The Moon Runs to Me

The Space Technology Exchange Conference was co-hosted by the Qian Xuesen Space Technology Laboratory and the Shanghai Satellite Engineering Research Institute. Academicians from the Chinese Academy of Sciences, along with Director Wang of the Research and Development Department at the China Aerospace Science and Technology Corporation, and Engineer Chen, were invited to attend.

Song Penny’s return to China was at Engineer Chen’s invitation—she’d already passed the interview at the Shanghai Satellite Engineering Research Institute and was being recruited as a special talent. She’d been preparing her return for a long time, turning down NASA’s offer and her advisor’s pleas to stay. She hadn’t told anyone about her decision, not even Wen Minzhu, who assumed she wouldn’t be back until after the New Year at the earliest. Who knew she’d not only come back quietly but also locked down a job in record time, catching her mother completely off guard.

When they met, Penny handed Qin Sang a cup of hot Americano. “Here. Hot Americano.”

“Thanks.” Qin Sang took it, her gaze falling on Penny’s face. She looked like she hadn’t slept well—dark circles under her eyes. “Didn’t sleep well last night?”

“A bit.” Penny sighed. “You know my mom. She still hasn’t woken up from her little fantasy. When she found out I’d already accepted the position at the Eighth Academy, she exploded last night. We had a huge fight. This morning, she even tried to fake being sick to keep me from leaving.”

Wen Minzhu’s marriage was unhappy, but Penny was the thread holding them together. And Penny was so accomplished that even her reckless father had to consider her feelings. They’d stayed together for her sake until she was grown.

The pillar that had kept Wen Minzhu going in that hollow marriage was Penny—she wanted to keep her close, groom her to take over the Song family business, and get the last laugh. Unfortunately, Penny had left the country without a word. This time, she hadn’t consulted her mother about returning either. By the time Wen Minzhu found out, it was already done. She’d completely lost it and they’d had a huge fight over work last night.

Furious, Wen Minzhu tried to fake illness this morning to force Penny to back down.

Penny saw right through it. “My mom’s in great health—she gets check-ups every year. If she had even a tiny ailment, she’d make a bigger fuss than anyone. She’s terrified of dying. If she were really sick, she wouldn’t have waited until now to show it.”

That was true. Wen Minzhu was more afraid of death than anyone. Despite her unhappy marriage, her quality of life was never compromised.

Qin Sang could easily picture the theatrics—crying, screaming, threatening suicide—and had to suppress a smile.

Penny saw right through her. “Go ahead and laugh. Don’t hold back. You think my mom’s ridiculous too, don’t you? I don’t know how she’s gotten so narrow-minded over the years. No idea where she picks up these tactics.”

Qin Sang’s eyes curved in a light smile. “Maybe Auntie’s in the wrong line of work. She seems more talented at that than I am.”

“Ha!” Penny squinted. “So you’re making fun of my mom, are you? You’ve learned some tricks over the years. You weren’t like this before.”

“Cousin, you said it yourself—people grow and change.” Qin Sang looked innocent.

Penny laughed, genuinely pleased. “You’re good now. Before, you were so sweet and gullible, I was worried someone would take advantage of you. Now you’ve got a bit of edge—you know how to protect yourself. That’s good.”

“You remember, right?” Penny gestured. “Back then, you were about this tall—barely reached my shoulder. Just a little kid, always trailing after me, couldn’t shake you off. So clingy.”

When Qin Sang was little, she was soft and sweet, like a sticky rice ball. Though their grandparents were partial, even they couldn’t resist such an obedient child sometimes. Even Penny, who as a child resented Qin Sang as an intruder, used to get annoyed.

But when she was scolded by her mom, the little girl never cried—just looked up with her big, bright eyes, still brimming with tears, and toddled after her, tugging at her clothes, saying softly, “Sister, don’t be mad.”

It melted all Penny’s anger. Thinking back, she felt she’d been so petty as a child, picking fights with a clueless four-year-old.

Penny sighed, a little regretful. Qin Sang was doing well now, but the price of that growth had been too heavy. Even as an observer, Penny felt suffocated—she couldn’t imagine how Qin Sang had held on alone for ten years.

Penny sighed silently, keeping her smile, but gently reached out and patted Qin Sang’s head. “It’s okay. Now it’s my turn to cling to you. Sang Sang, from now on, don’t carry everything alone. I know my mom’s terrible, but we’re still family. You don’t have to accept her, but don’t shut me out. And Uncle Wen worries about you too.”

Qin Sang wasn’t used to such close contact—even with family, especially with Penny, who was blood-related. Her body tensed slightly, a flicker of discomfort.

“Sang Sang, remember—you have us behind you.”

Penny’s eyes held a warm smile, her expression gentle.

Qin Sang lowered her gaze, her pinky curling involuntarily against her coffee cup, a little dazed.

After Qin Dahai’s death, everything fell apart. Wen Shuyu was hospitalized from grief. She sat alone in the hospital corridor, the operating room light still on. Her mother had been in surgery for three hours—it was late, and she still hadn’t come out.

Hospitals at night always felt lonely and desolate. Leaves rustled outside the window, shadows dancing like monsters baring their fangs, ready to devour her. In the hollow silence, distant cries of grief echoed.

Qin Sang sat numbly, her gaze empty, staring at nothing.

Her grandparents, accompanied by Wen Minzhu, arrived late that night. She couldn’t remember what they’d said—only how fierce the wind had been, how piercing the wails. The doctor had issued a critical condition notice. When her grandfather signed it, his hand trembled: “What a curse, what a curse! I told her not to marry him, but she wouldn’t listen!”

The elderly couple was shaken, but once they recovered, aside from worry, there was mostly complaint.

Her grandfather said: “Sang Sang, don’t blame us for being heartless. Your father’s affairs—it’s hard for us to get involved. You know Hengyu is at a critical juncture. I can’t let your father’s recklessness affect the family reputation.”

Her uncle was a diplomat—reputation was everything. Her cousin was also at a crucial stage in her studies. And above all, the Wen family’s years of accumulated standing—if they got dragged into this disaster, who knew if they’d survive it?

“I understand.”

She did. She understood their difficulties.

At eighteen, Qin Sang calmly stated, “I won’t drag the Wen family into this. This is my father’s matter. As his daughter, I’ll take full responsibility.”

She truly understood. She didn’t blame anyone. The world wasn’t black and white—people in high positions had their own considerations and reasons.

She was just…

A little sad.

She’d longed for family, for help—not for cold calculus and decisive abandonment.

Even just a simple word of comfort would have meant more than that heartless judgment.

To others, it might have been just a casual phrase, but to her, it would have been enough.

Maybe that’s all eighteen-year-old Qin Sang had wanted to hear—a simple word of comfort.

Just to know that no matter how far she wandered, she had a home to return to, someone to lean on, a mountain at her back—not to be lost alone in a barren wilderness, unable to find her way forward.

“Ah!” Penny suddenly raised her voice, looking past Qin Sang and waving cheerfully. “Over here!”

Qin Sang turned in confusion, her gaze blank. White walls, gray tiles, lush ivy climbing the walls, fragrant wisteria hanging in cascades of purple—from a distance, it looked like a sea of lavender.

For a moment, her memory was pulled back to long ago. There was also a wisteria grove behind the No. 1 High School. Every spring and summer, when the wisteria bloomed, the hills were covered in pale purple seas of blossoms. Every early summer, the school would open the grove to visitors. But before that, even students weren’t allowed in.

Still, despite the strict rules, many students sneaked in to enjoy the flowers.

Qin Sang’s first time there was with Liu Chengcheng. It was during an outdoor activity class—they had some free time. Liu Chengcheng dragged her along, saying, “It’s fine! It’s class time, so there won’t be many people around. No one’s guarding it. We’ll just sneak in, take a couple of photos—we won’t get caught!”

She said it so confidently, but when they almost got spotted by a guard, she bolted without a second thought, and the two got separated.

Qin Sang had no idea where Liu Chengcheng had run off to. Afraid the guard would be waiting at the exit, she wandered around the hill to kill time, planning to sneak back after class.

Suddenly, she heard rustling, followed by a soft meow.

There were many stray cats on the hill. The school banned students to protect the wisteria and the cats’ habitat.

Following the sound, Qin Sang pushed through the dense undergrowth. Light filtered through sparse branches—and there he sat, long legs stretched out, on a stone bench, eyes closed, resting. Sunlight trickled through the leaves, falling on his high brow and sharp nose. His long fingers idly stroked a cat’s back. The cat’s tail flicked lazily, brushing fallen petals aside.

She instinctively stepped back, accidentally snapping a twig with a soft crack. She glanced down in panic.

When she looked up again, his eyes fluttered open. In the interplay of light and shadow, his gaze was cool and steady, landing directly on her.

The midsummer sun was bright and fierce, light dappled and blinding. The wind was hot, rustling through the trees—shadows swayed, petals scattered.

Just like now—the autumn wind biting cold, wisteria petals falling past their peak, drifting like a shower of blossoms.

Qin Sang was lost in thought, unaware—as if she’d fallen into those clear eyes. In their amber depths, she saw her own reflection, a few petals caught in her hair.

When he drew near, she forgot to move away.