Lunar Diary

“She thought to herself, I really am such a foolish person.”

—Lunar Diary

—

Qin Sang had always been a slow person—push her and she’d move once. Sister Wen always said she was a paper tiger: tough on the outside, weak within; she looked formidable and unapproachable, but in truth, she could be pierced with a single poke.

She had her own cocoon. Whenever something unpleasant happened, her first instinct wasn’t to face it head-on but to run away. She’d habitually retreat into her shell, only daring to extend her antennae when she absolutely had to come out.

With the National Day and Mid-Autumn Festival holidays coinciding, she finally had some rare time off. Sister Wen generously gave her seven days to rest and reset, so she’d be in good shape for the upcoming film shoot.

Qin Sang didn’t go anywhere—she went back to Ningjiang and stayed home for two or three days. Her phone was off, disconnected from the world. She slept in every day, waking naturally.

When Wen Shuyu came in to call her, she was still clinging to her bed like she used to as a child. “Mom, let me sleep a little longer. Just five more minutes. Five minutes, please.”

She mumbled indistinctly, the curtains drawn, wearing an eye mask. The whole room was sealed tight—not even a sliver of light could get in.

Wen Shuyu pulled open the curtains. “No, you have to get up today. Your aunt knows you’re back—she just called and said she’s coming over to see you.”

Qin Sang jolted awake, sitting up in bed. “Auntie’s coming?”

“Mm.” Wen Shuyu pushed open the window to air out the room. “She ran into Grandma Sun at square dancing yesterday and found out you’re home. She called right after, saying she’d come by for a visit.”

Qin Sang grumbled softly, “Why does Grandma Sun still have such a big mouth…”

Ningjiang was only about the size of a palm—all the neighbors knew each other, and most were connected by some thread of kinship.

Qin Sang had arrived home late at night and had the misfortune of running into Grandma Sun just as she was taking out the trash. She’d had a bad feeling about it right then. Grandma Sun was famously loose-lipped, and sure enough, within a few days, word of her return had probably spread through every street and alley in Ningjiang.

Qin Sang felt utterly defeated. She flopped back onto her pillow, face buried, voice muffled. “I don’t want to see Auntie.”

If you asked Qin Sang who she feared most, the answer would definitely be her aunt, Wen Minzhu.

Wen Minzhu had married into Hong Kong in her early years, settling there to raise a family. She rarely returned to Ningjiang, but whenever she did, she couldn’t help but compare. When Qin Sang was little and her parents took her to pay New Year’s respects, her aunt would always love to pit her against Cousin Penny.

Back then, it was about who was smarter, more cultured, better-looking. Now it was about jobs, earning power, cars, and houses.

The last time they’d met was four years ago, when she’d come home for the New Year. Aunt Minzhu had pulled her aside for a long talk, first asking how much she made per film, then boasting about how accomplished Cousin Penny was, studying abroad for her PhD. Every word carried an air of superiority.

Wen Shuyu sat on the edge of the bed, patting her back gently. “I know you don’t want to see her, so I said you’d gone out and weren’t home today. Quick, change your clothes and go hide out somewhere.”

Qin Sang let out a listless “Oh” and reluctantly got dressed to leave.

In Ningjiang, she was carefree—wearing an oversized hoodie that fell to her knees, the hood pulled up to nearly cover her face, with just shark-fin leggings and Crocs on her feet. She ambled out of the house and headed to the nearby Xiao Yan Noodle House.

As soon as she walked in, she slumped over the table and said lazily, “The usual, boss. Three-delicacy noodles, extra spicy and sour, no scallions.”

Xiao Yan, wearing an apron, heard the voice and pushed aside the kitchen curtain to peek out. “Sang Sang, it really is you.”

She beamed. “I heard from Grandma Sun a couple days ago that you were back. I was thinking of closing up shop today to come see you. But why’s your phone off? I’ve been trying to call for days and couldn’t get through.”

Qin Sang snapped apart her chopsticks and paused at the question. “Maybe I forgot to charge it. I’ve been resting these days—haven’t paid much attention to anything else.”

Xiao Yan nodded knowingly. “You must be exhausted, right? I’ve seen all that stuff online recently—you know how those people are, nothing better to do than stir up trouble. Don’t take their words to heart.”

She was referring to the unpleasant fallout from breaking her contract with Huitai. The public criticism hadn’t let up, though it had probably quieted down in the past few days.

The China Aerospace Science and Technology Corporation had just released its latest promotional film and posted an official announcement on Weibo.

CASC Official V: “Seeking truth through knowledge, chasing dreams through reason.” With light in the heart, even straw sandals will carry you forward; with a path beneath your feet, let dreams be your steed. Welcome outstanding young actor representative @Qin Sang V.

The campaign featured representatives from sixteen different professions, all participating in the promotional shoot—a project of profound significance and influence.

Not only that, but the China Youth Daily, People’s Daily, People’s Daily Online, the Communist Youth League, and various local official Weibo accounts had all reposted the aerospace promotional video. When netizens saw the flood of blue-check official accounts tagging @Qin Sang, they thought their eyes were playing tricks on them.

“Holy crap, what’s going on?”

“Woke up too fast—never thought I’d live to see all the official blue checks come out together like this.”

“This girl really keeps her head down and gets things done. While everyone else is fighting over billing order, she’s already an official representative. Look—’outstanding young actor,’ officially certified. How awesome is that? This is next-level, you know!”

Most people had already turned their attention to the promotional video. The Huitai incident was quickly buried, becoming old news.

Xiao Yan was still reading aloud from the CASC Weibo post when the server brought Qin Sang’s noodles. Qin Sang ate in silence, head down, steam rising in white wisps that blurred her features. The taste she’d always missed now felt somehow bland and unsatisfying.

“Oh, by the way, Sang Sang.” Xiao Yan remembered something, ran into the back room, rummaged for a while, and came back out with something in hand. “Here you go.”

“You’re getting married?” Qin Sang blinked at the red invitation in mild surprise.

Xiao Yan smiled sweetly. “Mm. I was going to bring it by when I visited Aunt Wen today, but since you’re here, I’ll just give it to you now.”

Qin Sang’s lips curved into a genuine, warm smile. “Congratulations.”

“Sang Sang, thank you.” Xiao Yan sighed. “Back when my father had his accident, if it hadn’t been for you and Aunt Wen’s help, my grandma and I would never have made it to where we are today. Let alone getting married—I never even dreamed someone like me could meet the right person.”

“Someone like you?” Qin Sang interrupted. “You, Xiao Yan, are a wonderful girl that anyone would be lucky to have. Whoever marries you is the fortunate one. Why do you sell yourself short?”

Xiao Yan smiled helplessly. She reached out and gently touched Qin Sang’s cheek. “Our Sang Sang is the best girl in the world.”

The year Xiao Yan’s father passed away, she was only thirteen. She and her grandmother had been left to fend for themselves. The construction project had gone wrong, the contractor had fled with the money, and they’d had no way to appeal or seek compensation. If it hadn’t been for Qin Sang and Wen Shuyu’s help, they might have starved.

Moreover, Xiao Yan had a hearing impairment—a congenital condition. Without her hearing aids, she couldn’t understand a word anyone said. Without money for treatment or school, Qin Sang had been supporting her family all along.

“Sang Sang…” Xiao Yan’s expression shifted, clearly thinking of the past.

Qin Sang sighed. “It’s all in the past. If you bring it up again, I won’t dare come back.”

“Alright.” Xiao Yan gave in. “I won’t say anything more.”

Xiao Yan’s noodle shop was doing good business, bustling with customers. It was a small operation—just Xiao Yan and one server—and as the crowd grew, she got too busy to keep chatting.

Qin Sang had come here to escape, anyway. After finishing her noodles and seeing the place fill up, she scanned the QR code to pay and slipped out without saying goodbye.

Times had changed—Ningjiang had transformed a lot over the past decade. But the old town where they lived was full of ancient buildings preserved from the Ming and Qing dynasties, so it hadn’t been included in the redevelopment zone. Instead, the government had taken the lead in restoration and maintenance, while private residents weren’t allowed to alter or damage the heritage structures.

Qin Sang wandered aimlessly, drifting around outside until late at night. She’d just come out of a convenience store when her phone buzzed—a WeChat message from Wen Shuyu.

[Your aunt’s gone. Come home now.]

Finally.

Relieved, Qin Sang exhaled. As she exited the chat, her gaze swept over the screen and landed on a black WeChat avatar. Her finger paused over the display.

The man’s eyes were clear and intent, his voice low and magnetic: “If I said it wasn’t because I owe you?”

She thought to herself, I really am such a foolish person.

Otherwise, why couldn’t she figure out what he meant?

She couldn’t understand—if it wasn’t out of indebtedness, then what else could it be?

She didn’t dare to think too deeply, afraid she was just flattering herself.

So she chose to run away.

Luckily, they weren’t the kind of people who needed to see each other often. The ridiculous part was that, aside from those few chance encounters, she couldn’t even find an excuse to meet him.

She thought, whether in the past or now, they had always belonged to different worlds. Even if their paths occasionally crossed, they’d ultimately return to their own orbits. So why force it?

Qin Sang stood alone outside the convenience store, popping the tab on a can of beer. She took a couple of slow sips—the malt aroma of fermented beer filled her mouth, with a slight astringency, a faint bitterness.

She carried a few cans in a plastic bag that rustled against her hoodie as she walked. The old town was quiet, most people having gone to bed early. The alley was still, lit only by cool moonlight. She stepped slowly on the bluestone paving, making her way back.

Ningjiang was known for its honest, simple folk and good public safety. In recent years, with the surge in tourists, police booths had been set up everywhere. Besides, Qin Sang was used to it—during her roughest years, she’d often sneak out late at night to buy a few beers from the convenience store near her apartment. But she wasn’t a heavy drinker, so she only dared to drink in private.

She’d cut back in recent years, though. Sister Wen kept a tight rein on her—no buying alcohol alone, no drinking in private. With no one to police her this time, Qin Sang had let loose a little, doing as she pleased.

She carried the bag, taking an occasional sip, until her beer was nearly empty. She crushed the empty can with her hand and tossed it into a nearby recycling bin.

As she headed back, a rustling sound came from the bushes by the roadside. She paused, her tipsiness half-fading, and stared intently into the dark. Suddenly, a tabby cat emerged, stepping lightly along the ledge, tilting its head as it stopped in front of her.

Qin Sang relaxed. “It’s you. You scared me.”

This tabby was a stray that roamed the area. Some families had tried to adopt it over the years, but it was too wild and freedom-loving—they’d eventually let it go.

Still, it was well-liked around here, often fed by locals. Qin Sang had seen it near her house when she’d visited a few years back. At the time, she hadn’t understood why Wen Shuyu kept a bag of cat food—until the tabby, strutting like a big shot, leaped off the wall onto the rooftop.

Now, the tabby meowed at her, almost like it was being affectionate.

Qin Sang rummaged through her bag and found a pack of beef jerky. She crouched down and placed it before the cat. “This is all I have. Make do with it.”

The tabby was wary at first, but after eyeing her for a moment, it crept closer and sniffed the jerky. It didn’t eat right away—instead, it turned and let out a meow.

Then came more rustling from the bushes. A white cat cautiously emerged. It was plump, especially around the belly—she looked pregnant. The white cat seemed shy and timid, hesitating for a long time before daring to approach the jerky.

As the white cat ate, the tabby stood guard nearby, occasionally licking its fur, grooming it like it was comforting her. The two cats stayed close together.

It was clear the white cat was well cared for—its coat was glossy and healthy, nothing like a stray. The tabby, on the other hand, was lean. Given its knack for scrounging, it should have been plumper—it must have been saving its food for the white cat, which was why it stayed thin.

Qin Sang smiled at the sight. “What, you’ve got a girlfriend? And you’re such a doting husband.”

“Lucky you.” Her voice dropped as she smiled softly. “Xiao Yan’s getting married, and you’ve found your home too.”

Maybe the night was too lonely, or the alcohol had numbed her brain and loosened emotions she’d held back for too long.

Crouching by the bushes, watching the two cats so devoted to each other, she laughed bitterly. “You’ve all found your homes, but I can’t even let him know how I really feel. Am I that useless?”

The cats couldn’t understand her. The white cat was focused on eating, while the tabby stared at her for a long while, as if sensing her sadness. It came up to her and gently rubbed its furry head against the back of her hand, like it was comforting her.

She smiled softly, stroking the tabby’s head. “Alright, I won’t bother you two. Go eat your jerky.”

She pulled herself together. She’d been squatting so long her legs had gone numb, and when she stood up, her vision blurred with dizziness. She staggered backward—and suddenly, her back met a solid chest. A faint, refreshing mint scent filled her senses, clearing her head.

She looked up sharply. Through the hazy, blurred light—like viewing flowers through fog—the moon, which had been hidden, quietly emerged. Its cold, clear light spilled down, washing away the deep shadows, slowly revealing a distinct, unmistakable silhouette in the night.