Chapter 60

*The World Is Sinking, and We Are in Love*
“I’m willing.”
Qin Sang hadn’t even had time to say her answer when the fireworks had already started to scatter, falling down and fading. Her final memory of that brilliant winter night of fireworks was only of being pulled away—being forcibly dragged into dancing.
They danced around the bonfire. There were no set moves; they just danced as they pleased, moving with their hearts, hands held together. The bonfire burned fiercely. At first, Qin Sang felt a little dizzy and disoriented. Her eyes kept drifting uncontrollably to the side. Figures crowded together; sparks burst out like falling meteors. He stood behind the crowd, firelight flickering, skimming over his clear, handsome brows and eyes.
He was smiling. When his gaze met hers, the tenderness in his eyes was like an April spring rain, fine and continuous, falling into her heart—making her feel open and at ease.
Little by little, she seemed to be struck by the laughter, infected by that happiness. She loosened up and joined them, surging around the bonfire, as if she wanted to vent every emotion.
Only, as they danced, as they indulged, the figure who had been lingering behind the crowd—at some point—vanished without a trace. Even his leaving was silent.
The smile on Qin Sang’s face froze. She searched anxiously through the crowd, trying to find that familiar figure. But there was nothing. He was gone.
Her phone received a message from Xie Yuncheng: “Sang-sang, I’m leaving first.”
She sank into disappointment. She had already prepared herself a thousand, ten thousand times. From the moment they met, she’d already started counting down the time to separation on her fingers. But when it truly came, she couldn’t bear it.
Qin Sang withdrew from the revelry. Turning her back on the crowd, her eyes fell on the ring on her hand. The sourness in her eyes was almost impossible to hold back—it was about to spill over.
When Xiaoxiao came looking for her, Qin Sang was still suppressing her emotions. Xiaoxiao asked, “Sang-sang, what’s wrong?”
“He left.”
Qin Sang said it in a low voice, turning to hug Xiaoxiao. “Xiaoxiao, I don’t know why I’m this upset. I knew from the start that meeting meant a countdown. I knew we could still meet again. But I just can’t control myself.”
Xiaoxiao blanked for a moment. After she understood, she patted Qin Sang’s back and comforted her: “Because you love him, Sang-sang. When you really love someone, you can’t help thinking about him, missing him—wanting to be together every moment. Even if you’re just doing boring things, you’ll still be happy, and you’ll feel it’s all worth it.”
“Sang-sang, tomorrow will come soon. A short separation is for a better reunion.”
Because the world of adults never contains the word “easy”—even love becomes a luxury.
Luckily, Qin Sang wasn’t someone who was overly dramatic. She just couldn’t accept the gap for a moment—one second she seemed to be in the clouds, the next she fell back to the human world.
She let go of Xiaoxiao. Touching the ring, she felt a little sad. Her eyes couldn’t hide the loneliness. Next time, she must make it in time to tell him her answer.
Luckily, the filming work was intense and the schedule had entered its final stage. The crew stayed in the northwest for nearly half a month. Qin Sang got up early and stayed up late every day, squeezing time to push progress. She had no time to think too much.
Zhou Yihong really had some ability. The props team put together a pile of exoskeleton armor equipment and mechanical arms—they even got a lunar rover. But no one expected that when they chatted during a private dinner, Zhou Yihong would immediately wave his hand and say:
“I didn’t get these. That junior brother of mine—you’ve met him, right? If he hadn’t helped, how could I have gotten these so smoothly? That exoskeleton armor—he asked a friend to find a tech company to sponsor it for free. And that lunar rover—even if it’s only a display model, the tech isn’t something just any company can replicate.”
Their crew was poor—and famously poor. The actors were all brought in through connections and face. Many important roles were a risky bet on newcomers. Qin Sang, as the lead, not only took no pay—she even put money in herself.
As for the VFX team and post-production, that all relied on Zhou Yihong’s thick skin. He grabbed a young team from the digital media department on the spot. Most of the team members were fresh graduates. The most valuable things were those sets of exoskeleton armor—technology the props team simply couldn’t reproduce. They were genuinely designed with nanotech materials. Compared with traditional exoskeleton armor, they were lighter, more form-fitting, and better matched to the human body.
The price of a single set was already out of reach. Their amateur crew simply didn’t have a budget high enough to allocate to props.
The producer’s capability was also limited. After all, the group’s expenses weren’t small. Shooting a film wasn’t something you could just say and do. Every minute and every second burned money. With a limited budget, didn’t every cent have to be carefully calculated and saved?
But once Zhou Yihong said that, she perked up. “How did you persuade your junior brother to help? That’s a huge favor. How about later you set up another meeting—say I’ll treat him to a meal as a small token of thanks.”
“Forget it.” Zhou Yihong shut down the suggestion without thinking. “My junior brother isn’t an ordinary person. He’s insanely busy, and he wouldn’t be willing to come anyway. I was already surprised he came to visit the set last time.”
Zhou Yihong was also surprised Xie Yuncheng would connect the dots and help solve their prop problem. After all, this set of armor equipment was a hot potato for them—having money alone didn’t necessarily mean you could get it.
The producer shrugged and sighed, sounding regretful. “That’s a pity. But it’s normal these days—rich people look down on poor people, talented people are aloof. With talent, it’s understandable to have a bit of a strange temperament.”
Qin Sang hadn’t spoken. She sat in the corner gnawing on corn. Hearing that, she paused, lifted her head to glance at her, and explained:
“He’s not as arrogant as you think. He didn’t come because he’s truly busy—he can’t get away.”
Qin Sang’s temper had always been gentle. On set she worked hard and didn’t put on airs. She was polite to everyone—extras included. Sometimes she even ordered food to “send warmth.” After the temperature dropped and it snowed in the northwest, she privately paid to buy hand warmers, warming packs, and snow boots and other cold-weather supplies.
You could say that over these three-plus months of filming together, almost no one had ever seen her show a dark face—let alone lose her temper.
But today, it was rare to see her speak up for someone. It wasn’t that her tone was sharp, or her attitude bad. Yet words said with that calm expression felt even more “off.”
The producer froze. She wasn’t angry—only curious. “It sounds like Teacher Qin knows that Mr. Xie very well.”
“So-so.” Qin Sang smiled indifferently and calmly dropped a bomb. “He’s my boyfriend. I should know him fairly well.”
The producer was stunned. “Boyfriend?”
Even Zhou Yihong, who had been about to smooth things over for her, was shocked. His eyes went wide. “What boyfriend? Teacher Qin, you and my junior brother… y-you…?”
Qin Sang hadn’t planned to hide it in the first place. Now it was even more different. She smiled and nodded openly. When her eyes swept over the ring on her hand, she paused and corrected what she’d said earlier.
“No—what I said was wrong. Now he should be my fiancé.”
Zhou Yihong’s expression turned extremely strange. He still couldn’t believe it. “When did this happen? When did you two get together?”
No wonder Xie Yuncheng had been willing to pull sponsorship for him, and even came to visit the set. He’d been moved half the day by this so-called brotherhood—turns out the true aim wasn’t him at all.
“He proposed?” The producer was also surprised, though she was calmer than Zhou Yihong. She smiled in congratulations. “Then congratulations, Teacher Qin. When you hold the wedding banquet, remember to send us invitations.”
“Definitely.”
Qin Sang’s brows curved; the gentle smile in her eyes was impossible to ignore.
Zhou Yihong was a bit depressed. He couldn’t figure out when these two had gotten together. They’d been moving around right under his nose every day—how had he not noticed a thing?
But thinking carefully, you could find hints. For example, after wrap Qin Sang always held her phone to one side, taking photos and chatting, smiling all day—obviously a couple in the throes of passionate love.
As for Xie Yuncheng, it went without saying. He’d previously posted a “going public” hand-holding photo, pretty formal about it. Everyone in the institute knew he was dating, but no one knew who his girlfriend was. Even Zhou Yihong didn’t. He’d asked, but the answer he got was infuriating:
“My girlfriend is shy. It’s not convenient to go public.”
If he weren’t busy and unable to meet, he would’ve cornered him and interrogated him long ago. Why suffer being fooled like this?
Thinking about it now—was that really “shy”?
Zhou Yihong wanted to curse. But annoyed as he was, once he knew Qin Sang and Xie Yuncheng were together, he was instead the first person to feel genuinely happy for them.
On the day they wrapped, Zhou Yihong got forced into two drinks and started talking nonsense again. When it came to Qin Sang, he patted her shoulder, speaking earnestly:
“You’ve worked hard, Teacher Qin. My junior brother—this demon—finally found someone who can subdue him. If he didn’t stop being single, I’d be dragged into dying alone by him.”
Qin Sang didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Dying alone? That’s not that serious.”
“What do you know?” Zhou Yihong spoke like he had a bellyful of bitter tears. “With my looks, if I’m not exactly debonair, I’m at least a fine-looking man, right? If it weren’t for Junior Brother Xie, that demon, blocking my peach blossoms, would I still be single now?”
“Listen.” Zhou Yihong belched. “Back then I really liked this literature-department underclassman. I chased her for half a year—rain or shine—bringing her warmth, bringing her this and that. I was caring, considerate, attentive. She was finally about to say yes. On my birthday, she said she’d give me a present and an answer. But that day I was out of town and couldn’t get a ticket back to school.”
“Guess what happened?”
Zhou Yihong looked at her with drunken, blurry eyes. Qin Sang followed his lead. “What happened?”
“I couldn’t make it back in time, so I asked Junior Brother Xie to help me pick up the gift. And then? It was like feeding a meat bun to a dog—gone for good. The underclassman saw Junior Brother Xie just once, and when he came back, she told me she still wanted to just be friends. Said she saw me as an older brother. And she asked me for Junior Brother Xie’s contact info. Tell me—isn’t that infuriating?”
“I see.” Qin Sang nodded in agreement. “Yeah, that’s pretty infuriating.”
“Right? You think so too, don’t you?” Zhou Yihong beat his chest and howled. “Then don’t you ever give him a good face, and don’t agree to him too easily! That bastard is really good at attracting bees and butterflies!”
That was pure slander—mixed with a good amount of personal resentment. Xie Yuncheng’s personality was cold; he basically gave off “strangers keep away.” But even if he was a fortress with walls of copper and iron, it didn’t stop people from insisting on crashing into that wall.
Thanks to Zhou Yihong’s ruckus, now the whole crew knew Qin Sang was dating—and that the person she was dating was that Mr. Xie who had visited the set not long ago.
The producer and assistant director took Zhou Yihong away, one on the left and one on the right. Qin Sang was exhausted too. When she got back to the hotel, late at night, she scrolled through WeChat. Her Moments feed was more or less the same as usual—mostly people sharing daily life.
This was the last night in the northwest. It was rare to see a starry sky again. She took a photo of the sky and posted it with the picture.
“Wrapped. The stars tonight are so bright… kind of want to see you.”
Other than some work-related groups she had blocked, her Moments were mostly private friends. She hadn’t meant to hide it on purpose. So as soon as she posted, she got replies immediately. Most people asked who the person she wanted to see was; a few joked around. There were lots of likes. But very quickly, among all those names, she spotted the familiar one.
Mutual friends can see each other’s replies and likes. And she hadn’t blocked her high school classmates from that post.
Liu Chengcheng and the others were asking who it was—then, in the next second, they got a notification that “X” had liked it.
Class rep: 【I have a bold guess.】
Class monitor replied: 【I think we’re thinking the same thing.】
The long-quiet No.1 High School classmates group suddenly started vibrating like crazy. Messages flooded the screen.
Liu Chengcheng privately messaged Qin Sang: 【Sang-sang, the class monitor and the others want me to pull you into the group. Do you want to pop up in the group yourself, or should I refuse for you?】
Qin Sang had always been in the group. She just almost never spoke, so her presence was weak. She thought for a moment and more or less knew why they wanted to pull her in now.
【It’s fine. I’ll reply myself.】
When she opened the group, sure enough, they were already interrogating people—classmates taking turns, crazily @X.
Class monitor: @X God Xie, got you red-handed, huh? I know you’re online—don’t lurk.
Class rep: @X Yeah. Hiding forever isn’t a solution. Confess and you’ll be treated leniently; resist and you’ll be treated harshly.
Some classmates who had just gotten off work, not knowing what was going on, also popped up.
【What’s going on?】
【What happened to God Xie?】
The class monitor was mysterious: 【I can’t really say. Ask the person involved. But, God Xie, you’ve been dating for so long and still haven’t announced it—at least you can send a red packet, right? @x】
Given Xie Yuncheng’s personality, he probably wouldn’t bother. But this time he broke precedent and showed his face, sending a red packet in the group—and the amount wasn’t small.
The group instantly became festive. Everyone spammed the chat with “God Xie is generous” and “Thanks for the poverty alleviation.”
But the class monitor clearly had no intention of letting him off so easily. He @’d him again: 【I knew you were lurking. So what’s the situation? Not going to report to the organization too? Or do I have to invite the other party to come out and testify in person?】
As the other “party involved,” Qin Sang became inexplicably guilty. She’d thought it might be discovered, but she hadn’t expected them to be so sharp, to connect it so quickly.
Qin Sang was hesitating—should she pop up, or keep playing dead—when her phone suddenly buzzed. A new WeChat notification popped up.