Chapter 41

*The Moon Runs to Me*
“Pursuing? So you haven’t confirmed the relationship yet?” Madam Chen was astonished. After all, she knew his conditions. Not to mention anyone else—people in Chen Zhiqin’s work unit had been probing her more than once, hoping she and Old Chen could help connect the line.
Xie Yuncheng curved his lips. “Not yet.”
“Oh my.” Madam Chen wasn’t trying to force him into blind dates. Since he already had someone in mind, she wouldn’t press him. From an elder’s perspective, she was even happy for him. She laughed. “Then she must be a very good girl—worth liking this much.”
Xie Yuncheng went along with it. His tone was even gentle. “She really is very good.”
“Confident? Bring her next time to meet me and your teacher,” Madam Chen said, wanting to see what kind of girl could make him lower his head willingly.
He rubbed the teacup, hinting at something. “That depends on whether she’s willing to give me the chance.”
Qin Sang understood—he was pointing at her. Every word, every sentence, was aimed at her. Fortunately, as a nobody tucked among a roomful of academic big shots, she had almost no presence; when people chatted about family matters, it wasn’t her place—an “outsider”—to speak.
“Hahaha.” Someone there was clearly close with Xie Yuncheng; they spoke bluntly, even with a bit of schadenfreude. “Old Chen, looks like you won’t be able to keep your treasured student. Look—before anything even happens, he’s already siding outward. So unconfident—doesn’t look like you.”
Chen Zhiqin laughed too. “I’m happy to see him suffer a bit. Smooth sailing is good, but if he can’t take even a little setback, that won’t do. In my view, he should eat some bitterness.”
The other person joked, “What a pity. If this gets out, who knows how many people will be heartbroken.”
Xie Yuncheng smiled helplessly. “Don’t tease me. I’m not some rare treasure.”
People laughed along, friendly and without malice, and the topic passed quickly. They rarely gathered; besides small talk, they sometimes talked about work, though not much.
Other than Xie Yuncheng, Penny was mentioned often too. After all, she’d just returned from abroad, and she had given up NASA’s invitation to come back home—this kind of determination wasn’t something everyone had.
NASA was still at the cutting edge of the industry. Its manned spaceflight technology was more than twenty years ahead of domestic levels. To exaggerate, domestic aerospace technology lagged behind NASA by at least half a century. But China had started late; being behind was normal. Besides, in recent years domestic development was rapid—technology leaping forward, constantly absorbing experience and chasing ahead.
When asked, Penny responded frankly: “There’s no point in saying lofty empty words. My reason for coming back is simple: this is the land that raised me. If what I do can, with my ability, be returned to my own country, I’m willing. Besides, I’m Chinese. Even if I enter NASA, I won’t touch the core technologies. Rather than being an errand-runner, I’d rather come back and help build the motherland—and improve together.”
“When Academician Qian Xuesen chose to return under such difficult circumstances, it’s not as if he didn’t understand what that choice meant.”
“Since I have the freedom to choose, why would I choose to stay in America?”
Their generation stood on the shoulders of generations of aerospace pioneers. Because they laid a solid foundation, domestic aerospace technology could rise quickly and gain a foothold in the world.
China wasn’t yet a space superpower, but it was already among the top and recognized as a major aerospace nation. That simple summary—how much hardship lay behind it? Without generations of aerospace people’s dedication, there would be no today.
Before filming a promotional video, Qin Sang had once had the chance to observe aerospace history. As an ordinary person, she truly didn’t understand much about the history of domestic aerospace development; she didn’t know that every “lightly mentioned” breakthrough was actually years of grinding effort.
Even though Xie Yuncheng said that for them it was just a job—that everything they did was simply within their professional scope; that people shouldn’t think of them as too great, nor mythologize their profession—
It wasn’t the same. She knew.
Not everyone could endure loneliness. Not everyone could survive between reality and ideals.
Their love was elevated; their perspective wasn’t something ordinary people could understand. So no one had the right to judge everything they did.
Even if someone chose to give up, chose to step away—that didn’t mean they were a failure.
How could anyone criticize someone else’s life over a single choice?
Qin thought she finally understood the common ground between Xie Yuncheng and Penny. In fact, not only them—weren’t the researchers who chose aerospace all the same kind of people?
Maybe it sounded too abstract to understand, but she stubbornly believed that people who could make such choices, hold their posts, and not forget their original intent were worthy of respect; their conviction was admirable.
After the dinner ended, Qin waited outside. Penny had also been drinking. Before leaving she said her stomach felt uncomfortable and she wanted to throw up, wouldn’t let Qin follow, and went to the restroom alone.
Qin stood outside by herself. Her coat was in Penny’s car; she’d forgotten to take it when she got out. Late at night, it was hard not to feel cold.
She hunched her shoulders, chin tucked into her collar. She was dressed warmly enough: an apricot high-neck cable-knit sweater paired with a milk-coffee knit fishtail skirt, beige short boots. Earlier she’d been annoyed by her hair and had gone to the washroom, gathering it and braiding it into a simple plait draped over her shoulder. Under the yellowish light, she looked especially pretty and quiet.
When Xie Yuncheng came out, what he saw was her standing there, bored, kicking at stones.
The stone rolled down the slope. Her gaze followed it—until she saw him. She froze, uncomfortable. After thinking for a long time and still not knowing what to say, she asked stiffly, “Have you seen my cousin?”
People were almost gone. Penny still hadn’t come out, and she wouldn’t let Qin follow her.
Xie Yuncheng answered lightly, “She left.”
“Left?” Qin blinked. “But her car keys are still with me.”
Xie Yuncheng was patient. “Director Chen drove her back. Come on. I’ll take you home.”
Qin was truly stunned. She swallowed. “Wait. I’ll ask.”
She called Penny. Penny picked up quickly. Qin complained, “Cousin, why did you leave by yourself?”
Penny’s tone held a smile. “What? Isn’t it good that I created an opportunity for you?”
What kind of opportunity was this? The person Qin least wanted to see right now was Xie Yuncheng.
“Sang-sang.” Penny persuaded her. “Some things you’ll have to face sooner or later. Some people aren’t someone you can avoid just because you want to. Since you can’t let go, why not give each other a chance? It’s fine even just to make things clear.”
Qin fell silent.
Xie Yuncheng waited. He had a sense of boundaries, not standing too close. When she finished the call, he raised his brow and asked, “Cleared it up? Will you let me take you home?”
Qin sighed, resigned. “Let’s go.”
Anyway, it wasn’t his first time being her driver. What was there to be nervous about?
Qin wanted to sit in the back seat, but the back was piled with things and there was no space. The man chuckled, opened the passenger door for her, and said, “Get in. I won’t do anything to you.”
Qin felt embarrassed. She wasn’t deliberately avoiding him; it was simply habit. She instinctively moved backward. Explaining seemed unnecessary and would only make it more deliberate. She pressed her lips together, said nothing, bent, and sat in the car.
Xie Yuncheng got in. Seeing that he didn’t move for a long time, Qin was puzzled. Then he suddenly leaned over. The crisp, cool scent rushed closer, mixed with warmth. The hand Liu Chengcheng had fantasized about countless times brushed past her ear. His long fingers hooked the black seatbelt. Perhaps unintentionally, as he pulled it, the warm pad of his finger grazed the tip of her ear.
Qin went stiff, not moving at all.
His lashes were truly long—thick and long. His nose bridge was high; his side profile was clear, with sharp lines. Just a little closer, and it felt as if his nose tip might touch her cheek.
She clenched her skirt instinctively. With a click, the seatbelt latched into place, and it was as if the tension in her nerves clicked tight with it.
Only after he withdrew did she quietly let out a breath.
To be honest, Xie Yuncheng’s driving was indeed better than hers. She’d only gotten her license her senior year, and after passing she rarely touched a car—first because she had no money, later because there was no need.
Today, when she drove Penny over, she’d spent a long time trying to park. In the end, Xie Yuncheng had seen her predicament when he drove up and came over to help her park.
Outside, neon interwove; light and shadow swept past. Qin’s mind wandered. In fact, Xie Yuncheng hadn’t done anything wrong. Back then, he simply didn’t like her—how could not liking someone be a “fault”?
Besides, he was truly good: gentle and considerate, measured with others, a gentleman and proper. He hadn’t changed.
What she couldn’t let go of was only her own obsession. Because she had spent too long just to finally reach him, she couldn’t get over those days without light. Yet she couldn’t deny that for the her back then, his existence had been a pillar for her spirit.
She was even grateful that she’d once had such a long stretch of experience—because it gave her time to transform.
No matter the process, at least the twenty-seven-year-old Qin Sang had enough right to stand by his side.
The car stopped downstairs at her home. Qin unbuckled and was about to get out when she suddenly heard him call her: “Sang-sang.”
Qin paused.
“Everything I said is serious. I like you.”
“You don’t have to give me an answer. You don’t have to force yourself to respond. If you don’t want to—if you don’t want to see me—I can stay farther away, somewhere you can’t see. If you need me, or…”
“If you aren’t that repulsed by me,” he said, “can you give me a chance? At least let me have a chance to get close to you.”
Qin didn’t turn around. Her tone was unclear. “If I refuse, will you leave right away? Leave far away?”
Xie Yuncheng’s eyes were dark. “I won’t burden you or put you in a difficult position.”
If his existence made her feel pain and discomfort, he wouldn’t force it. But even if she didn’t want him, he thought he still wouldn’t give up—he just wouldn’t be so blatant, wouldn’t make her feel bad.
Qin sat back down in the car, turned to look at him, her eyes clear and calm. “Classmate Xie, are you confessing to me—or threatening me?”
She sighed and complained in a small voice. “Who confesses like you do? Are you playing rogue?”
“Classmate Xie, this is really not sincere.”