Lunar Diary

“When the fog clears, the light will finally shine through.”

—Lunar Diary

—

In their senior year, with only ten days left before the college entrance exam, the last class of the day was homeroom. The theme was “Growth and Dreams.”

Back then, they didn’t have a clear understanding of the future. They only knew that the gaokao was incredibly important and that they had to treat it with the utmost seriousness—because it was the final door that would push them into the future.

Once they walked through that door, they would become “adults” in their parents’ eyes.

At the time, their experimental class homeroom teacher was nearing retirement. He’d guided many cohorts of senior students over the years and was usually stern and unsmiling. But that day, he broke from his norm. Holding his faded black thermos, he took a sip of strong tea and said unhurriedly, “You all know the gaokao is just around the corner. Once you get through these tough final ten days, you’ll embrace a new beginning.”

“Before your lives move into the next phase, I want to ask you all—have you thought it through? What kind of person do you want to become in the future?”

In the classroom, students exchanged glances. Most of them, like her, were lost and uncertain about the approaching future.

They only knew that the gaokao was a threshold—bravely cross it, and you’d live up to your youth, to your parents’ years of raising you, to your own years of hard study.

But what came after crossing it? After the gaokao came a new life, a new starting point.

Where was the destination?

Beyond that door—did it hold a fragrant garden of paradise, or a rugged, thorn-filled path?

No one knew what the future held.

The future was too abstract.

So close, yet so far away.

But—

Not everyone was like her, clueless about the future.

At least, some people knew.

The homeroom teacher scanned the room and suddenly called out, “Classmate Xie, why don’t you share your dream? What do you want to do in the future?”

The young man called upon had a cool, clear-featured face, its youthful greenness gradually fading. His blue-and-white school uniform was washed spotless, like a tall, straight bamboo—unyielding against wind or snow.

He stood at the podium, composed as ever, his voice clear and resonant. When he spoke of the “future” and “dreams,” he was articulate and at ease.

“What I want is simple—in this finite life, to contribute as much as I can.”

The universe is as mysterious as the ocean. Humanity has explored only 5% of the ocean—and similarly, only 5% of the cosmos.

Human life is limited, and so is our exploration of the unknown.

“…Current exploration is limited by today’s technological level, but I believe that one day in the future, all the perplexing problems we face now will be readily solved.”

“What I wish to do is to make a modest contribution toward that end while awaiting the arrival of that day.”

For the universe is boundless, individual power is finite, and life itself is limited; yet ideals know no bounds, and the combined strength of countless aerospace professionals is infinite.

When she was still ignorant about the future and held only a vague, narrow conception of “dreams,” he had already set forth on the path ahead, pushing open the door named “growth.”

There are always those who press forward for their dreams, even when the road ahead is long and shrouded in thick mist. Whether the future holds glory adorned with flowers or leaves them scarred and wounded, they pursue it without hesitation.

Perseverance is always harder than giving up.

—

“The reason Brother Zhou said those things is that he doesn’t truly understand you. He has no idea what immense price you’ve paid for so-called ‘freedom.'”

From an outsider’s perspective, it’s hard for her to say who was in the wrong.

Because none of them were wrong; it was simply their different positions that led to the discrepancy.

In this world, how can there ever be true empathy?

If you’re not in their position, you cannot understand their hardships.

She used to think Xie Yuncan seemed born to be envied, born already in Rome, while others might spend a lifetime striving only to reach his starting point.

He had everything he wanted, all within easy reach, as if his life had been smooth sailing without a single ripple.

But later, she realized she had been wrong.

“Actually, during my second year of high school, I saw your aunt come to the school looking for you.”

Early in her second year of high school, her grades had plummeted so severely that teachers from every subject called her in for talks. Her homeroom teacher instructed her to correct all her mistakes, write a self-reflection, and submit it to him at the office after school.

It was just after school; only a handful of students remained in the academic building, and the administrative offices were equally quiet. Most subject teachers had already left for the day, with only a few duty teachers still stationed at their posts.

Qin Sang, holding the written self-criticism, approached the office door. Just as she was about to knock, she heard her homeroom teacher’s voice from inside.

“Mrs. Xie, you may not be familiar with what the Strong Foundation Plan is,” the homeroom teacher said. “The Strong Foundation Plan is a special admissions category for higher education institutions, designed as a talent cultivation program focused on foundational disciplines. It is beneficial for your child.”

“As you can see, Student Xie has participated in academic competitions since childhood, and his competition results are excellent…”

“Moreover, doesn’t Student Xie intend to apply for an aerospace major and dedicate himself to scientific research in the future? As it happens, last year’s Strong Foundation Plan added interdisciplinary fields such as aerospace engineering, aircraft power engineering, intelligent UAV systems, and automation. Given Student Xie’s capabilities and aspirations, his participation in the Strong Foundation Plan now is advantageous without any drawbacks.”

Separated by just a door, Qin Sang raised her hand only to let it fall silently again. Lowering her head to look at the self-criticism letter she had written, she tugged at the corners of her mouth soundlessly, feeling utterly ashamed.

Suddenly, a cold female voice rang out in the office.

“I am already aware of all the points you mentioned. However, my husband has already made better plans for our son’s future. Scientific research? I absolutely do not agree with my son pursuing that path.”

“He never consulted us, his parents, about his decision to apply for the Strong Foundation Program.”

“My husband and I had hoped he would pursue a career in public service, attend China University of Political Science and Law, and follow a more promising path so that he could have a better life in the future.”

“Well…” the homeroom teacher hesitated, “ultimately, it’s the child who must make these choices. Shouldn’t we also respect his own opinions regarding what he wants to study and what he wishes to do in the future?”

“Respect? Haven’t I shown him enough respect?” the woman scoffed. “If I hadn’t respected him, I wouldn’t have taken time out of my busy schedule to come to school and clean up his mess. Teacher Tang, as an educator, your role is to guide my son onto the right path. Why are you instead encouraging him to defy his elders, stray from conventional norms, and even ignore his parents’ words?”

“He’s just a little child; what does he know about the future? What does he understand about what’s best? I’m his mother—do you really think I’d harm him?”

The woman was aggressive, refusing to back down even an inch.

“That’s enough.”

The boy’s voice was clear and smooth, yet strangely hoarse, as if he were struggling to suppress his emotions.

“Mrs. Xie, you may lord it over everyone at home, but that doesn’t work here—this is a school. Kindly refrain from bringing your bossy attitude with you. It was my decision to apply for the Strong Foundation Plan; Teacher Tang was merely fulfilling her duties as an educator. As for you…”

He sneered, “Have you ever fulfilled your obligations as a mother all these years? Why bother coming here now just to pretend to be a caring one?”

“You insolent brat!” Zhou Wanqing was furious, likely feeling humiliated. She strode forward swiftly and slapped him hard across the face. “I’ve raised you until now, and just because you think you’re grown up, does that mean you no longer listen to me? You know perfectly well how strained our family’s situation is right now, yet you still dare to gang up with outsiders just to provoke me? Are you trying to drive me to death before your very eyes?”

The slap landed heavily; its sharp sound was clearly audible even through the door.

Qin Sang was startled into silence. Although her family’s circumstances at No. 1 High School were far from affluent, her parents shared a loving and harmonious relationship. They doted on her and had never once spoken a harsh word to her, let alone engaged in the kind of tense, face-to-face confrontation she witnessed now—shouting until their faces flushed and necks bulged, their expressions so distorted they seemed to regard not their own son, but an enemy standing before them.

Peering through the crack in the door, all one could see was the slender figure of the young boy. He kept his head lowered, his expression unreadable. His left cheek was slightly swollen, and against his pale, cool-toned skin, the red imprint of a slap stood out starkly.

Zhou Wanqing’s hand still tingled with numbness. She stared blankly at her own palm before her body instinctively moved forward, reaching out as if to touch his face. “Yunchen, Mom didn’t mean…”

Xie Yuncan seemed oblivious to the pain. He merely curled his lips in mockery, letting out a soft, disdainful chuckle laced with coldness. “What’s wrong, Mrs. Xie? Haven’t you vented enough anger yet?”

Zhou Wanqing’s outstretched hand froze instantly.

The homeroom teacher was also startled. He quickly regained his composure and, frowning, tried to mediate: “Mrs. Xie, let’s talk this through calmly. Why get so angry with the child? Uh… Student Xie, the test papers haven’t been handed out yet. Please go back to the classroom first, and while you’re at it, bring the papers over for me.”

Xie Yuncan tugged at the corner of his mouth and gave a low “Mm.”

When he came out with the exam papers, Qin Sang happened to run right into him.

Holding her error-correcting notebook and pressing the self-criticism letter against her chest, she fumbled, wanting to explain.

But he only gave her a cold glance, his gaze sweeping over her briefly—unconcerned, indifferent—before he walked away with the papers, cool and detached.

Qin Sang watched his retreating figure, her eyelashes drooping in disappointment.

In the office, Zhou Wanqing grew even more irritated at how readily Xie Yuncan had left. “Teacher Tang, look at this child… Does he even see me as his mother? I’m his mother, yet he’s this cold—won’t even bother to say goodbye.”

After a moment, she took a deep breath, suppressing her temper. “Teacher Tang, in any case, I came here today for my son’s sake. There’s no need for you to play peacemaker or try to convince me. I will never agree to him joining the Strong Foundation Plan—let alone me, his father will never agree either. What path he takes, what kind of person he becomes—we, his parents, have already made arrangements. It’s no one else’s concern.”

“Furthermore, I expect the school to at least respect the wishes of the parents. As a teacher, you can’t just take the child’s word for it. He’s still so young—he can’t tell right from wrong. How could you let him make such a decision? At the very least… shouldn’t you have notified us parents first? If I hadn’t found out, and it had become a done deal—wouldn’t you have ruined his whole life?”

“Tell me, when there’s a broad highway right in front of him, why would he choose a narrow, winding path to stumble along, just because someone tricked him into it? Isn’t that absurd?”

The homeroom teacher didn’t want to meddle in their family affairs and only offered patient, gentle advice: “I understand your concerns, Mrs. Xie. Parents always worry more about their children than themselves. But the child is older now—he may have his own thoughts and things he wants to do. I think it might be worth sitting down and having a calm, heart-to-heart talk with him.”

Qin Sang paused for a moment before explaining, “I was heading to the office to turn in my self-criticism when I happened to overhear your argument.”

Xie Yuncan paused; he did vaguely remember something of the sort. He curled his lips in a self-deprecating smile and said lightly, “Did it scare you?”

Qin Sang hesitated, then nodded. “To be honest, a little.”

Her home hadn’t been wealthy, but it had been warm—she had never encountered a mother as overbearing and controlling as Zhou Wanqing.

“Sorry.” He was always polite—a courtesy ingrained in his bones.

Even though she’d been the one eavesdropping, inadvertently stumbling upon his family’s private shame.

Qin Sang sighed softly. “Why are you apologizing? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Although we can’t choose our original family, can’t choose our parents or our origins—”

“We can choose what kind of person we want to become.”

“In my opinion, Classmate Xie, you’re already braver than most.”

Not everyone has the courage to break free from their family’s constraints.

That was why she’d been so astonished when Liu Chengcheng told her he’d joined the Aerospace Institute.

Given his mother’s overbearing, domineering nature—always threatening him with suicide—he must have given up a great deal to devote himself to aerospace without hesitation.

Others only saw his freedom like the wind, envied his carefree life, his future prospects, his safety net. But no one knew the hardships he’d endured, the pain and torment that came from those closest to him.

What they called a “home,” a harbor, was to him no different from a prison, a sunless abyss.

Sensing the mood growing heavy, Qin Sang thought for a moment, then suddenly shifted the subject.

“Classmate Xie, I’m actually pretty good at reading palms, too. If you don’t mind, I could take a look—who knows, maybe it’ll clear up the confusion in front of you right now.”

She said it with such conviction, such a serious expression, that it was hard not to smile.

The frustration in Xie Yuncan’s expression faded. His cool brows relaxed, and his lips curved faintly. “Didn’t know you had such a wide range of skills, Classmate Qin.”

“It’s alright,” Qin Sang said thoughtfully. “Being an actor can be pretty dull, you know—spending all day on set, and having nothing to do once you’re off. So I just expanded my skill set a bit. Where there’s demand, there’s a market. But honestly, I’m really not bad—pretty accurate, actually. A lot of my colleagues ask me to read their fortunes.”

“Since we were classmates, I’ll do it for free this time, how about that? No charge. If you think it’s accurate, you can come back next time.”

She paused, then winked playfully with her left eye. “Though next time, you’ll have to book an appointment first.”

Xie Yuncan let out a low chuckle—deep, husky, slightly raspy, with an inexplicable allure. “Then…”

“For the next appointment, would you mind giving me a backdoor, Classmate Qin?”

The coolness in his eyes had completely dissipated. He curved his lips casually, his gaze clear, sharply reflecting her silhouette—looking both aloof and captivating.

Qin Sang felt her ears grow warm. She gave a soft “Mm” and lowered her eyes, focusing on the hand he’d extended.

The man’s hand was large, with slender bones and long knuckles, the lines on his palm clean and distinct.

Qin Sang examined it carefully, her voice gentle. “Your life line is very long—you’ll definitely live to a ripe old age. Your wisdom line is good too. As for your career…”

She traced a character in his palm with her finger.

Xie Yuncan looked down. Her head was bowed, revealing a shallow hair whorl at her crown. Perhaps because she was so thin, the spinous process at the back of her neck was prominent. Strands of hair slipped from her shoulder and brushed against his palm as she wrote, carrying a faint tickling sensation.

She wrote very seriously, her soft fingertip gliding lightly across his palm—like a gentle feather.

“Wait?” Xie Yuncan guessed the character.

Qin Sang looked up, smiling brightly. “Mm. Though the road ahead is shrouded in fog, it’s bound to clear one day. All we can do for now is wait.”

When the fog clears, the light will finally shine through.