Chapter 59

*The World Is Sinking, and We Are in Love*
She didn’t know when they would meet again. Their lines of work were both special—she ran all over China, and he was hard to see for ten days or half a month at a time.
She sighed. “How does anyone date like this? It’s so exhausting—we can’t even see each other more than a few times.”
Xie Yuncheng switched off the hair dryer and looked at her. “Sang-sang, do you regret it?”
He didn’t want to. Even if he wanted her desperately, he still hadn’t gone all the way, because he was afraid that one day she might regret it. But last night, he truly hadn’t been able to hold back—he’d broken through the line.
A bitter smile flashed in Xie Yuncheng’s eyes. Qin Sang also paused. She nodded solemnly. “I regret it a little.”
“If we’d gotten together earlier, maybe I wouldn’t even have to do this job. Maybe I’d be a regular office worker—probably not so busy. If it wasn’t going well, I could just quit. Anyway, we’d have time to stick together.”
“But…”
“It’s also good like this.” Qin Sang smiled brightly. “I like seeing you go all out for what you love. And I like my life now. There are people who love me, and people I care about. Everything I do seems to have gained a reason to exist.”
She only had a tiny, tiny regret: if they could be together every day, then her world would feel finally complete.
She suddenly leaned forward, taking advantage of the height difference, and bit his shoulder. Then she smiled with narrowed eyes and said, “I left a seal. When it fades next time, that’ll be when we meet again—I’ll stamp it again.”
Xie Yuncheng laughed softly. “Okay.”
“It’s snowing. Do you want to go look?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to anymore.”
She used to be curious about snowy scenery, and would get excited whenever it snowed. But after spending four or five years in the capital, she’d gotten used to it.
Habit was terrifying. No matter how much you once liked something, you could become calm as still water, unmoved.
She suddenly felt a little afraid. “Do you think… one day you’ll also get used to me? And then you’ll get bored, and you won’t want to see me anymore?”
“Sang-sang, habits can numb people—and they can also make people addicted.”
Xie Yuncheng’s expression was gentle. “If there really comes a day when it becomes second nature… you would only become the addiction I can’t quit.”
“That’s rare.” Qin Sang stared at him in amazement. “Are you saying sweet words to me?”
She’d always thought Xie Yuncheng was hard to approach, cold to everyone. Later she realized he was the type who was cold outside but warm inside. On the surface he was indifferent, but actually kind of… quietly flirty? Her hips still felt a bit sore—he was the practical type. Once he actually moved, it really was deadly.
But he truly didn’t like saying sweet talk. Since they started dating, he’d only said “like” and “miss,” and rarely did the sticky, mushy stuff other couples did, as if they had endless whispered words to say.
“No,” Xie Yuncheng looked at her gently. “It’s the truth.”
His eyes were focused—like they had hooks. Qin Sang’s cheeks flushed for no reason. It didn’t seem unforgivable. Compared to words, she still preferred actions. This was fine too.
Qin Sang couldn’t bear to part with him, so she deliberately dragged out the time. After they left the hotel, Xie Yuncheng took her to the nearest clinic to redo the wound treatment. In the afternoon she still had to go back and film.
Qin Sang went to set first. Xie Yuncheng came afterward. Zhou Yihong knew Xie Yuncheng was also in the northwest on a mission, but he hadn’t expected him to spare time to come over.
Seeing him, Zhou Yihong was surprised—almost moved. “Junior Brother Xie, you’re too loyal. You came all this way to visit.”
The crew was also whispering among themselves, all wanting to know who this suddenly-appearing super handsome guy was. The assistant director was close with Zhou Yihong and asked directly, “Director Zhou, who is this?”
Zhou Yihong hooked an arm around Xie Yuncheng’s shoulder with great generosity and laughed loudly. “This is my junior brother, Xie Yuncheng. He came specially to see me.”
Xie Yuncheng didn’t refute it. He only smiled and glanced at someone hiding sneakily behind the monitor not far away.
The executive producer complained, “Director Zhou, that’s too much. You’re hiding such a handsome junior brother and won’t even introduce him to us. Hey, Junior Brother Xie—how about cameoing in a role? With that face, if you don’t enter the entertainment industry, it’s a real waste.”
“Go on, get out of here.” Zhou Yihong shooed her away. “My junior brother graduated from Tsinghua. He’s the chief flight engineer at the aerospace institute.”
The producer had only been eyeing Xie Yuncheng’s face, wanting to pull him into the industry. With that aura, he wouldn’t even need packaging—if he debuted, he’d be famous overnight. She hadn’t expected he’d be this impressive.
She was highly suspicious Zhou Yihong was exaggerating. “Seriously? Don’t tell me you’re bluffing us?”
“Why would I bluff you? Hey, that…” Zhou Yihong caught sight of Qin Sang hiding at the back. “Teacher Qin knows. She and my junior brother are old classmates—way more familiar with him than I am. Right, Teacher Qin?”
Qin Sang looked up and unexpectedly met the man’s smiling, deep eyes. She flushed a little, uncomfortable, and only answered vaguely, “Mm. Yes. Director Zhou isn’t lying.”
They really were very familiar—familiar enough to be nakedly honest with each other, to mess around for a whole night behind everyone’s backs.
Xiaoxiao knew the truth and felt miserable, because she couldn’t say anything and could only digest this huge piece of gossip alone. No wonder Wen-jie refused to tell her—this really was a hard one to swallow in a single bite. She’d long felt there was something between Qin Sang and Xie Yuncheng but couldn’t pin it down. She hadn’t expected they were actually together now.
Xiaoxiao gave a sympathetic glance at Zhou Yihong, who was cackling happily, carried away by “brotherhood.” That’s right—Xie Yuncheng really had come to visit the set, but he’d never said whose set he was visiting.
Zhou Yihong was still laughing like an idiot. Hearing that Xie Yuncheng had to leave in the afternoon, he slapped his hand down and decided on the spot: after they finished this scene, they’d take the afternoon off.
Their crew had rented nearby guesthouse hotels for filming. Since they were resting that afternoon, they arranged a bonfire party. As the sun set and the sky grew dark, the guesthouse lit up. Yellow string lights in the courtyard echoed each other. The crew were all young people—loud and playful.
Zhou Yihong dragged Xie Yuncheng into conversation. He’d drunk too much; he started crying about his troubles again, and after a round of crying he got pulled off to dance.
Only when there were just a few people left did Qin Sang and Xie Yuncheng finally get a chance to get close. Zhou Yihong was quite generous—he even arranged fireworks.
Fireworks spread across the sky. Everyone around them was laughing and cheering. That kind of lively scene reminded her of a year ago.
Qin Sang curved her lips into a smile. “You know? Last year when I spent New Year’s in Iceland, it was lively like this too. Everyone was in good spirits, looking forward to the new year.”
Xie Yuncheng paused. “Last year?”
“Mm. Last year I took Wen-jie to Iceland to clear her head. But in winter there it gets dark really early, and the nights feel especially long. And our timing was terrible—there was a huge snowstorm that day. I thought we definitely wouldn’t see the aurora on that trip. Who knew the storm stopped in the middle of the night? The people staying at that hotel were just like they are now—noisy and excited—because the aurora appeared.”
“Wen-jie even said auroras are super accurate, told me to make a wish. Guess what? After I made my wish, the moment I opened my eyes, I felt like I saw you. It was like a dream.”
Xie Yuncheng was silent for a long time before speaking. “Sang-sang… maybe that wasn’t a dream.”
Qin Sang froze. “What do you mean?”
“You know my uncle, right?”
Qin Sang nodded.
The smile in Xie Yuncheng’s eyes grew deeper. “My uncle used to be a member of the Arctic scientific expedition team. I followed him to an Iceland research station for inspection and survey work, so…”
Unless necessary, they couldn’t go abroad. But Zhou Yiqing had once carried out a one‑year Arctic expedition, taking on tasks like meteorological observation, sea‑ice observation, and tropospheric sounding. Xie Yuncheng had been there on assignment as well. Besides basic aurora and atmospheric monitoring, the China–Iceland research station could also conduct glacier and remote‑sensing studies.
That day happened to be New Year’s. They also had a rare chance to relax. Zhou Yiqing let them find their own activities. Xie Yuncheng and several other members sat in a nearby bar for a while, watched the New Year’s fireworks, and went back to the hotel to rest. At dawn, the aurora suddenly appeared. The hotel instantly became lively. Different races gathered there for the same thing.
Only then, he hadn’t known: not far from him that day, there was also the person who would later make him ache with longing—his beloved.
Xie Yuncheng’s gaze was deep. “Sang-sang, that wasn’t a dream.”
While everyone else was busy singing and dancing around the bonfire, busy rolling snowballs and having snowball fights, Xie Yuncheng took her hand, fingers interlaced, and silently slipped something onto her finger—neither too big nor too small, just right. He laughed softly. “The size fits.”
The touch was icy, the shape round. It was… a ring.
Qin Sang looked at him sharply, startled. “Y‑you… when did you prepare this?”
“The first second after we separated.”
On the day they parted in Ningjiang, watching her figure recede into the distance, Xie Yuncheng had already had that thought.
He didn’t want to use a ring to turn it into a rope that tied her down, a restraint. She was free—whether in the past or in the future.
He only wanted her to pause for him from time to time—under a relatively safe and proper, aboveboard identity.
Xie Yuncheng raised her hand and kissed the back of it. Fireworks reflected in those clear, clean eyes. “I couldn’t think of the right time to put it on you, and I couldn’t think of a proposal that wouldn’t be cliché. It’s like I’m not as smart or as effortless as you think—at least when I’m facing you, I can never find the single ‘most correct’ answer. So let it be now. I’ll give it to you while the moment is here. You want to spread your wings and fly, roam the sky—I don’t want to become your shackle. I just want you to understand that if one day you’re tired, there will still be a harbor where you can hide from the wind for a while.”
“Sang-sang, I love you.”
It was a feeling even he couldn’t understand—something that seemed beyond the brain’s control, something thought itself could not accurately interpret.
Every minute and second they were apart, he kept thinking: if this is love, if this is the price that must be paid, then he accepts it gladly.
Qin Sang could no longer hear the noisy laughter all around. Her vision had turned blurry—tears had long since flooded out and fogged her eyes. The ring on her finger was cold, yet somehow made her heart boil. She grabbed his lapel and pulled him down, rising on tiptoe to kiss him hard.
Just then, fireworks bloomed. The bonfire blazed. The world sang at the top of its lungs. Snow fell quietly in deep winter. And the two of them, moving against the flow of people, hid in a quiet corner of all that noise and dust, loving and kissing with abandon.
It was as if the whole world were sinking and falling, and they, in this space about to crack, were celebrating wildly—madly in love.
The past didn’t matter; the future didn’t matter. Only now mattered—this moment, here and now, of knowing and being known, staying side by side, love enduring.
When their foreheads touched, he looked at her gently. His ragged breathing was like sparks across a prairie—scorching, fervent.
Her heart thudded; no matter how she tried, she couldn’t calm that restless rhythm—thump after thump. She couldn’t even tell whether it was the violent boom of fireworks, or the beat of her heart that roared so loudly. It was as if her blood was surging and churning, every cell in her body screaming and clamoring.
When the next fireworks burst, she heard his clear, magnetic voice—like an impatient gust of snow brushing past her ear—as he asked softly:
“Sang-sang, will you marry me?”