Chapter 39

*The Moon Runs to Me*
“Ancestor, you finally decided to answer,” Sister Wen said on the phone, a little helpless. “It’s been days. You don’t pick up calls, you don’t reply on WeChat. If your aunt hadn’t said you haven’t gone anywhere and have just been resting at home, I would’ve called the police.”
Qin Sang deliberately found a quiet spot to take the call. She leaned against the wall, her fingertips unconsciously playing with a monstera leaf. Her tone was light. “Sorry, Sister Wen. I made you worry.”
Sister Wen sighed. “So you know you’ll make people worry. Next time don’t do this—disappearing like that. If something’s upsetting you, tell me. If I can, I’ll help you solve it.”
“Okay.” Qin answered obediently. When she smiled, her brows and eyes curved, making her look especially gentle and quiet. She explained, “I’m not unhappy. I’m just too tired. I wanted to rest.”
Sister Wen could understand. “You have been working a lot recently. You know—if we don’t strike while the iron’s hot and take advantage of this momentum to climb as much as possible, the heat will disperse.”
After the awards ceremony, Qin had indeed taken on plenty of work. Sister Wen had secured many endorsements and magazine shoots for her. A lot of variety shows had sent invitations too, but Qin didn’t like them, so Sister Wen didn’t accept any.
At work, they always discussed things. Qin had her own ideas; Sister Wen respected her. So even when Qin insisted on turning down a top director’s project to take a third-rate one, Sister Wen, though she disagreed, still didn’t oppose her.
To Qin, Sister Wen was a mentor and friend, not just a working relationship. The storms they’d been through together were more than outsiders imagined.
And besides—
In a sense, Qin had grown up under Sister Wen’s watch: from an eighteen-year-old girl who knew nothing, to the star who could stand alone now. What she’d experienced along the way wasn’t something for others to know.
“So?” Sister Wen asked. “After resting a few days, do you feel better?”
Sister Wen had seen that Qin was truly exhausted—two months of nonstop work without a proper break—so she’d taken advantage of the special Mid-Autumn and National Day holiday stretch to give her a short vacation.
Who would’ve thought that once Qin returned to Ningjiang, she’d be like a fish entering a river—gone without a trace. The first two days she could still coordinate work normally. Later she started vanishing—no calls, no replies. If Sister Wen hadn’t had things to deal with, she really would’ve rushed to Ningjiang to see what was going on.
Qin smiled with curved eyes. She’d had some alcohol; the intoxication was heavy, and her smile looked a bit foolish compared to her usual self. “Mm. I’m very well.”
She was well.
Just… still a little sad.
Qin sniffed lightly and looked up at the moon outside the window. Ningjiang wasn’t like Jingcheng; the industrial pollution wasn’t so severe. The mountains and rivers were clean, and even the sky looked washed blue. Late at night, a few scattered stars hung in the dark. The bright moon was clear as a mirror; its cool light was so strong that the stars nearby seemed much dimmer.
She smiled foolishly and said, “Happy Mid-Autumn, Sister Wen.”
Sister Wen couldn’t help feeling speechless. “Mid-Autumn was ages ago. Why are you still saying Happy Mid-Autumn?”
Qin shook her head softly, stubborn. “Happy Mid-Autumn. Sister Wen, you have to be happy every day. Without Brother Wu, you still have me. And Xiaoxiao. We’re your family.”
Brother Wu was Sister Wen’s husband. They’d been high school classmates, then got into the same university. Their relationship had always been good. People said campus couples couldn’t escape the seven-year itch and the curse of breaking up after graduation—but they were different. The moment they graduated, Brother Wu proposed.
Married for many years, their feelings never changed. Later, Sister Wen became busier and busier. For the convenience of taking care of her, Brother Wu willingly quit his job and became a full-time homemaker, taking charge of her meals and daily life.
Qin had once envied their relationship. But fate didn’t go as people wished. Brother Wu got cancer, and by the time it was found, it was already late stage. Not long after surgery, he passed away. During that period, Sister Wen had been full of self-blame.
More than once she regretted: “It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t thrown myself into work and forgotten to care about him more—if I’d noticed something wrong with his body earlier—maybe he would’ve had a chance to live.”
During that time, Qin stayed with her.
On the second year after Brother Wu left, they didn’t stay in the country. They traveled a great distance, over mountains and seas, to the edge of the earth— Iceland.
Iceland was a very special country. In theory it didn’t have a strict polar day and polar night, but every summer, it didn’t get dark. After the winter solstice, there would be a long night—so long it felt like reaching the end of the world, with no daylight.
That winter, they happened to be in Iceland. Everything they could see was an empty white. Snow covered the mountains; footsteps in the snow made a creaking sound. Iceland had entered its long night. The neglected darkness spread over the land as if daylight would never return.
In truth, they hadn’t come at a good time. Aurora visibility was low, and it started snowing the night they arrived. Wind and snow together; thick clouds covered the sky tightly. It was almost impossible to see the aurora.
It was New Year’s, and Iceland’s New Year’s Eve was still lively. No one knew them. All around were unfamiliar Western faces. Qin accompanied Sister Wen to a band performance, then stayed in a nearby bar until late. At midnight, the bells rang, and fireworks lit up the long night.
Only when they returned to the hotel did the wind and snow gradually stop. They’d thought they couldn’t possibly see the aurora. But around two a.m., half-asleep, Qin heard many people talking; Sister Wen called her, and she went out.
They came to Iceland for the aurora, so they’d booked a hotel that was most convenient for viewing: good location, sparse crowds, quiet—almost no outsiders besides guests.
The aurora, at the horizon, was like a thin, drifting green mist—translucent like jade, yet even purer. Light floated and moved, dancing in the endless black of the long night, circling the sky.
Everyone exclaimed, pulling out phones to record that brilliant moment. Some even had professional camera equipment.
Sister Wen said, “Sang-sang, do you know? A couple of years ago, on our wedding anniversary, he told me he wanted to take time and come to Iceland with me to watch the aurora. I always said I was too busy, no time. I didn’t expect… I still came in the end. But this time, it’s only me.”
“How can it be only you?” Qin said. “Aren’t I here? No matter what happens in the future, I’ll be with you.”
She spoke sincerely then. Sister Wen only smiled and shook her head. “That’s different. When you have someone you can’t let go of one day, you’ll understand.”
Someone she couldn’t let go of?
Qin stared at the sky, lost in thought. She did. It was just that for a very long time—truly a very long time—she hadn’t thought of him, because she was busy living, busy with endless work, pushed forward little by little.
Life had been awful, colorless. Even when she stole a moment of rest, she was too tired to think; she only wanted to close her eyes and sleep.
“Sang-sang, make a wish,” Sister Wen said. “They say wishing under the aurora is very effective. Maybe if you ask for something, you’ll really get an answer.”
Qin didn’t really believe in these things. She had never been a lucky person. Not one wish she’d made since childhood had come true.
But that day, she suddenly wanted to try.
She followed Sister Wen, closed her eyes, and silently wished.
When she opened her eyes, she didn’t know if it was an illusion or she truly hallucinated.
In the endless snow and mist, in a blur, she seemed to see that familiar figure—among the Western faces—flash past. A moment later, it was gone. Thinking about it, she must have seen wrong.
She’d heard that in university he’d followed his parents’ arrangement and gone into politics. Now he was likely an excellent public official—perhaps a prosecutor, perhaps a diplomat.
He was always excellent. Whatever he did, he did it well, far beyond reach. And the last time she saw him, there was already someone with him. He didn’t look repulsed.
Maybe… he was married already. They looked so well matched; that girl looked so outstanding—at least far more qualified than Qin. Why should she indulge in wishful thinking?
So many years had passed. Everyone moved forward. Who would be so foolish as to stay in place?
She curled her lip in a self-mocking smile and looked into the distance. That winter, on the day the new year arrived, she made her wish.
First wish: may the people she loves all be happy and safe.
Second wish: may Sister Wen step out of the gloom soon.
Third wish…
She didn’t say it out loud. She only prayed silently in her heart.
“I hope that at this moment, on the other side of the earth, Classmate Xie can get what he wants—warm lights with meals through the four seasons, peace through all seasons.”
“In the new year, she would learn to forget, learn to let go.”
So on that winter night, on the first day of the year, she made her last wish with solemn seriousness.
She wanted to forget Xie Yuncheng.
Forget forever. Let go completely.
But she didn’t understand—was it a test, or was God toying with her?
In the very year she decided to let go, there came a dramatic reunion.
Qin smiled bitterly. She really wasn’t a lucky person. The wishes she made every birthday never came true. Even such a tiny wish couldn’t become real.
Yet she also felt, in a despicable way, that this was a gift. She could deceive herself that she’d already let go, but she couldn’t ignore the secret joy that rose when she saw him.
She closed her eyes. That lingering emotion still numbed her nerves; the slightest tug would make it surge back.
So she gave up struggling and let herself sink.
She sighed. “Sister Wen, do you remember you once said that if I met someone I couldn’t let go of, I’d understand how you felt then?”
“I think… now I understand.”
Some people aren’t someone you can forget just because you say you want to. Because you care, because you can’t let go, you keep reminding yourself—yet the more you remind yourself, the more the longing becomes an illness.
Qin leaned against the window, absentmindedly looking down.
Her gaze swept past. In the deep night below, a man stood tall and clear. Cold moonlight fell on his brows and eyes. In the half-dim light, his outline was sharp and clean.
As if sensing her gaze, he lifted his thin lids in the night. His eyes were dark as the night itself.
Their eyes met.
Qin’s pupils tightened; the hand holding her phone couldn’t help trembling slightly.