Chapter 52

*Crush: A Glimpse of Dawnlight*
There was nothing for her to be dissatisfied with. She had lost a lot, but she had also gained a lot.
“Do you know what I’m most grateful for?”
Qin Sang smiled. “It’s not that I achieved some great accomplishment, nor that I earned how much recognition—it's that when I was most confused and helpless, I received so much love.”
“Maybe people think our line of work is glamorous, like we’re high above everyone and so impressive. I won’t deny there are people in this industry who get praised too much and forget their place. But I’m truly grateful. Everything I have now—besides my own efforts—also includes the support of all of them standing behind me.”
Before Qin Sang had terminated her contract with her former agency, the company didn’t allow artists to have too much contact with fans. Even the fan club’s management positions were assigned and controlled by company-appointed staff.
But later, when her contract expired and she didn’t want to renew, the company turned on her completely. They exposed all the so-called “dirt” on her—including that at a company-arranged drinking party, when she faced workplace sexual harassment, she fought back hard and cracked the offender’s head open.
Under the company’s direction, the truth was hidden. They only hinted ambiguously, then neatly poured the dirty water onto her. During that period, her reputation plummeted, and she suffered an unprecedented wave of online abuse.
She was afraid to go out, afraid to see other people—she was even afraid of daybreak. She feared that once the sun rose, more uncontrollable variables would appear.
In those days, there was “new爆料” about her almost every day. Some said she was kept by rich men; some said she was a mistress. Some even claimed she committed school violence and bullied classmates. One moment they said she’d had plastic surgery, the next they said she’d had an abortion—every insult as vicious as it could be.
She didn’t dare log in to any social media. Wen-jie confiscated all her platform accounts and wouldn’t let her read those malicious slanders.
But one night, she still couldn’t resist. She logged into Weibo in silence. Her phone chimed all night, yet she didn’t have the courage to tap the notifications.
Not until she picked up the phone did she see a private message on Weibo. It was from a fan who had followed her for a long time. The reason the ID looked familiar was because Qin Sang had been an extra for years—and that fan was someone who had grown alongside her since her obscure beginnings.
The fan wrote her a very long letter. There was no accusation, no doubt, no dramatic heartbreak. She didn’t follow the crowd in cursing her.
She wrote:
“Hi, Sang-sang. Maybe you don’t remember me anymore, but I’ll always remember those days when you were running around Hengdian as an extra. You weren’t as famous then. That day the sun was blazing. That scene—how many times did it NG? You shot it again and again. By the time it wrapped it was already past mealtime. I didn’t get a boxed meal, and you gave me yours. Maybe to others it was nothing, but to a nobody like me who’s been stationed in Hengdian for years, it’s unforgettable—something worth remembering for a lifetime. We’re tiny and voiceless, like weeds; no one cares. After a long time, even we ourselves forget what dignity is. But you were different. You gave me respect. You gave people like me a piece of dignity.”
“I’ve said so much nonsense—I hope you won’t find it annoying. I’m not running as an extra anymore. I’m married now. Last time your movie came out, I even brought my child to see it. She said you’re so beautiful, and that she wants to become someone like you in the future. So, Sang-sang, please don’t doubt yourself because of what you’re going through now. People who love you will always believe you. I believe you’re not that kind of person, and you never did those things. Silence is the majority. Look—you’re already amazing. You’ve already become the star so many people want to chase.”
“Stars don’t fall. They just lose their light for a little while.”
For all these years, she had always remembered that sentence.
So Qin Sang said, “Actually, I’m really happy today. It’s not simply because you confessed to me. It’s because I saw you make up your mind and choose to return to your own life轨道. I think everyone has times of confusion—times when you don’t know what to do, when you lose yourself. So being able to find your初心 again… really isn’t easy.”
Liu Chengcheng had told her about the Xie family—told her Xie Yuncheng had been dragged down, told her he might not get past this hurdle. As if everyone had already decided he couldn’t turn things around—lightly sentencing someone else’s life to death.
On what grounds?
Who gave them that right?
“I thought: even someone as stupid as me can understand it. You’re so smart—you won’t keep钻牛角尖. There’s no reason you can’t walk out. You don’t need to be anyone’s moon. You don’t need to be responsible for anyone’s life, and you definitely don’t need to bear the consequences of what others did. That isn’t your fault. But you have to become your own sun.”
When she saw Xie Yuncheng step onto the stage, her feelings were complicated—relief outweighed being moved.
“I’m just used to watching you shine, being yourself. Whether you succeed or not doesn’t matter. What matters is that it’s what you want to do.”
She still liked seeing him go all out for what he loved. It was better than him becoming numb and mediocre for the sake of worldly “success.” In the past, whenever he spoke about ideals and the future, he spoke with ease—at that moment, he shone.
It wasn’t that her liking added a filter, put a halo on him.
It was because he was the light that illuminated himself.
Qin Sang smiled at him, then felt as if she were impressing herself—almost surprised. “I can actually say something this philosophical. I’m not used to it. Looks like I was wrong back then. I even planned to take exams for a teachers’ college or study archaeology. Now that I think about it, maybe I’m better suited to digging into philosophy. Maybe I could even be a philosopher.”
Xie Yuncheng couldn’t help laughing. He stroked her bright brows and eyes. Her brow bone was a little high and sharp, but her eyes were long with a rounded curve, softening the aggressive edge.
He hadn’t noticed before. Only now did he suddenly realize: there really was someone who could grow into his heart in every inch. Her brows and eyes, her nose—even a single strand of hair could move him. He only wanted to carve every bone of her carefully, touch every inch of her skin, keep her scent, preserve her smile forever—want her to always live like this: clear and unrestrained, able to laugh without holding back, to cry when she wanted, to fuss when she wanted.
Fortunately, she didn’t dislike his touch. She only主动 rubbed her face lightly into his palm. When she looked up at him, there was a restless glimmer in her eyes. “I want to kiss.”
Women and men are different. Most of the time, compared with fiery sex, they prefer gentle, lingering kisses.
She was sincere and straightforward. She laid her feelings bare, never hiding what she felt in a given moment.
She liked kissing—liked it even more when Xie Yuncheng kissed her.
Especially here: in this narrow but sealed space, in the place he once lived, at some moment of his youth. Maybe he had lain here too, sleepless over something he couldn’t figure out yet.
Being here made it feel as if she had a share in his past life—not the ten years they missed, but even earlier: that少年 who, because his parents’ love had gone cold, had locked up his heart as well as this door with indifferent silence.
Xie Yuncheng leaned back, careful not to make the old bed—already aged—too noisy and wake Grandpa Xie, who had already fallen asleep. Qin Sang sat astride him, knees pressing into a soft pillow, her skirt spreading out.
Qin Sang clung to his shoulder, looped her arms around his neck, closed her eyes, and felt carefully. His kisses were different from before—gentle, like April spring rain: it wouldn’t hurt when it fell on you; instead, there was a strange coolness that spread from between their lips.
She kissed him for a while. When she grew tired, she stopped to rest. Xie Yuncheng didn’t rush her either. He indulged her, waiting until she wanted it again and reached for him on her own—only then did he give it to her.
Qin Sang’s breathing was a little hurried. Still unsatisfied, she pressed her lips together, thinking that kissing him in his room—in the place he had once lived—felt especially different.
This place seemed to hold traces of that time in every corner. She saw the trophies on the cabinet, and she saw childhood photos of him. One was a solo photo—no parents, no relatives. He stood alone beneath the pagoda tree in the courtyard, looking at the camera with cold indifference.
She didn’t know whether the young Xie Yuncheng had been sad. She only knew that right now, she ached for him.
“If I had a chance to go back to the past, I would definitely come to see you. I’d want to tell you: don’t be afraid, and don’t be sad. In the future, you’ll definitely meet someone who loves you very much.”
“I’ve received so much love. It wouldn’t hurt to give you a little.”
She was far luckier than Xie Yuncheng. She had been loved by many people. Xie Yuncheng had nothing. She couldn’t even imagine how lonely he must have been as a child.
Xie Yuncheng lowered his eyes to look at her and didn’t speak. His kiss fell lightly on her brow, unusually珍惜. When he kissed her, she didn’t refuse.
The man gently held her soft lips, tracing along the seam as if carving it, and only at the end did he open her mouth with tender patience. On the left side near her molars there was an impacted tooth. She was afraid of pain and had never had it pulled, so beside that molar there was a small sharp point. In that moment, the tip of the wisdom tooth that had grown out was brushed lightly—soft contact, a small flick against the tooth’s point.
Qin Sang instantly felt unbearably overwhelmed, as if electricity ran through her. She braced herself to sit up, the hand hooked behind the man’s neck tightening. Using that leverage, she straightened up. Afraid she’d fall, Xie Yuncheng steadied her by the small of her back.
The lamplight was faint. The two shadows on the wall almost fused into one. Only the old pagoda tree outside the window swayed alone in the night wind—leaves rustling down, silver frost hidden across the ground.
In the quiet night, no one knew who was whispering. Cheek to temple, close and intimate—the delicate sounds of kissing, and a low, magnetic voice that was impossibly gentle.
“If I could go back to the past, you wouldn’t need to come see me. I would definitely come find you. I would beg you—please wait a little longer for that person. He’s ignorant and arrogant, so he hasn’t found the road to you yet. But he will come. No matter how far the journey is, he will definitely come to your side.”