Chapter 12

Zhong Yao didn’t continue watching the Mid-Autumn show. Instead, she took a photo album and returned to the garden.

The sky was now fully dark, making the moonlight appear even brighter.

The girl opened the album, letting the moonlight spill across the photographs. On the open page was a photo of her and her mother, both wearing matching white dresses. She remembered—it was from her tenth birthday. Her mother had bought the dresses as a special treat, and they had both adored them.

“Happy Mid-Autumn Festival, Mom.” Zhong Yao gently caressed her mother’s face in the photo and smiled softly. Then she pointed up at the full moon and asked, “Can you see the moon in the sky? Which one do you think is prettier, the one in Beijing or the one back home?”

“The moon in the capital looks just as round, right?”

The autumn wind rustled the red leaves in the garden, sounding like her mother answering back.

Zhong Yao left the album open on the glass table, letting it soak in the moonlight. Hugging her knees, she looked up at the sky, gazing at the moon with her mother in the photo.

“Mom, guess what—I got my period today. That means I’m a big girl now, right?”

“But, Mom… I think growing up is really hard. It’s not fun at all.”

“Can I… not grow up? Is it okay if I act immature once in a while?”

The girl spoke to the moon, pouring out her thoughts. But the only reply was the fading smile in the yellowed photograph of her mother.

Zhong Yao was once again engulfed by that familiar loneliness. Torn and confused, she continued murmuring to herself:

“I really want to go home. There are some nice classmates here, and Jin Chuan is not always that annoying. But none of them are as good as Aunt Liu and Shiwu.”

“Mom, is it okay if I don’t tell Jin Chuan about your funeral? He’s not that great. I’m scared you’d be disappointed if you saw him.”

“I don’t like him.”

As she said that, a teardrop, fat and heavy, splashed onto the photo.

She quickly grabbed a tissue to dab it dry, apologizing aloud: “Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to cry. Maybe the wind just made my eyes sting a bit. I remember—you said we shouldn’t cry during holidays. We should be happy.”

Even Zhong Yao herself didn’t realize that her deep sorrow had made her hand unsteady as she wiped the photo—too forceful, slightly trembling.

“What are you looking at?”

Just then, a familiar voice called out unexpectedly from inside the house.

Zhong Yao snapped her head up and met Jin Chuan’s inquisitive gaze.

She froze for a moment, a strange, indescribable joy welling up inside her—though she didn’t yet realize it herself.

All she could think was: He was just on TV a moment ago—how is he standing in front of me now?

“What are you doing here?” she blurted out. Then immediately realized how silly that sounded and looked away awkwardly.

But the joy in her eyes when she looked up was unmistakable—bright as if moonlight had fallen into them.

Jin Chuan was momentarily stunned too. After a pause, he lifted the corners of his mouth. “This is my home. If I’m not here, where else would I be?”

Zhong Yao pouted, turned back to the moon, and muttered, “Who knows. Maybe off watching the moon with some celebrity or something.”

That’s when Jin Chuan realized—just like a few days ago, the kid probably thought he wasn’t coming home tonight.

“Did you think I wouldn’t come back? Is that why you’re sitting out here all alone in the wind looking all pitiful?” He stepped into the garden and explained gently, “Tonight’s event was scheduled half a month ago. I’d already planned to come home right after the show, so I didn’t mention it to you.”

Only then did Zhong Yao turn to look at him. The unhappiness on her face finally softened a bit.

But Jin Chuan’s gaze drifted past her—to the glass table, where a glossy photo album lay open. He glimpsed a familiar face from memory.

Thud—

As if sensing his attention, Zhong Yao suddenly snapped the album shut.

“I’m suddenly really sleepy. I’m going upstairs to bed.” She glanced at him, and the hard-earned calm she’d found earlier seemed to unravel all at once.

Zhong Yao often got moody, but Jin Chuan felt her emotions tonight were a bit unusual. She wasn’t just being stubborn—there was a distinct, gloomy heaviness to her.

As she brushed past him, Jin Chuan glanced up at the moon, then back at the closed album. He could more or less guess what had happened.

Holidays always made lonely people feel lonelier. After all, she was still just a 14-year-old girl. Missing her mother on Mid-Autumn Festival was perfectly natural.

Seeing her throw on her backpack and prepare to head upstairs, he quickly caught up.

“Wait,” Jin Chuan reached out and grabbed her backpack strap. “How about you stay and eat a mooncake with me? It’s Mid-Autumn Festival.”

Zhong Yao paused—only then noticing the box of mooncakes in his hand.

Looking him over more closely, she saw he’d changed out of his suit. His hair was tousled from the wind, and he looked like he’d come straight from a long trip.

So he hadn’t lied. Not only had he come home right after his performance, it seemed he’d even rushed back.

But the mention of mooncakes made her suddenly recall how foolish she must’ve looked waiting alone. The embarrassment made her sulky again.

“No thanks,” she said petulantly. “Girls aren’t supposed to eat after 8 p.m., and now it’s already 10.”

At the same time, she tried to tug her backpack strap back.

But Jin Chuan deliberately held on tighter, keeping her from succeeding.

“Little turnip head,” he teased, pulling her gently toward him, “Girls your age are still growing. If you don’t eat enough, you’ll stay short. I’m a movie star, after all—it’d be embarrassing if you’re always this tiny next to me.”

Zhong Yao gasped in disbelief. “That’s not true! I used to be the tallest girl in our whole town. I’m not eating!”

All those layers of sadness and disappointment were instantly forgotten—replaced by pure indignation.

Seeing how angry she was, Jin Chuan didn’t dare tease anymore. He switched to a pleading tone: “Then can I ask you as a favor? I turned down every invitation from my friends, drove all the way home after the show… If you won’t even eat with me, that’s just cruel.”

Zhong Yao looked back at him, torn and conflicted.

Truthfully, she hadn’t eaten anything all night. Staying to share a mooncake didn’t sound so bad. But she worried that giving in too easily would make her seem like she had no boundaries.

Her silent stubbornness made Jin Chuan feel like he was walking a tightrope.

He wondered, if she still refused, what else he could do to convince her. He’d already exhausted all his tricks—even stooping to “I’ll be so pitiful”…

In the thick of the standoff, Jin Chuan felt a dull headache creeping in.

Just then, as he turned his head in thought, his eyes landed on the television—and the familiar face onscreen.

A sudden flash of inspiration.

Jin Chuan pointed to the TV. “Little turnip head, isn’t that the classmate you bullied? Want to take a look?”

“Huh?” Zhong Yao followed his finger.

On the screen, a boy’s white hair was hidden beneath a baseball cap. The stage was dim, and he stood in the spotlight, surrounded by a crowd.

A beam of light struck Qi Yu as the music swelled. He lifted his chin into the glow, revealing his cool, striking face.

Then, the boy began dancing and singing:

“Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry…”

Pfft—

Zhong Yao finally understood why Qi Yu had shown up after school—it was his roundabout way of apologizing, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

The gloom hanging over her suddenly lifted, and she broke into a smile. Jin Chuan raised his eyebrows. “Looks like you’ve made up with that Qi boy?”

It would’ve been fine if he hadn’t said anything—but the moment he did, Zhong Yao remembered how Qi Yu had tattled to the teacher and lied. So she decided not to talk to him for now.

She huffed and kept watching Qi Yu’s performance, saying nothing, but at least she didn’t go upstairs.

On screen, the boy—unaware of his heroic contribution tonight—snapped his fingers and acted cool, the red windbreaker he wore dazzling under the lights.

In the living room, the father and daughter duo seemed to have found common ground. They stood side by side, watching Qi Yu’s performance together.

The boy’s slick, charismatic dance moves were genuinely captivating. For a moment, Zhong Yao could understand why so many girls were crazy about him.

Seeing how intently she was watching, Jin Chuan tried to use the opportunity to break the ice. He cleared his throat and asked, “So… you and Qi Yu are friends now?”

“No way!” Zhong Yao huffed. “I’d never be friends with someone like him!”

Jin Chuan chuckled at her prideful defiance. Just then, she seized the moment to yank her backpack strap free and snatch the mooncake from his hand. “I’ll go upstairs and eat with you. You can eat the one in the fridge!”

And with that, the girl spun around and darted away.

Watching her light footsteps disappear upstairs, Jin Chuan felt an odd sense of accomplishment—who would’ve thought he could actually learn how to coax a kid one day?

But… what exactly did she mean by “the one in the fridge”?

Only after Zhong Yao shut her door did Jin Chuan walk to the dining room. He opened the fridge and found it nearly empty—except for a white porcelain plate holding two very conspicuous mooncakes.

He paused for a moment, a strange feeling of realization slowly creeping in.

Ding ding ding—

An almost-forgotten QQ notification chimed. Jin Chuan pulled out his phone and saw a message from the girl, written in her usual stubborn tone:

[The mooncake tastes really good. Happy Mid-Autumn Festival. (I’m only saying this out of politeness. My mom taught me to be polite. Don’t overthink it.)]

In the silent room, only the TV buzzed in the background. Jin Chuan crossed his arms, turned around, and chuckled quietly to himself.

He glanced upstairs, replaying everything that had happened that night.

Switching to the Mid-Autumn Festival gala on Beijing Satellite TV…
The lonely silhouette of the girl sitting in the garden…
The fleeting joy in her eyes when she saw him return…
The mooncakes carefully placed in the fridge…

All of it seemed to come together in that moment.

Jin Chuan stepped into the garden and found an old photo beneath the glass table.

In it, a young woman in a white dress held hands with a little girl in a matching outfit. Their smiles were shy but full of joy. A love story from over a decade ago suddenly came to life in vivid color.

She had been so gentle. The girl, though, was stubborn—probably more like him than her.

Jin Chuan set the photo back on the table, then sat in the same chair where the girl had just been. Overhead, the moon shone bright and full.

Even now, after unexpectedly gaining a daughter from the sky, he never imagined a little girl would buy mooncakes, carefully plate them, and then wait alone in the garden for him to come home.

Why was she so silly? She didn’t even send a message. Did she see his performance on TV? And if she did, how did she feel?

Jin Chuan leaned back in the chair and suddenly realized—he’d oversimplified things.

He rubbed his temples and thought, what gave me the illusion that I’d already figured out how to raise a kid?

Still on his screen was that awkwardly phrased Mid-Autumn greeting from the girl.

After a long moment, Jin Chuan finally replied:

[Happy Mid-Autumn Festival, little turnip head. Could you take me to see your mom? Just for today.]

It had been over ten years. It was time he saw her again.

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Author’s Note:
Qi Yu & Movie King: There’s still hope for us!! Don’t give up on us yet!