Chapter 11

Qi Yu’s fans lingered around the school gates the entire day.

At lunchtime, He Lingli brought it up again, and Zhong Yao still couldn’t understand:
“What’s the point of them doing this? Didn’t you say Qi Yu doesn’t even go downstairs during breaks just to avoid them? He ignores them completely—so why are they still waiting there like that?”

“Oh, my sweet child,” He Lingli replied with a you’re-so-naive look.
“Have you seriously never followed any celebrities before?”

Zhong Yao shook her head honestly.

He Lingli’s tone turned lecture-like:
“Whenever celebs have events or performances, their fans take photos of them ‘going to work’ and ‘getting off work.’ That means pics of them arriving and leaving the venue. For young idols like Qi Yu, it’s totally normal for fans to show up and try to catch pictures of him going to and from school. Plus—”

She paused, smiling so hard her eyes curved into crescents.
“It’s the Mid-Autumn Festival tonight! That makes it extra meaningful. I bet the fans want to spend the holiday outside the school, keeping him company. So heartwarming!”

Zhong Yao suddenly froze mid-step, her expression shifting.

Mid-Autumn Festival was already here? That meant… the date of her mother’s burial was also drawing near.

But she still hadn’t figured out how to tell Jin Chuan. Her mom… probably really wanted to see him one last time, didn’t she?

“Zhong Yao?” He Lingli noticed her sudden change in mood and stopped too.
“What’s wrong?”

Zhong Yao forced a smile and shook her head.
“It’s nothing, just feeling a little unwell. Let’s go back to class—I’ll rest a bit, and I should be fine.”

He Lingli didn’t think too much of it and walked her back to class before heading off to peek at Qi Yu next door.

Zhong Yao hadn’t expected her own words to become a prophecy—right before dismissal, she really did start feeling sick.

First, an unexplainable chill, then a queasy stomach, and eventually, the kind of pain that made her feel like she might have an upset stomach.

It happened to be PE class, and Zhong Yao didn’t even know the school had an infirmary. She was just about to ask He Lingli whether there was a pharmacy nearby when—

“Breaking news!”

He Lingli suddenly burst into the classroom and shouted,
“Qi Yu asked Shen Qingqing to go for a walk on the sports field!”

“What?! For real?”
“No way! Did she actually win him over?”

In an instant, half the girls in class bolted outside.

Zhong Yao was speechless.

Figuring He Lingli definitely wasn’t going to be paying attention to her anytime soon, she decided to drink some hot water, warm her stomach, and rest her head on the desk for a bit.

Back when she was little, she and her mother didn’t have much, and meals were often poor in quality—so she’d always had a weak stomach. She didn’t think much of it now.

But that nap lasted until the end-of-day bell rang.

It was He Lingli who shook her awake and asked if she wanted to go home together. She also mentioned Qi Yu—apparently, no one knew what he said to Shen Qingqing, but the girl looked visibly upset afterward.

Still half-asleep, Zhong Yao declined politely and thanked her. In thinking about Shen Qingqing, she completely forgot about how sick she’d been feeling.

Until—

Most of the students had already left the classroom. The moment Zhong Yao stood up, she suddenly felt a strange warm flow.

She froze in confusion, then vaguely recalled another possible explanation for the stomach pain—she remembered how some girls at Yunshui Middle School would mysteriously complain about stomachaches for a couple of days each month and shyly ask to skip PE class.

It seemed… girls experienced this during their period.

“Zhong Yao.”
A few boys at the back of the class, who had been assigned to clean, suddenly called out to her.

Zhong Yao’s heart skipped a beat, and in a panic, she dropped back onto her chair.

She hadn’t gotten her first period before, and was still hazy on the details. She only vaguely remembered Sun Shiwu mentioning that there would be bleeding. Worse yet, today of all days, she’d worn white pants. Did the boys behind her notice something?

Heart pounding, Zhong Yao turned her head and asked,
“Huh? What’s up?”

Her reaction was a little odd, and the boys gave her a puzzled look.

After a moment, one of them said,
“Are you leaving or not? If not, lock the classroom door when you go.”

Phew.

Zhong Yao let out a small sigh of relief.
“Oh, I still have some homework to finish. You guys can go ahead.”

Eventually, the classroom was empty except for Zhong Yao. She remained seated, the damp, uncomfortable feeling beneath her making her both uneasy and lost.

Kids these days hit puberty earlier, and the topic of a first period wasn’t as mysterious or nerve-wracking as it used to be—but it wasn’t really her fault for being clueless.

Back in her small town, even the biology teacher in 7th grade often just let them self-study instead of teaching. The girls were shy, and barely discussed the topic. Zhong Yao had only heard it mentioned a few times by classmates. Now, she was mostly just overwhelmed and embarrassed.

She took a long time to calm herself down. Once the classroom was completely quiet, she finally pulled out her phone to search online.

This was the digital age—dozens of related results popped up. Zhong Yao’s cheeks grew red as she scrolled.

The more she read, the more confused she got.

Some articles were saying it could be a serious condition. Some even mentioned things like ectopic pregnancy—words that were completely foreign and terrifying to her. But she clearly remembered her mother saying that when a girl got her period, it meant she was growing up, and that when the time came, she shouldn’t be afraid.

Now she was stuck between trusting what she read online or believing her mother.

Just as she was stressing over it, the desk beside her was suddenly knocked on, startling her so badly she slammed her phone into her drawer.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

Zhong Yao looked up and met Qi Yu’s questioning gaze.
“Even if I wronged you, you don’t need to go this far, do you?”

Seeing it was him, she forced down her anxiety and confusion and asked calmly,
“What did I do on purpose?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t hear me calling you from the door just now?” Qi Yu looked like he was about to roll his eyes.

To be fair, she really hadn’t heard him. Her head was full of thoughts about what to do about her period—so she responded distractedly:
“What do you want this time?”

…

Qi Yu felt this girl was impossibly hard to please. An apology wasn’t enough to fix things, and pushing him into a lake couldn’t just be written off. Now, when he finally came over trying to make amends, she couldn’t care less. So hard to deal with.

But then again… he was the one at fault.

After a moment’s silence, Qi Yu gave a self-mocking smile:
“Didn’t you curse me out with an entire idiom dictionary? I’m here to turn over a new leaf. Is that okay with you?”

Just then, Zhong Yao felt another warm rush beneath her, and her whole body froze. She didn’t dare move at all.

She felt awful and just wanted to get to the restroom to pad her underwear with some tissue. She had no energy left to argue with this guy.

“Fine, I forgive you. Now go. Just stay away from me in the future and we’ll call it even.”
She leaned against the desk, her voice weak and weary.

Though she was saying she forgave him, her eyes were full of impatience and disinterest—like she was trying to shake off a clingy sticker she couldn’t stand.

Qi Yu wanted to snap at her again, but when he saw how flushed her face was, he restrained himself.

“You don’t look right… are you feeling sick?”
He thought maybe she had a fever or something, and instinctively reached out to touch her forehead.

But the second his cold fingertips brushed her skin, Zhong Yao jerked back like she’d been shocked, knocking her chair and the desk behind her with a loud clatter.

“What are you doing?!”
She was so agitated it was like he’d violated her personal space.

Qi Yu froze, realizing he might’ve crossed a line.

The atmosphere turned instantly awkward. His hand hovered mid-air, unsure what to do with it now.

To cover up his awkwardness, he bent down to pick up the chair she’d kicked over:
“I was just trying to check if you were okay. Why are you being so dra—”

But he didn’t finish the sentence. His words got stuck in his throat.

He had spotted a faint red stain on the chair—and suddenly, everything made sense. The odd behavior, the flushed face…

Qi Yu was completely stunned.

Zhong Yao, noticing his reaction, blurted at the same time:
“You—”
“You—”

Both spoke at once, then both immediately fell silent.

Qi Yu saw her cheeks burning scarlet and fumbled to steady the chair again—but his hand slipped, and it clattered to the floor once more.

“Um—uh, tonight’s Mid-Autumn Festival gala… you should watch it! The one on Beijing TV!”
The tension was so thick he even started stammering.

Then he quickly glanced at her black sweater and white pants, and—without another word—pulled off his school jacket and tossed it on her desk. The next moment, he turned and fled like a mouse escaping a cat.

?

Zhong Yao stared at the school jacket on her desk, confused.

What was Qi Yu doing now? If he wanted to leave, fine—but why throw his jacket here?

But dealing with him had already drained her of energy, and she didn’t bother chasing him for answers. Only after confirming he was truly gone did she finally bend down to pick up the chair.

That faint red stain came into view—and her mind blanked. Her face turned beet red, and even her eyes stung.

He saw it!!!

Her first period—and it had to be him, the boy she clashed with, who noticed it first. This was the end of the world.

Zhong Yao crouched down, covering her face. She felt like she’d never be able to face anyone again.

——

She stood outside a cake shop, pacing for a full five minutes.

Eventually, even one of the shop assistants noticed her and came out:
“Miss, can I help you with anything? Are you looking to buy something?”

Zhong Yao pressed her lips together and glanced again at the poster for salted egg yolk mooncakes on the shop window. She kind of wanted to buy one, but kept hesitating over how many to get.

“Thinking of buying mooncakes?” the shop assistant, having read her thoughts, smiled warmly. “Our salted egg yolk mooncakes are really delicious. Want to come in and have a taste?”

The friendly and cheerful shop assistant made it hard for Zhong Yao to stay silent. She finally opened her mouth and asked, “Thank you, miss. Is it okay if I just buy one of those mooncakes?”

“Of course!” the assistant nodded. “Would you like one? Come in, I’ll help you pack it.”

Zhong Yao followed the assistant inside, planning to splurge her entire fifteen yuan to buy a single mooncake.

But as she waited to pay, she overheard a little girl tugging on her father’s sleeve, saying, “Daddy, can we buy four more mooncakes? I want to eat them together with you, Mommy, and my brother.”

The man patted his daughter’s head and told her to ask the shop assistant herself.

Zhong Yao suddenly wavered again.

“Miss,” she took out another 15 yuan and said to the assistant, “Can you add one more, please? Thank you.”

She felt that, although Jin Chuan wasn’t a great father—always coming home late and barely speaking—he did set up a room for her and had even transferred money to her account. Mid-Autumn Festival deserved a fancy mooncake.

Besides, starting today, she was officially a grown-up girl. Even though she didn’t like Jin Chuan much, she was mature enough not to hold it against him.

Zhong Yao kept trying to convince herself as she walked up to the front door with her two mooncakes in hand. For some reason, she felt a bit nervous—entering the passcode gave her the same feeling as sneaking around.

Jin Chuan usually wasn’t home this early, but after opening the door, she still poked her head in to check. Confirming the coast was clear, she dashed upstairs and locked herself in her room, finally letting out a breath.

If she ran into Jin Chuan again today and he noticed anything strange, she thought she might as well just jump into a lake. Besides, just the idea of giving him the mooncake made her feel extremely embarrassed.

Taking advantage of the empty house, Zhong Yao quickly tidied herself up.

She copied an image she had seen online and placed the mooncakes neatly on round porcelain plates. After sitting in the dining room for a bit, she carried both plates out to the glass coffee table in the garden.

Dusk was falling, and the faint outline of the full moon was already visible in the sky.

Resting her chin in her hands, Zhong Yao gazed at the sky, her lips involuntarily curving into a smile. She thought watching the moon in the garden must be even more beautiful.

Today was the Mid-Autumn Festival—the other holiday besides Chinese New Year meant for family reunions. In past years, Zhong Yao had always spent it with her mom, Aunt Liu, and Shiwu.

To her, this was a day meant for family to gather. She hadn’t even considered the possibility that Jin Chuan might not come home tonight.

A gentle autumn breeze blew, and the school uniform hanging on the clothesline fluttered in the wind.

Despite the embarrassment, she had worn Qi Yu’s school uniform home. There were too many students lingering around campus over the holiday, and tying her sweater around her waist would’ve drawn even more attention.

She told herself this was Qi Yu’s way of apologizing. If they never saw each other again after today, she might as well let bygones be bygones.

As the autumn night deepened and the bright moon rose high in the sky, Zhong Yao sat waiting until the hot water bottle in her arms turned cold. Yet Jin Chuan still hadn’t returned.

She sent holiday wishes to Aunt Liu, Shiwu, even He Lingli and Panda, but the yard outside remained as quiet as ever—no sound of a car, no sound of the door.

That’s when Zhong Yao finally realized: Jin Chuan probably wasn’t coming back tonight.

Still, she couldn’t help but think—he couldn’t be that heartless, right?

She had often thought he wouldn’t come home, but every morning, he was still there in the dining room, waiting for breakfast. Even if he didn’t particularly like her—just as she didn’t like him—he was still an adult. Surely, he’d at least be responsible enough to look after a kid? He wired over 10,000 yuan once. He couldn’t be that stingy.

Growing increasingly anxious, Zhong Yao found even looking at Qi Yu’s uniform annoying.

She remembered that strange thing Qi Yu said before leaving and suddenly ran into the living room to fiddle with the TV. She didn’t know why he had told her to watch the variety show, but it seemed more interesting than just sitting there waiting.

But Murphy’s Law never fails.

Zhong Yao hadn’t expected that the very moment she tuned in to Beijing Satellite TV, the screen would display none other than Jin Chuan.

On TV, the man wore a tailored suit, hair immaculately styled, holding a microphone and singing gently:

“Men have sorrows and joys, partings and reunions;
The moon waxes and wanes, and this has always been so.
May we all be blessed with longevity,
And share the moonlight, even miles apart.”

So that’s why he didn’t come home—he had gone to perform in a show.

Zhong Yao pressed her lips tightly together and stood silently in front of the television, watching him sing the entire song with grace and poise.

She watched him bow and wish the audience a happy Mid-Autumn Festival. Heard thunderous applause from the crowd. Then glanced down at her phone—still empty of any new messages—and finally accepted the truth she hadn’t wanted to face:

A heartless father wouldn’t magically become better just because it was a holiday. Jin Chuan probably wasn’t coming home tonight.

---

Author’s note:

Qi Yu: Dad, you have more roads to walk than I do.

Movie star dad: ? I don’t have a son like you. Not now, not ever.Qi Yu: I was wrong. And I’ll do it again!