Chapter 9: Seeing the Moon Again

During the Spring Festival, Fanshi City was adorned with lanterns and decorations everywhere, filled with joy and festivity.

After several days of rotating visits to relatives’ homes for banquet dinners, on the third day of the Lunar New Year, Dali invited her to go to the old street to visit the temple fair.

The city’s temple fair tradition had been carried on for a long time. From her childhood memories, her family always took them out to play every Lunar New Year. As they grew older, it gradually turned into everyone going out in groups to have fun.

At the center of the street stood the Guan Di Temple, its incense burning brightly. The beasts carved on the eaves were lifelike, the glazed tiles gleamed with golden splendor, and the large incense burner smoked and sizzled. Crowds of people surged around it.

The streets, which extended in all directions, were now dressed in fiery red finery. Countless vendors hawked their wares, and the dazzling array of goods made people’s eyes spin.

Dali had called two close junior high classmates. When the four of them went out to play, they happened to run into Wen Jie and her group. In the end, the two groups merged, and they spent half the day wandering around in high spirits.

When she got home, Song Shiyue flipped through the photos on her phone from that day: the fiery red and celebratory old street, the grand temple shrouded in curling incense smoke, lion dances and dragon dances, a scene of human prosperity.

She selected a nine-square grid layout, posted it to her social space, and habitually recorded the moment.

【Temple Fair】

The update went live, and classmates from her class liked it one after another. Soon, more than a dozen small red notification dots lit up, interspersed with a few comments.

Song Shiyue selectively replied to the comments. Among them was one from Zhou Zongbai. He occasionally appeared in her social space updates.

Zhou Zongbai: 【I went there today too, but didn’t see you】

She replied to him.

【I ran into another group of classmates】

Zhou Zongbai: 【Looks like our fate was just a little short】

Song Shiyue curved her lips slightly and did not continue the conversation. She was just about to exit her social space when a new small red notification dot appeared at the top.

Out of habit, she clicked it open. The black flame profile picture suddenly appeared before her eyes, like a meteor falling without warning.

She froze for a moment.

Zhu Xingyan had liked her post.

Song Shiyue repeatedly opened his profile picture to confirm. Confusion lingered in her eyes.

When they had first added each other as contacts, his profile was almost completely blank except for the simple nickname and avatar. His social space was just a single horizontal line, with no trace of any activity.

She had always assumed it was either his alternate account or a work account, or perhaps, after becoming famous, social media had turned into another kind of burden and trouble, so he had blocked it out of his life.

She never expected him to suddenly appear in her own space.

In an instant, the gray profile picture turned vivid and colorful.

The fact that she had Zhu Xingyan as a friend suddenly felt real.

After the New Year, when school reopened, the desk and chair at the back of the classroom were, as expected, still empty.

Meeting again in the new semester, after the brief holiday syndrome had passed, everything gradually returned to its normal rhythm. Life was slowly filled once more with schoolwork and studying.

In the middle of the month, something neither too big nor too small happened.

On the podium, Zhang Feng announced that one classmate would be leaving school early and saying goodbye to everyone.

After class, in the middle of the classroom, the girl kept her head lowered and slowly packed her belongings.

A few girls stood beside her, full of concern and worry.

“Sun Jing, are you really going back to your hometown? What about your studies then?”

“Yeah, there’s only one year left until the college entrance exam.”

“Won’t your grades be affected?”

“I’m not going to continue studying.” The girl in the center, with her low ponytail, spoke in a very soft and weak voice.

“My dad has gone out to work, and there’s no one at home to take care of my mom.”

“Ah…”

The room fell silent for a moment.

Most of the class already knew about Sun Jing’s situation. She was the girl from the beginning of first year who had been seen collecting recyclables after school. Back then, her mother had been in a serious car accident and hospitalized. The driver fled the scene, and there was no surveillance footage at the intersection, so no one could be found to pay compensation.

During that period, the surgeries and hospital treatment had used up every penny of their family savings and borrowed money from all their relatives and friends. Later, it was said her mother was discharged but had to undergo high-level amputation and could no longer take care of herself. Her father had stayed home to care for her ever since.

They had barely managed to hold on for more than a year. The family debt had become crushing, and daily living expenses grew increasingly difficult. There was simply no way to continue supporting Sun Jing’s education, even though Zhang Feng had already applied for a poverty subsidy for her, exempting her from all tuition and miscellaneous fees.

To keep the family afloat and pay off the debt, her father had to leave for work. Since they had no relatives in this city, they had no choice but to return to their hometown. Sun Jing planned to work while taking care of her mother.

This kind of hardship was the first real confrontation with the cruelty of life for this group of students still living inside the ivory tower. Everyone watched quietly as she packed. The process was silent and long. When Sun Jing finally shouldered her bag and prepared to leave, someone — no one knew who — spoke first.

“Safe journey. Things will get better.”

“Yes, Sun Jing, we’ll meet again in the future!”

“Keep going!”

A series of farewells rang out behind her. The girl holding her books turned back, holding back tears, and waved to them.

“Goodbye.”

Her movements were very light, her figure frail. Even her departure felt small and faint.

The entire classroom was also quiet. The class bell was about to ring. Everyone quietly gathered their emotions, returned to their seats, and prepared for the next lesson.

Song Shiyue suddenly pushed back her chair and stood up. She grabbed the bag she had just packed and walked quickly out.

Near the school gate, Song Shiyue finally spotted that figure — small and thin, head lowered, shoulders slightly slumped.

She quickened her pace to catch up and called out loudly: “Sun Jing—”

The girl stopped in surprise and turned around.

Song Shiyue stood in front of her, breathing hard.

“Here, take this.” She handed over the bag she was carrying, steadied her breathing for a few seconds, and tried to speak calmly.

“These are the complete set of third-year textbooks and review materials. I’ve already previewed them ahead of time. I’m giving them to you. I hope you won’t give up on studying. No matter how hard life gets, please keep going.”

“Hardship is only a temporary darkness. I believe one day you will break free from these chains. The clouds will part, the fog will lift, and you’ll see the moon again.”

—

Sun Jing’s withdrawal from school cast a temporary gloom over the class.

Her seat was left empty, standing alone in the middle. Every time someone’s gaze passed over it unintentionally, it brought that familiar figure back to mind.

She had never had a strong presence in the class. She rarely took the initiative to talk to others, spending most of her time studying quietly at her desk.

Yet many people in the class had benefited from her small, thoughtful acts. After finishing their drinks, they would habitually leave the empty bottles for her.

Now, at the back of the classroom, the pile of empty bottles had grown into a small hill—only there was no one left to collect them.

“How about we take these bottles to sell, then save the money and send it to Sun Jing?” someone suggested. The idea was unanimously approved, and after some discussion, Song Shiyue was chosen as the person in charge.

When it came to matters big and small in the class, everyone instinctively trusted her. In everyone’s eyes, she was responsible, patient, and possessed strong organizational and leadership skills—someone people believed in.

After school, the PE rep and two boys carried the sacks at the back, while several girls volunteered to join in and lend their support.

The group marched in high spirits to the recycling station, haggling noisily over the price. In the end, the owner gave in, added two extra yuan, and hurried them off.

Holding the freshly earned thirty yuan, the group felt as though they’d just won a battle, brimming with pride.

Song Shiyue put the loose change into her bag, took out her notebook, and carefully recorded the date and amount, starting her ledger from the very first entry.

“When we’ve saved up five hundred yuan, we’ll send it to Sun Jing together.”

“That’s right! We’ll definitely have enough by the end of this semester.”

“I’m really happy. Even though it’s such a small thing, it finally makes my heart feel a little lighter.”

“Yeah. Every time I see that empty seat, it makes me feel kind of sad.”

On the way back, the atmosphere eased, and everyone chatted casually as they walked.

The phone in Song Shiyue’s bag vibrated softly.

She took it out—it was a text message from an unfamiliar number.

【Class monitor, I read the book you gave me. Your notes were very detailed. Thank you. I won’t give up on my studies.】

Her gaze lingered for a few seconds, and the corners of her lips lifted slightly.

The empty seat in the classroom didn’t remain vacant for long. On Monday, Zhang Feng announced a seat rearrangement. His criteria had always been arbitrary and authoritarian, like a khan assigning troops—calling names one by one and handing out placements.

Once all the seats were set, everyone looked around. The chatterboxes had been split up, close friends were seated far apart, and beneath the rearrangement lay a quiet logic of its own.

Originally, the class had an even number of students. Zhu Xingyan was the odd one out, his desk placed alone at the back of the classroom—quiet and unobtrusive.

Now that Sun Jing was gone, an empty seat appeared, meaning one girl was bound to be left without a desk mate.

A nervous hush spread through the class. People cast subtle glances toward the last desk at the back, tense yet hopeful, secretly guessing who the lucky one would be.

“Merciful Bodhisattva above, if Teacher Zhang lets me sit with Zhu Xingyan, this humble believer will go vegetarian for three months in gratitude. Please, please…” Xiao Simin beside her clasped her hands together, eyes closed, murmuring fervent prayers.

Song Shiyue: “…………”

Looking around, Song Shiyue noticed many girls quietly clenching their fists, eyes gleaming as they stared at Zhang Feng on the podium.

The next second, Zhang Feng announced flatly:

“This semester’s headcount is uneven. Desk mates are canceled. Move your desks apart—everyone will sit alone, just like Class Two.”

“Ahhh—!”

A chorus of wails erupted below, mostly from the girls, who couldn’t accept such a cruel reality.

“What are you yelling for?” Zhang Feng scolded, pointing at them. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re all scheming. Focus your attention on studying.”

The noise gradually died down. Only then did he resume his unhurried “troop deployment.”

Song Shiyue had grown taller this semester, so her seat was moved back two rows. Under Xiao Simin’s tearful, reluctant gaze, she carried her desk to a window seat closer to the inner side of the classroom.

Once everyone was seated alone, the surroundings suddenly felt much quieter. Song Shiyue glanced around, her eyes briefly passing over the empty desk set in the back corner.

Zhu Xingyan’s seat had appeared diagonally behind her.

What had once been half a classroom’s distance between them was, by sheer coincidence, suddenly shortened.

—

At the CCTV promotional video filming site.

With Youth Day on May Fourth still over a month away, a group of young entertainers stood before the cameras, dressed in crisp white shirts, their faces youthful and vibrant.

Zhu Xingyan was positioned at the center, with Chen Zhixun—a male star who debuted through the same program—sitting beside him. After rehearsal, the two sat together watching other artists record their solo segments.

“Hey, the girl you’ll be filming a paired shot with later is the industry’s hottest ‘nation’s first love’ right now—pure goddess Zhou Hui. A friend of mine is a huge fan of hers. Could you help me get an autograph?” Chen Zhixun leaned over and lowered his voice.

Zhu Xingyan didn’t even lift his eyelids, staring straight ahead. “Get it yourself.”

“So stingy,” Chen Zhixun complained, then couldn’t help gossiping.

“You’re avoiding things this hard—are you afraid of starting a rumor?”

Seeing Zhu Xingyan remain expressionless and silent, Chen Zhixun persisted.

“How can someone so young act like an old ascetic monk all day long?”

Silence fell for two seconds.

“Seriously though, do you really not have a type you like? Zhou Hui is so pretty—even a straight guy would sneak a few extra glances, right?”

This kind of idle chatter was nothing new coming from him. Everyone said Zhu Xingyan was mature beyond his years, rarely showing emotion. By comparison, Chen Zhixun was far more like a typical idol his age—lively, youthful, unable to hide his thoughts.

In the open space ahead, flashes burst brightly, illuminating the beautiful face of the actress before the camera. Only then did Zhu Xingyan recall her name—Zhou Hui.

Yet, inexplicably, what surfaced in his mind was another face.

Fine rain dampened her hair and lashes. In that instant, it felt as though a faint, shadowy floral scent drifted through the air.

“Come on, at least give me some response, bro. Even my enthusiasm gets tired,” the person beside him bumped his shoulder impatiently, snapping Zhu Xingyan out of the cold, rainy memory.

He lowered his lashes, concealing his gaze. After a moment, he spoke.

“I don’t think she’s that pretty.”

She’s prettier.