Chapter 45

*The Moon Runs to Me*
Qin thought his question was shameless.
On the surface, he was giving her the choice—asking for her consent, as if he’d stop the moment she said no. In reality, his grip was firm, his breath hot and close.
On a late autumn night, she felt… warm.
His breath brushed the shell of her ear. Yet his eyes were still so clear it felt like he’d never fallen. She instinctively wanted to dodge, feeling that if she gave in this easily, it would be too cheap for him.
But her head was foggy and she couldn’t think straight. At last, biting her lip in frustrated resignation, she muttered, “Why are you always like this—always playing rogue and making me spell everything out before you’ll act?”
He took so many advantages. It *looked* like she was the one in control—but really, it was retreat in order to advance, pushing her until she yielded. He wasn’t oblivious. He had to have noticed how she felt, right?
She had never thought of him as slow. He was sharp, never wasting effort and never fighting a battle unprepared.
“Are you…” she began.
By the time she’d worked herself up to the end of the sentence, she was more angry than anything. She looked up abruptly—only to have the rest of her words swallowed whole.
His lips were thin, slightly cool, and softer than she’d imagined—but just as forceful.
He pressed down on her hand. One hand at her lower back pulled her forward, almost not allowing escape as he drew her into his arms.
His clear breath flooded into her senses. Her sense of smell was sealed first—then touch. Warm, hot. Her lips tingled under his. The air in her lungs was taken little by little. She wanted to struggle from nerves, but he held her wrist too tightly; she had almost no room to move.
That powerful presence descended without leaving her any space to retreat. Her limbs went weak. Her knees trembled and bent, leaving her to passively bear the clean, gentle warmth that was him.
Her lashes hung damp and trembling. She couldn’t tell whether it was from being short of breath or from being too numb; she only felt a faint current race along the ends of her nerves. Her whole body went soft, strength draining away. Physiological tears welled at the corners of her eyes, and she let out a small, involuntary whimper.
Like a fish pulled into a whirlpool, on the verge of drowning—clearly almost unable to breathe, yet greedily craving the surge and thrill of the tide.
His kiss was nothing like the impression he usually gave.
Usually, he was detached, hard to approach, yet no one could find fault with him—because no matter who it was, he kept a perfectly measured politeness and distance. It made people think that beneath that gentle mask was a block of thousand-year ice.
But in truth, he was a cup of lukewarm water—add a little fire and it would reach a boil.
He was forceful—allowing no refusal, no escape—like a hunting wolf lying in wait, watching from the side until its prey let down its guard and stepped into the trap on its own.
At first, there was gentle testing—slow and careful, tracing along the boundary as if inch by inch he were sounding out her limits. Then, when she relaxed, that mildness gradually turned turbid. He pried open the tightly closed line of her lips with stubborn insistence. Even her teeth felt a subtle, strange touch that shot straight into her brain, and the reason she barely had to begin with finally tottered and collapsed—swallowed whole.
She had no strength at all. Their breathing tangled, hooked and wound together, and she couldn’t even tell whose breath was the more restrained and unbearable in the deep night.
By the end, she could barely stand. Her whole body leaned limply against him, nearly slipping down. If he hadn’t braced her waist and pressed at her back, lending her support, she would have collapsed in complete embarrassment, legs gone weak, sitting right down on the ground.
Her mind was a haze. She’d never known that a kiss could strip a person so completely—leave the brain emptied out, the world blank, with only their breath melting together.
Her response was raw and clumsy. She’d been trying so hard to seize the initiative, yet again and again he coaxed her into giving up resistance as if it cost him nothing.
So humiliating.
Qin scolded herself silently. How had she let him pull her along? How had she ended up losing the upper hand and suffering all the consequences?
His eyes were still clear—bright in the night like pure moonlight. Then he gave a low chuckle. The laughter seemed to rise from deep in his chest—husky, muddy—making his whole ribcage vibrate. The tremor traveled into her bones, leaving her fingers numb.
“Are you alright?” he asked gently.
He lifted the loose strands of her hair. She’d been passive from beginning to end, too breathless to do anything. Her cheeks were flushed red, and those already expressive eyes were now wet with a shimmering sheen, even more alluring. The tear mole beneath her eye made her look all the more pitiful.
She probably didn’t know how devastating she looked—unable to hold her ground, unable to fend him off.
Qin hadn’t come back to herself yet. Her lips felt numb, as if she were still trapped inside that overly forceful kiss, unable to control herself.
Only after a long while did she finally recover.
She thought his kissing was far too practiced—not like a first time. A faint sourness rose in her heart, though she also told herself it was normal. Maybe, in the ten blank years she’d lived through, he had once paused for some other scenery.
Could it be that “Miss Sun”?
Qin frowned slightly. Embarrassed by how disgraceful her reaction had been, she forced herself to act calm to save face. “It was fine. The experience… was just average.”
“You know, we actors shoot plenty of kissing scenes. A kiss like that… for me, it’s just… okay.”
She didn’t know what kind of psychology it was. She simply didn’t want to lose.
In reality, she hadn’t filmed many kissing scenes. Not because she deliberately refused—there just hadn’t been scripts that truly attracted her. Aside from her breakout film *A Letter from Afar*, she had rarely done a proper romance-heavy story.
And most big-screen scripts were plot-driven; pure romance films didn’t sell well. There were too many bad ones, the scripts weren’t good, and she didn’t want to take them.
The furthest she’d gone with male actors was physical contact—hugging, holding hands—things that couldn’t be avoided.
At first, some actors had developed feelings through filming and tried to show interest. But Qin separated person from role. Even when it was hard to come out of a character, she never dragged things out.
Because she disliked romance scenes and was always cold toward male actors, rarely giving any response, even though so-called “manufactured scandals” had come and gone over the years, paparazzi had never caught hard evidence. There was no way to prove she had a messy private life.
Sister Wen had once worried she was planning to become a nun. With a sigh she’d said, “Sang-sang, do you want to try dating? Sure, when you’re rising you should focus on work—but you’ve been pushing yourself like this nonstop. Aren’t you tired? Even a short relationship as a bit of relief would be better than bottling everything up. Aren’t you afraid you’ll make yourself sick?”
Qin had laughed. “Sister Wen, aren’t you afraid I’ll fall in love and neglect my career? Other managers pray their artists will examine themselves daily and stay pure and restrained—so they don’t cause scandals that are hard to clean up. You’re the opposite. You’re not only not stopping me—you’re encouraging me to date.”
“Others are others. You’re you,” Sister Wen had said seriously. “You’re not a love-brain. Even if you date, you’ll keep your head. And besides… honestly, I *wish* you were a love-brain. It’s better than being too lucid. Being too awake is exhausting. When it’s time to enjoy life, enjoy it. Life… sometimes it’s good to be a little muddled.”
Qin had only smiled, saying nothing.
Sister Wen had been an agent for years; dealing with every kind of monster in the industry had sharpened her instincts. She’d looked at Qin and said, “Tell me the truth—do you have someone in your heart? People who can go years without being moved… either they’re pretending, or…”
Her eyes were sharp, as if she could see straight into Qin’s soul. “Or there’s already someone in there.”
Belonging to someone. Being set on someone.
Because you can’t forget. Because you can’t let go.
So deep down you reject outsiders getting close, refuse to let anyone touch that forbidden place.
It isn’t about “keeping yourself pure” on purpose. It’s being responsible—to yourself, and to others.
If there’s someone you can’t get over, then you shouldn’t start a relationship that’s doomed to have no ending.
She simply couldn’t forget—because the person she met in her youth had been too good, almost taking up her entire adolescence. It made it hard for her to look at anyone else.
Maybe people as good as him existed. But she no longer had the strength to love someone else with the same single-minded devotion as before. A heart was too small—so narrow she could only cram in everything that had to do with him.
That youthful crush that ended without a word had been raw and childish, yet the most sincere—free of any complicated entanglements of gain and loss. That was why her earnestness had been so precious.
Back then, she hadn’t answered. She hadn’t even dared to let anyone glimpse a fraction. The person hidden deep in her heart was a taboo seal she didn’t even dare touch herself.
…
Now, Qin’s gaze slid away. She didn’t dare look him in the eyes.
Her little tells when she lied were painfully obvious. Even her acting turned cheap. Yet she seemed not to notice at all—unaware that her subconscious movements had already betrayed her.
Xie Yuncheng looked thoughtful, as if truly reflecting on her words. His eyes were cool and clear as he looked at her gently. His fingertip touched the corner of her lips, wiping away the lipstick that had been rubbed beyond the line. “I see. Then it seems I still have a lot to learn.”
Qin didn’t want to continue the topic. And this posture was too intimate—too dangerous. She tried to pull away, but her calves were still weak; even her elbow felt numb where he held her.
It was the first time she felt, so directly, the difference in size and strength between a man and a woman. Without effort, he completely suppressed her; escaping was a fantasy.
His hand brushed her brow, the corner of her eyes. His gaze held a moving gentleness. Even his tone was soft—as if he didn’t mind her deliberate nitpicking and didn’t expose her clumsy lies. He only looked at her tenderly and said:
“Sang-sang, it was my first kiss. Give me a little more time. I’ll learn properly, alright?”