Chapter 67

*Daybreak Approaches; A Letter From Afar* — Sixty-Six Stars…
No one could answer that question. Not even their classmates knew the details. But thankfully, everyone was an adult and knew how to keep things decent. Even if they were truly curious, at most they would gossip in private—they wouldn’t go around running their mouths.
On the contrary, the fans were more capable. With only the faintest bits of identifying information, and by back-calculating from their ages, they found the class group photo from back then—the graduation picture from senior year, and the only photo of the two of them together.
In the photo, the boys and girls looked fresh-faced, not yet stained by worldly desires—carefree, fearless in their ignorance. Every face wore a bright, radiant smile. Behind them, the camphor trees were lush and thick with leaves; the drooping shadows swayed. The boy in the blue-and-white school uniform stood tall, his brows and eyes striking. Different from now, back then Xie Yuncheng looked more relaxed—perhaps because of the future about to arrive, perhaps because three years of hard fighting had finally come to an end. The corner of his lips lifted slightly, a faint smile curving in his eyes.
A boy with such high-spirited youth was always especially eye-catching. About two feet away from him, the person standing on the side of the front row didn’t look at the camera. Her gaze turned away from the crowd, secretly shifting sideways. That cautious look—so careful, so restrained—even in nothing more than an already yellowed class photo, was enough to make people feel it in their bones.
The girl’s hidden affection peaked at the moment of parting. She couldn’t restrain herself from looking at the one she liked—probably wanting, in the final moments, to quietly record his appearance and keep him in that most beautiful stretch of time.
At the most brazen and fearless age, she met the person she most wanted to spend her life with.
He remained deep in her memory. Even if time dimmed and the years held no light, there was always someone whose figure would never fade. Merely mentioning his name could slowly revive everything she’d lived through. Those unspeakable bittersweet pains were like an unripe lime—one bite was sour, a careful taste was bitter; the occasional numb tingle was, in the plain and ordinary waiting, the only tiny piece of sweetness she could use to comfort herself.
She had always thought she hid her feelings well, that no one noticed. Only now did she realize—her liking was actually blatant. With just one glance, people could sense, beneath her forced composure, the surging, roaring love.
Perhaps it was because at that age she still didn’t know how to conceal it, so she was full of flaws everywhere. If someone had the heart—what a pity they didn’t have the intention.
Until one day ten years later, the past sealed away for so long saw the light again: the small alternate Weibo account Qin Sang used to keep records was suddenly dug up. Those bits and pieces of secret-crush thoughts she’d written down arrived like a belated love letter—quietly, in the dead of a lonely midnight.
**December 15, 2012**
The end of the world prophesied by the Mayans is about to arrive.
Chengzi asked me: if the end of the world really comes, who is the person I most want to see?
I said, a lot of people. I want to see Mom and Dad. I want to see Yan-yan. I want to see the granny who lives at the alley entrance. Every time I pass by the alley mouth, Granny always calls me over warmly to chat. And every time I leave, she stuffs a lot of things into my hands—sometimes an orange, sometimes a bag of lollipops.
But on the day the end comes, I won’t be able to leave school.
If that moment really happens, the only person I want to see is you.
**December 21, 2012**
Will the Mayans’ prophecy come true?
Today we still had classes as usual, morning exercises, and noon self-study. But during evening self-study, everyone was whispering and discussing—not in panic, but out of curiosity about whether the prophecy would be realized.
Will the sun rise again tomorrow?
What does death feel like?
I don’t know.
But I do know: if that road has you on it, I won’t be afraid.
**December 24, 2012**
Another boring Monday.
But today is different. Today is Christmas Eve.
Chengzi said you should eat apples on Christmas Eve, and you can also give an apple to the person you like.
Apples are so expensive today. The boss said he could give me the most special packaging, but it would cost more. I thought—fine, more is more.
After all—
I like a lot of people. But the most special is only you.
**December 25, 2012**
Merry Christmas.
The apple didn’t get given away.
He has so many apples. I didn’t even dare slip mine in.
So it turns out everyone thought the same way—choosing the same packaging, the same way of expressing it.
The boss lied to me.
So my “special” there was only one in ten thousand.
Just an ordinary apple—completely unremarkable.
**February 9, 2013**
Today is Lunar New Year’s Eve. When I was little, I loved New Year’s Eve the most.
So lively—going door to door, street to street.
Today I ate so much: fried spring rolls, lion’s head meatballs, and we even wrapped dumplings. We pasted couplets and wrote couplets. When we were writing, Dad laughed that my handwriting was ugly.
I think so too.
My handwriting definitely isn’t as nice as yours.
What are you doing? Maybe the same as me—
Getting up early to bustle about.
Do you ever think of classmates?
Do you ever think of… me?
**February 10, 2013**
Little Bear, Happy New Year.
**February 11, 2013**
Today we went to pay New Year visits to Grandpa and Grandma.
Grandpa and Grandma gave me a huge red envelope.
The only unhappy thing is that Auntie was there too.
Auntie is so annoying. She kept criticizing my parents.
But Dad told me not to argue with Auntie.
Because smart people know to reflect on themselves and to keep their mouths shut.
The more someone is only a pretty shell, the more they love to show off with their tongue.
Boasting and showing off—because their inner world is too barren, so empty that they can only vent and seek a sense of existence this way.
I asked Dad: what counts as being spiritually rich?
Dad said: having a strong heart—neither fearing the unknown nor knowing no contentment, but understanding “contentment brings happiness”—is the strength of the mind.
Little Bear, if you were here in front of us, my dad would definitely like you.
**February 12, 2013**
Today we honored the ancestors. Uncle is stationed in Sudan and didn’t come back to the country.
At dinner, Auntie started showing off again.
She said Cousin has already gotten an offer from a top school.
Then she asked how my grades were. I didn’t dare tell the truth. I didn’t dare say my grades are terrible.
I really am just a coward.
But when I see Cousin, I think of you.
She’s like you: clear goals, strong execution.
Little Bear, if there’s a chance, I really want to introduce Cousin to you.
You two would definitely become good friends.
**February 85, 2013**
Yan-yan asked me today why I’m so happy.
I said school is starting soon—I’ll be able to go to school and attend classes.
Yan-yan doesn’t understand what’s so happy about school starting.
Of course she doesn’t understand.
What’s there to be happy about, school starting?
The reason I’m happy is because of you.
Once school starts, I can see you.
**April 25, 2013**
Didn’t do well on the exam.
**May 5, 2013**
So your goal is the country’s top university.
**September 10, 2013**
He drank my water.
**October 27, 2013**
The person I like is a “hero who can do anything.”
…
**May 5, 2014**
Today should be the last time we see each other.
Little Bear, I wish you a bright future.
**July 20, 2014**
Little Bear, happy graduation.
I hope you’re happy every day ^_^!
…
These intermittent updates continued through the summer of 2014.
Then her update frequency gradually decreased—like her time stopped in that midsummer. That summer took everything from her; passing the withering, dead autumn, she stepped into the bitter cold of a bleak winter.
When she updated again, it was already the deep winter of the following year—one early-morning night.
**January 27, 2015**
So Beijing isn’t as good as I imagined.
I hate this place. I hate winter.
**December 10, 2017**
Today I saw someone in the cafeteria. His back looked like you.
My roommate asked what was wrong. I said nothing—just thought of someone I knew.
Little Bear, I really want to see you.
**October 3, 2019**
Tired.
So many rules in filming.
**December 15, 2019**
I can’t go back for the New Year again this year.
I saved up some money and mailed it to Little Yan.
**December 25, 2019**
Christmas tonight. It’s snowing.
I lost my Little Bear.
Her Weibo stopped on the last day of the year 2157. She posted her final Weibo:
【The universe is silent; a secret crush is silent.】
【What a pity—he can’t hear it.】
【This time for real—I’m giving up.】
【Little Bear, goodbye.】
…
Clouds don’t see the wind; mountains, rivers, and streams.
She was like a traveler groping forward alone. Until the day she reached the end of the world, in a foreign snowy winter, she thought: she should give up—give up this hope with no light, this chase with no echo.
Her Weibo name never changed: *Coward’s Diary*. Starting in 2012, it recorded, little by little, her long and hopeless ten years.
Perhaps because she recorded it for long enough, the account itself accumulated a small number of followers.
At first it was just for her own amusement. Later, gradually, more and more people began responding.
【Blogger, why haven’t you updated?】
【Blogger, did you and Little Bear end up together?】
【Why give up? After so long, does Little Bear still not know your feelings?】
【I also have a Mr. Z I really like. He got married today. I feel awful.】
At first she patiently replied to every comment—even though there weren’t many. But as she updated less and less, she replied less and less too, until in the end, she almost never replied to any netizens at all.
Until the day the past saw the light again, a massive wave of fans and netizens flooded beneath the dormant Weibo.
So no one saw the comment posted by an account named *x*.
*x*: He can hear it.
In the blink of an eye it disappeared into the sea of people, pressed down by the swelling flood of comments—pressed down and down into some corner that never saw daylight.
No one noticed. No one knew.
He had once been there.
…
With the year-end approaching, the class reunion was set for the eve of New Year’s Eve.
Jingcheng was festive from top to bottom, welcoming the coming new year.
Before going in, Qin Sang waited to the side while Xie Yuncheng parked the car. After he shut the door, he naturally held out his hand. Qin Sang understood at once. A white scarf covered her face, revealing only a pair of bright brows and eyes. She curved her eyes in a smile, took that hand on her own initiative, and walked in. As they entered, everyone exchanged looks and let out a meaningful “Oh,” and of course they surrounded them to tease them for a while.
She met familiar faces again after so long: their high-school homeroom teacher. He’d aged a lot, hair completely white, but his spirit was vigorous, and he looked sturdy and healthy.
Seeing them come together, the teacher only smiled. “Never thought that after all the twists and turns, you two would still end up together.”
The classmates around them chimed in and joined the commotion, but mostly it was just good-natured joking.
Besides, they weren’t the protagonists today—the birthday person was present. Even teasing had its limits. When the meal was about halfway through, the class monitor turned off the lights. A few classmates pushed out a two-tier cake. In the dim night, only the small candle flames leapt. She looked around—almost all familiar faces, as if she’d returned to ten years ago, to the year before graduation.
The only difference was that this time, the hand holding hers never loosened. When she turned her head, she could always see him—those clear, focused eyes holding only her.
On the way back, she sat in the car replying to messages from the studio. She also sent a few red envelopes in the group chat and said, “Thank you for everyone’s hard work this year. You’ve all worked so hard. Happy New Year.”
【Thanks, boss】
【Boss is generous】
【Happy New Year, boss】
She also replied to Liu Chengcheng on WeChat. Liu Chengcheng had gone back to her hometown and didn’t come to this reunion. Liu Chengcheng said: “I saw the video the monitor posted in the group. Sang-sang, congratulations—you got what you wished for. Happy New Year. From now on, be happy every day. May the new year be better than the old; may every year go as you wish.”
Qin Sang suddenly felt a little awful. She didn’t know whether it was the alcohol going to her head, or the heat making her uncomfortable. Her eyes stung—sour and tight.
In the spring festival after high school graduation, Liu Chengcheng had also sent her a congratulatory text message.
But back then, she was busy surviving, busy making money, and she no longer dared to ask for more from the future—so even replying required her to gather all her courage.
And now—
She still didn’t dare to expect too much from the future. She didn’t even dare let fate glimpse even a sliver of her joy.
Live in the present. Live in what’s in front of your eyes.
More important than anything.
“Thank you, Chengzi.”
“You too. I hope you’re always happy, and that everything goes smoothly.”
After replying with two messages, she put away her phone.
In fact, Jingcheng had changed a lot over the years. Ten years is enough to turn the world upside down, to make things and people unrecognizable. Shuttling through this foggy city of concrete and steel, neon light and shadow wove together like a dream, sliding past the car window again and again.
Without realizing it, Qin Sang’s gaze drifted back and fell on the young man driving. The heater in the car was turned up high. In weather this cold, he still wore only a loose sweater. The fingers controlling the steering wheel had long, defined knuckles. His side profile was clean and refined—there was no sense of age at all.
Qin Sang propped her chin and watched with focus, but her eyes were full of wistfulness.
Suddenly, the smoothly moving car came to a stop. Xie Yuncheng turned to look at her. The moment their eyes met, she froze, only hearing him say, “Want to get out and walk a bit?”
“Sure.” She’d had a little to drink—not much—but she’d been steamed by the warm air until she felt dizzy and uncomfortable. Getting out for a walk would be good; walking would sober her up a little.
After getting out, Qin Sang realized the place he’d stopped was a coincidence—so coincidental she almost thought he’d brought her here on purpose.
Jingcheng No. 1 High.
After so long, it seemed there hadn’t been much change here.
The intersection she used to pass after school… The difference was that back then this area was full of street vendors setting up stalls, selling everything. Walking through that narrow back alley, a hundred meters ahead was a bus stop. Bus Route 44 almost spanned half of Jingcheng. She had to go to the West District coach station to buy a short-haul ticket and take the bus back to Ningjiang.
The ivy on the wall wound and spiraled, almost covering the entire wall. In the occasional exposed spots, the paint had peeled away too, leaving traces of time—fine cracks, not very obvious.
It was the start of the new year. The school was empty, with no one there. Only the guard room still had its light on.
Xie Yuncheng held her hand and asked gently, “Do you want to go in and have a look?”
“Now?” Qin Sang was surprised. “How do we get in?”
The guard was on duty, but on a day like this he wouldn’t just let people in casually—even if they had once been students here.
Xie Yuncheng’s lips curved. “Come with me.”
Still puzzled, she looked at him doubtfully. When he led her to a low wall, before she could ask anything, the next second she saw him easily vault up the wall. He hardly used any effort—so practiced it was as if he’d done it many times.
He reached out his hand. “Get up. I’ll pull you.”
Qin Sang felt it was unbelievable. She hesitated, but in the end she chose to trust him and reached out. She didn’t even know how she did it—Xie Yuncheng held her hand and, as if in two or three moves, brought her up.
When they jumped down, Xie Yuncheng naturally reached out as if he wanted to catch her, but Qin Sang refused to be outdone. She followed and hopped down after him. “Don’t underestimate me. I’ve filmed plenty of action scenes. This is just small case for me.”
Xie Yuncheng let out a low laugh and didn’t comment.
Qin Sang looked at him suspiciously. “How are you so good at climbing walls?”
Xie Yuncheng smiled. “Secret.”
Only a few ground lights were on in the school. Maybe it was for ambience. Couplets had been pasted on the teaching building and the discipline office. Red lanterns hung around the terraces and the track field, looking festive. It didn’t feel like a school so much as a stage set for an opera.
Passing the honor board, Qin Sang tugged him in surprise. “Your photo is still here? After all this time they still haven’t changed it.”
Ten years, and it still hadn’t been replaced.
Xie Yuncheng raised a brow. “Maybe it’s for recruitment?”
Qin Sang couldn’t help laughing. Then she nodded seriously. “Makes sense. If I were a school leader, I wouldn’t want to take down a living signboard like you either.”
Xie Yuncheng didn’t say much, letting her laugh.
Passing the discipline office, Qin Sang remembered that day—how she’d walked by carefully, unable to stop herself from looking at him. He’d stood at the discipline office doorway, expression indifferent. Perhaps he noticed her furtive peeking; the moment he raised his eyes, a yellowed ginkgo leaf drifted down.
That late autumn, she learned to be brave for the first time—arguing with reason to defend the one she liked.
When she argued with Tong Junjie, she trembled the whole time, yet she wasn’t afraid. Because she knew he hadn’t done that kind of thing, and he wasn’t that kind of despicable person.
He would stand up for a stranger; he would fight for the class’s honor.
The basketball court seemed to have been renovated. Back then, whenever she came from the cafeteria, she’d take the long way around here, because sometimes she could catch a glimpse of him moving around on the court.
That PE class—he took her water.
The apple that never got delivered. The origami paper stars no one knew about.
Only that bottle of water—clutched tightly in her hand—became their only point of contact.
The teaching building hadn’t changed much. It still looked the same. She hid on the rooftop crying, and he saw her miserable, tear-streaked face.
He didn’t say anything. He just lent her that hat.
The sun was setting. That evening’s sky was pink-purple. In the thin golden light, his figure walked farther and farther away.
And she stayed where she was, not daring to step forward. Yet that day, his silhouette quietly took root in her heart.
The little shop seemed to have closed and been turned into a more comprehensive convenience store. Qin Sang felt a little regretful. She always thought nothing had changed; only at this moment did she realize the subtle shifts time brought—small, hard to notice, yet when recalled at some moment, they added so much regret.
Their classroom was on the third floor. She still remembered that in winter, he liked standing in the corridor sun. Sometimes she’d use “going to get hot water” as an excuse, holding her thermos cup, lowering her eyes, walking past him. It was only one brush-by, yet her heart would pound, like it might jump out of her chest. After passing, she couldn’t help turning back to steal a look. The boy’s back was lean and unrestrained, gathered in the warm winter light—like a god.
But now the teaching building had no lights at all—black as pitch. In the silent winter night, it looked a bit eerie.
Qin Sang let him hold her hand as they walked step by step into the depths of memory. When they reached the classroom door, she couldn’t help looking at Xie Yuncheng.
His eyes were deep, as if waiting for her to make some decision.
She thought for a long time. Then, suddenly, she took a deep breath—like she’d finally made up her mind—and pushed open the tightly shut classroom door, as if opening the palace of memories sealed away for so long.
The classroom was dark. Only light from outside fell in, barely enough to make out the layout. It looked like nothing had changed much.
As if they were all moving forward, while this place remained like a forgotten corner—cold and quiet, without any trace of life.
Single desks, blackboard newspaper, a basketball in the corner, chalk, brooms and dustpans leaning quietly against the wall.
Her seat was not far from the podium, on the left side. The window on the right side had been broken back then—she didn’t know if it had been fixed now.
His seat was on the right side, about ten steps from hers. She’d never thought that ten-step distance would take her ten years to walk.
Touching the familiar desk in the dark, she seemed to touch something thick—a notebook. Qin Sang went blank for a moment. Then—suddenly—the lights flared on. The classroom lights were switched on, and she reflexively shut her eyes.
When she opened them again, she saw clearly: what she’d touched was a classmates’ message book—thick, with a dark brown cover.
“I went home a while ago,” Xie Yuncheng said, “and found this in the study.”
Xie Yuncheng had never paid attention to the people and things around him, let alone something so long ago. But after he saw it with his own eyes—after he saw the long ten years she had lived through—he realized how wrong he’d been. What he’d missed was not only those ten years; what he’d missed was the entire most tender, most ignorant youth of a girl.
He returned to the Xie family, to a place he didn’t want to set foot in. In that study, among the things he’d casually put away, there were almost none related to her.
The graduation photo was pressed to the very bottom, piled with miscellany. Together with it was this classmates’ message book.
He’d never cared, and he’d never opened it. After Jiang Mingyi handed it to him, he’d simply set it aside with his three years of high school textbooks.
He flipped through it page by page and sat in the study for an entire day—from morning to night. Until the sun set behind the mountains. Before the last thread of light vanished from the horizon, he saw that blessing that could barely even be called a letter.
“Classmate Xie, the mountains are high and the road is long in the future. May what you seek be what you wish for; may what you wish for be what you obtain. I wish you a bright future; may you not fail your youth; press forward bravely, roaming among the universe and the Milky Way, and conquer the stars soon.”
—Class 1, Senior Year, Qin Sang.
The girl’s handwriting was graceful and neat. The words were sincere; every character was true.
And he—only now—noticed this letter that had been left in some corner.
Only today, ten years later, did he weigh his words and put pen to paper, sending this belated letter.
“Classmate Qin, beyond layered mountains there is a pavilion; at the end of a long road there is an end. By great fortune, I received your kind words. The years did not fail youth—only the universe is vast, the Milky Way boundless. And now we start again from the beginning; the sea of stars—if I can have you travel with me…”
“I am lucky beyond measure.”
…
Qin Sang lowered her head. Her fingertips brushed the place where he’d written. Neatly and carefully, he’d written it beneath—like a dialogue across oceans and mulberry fields, across time and space. He answered her heart.
Suddenly, tears blurred the ink, blooming and smearing it into haze.
“Classmate Qin.”
She heard him call her name.
Qin Sang lifted her head and looked at him.
For an instant she was dazed—as if time flowed backward, as if the years rewound. The man before her was not Xie Yuncheng ten years later, but the boy from ten years ago—clear as the moon between clouds.
“I’m sorry I only came back here now. I took a long time—so long that you already walked through countless springs, summers, autumns, and winters alone. Can we get to know each other again—properly?”
“Hello. I’m Xie Yuncheng, from Class 1, Senior Year.”
Qin Sang’s vision blurred, tears shimmering.
After a long time, she finally forced back a choked voice, tried hard to lift the corners of her lips, and smiled at him.
“Hello. I’m Qin Sang, from Class 1, Senior Year.”
Suddenly, sounds rose outside the window. Fireworks bloomed across the sky—grand and vast, like brilliant golden waves, layer upon layer, one after another. The pink-purple bursts almost covered the entire heavens, bright as day. In the instant the fireworks fell, she heard him say, “Sang-sang, Happy New Year.”
The ten years they’d missed—
Thankfully, they still had more ten years to make up for it.
At the arrival of a new year, she received that reply letter that crossed the river of time.
She had many things she wanted to say, but at this moment she felt that those unspoken words no longer mattered so much.
“Happy New Year.”
Classmate Xie—this is the first New Year we’ve spent together. In the future we’ll spend many more together, she thought.
At this time last year, she’d still been in a foreign snowy town. Among the many Western faces, she’d seen his figure flicker past in the crowd.
And now, he was so close—within arm’s reach, touchable if she only reached out.
This winter didn’t seem so cold anymore.
Maybe because…
The harsh winter would pass, and early spring would arrive.
On the last night of this winter, she gained a belated love letter.
“Hello, Classmate Xie Yuncheng/Qin Sang of Class 1, Senior Year. I am your classmate Qin Sang/Xie Yuncheng.”
“Maybe you still don’t know me. Maybe you never once noticed my existence.”
“But please allow me, presumptuously, to tell you my feelings.”
“Classmate Xie/Qin, I like you.”