When the Moon Was Bright

After seeing Cheng Jun off, Shen Yi headed straight home.

Earlier, he had noticed Cheng Jun sitting on the sofa, repeatedly opening and closing the ride-hailing app on her phone.

Her hesitation was obvious, so he simply played along and made up an excuse to escort her.

Once home, he tidied up the mess before settling down to open his simulator.

This had become an indispensable part of his daily routine.

With just three or four hours of minimal effort, he could easily pocket over a hundred thousand. Why not?

The holographic screen unfolded, and his consciousness immersed itself.

Scenes flickered into view, and the simulation began.

When Shen Yi opened his eyes again, it was already past three in the afternoon.

"Damn it!"

He scrambled to his feet, grabbed his keys, and rushed out the door.

Driving out of the neighborhood, he headed to the nearest gas station to refuel.

Gripping the steering wheel, he reflected on the simulation.

Today’s subject had been unusually temperamental, forcing him to exhaust all three attempts before barely scraping through.

The session had dragged on so long that it was already afternoon by the time he finished.

His original plan had been to wrap up early and pull off a surprise visit—to drop by Jingyuanli and attend one of Shu Yunyi’s lectures.

But now, not only had he missed the class, if he didn’t hurry, he’d miss dinner too.

After filling up, he swung by the supermarket to stock up on meat and vegetables.

Entering the university campus, he carried the grocery bags straight to the faculty apartments.

Keying in the passcode, he pushed the door open and glanced around—perfect timing. Shu Yunyi wasn’t back yet.

He swapped his shoes, tied on the apron hanging by the kitchen wall, and began prepping the ingredients with practiced ease.

5:30 PM.

Shu Yunyi hurried back, her heels clicking against the pavement.

The past few days had worn her out.

Waking up early for jogs and lesson planning had taken a toll after such a long break from teaching.

Her calves ached from standing all day, and exhaustion clung to her every step.

Along the way, she exchanged greetings with professors and lecturers.

Her return to teaching had stirred some buzz, and everyone seemed eager to acknowledge it.

She was used to the attention—it would fade once the novelty wore off.

In the elevator, she thought to herself:

I’ll just order takeout tonight. Too tired to cook.

My legs feel like lead. How long will this soreness last?

"Ding."

The elevator doors slid open. Shu Yunyi dragged her weary body to the apartment and unlocked the door.

Before she could even kick off her shoes, the rich aroma of food hit her.

Her fatigue vanished in an instant. Barely managing to toe off her shoes, she dashed to the kitchen, beaming.

"Xiao Yi!"

"I knew it had to be you!"

She threw her arms around him from behind, pressing her cheek against his back.

Shen Yi, mid-stir, nearly flung the contents of the wok out from the sudden jostle.

"Hey, hey—kitchen fumes aren’t good for you. Go sit down and rest."

"Dinner’s almost ready. Wash up and get ready to eat."

Shu Yunyi reluctantly let go, her whole body relaxing as she stepped out, humming cheerfully.

After changing into slippers, she settled on the sofa and fiddled with her lesson plans. But restlessness soon pulled her back to the kitchen doorway.

Leaning against the frame, she watched Shen Yi move about with quiet fondness.

This was her man.

After a moment, she spoke up:

"Need any help?"

Shen Yi, crouched to retrieve a soup bowl from the cabinet, gestured to the rice cooker.

"Soup’s done, and the rice is ready."

"Could you scoop two bowls?"

Truthfully, he had everything under control—there was little for Shu Yunyi to do.

But since she’d offered, he assigned her a small task. It wasn’t about necessity; it was about letting her feel involved.

Taking charge wasn’t bad, but mutual effort kept relationships thriving.

At the dining table, dishes were laid out, and Shu Yunyi had already set the utensils.

Shen Yi emerged with a large bowl of tofu and seaweed soup.

"Here comes the soup!"

"Move back a bit—careful, it’s hot."

…

Afternoon tea had been lively.

By evening, Fu Nanzhi outright invited Cheng Jun to her place to sample her mother’s cooking.

Cheng Jun hadn’t seen Ji Shulan since her study abroad days, only exchanging occasional messages.

The sudden invitation flustered her, and she initially declined repeatedly.

But Fu Nanzhi had a solution—she pulled out her phone and announced she’d already told Ji Shulan to prepare ingredients.

Cornered, Cheng Jun had no choice but to accept.

The sky, cloudless all day, now stretched clear and vast under the night.

Mid-Autumn Festival approached.

The moon hung like a jade platter, scattering silver across the stars.

In the garden of Peaceful Lake Residence, the two sat admiring the moonlight after dinner.

Ji Shulan brought over tea:

"Zhuyun, have some tea to help digestion."

Cheng Jun accepted it with both hands:

"Thank you, Auntie. Won’t you join us?"

Ji Shulan smiled, watching them as if transported to years past—two children playing on the floor.

"No need."

She waved.

"I’ve still got cleaning to do. You youngsters chat."

"Help yourselves to more tea when you’re done."

With that, she left.

Once alone, Cheng Jun raised her cup.

"Auntie looks just as youthful as a decade ago."

Fu Nanzhi chuckled.

"She’d be over the moon if she heard you say that."

"You have no idea—she’s always complaining about wrinkles here, dull skin there."

"And if you argue, she blames you for stressing her out."

Cheng Jun laughed in agreement.

"Classic Auntie."

As childhood friends, their rapport reignited effortlessly.

Conversation flowed endlessly.

After a lighthearted exchange, Fu Nanzhi blew steam from her cup and ventured:

"Zhuyun… what are your thoughts on love?"

Cheng Jun froze.

"Love?"

A bitter smile surfaced. Her own experience amounted to one fleeting chapter—hardly enough to form a philosophy.

"Yeah," Fu Nanzhi pressed gently.

"Just chatting. No grand insights needed—even sharing your own story works."

Cheng Jun sighed, her voice tinged with melancholy.

"What story? If I had to put it into words…"

She paused, gazing at the moon—its glow unwavering, indifferent to observers.

Softly, she murmured:

"I once admired the moon so often, I began to believe it was mine alone."

"But one day, I realized it shone just as brightly for others. Jealousy took root, and I turned away, vowing never to look again."

Her expression wavered, emotions adrift.

"Eventually, I understood—though the moon was never mine, for a time, its light did touch me."