The Moon Runs to Me

Five years after graduating from high school, Qin Sang had actually seen Xie Yuncan once—but only from afar, across the dim glow of streetlights. She’d heard someone call his name, and when she looked up, she’d only caught a glimpse of a receding figure.

He hadn’t noticed her. Just like countless days and nights before, he’d kept moving forward, never pausing.

Qin Sang had always considered herself lucky. Just when she thought her life would rot and fester, she’d met Sister Wen.

At the time, only two months had passed since the gaokao. She was still working as a cashier at the coffee shop when a campus-themed film crew came to scout locations nearby. They ordered over a hundred cups of coffee. She happened to be on shift that day, and the shop was short-staffed—only her. As she was rushing to fill the order, a woman walked in, talking on the phone while signing the receipt. “Are you out of your mind? Quitting at a time like this—how am I supposed to explain this to the crew? I’ve already ordered coffee and afternoon tea as an apology. Just come back, apologize properly to Director Lin, and we’ll call it even.”

Maybe holding the phone between her ear and shoulder was uncomfortable, so she put it on speaker. The voice on the other end was cloying and sweet. “Sister Wen, it’s not that I don’t want to act. It’s just that the director went too far. You heard what he said, right? He told me to either act or get lost. I’ve never been treated like that in my life—even my daddy wouldn’t dare yell at me like that. Who does he think he is? Just some third-rate director.”

“He humiliated me in front of everyone. Why should I stick around and kiss his feet, putting up with that nonsense?”

Sister Wen pressed her temple, visibly irritated, but kept her voice level as she tried to persuade her. “Every actor gets yelled at. Besides, Director Lin is notoriously picky—he has high standards. It’s not just you; every actor in his films gets chewed out. If you want to make it big, you have to endure.”

“Pfft. Who does he think he is? Why should I put up with him?”

The actress snorted. “Sister Wen, you’re the one who’s confused here. You got me this role and now you’re telling me to suck it up? Whose side are you on anyway? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were Lin Song’s agent.”

“Anyway, I’m not coming back. He can find whoever he wants. My dear has already promised to find me a better film to make up for it.”

“Are you crazy? You actually believe what Mr. Qian says? I’ve told you before—if you want to last in this industry, don’t try to take shortcuts. If you ever make it big and all this dirt gets dug up, do you have any idea how serious that would be?”

“So what? Sister Wen, are you out of touch? This industry isn’t about acting skills—it’s about who has the strongest backing. Even if I don’t latch onto someone, others will. So why should I suffer? Only a fool would pass up a shortcut.”

Sister Wen was furious. “Tang Xiaoxiao, I’m giving you one last chance. Either pack your things, come back, and finish this film properly—or we’re done. Find yourself another agent while you’re at it.”

Tang Xiaoxiao was unmoved. “Fine. Done it is. Someone as controlling and perpetually miserable as you—I don’t want you as my agent anyway. Cousin, I think you should change careers. Who could put up with your attitude? Go find whoever you want. Without me, you’re nothing.”

Sister Wen laughed coldly. “Tang Xiaoxiao, don’t forget—I was the one who pulled you out of that hellhole at Meiyi. Without me, you’d still be selling smiles somewhere. Since I had the ability to make you famous, I have the ability to make someone else famous too. Just you wait!”

Tang Xiaoxiao had been a nobody model from Meiyi—a place that was nothing more than a playground for the wealthy. Those “models” were just high-class escorts. Sister Wen had only taken pity on her because she was young and had been tricked into that den. She’d used all her connections to get Tang Xiaoxiao out, meticulously planning her career, erasing her past, and rebranding her as a fledgling internet celebrity. Her instincts had been sharp—she’d chosen the right path for Tang Xiaoxiao. Two low-budget web dramas had become sleeper hits, and Tang Xiaoxiao had successfully transitioned from influencer to a third-tier actress. Though she hadn’t broken into the A-list, with hard work and dedication, success wasn’t impossible.

But people change.

Back then, Tang Xiaoxiao had cried and begged her distant cousin for help, saying, “Cousin, I really didn’t know they brought me here for this. They tricked me into signing the contract. When I refused, they beat me—look, all these bruises on my body. I don’t want to sell myself. Please help me.”

Sister Wen’s heart had softened. She couldn’t bear to see a young girl being exploited and coerced into doing something she’d regret for life. So she’d taken Tang Xiaoxiao under her wing, even giving up other promising talents to focus on her alone, hoping she’d eventually shine and leave her past behind.

But looking back, Sister Wen realized she’d misjudged the situation. Tang Xiaoxiao hadn’t been tricked into Meiyi—she’d gone willingly. Meiyi had its own rules—not everyone could reach the top tier. Tang Xiaoxiao hadn’t wanted to settle for nouveau riche clients, so she’d found a way to latch onto Sister Wen and put on a performance.

And now, this Mr. Qian—she’d only met him once at a ribbon-cutting event. Knowing he was wealthy, she didn’t care that he was old enough to be her father, with a son her age. She’d thrown herself at him, willingly becoming his hidden mistress.

She didn’t stop to think that Mr. Qian was just after novelty and would toss her aside when he got bored. And his wife was no pushover either.

Sister Wen was utterly disappointed. “For old times’ sake, I’ll give you one piece of advice: Mr. Qian’s wife is already suspicious. If you don’t want to be stripped bare and paraded through the streets, you’d better keep a low profile. But from now on, whatever happens to you has nothing to do with me. Live or die, it’s your own doing.”

She hung up, her face tense.

Qin Sang had just finished making the last cup of coffee. Hearing the call end, she hesitated before asking, “Ma’am, do you still need these coffees delivered?”

Sister Wen had been so angry she’d forgotten she was still in the coffee shop. Luckily, only one female employee was there. When Sister Wen looked up and saw the girl’s face, she froze.

The girl in the plaid shirt and black cargo pants was young—at an age when youth practically dripped from her. Her features, though still green, were already striking. Beautiful. The kind that stood out in any crowd, with real visual impact.

A thought crossed Sister Wen’s mind. She kept her expression neutral. “Yes, deliver them. Is it just you here?”

“The owner’s on leave, and my coworker asked for time off for personal reasons.”

“You look very young. Just graduated?”

Qin Sang paused, then murmured an “Mm.” “Your total is 4,575 yuan. Here’s your receipt. Would you like an invoice?”

“Yes.” Sister Wen probed, “Are you working here to put yourself through school?”

“No. I work here full-time. I’m not in school anymore.”

Sister Wen was slightly taken aback. “It’s a shame you’re working here…”

The girl’s profile was flawless, strikingly beautiful—clearly good raw material. Sister Wen decided to be direct. “You probably heard my phone call. You know what I do. If you’re willing, I can sign you as an artist. I can’t promise you’ll become a huge star, but it’ll definitely be better than working here.”

Many people dreamed of being a star—chasing the glamorous life, the spotlight, the intoxicating fantasy of adoration.

Sister Wen was thinking of how to persuade her when the girl paused for a moment and asked only one question: “Can I make a lot of money?”

“You’re strapped for cash?” Sister Wen was a bit surprised but quickly recovered. “If money’s what you need, working with me is the right call. I guarantee you’ll earn plenty—but you have to follow my instructions completely. No shortcuts, no shady stuff.”

“Okay.”

Without hesitation, Qin Sang agreed.

Sister Wen was truly her benefactor—a small lamp lighting up her barren, dark life.

She was obedient. And she worked hard.

That film Tang Xiaoxiao had refused to do—ultimately, Qin Sang got the role. The director was reluctant at first; she was too young, not a drama school graduate, had zero experience. But Sister Wen convinced him to give her a chance.

The female lead was deaf and mute, communicating only through sign language. The director was a stickler for detail. His falling out with Tang Xiaoxiao had been because she hadn’t followed his instructions and hadn’t learned sign language in advance. But Qin Sang already knew it.

Xiao Yan had hearing issues—when they communicated, Qin Sang would sometimes use sign language with her too. That was what finally made the director relent. Every minute of filming burned money. They couldn’t afford another open casting call, let alone wait for someone to learn sign language from scratch.

Qin Sang stayed. At first, she was chewed out relentlessly. She had no experience—not only couldn’t she get into character, she didn’t even know how to control her expressions.

Maybe she wasn’t the sharpest, but she was willing to learn. Bit by bit, she tried, and eventually, she could produce some passable shots.

The director told her: “Do you know what the most important thing for an actor is? It’s not being good-looking, not having great technique—it’s being able to fool yourself. If you can’t get into the role, how can the audience connect with you? Have you ever liked someone before? Do you understand what it feels like to have a crush?”

“A crush is a hand you want to hold but can’t. It’s a glance you steal from across a crowd. It’s a silent storm within. It’s a love letter you never send—unknown to anyone, asked by no one.”

“You have to savor it—an unripe lime, sour with a hint of sweetness. And that sweetness isn’t pure—it’s bitter.”

A taste that was sweet and bitter at once—she didn’t understand it back then.

But much later, when she was scraping by in Hengdian, Sister Wen—who was more than just an agent, a mentor and friend—never forced her to do anything. Instead, she encouraged Qin Sang to reapply for the national drama school entrance exam.

She worked harder than anyone—studying in the shadows, giving it her all. In the end, she was admitted to the Central Academy of Drama with the top score in her major. Even as a freshman, she never stopped working—balancing her coursework while auditioning for roles and doing commercial gigs.

Aside from that first lucky break, her path wasn’t smooth. Not the fairytale people imagined. She’d done bit parts, taken minor roles to hone her craft.

That first film hadn’t opened the mainland market for her, and she’d started late, so the road was harder than most. After Qin Dahai’s accident, the debts were enormous. Xiao Yan was about to start high school, and Wen Shuyu’s health was poor—medication cost a thousand or two each month. Through her years at the Central Academy, money was always tight. Even after graduation, things didn’t improve. She lived in a basement in the capital for a long time.

The basement had no light—damp, dark, mold creeping up the walls.

By day, she’d hunt for gigs—taking jobs when she could, picking up odd work when she couldn’t.

In her senior year, she took a private job as a greeter at a newly opened hotel. It was near Tsinghua University, and the owner came from a wealthy family. Many guests came to offer congratulations—the opening was a lavish affair.

It was winter. She stood at the entrance in a red, high-slit cheongsam, the cold wind cutting through her. She endured it all day, from morning to night, in seven-centimeter heels. Her face was frozen into a smile, her facial muscles cramping, the skin on her heels raw.

She shivered, forcing herself to stand straight. Then, through the howling wind, a familiar name drifted past her ear.

“Hey, Junior Xie, since we’ve got nothing else to do, why not stay a while longer?”

Someone rushed out of a nearby bar, hurrying after the lean figure ahead.

The man stood sideways by the roadside, waiting for a car. Even in profile, she recognized him instantly.

It was him.

She stared, dazed. Years had passed—the boy had shed his youth, grown more mature. The blue-purple neon sign cast shifting shadows across his face, making him all the more captivating.

The one who’d chased after him wouldn’t let it go. “It took me forever to get those new students from the neighboring school to come out. They only showed up for you. If you leave, how am I supposed to explain it to them?”

“That’s your problem,” the man replied, his voice cold and weary.

Zhou Yihong admitted fault. “Okay, I was wrong to trick you into a mixer. But you’re always so closed off—what’s the fun in that? You’ve got a player’s face for nothing. If you don’t like to play, at least date properly. I think that junior from Peking University’s literature department is nice—pretty, gentle, and she’s so proactive, always asking after you.”

“Senior—”

A girl hurried out of the bar in an apricot-colored fleece coat. Her features were delicate and soft, her eyes full of admiration as she looked at him.

Zhou Yihong let out a meaningful “Oh” and teased, “Speak of the devil. Miss Sun, I can’t convince him, so I’ll leave it to you. Good luck—hope you win him over soon.”

The girl flushed with embarrassment. “Senior Zhou, don’t joke like that. Everyone’s looking for you inside.”

Zhou Yihong gave an “OK” sign. “Got it. Don’t worry—I’ll make sure nobody disturbs you. It’s fine if you don’t come back.”

With that, he headed inside, leaving the two of them by the roadside.

In the half-lit twilight, Qin Sang watched the girl edge closer. Standing together, even from behind, they looked perfectly matched. Perhaps she’d said something worth hearing—she saw the man’s brows lift slightly, his usually cold expression easing. He glanced down, an almost imperceptible curve at the corner of his lips—detached yet alluring.

The manager came out from the hotel. “Here’s your pay. Thanks for your work today. You can clock out now. Oh, and this is for you.”

Qin Sang withdrew her gaze and looked ahead. The manager handed her a brown plush bear.

“The owner runs a toy factory—this is one of their products. For the grand opening, every guest and every staff member gets one. Here you go.”

Qin Sang accepted the brown bear in a daze. When she looked up again, she only saw two figures walking further and further away. He kept moving forward, never looking back, until his silhouette vanished into the night.

She clutched the bear numbly. The bear she’d lost—found again. But she felt no joy.

The raw skin on her heels stung. Her mouth tasted bitter.

She never had a chance to hear what the little bear thought.

She wasn’t brave enough.

On that winter night, she’d gotten the bear back—and at the same time, seemed to have lost it forever.