never managed to say: I like you.”
When the film ended, Shen Yi was surprised. He’d expected a pretentious “art” gimmick, but the viewing experience was unexpectedly good. He took a photo and posted it to the club chat.
Zhou Yihong liked to dig into these things. He’d always been more interested in literature than aerospace, so Shen Yi shared the film’s title.
Zhou replied quickly: “Damn, the female lead looks young—newcomer? Pretty. What’s her name?”
Shen Yi glanced at the cast list on the screen. “Qin Sang.”
Zhou: “Never heard of her. Definitely new. I checked—mainland didn’t release it, but Douban already has a score and it’s pretty high. Looks like this girl has a bright future! How’s the movie—worth watching? Not one of those melodramas where the bathroom breaks are more exciting than the plot, right? (terrified)”
Shen Yi snorted. “Not bad.”
Zhou: “If even you, with your picky standards, say ‘not bad,’ then it’s definitely not bad.”
Zhou: “@Junior Xie, go watch it with me. You’re alone anyway. Why live in the lab all day? A fine young man should enjoy life. Come on, I’ll treat you to a movie.”
X: “Not interested.”
…
Shen Yi narrowed his eyes slightly, laughed, and tugged his tie loose with one hand. He didn’t look like his usual warm, polite self. In the smoke, behind the lenses, his eyes carried a lazy, alluring weariness.
“So,” he said, “you suddenly changed your nature and got interested?”
Xie Yuncheng only glanced at him and didn’t answer.
Shen Yi raised his brow, more intrigued. “Then I’m curious. Someone who’s risen above low tastes and thinks entertainment is a waste of life—Xie-god, are you interested in the work, or the person?”
Xie Yuncheng didn’t speak. His throat was inexplicably tight.
Interested?
He knew far less about Qin Sang than others did. The only impression he had still stopped at that night he returned from the northwest.
He’d looked through a window from the building. She’d walked quickly, her silhouette like a migrating butterfly—light and bright in the night.
Back then, he didn’t even know her name.
He only remembered that on a deep night while he was stationed in the northwest, he received a message where someone tagged him in the group.
The class group was unusually lively—making plans to meet, to gather.
Someone asked if he was coming. He didn’t reply. He scrolled indifferently through a couple of messages.
The reason the conversation started was because of her.
[Image]
“Is that Qin Sang? Damn—after a few years she got so pretty?”
“It’s definitely her. She’s really famous now. Didn’t she just win Best Actress the other day? Her ads are everywhere.”
“Who would’ve guessed? The Qin classmate who always ranked near the bottom is now the one doing the best out of our class. What does that tell you? Good grades and brains don’t matter as much as good looks.”
“@Tang Minmin, enough. We get it—you’re jealous. No need to jump out and sour-grape so fast. You targeted Sang-sang in school; I can’t believe you still love talking behind her back. Same old you.”
“@Liu Chengcheng, hehe, you’re no better. You loved being someone’s dog back then and you’re still doing it. Has she even spoken to you after graduation? Throwing yourself at her like that—what are you after? She’s a big star now, you think she’ll bother? Fighting with me here is useless. Your ‘master’ can’t see how loyally you guard her.”
Half of the 999+ messages were them fighting in the group.
Other classmates stepped in to smooth things over.
“Don’t fight, don’t fight. Harmony brings wealth.”
“How about this—I’ll set something up and we’ll get together? It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other; I’m curious what everyone’s like now.”
Tang Minmin: “Sure, I’ll pick the place. Whoever’s coming, tell me. @Liu Chengcheng, since you and Qin were like conjoined twins back then, why don’t you ask her if she’s coming? If you show up, she has to come, right? Otherwise she’d be disrespecting you.”
Such obvious goading—yet Liu Chengcheng swallowed it whole.
“Fine. I’ll ask. You think I’m afraid of you?”
Tang Minmin: “OK, it’s settled then. Oh right, who has Xie-god’s contact? Ask him. Jiang Mingyi is abroad and definitely can’t come. Xie-god is in Jingcheng, right?”
Tang Minmin: “Come to think of it, it’s interesting. I remember Qin seemed to care about Xie-god back in school. @Tong Junjie, class monitor, right? Back then Qin roasted you and became famous in one battle. Too bad Xie-god was recovering from an injury then and didn’t get to see her heroic style.”
“How do I put it? Xie-god is so outstanding—it’s normal to have a crush. Qin liking him isn’t strange.”
Liu Chengcheng: “Stop talking nonsense. Don’t spread rumors.”
Tang Minmin: “Am I spreading rumors, or is it true? If Xie-god hadn’t looked down on her, do you think she wouldn’t have thrown herself at him? Tsk tsk.”
…
They were all classmates. Her words were truly unpleasant—aggressive and sharp, hard not to sound mean.
His brows knit. But he only looked at it twice and didn’t take it to heart.
Now…
Xie Yuncheng lowered his eyes and smiled bitterly. The taste of mint candy spread on his tongue, carrying a faint, inexplicable astringency.
So it turned out—
he really had missed her that many times.