Because of that line — “about the same as you” — the driver, who normally treated himself as invisible, tried hard to hide his shock, but it still slipped out from the way his foot hit the brake.

He slammed the brakes so hard that Zhu Wenshu nearly smacked her head into the seat in front of her.

Looking up, she met the driver’s stunned eyes in the rearview mirror and laughed awkwardly. “Sorry, man, just a joke.”

The driver looked a bit embarrassed too, glanced hesitantly at Ling Chen, then stiffly turned back around and kept driving.

Once she’d sat up straight, Zhu Wenshu turned to look at Ling Chen too.

He was also watching her at his leisure, arms crossed, the corner of his mouth curved into an amused smile, as if the person who’d almost had his secret exposed wasn’t him at all.

“Teacher Zhu, you can eat carelessly, but you can’t talk carelessly.”

Zhu Wenshu hadn’t expected Ling Chen to keep this matter so tightly under wraps that even his own driver didn’t know.

Thinking it over, though, it made sense.

With something like this, every additional person who knew added another layer of risk.

“Sorry, understood…”

A few minutes later, the car slowly stopped on an open patch of ground beneath the Ferris wheel.

Not far off, several nanny vans were parked, various pieces of filming equipment stacked beside them, and people wearing staff badges moved busily among them.

The car door opened, and Zhu Wenshu got out, turning back to say to Ling Chen, “I’ll get off here, then.”

Ling Chen gave an “mm,” not sparing her another glance.

Because she was wearing a long skirt, Zhu Wenshu’s movements were somewhat awkward.

She lowered her head, holding up the hem of her skirt, and slowly swung a leg out.

The moment she steadied herself, she came face to face with a man walking toward her.

Both of them froze for a second.

The man looked to be around thirty, tall and imposing, with sharp, composed eyes that carried a certain intensity.

And for some reason, Zhu Wenshu felt this man looked oddly familiar, as though she’d seen him somewhere before.

With that thought, she looked at him a bit longer.

The man, too, gave her an appraising look, quite openly.

“Excuse me, may I get through?”

Coming back to herself, Zhu Wenshu realized she’d been staring at him for a bit too long, so she politely greeted him.

He didn’t say anything, just nodded and stepped aside.

After Zhu Wenshu walked off, Ling Xingyan got straight into the car.

The moment his backside touched the seat, still feeling a bit of lingering warmth, he pointed at Zhu Wenshu’s retreating figure and asked Ling Chen, “Who’s that?”

The car door hadn’t been closed. Ling Chen turned his head, watching a streak of white skirt fade into the distance.

After a pause, Ling Chen withdrew his gaze and said flatly, “High school classmate.”

His tone was casual, but Ling Xingyan sat up sharply, staring wide-eyed at Ling Chen.

Ling Chen glanced at him and said, word by word, “An ordinary high school classmate.”

Only then did Ling Xingyan relax and sit back down.

No wonder he was so sensitive — ever since becoming Ling Chen’s manager, several of his hairs had already gone gray.

Needless to say, business affairs kept him running off his feet, and in this era where traffic and buzz ruled everything, no end of media outlets schemed endlessly to dig up some romantic scandal from Ling Chen to fill their quotas.

Fortunately, Ling Chen had never given him anything to worry about on this front — over time, he’d become relaxed enough to let the paparazzi tail and photograph as they pleased.

If anyone could catch Ling Chen getting cozy with some actress, Ling Xingyan himself would be the first one to rush to the scene to gawk.

But ever since that day in the studio, when he’d learned that Ling Chen had gotten back in touch with that “unforgettable moonlight,” Ling Xingyan had started feeling restless.

Both worried and curious.

Truthfully, he wasn’t very clear on the story between Ling Chen and that “unforgettable moonlight” — back in school, he and Ling Chen hadn’t overlapped much, being several years apart in age.

Not until that year, when Zhang Yuming’s company had scouted and signed Ling Chen, preparing to produce the self-titled album Classmate Little Silkworm. Over drinks after dinner, Zhang Yuming had asked Ling Chen whether the song was written specifically for some particular girl.

Ling Chen hadn’t denied it, but had only answered with four words: “A high school classmate.”

Ling Xingyan, sitting alongside them at the time, not even having set one foot into the industry yet, had immediately straightened his back and pricked up his ears, ready to hear this future superstar’s love story.

But Zhang Yuming hadn’t pressed further, only smiled, saying he understood.

And Ling Chen had clammed up like a sealed gourd — in the more than five years since, he hadn’t revealed a single further word on the matter.

Because of this, Ling Xingyan had been especially conflicted these past few days.

What worried him was: what if something happened between Ling Chen and that unforgettable moonlight and it got exposed? Having never handled a scandal like this before, Ling Xingyan felt uneasy, trying to plan ahead for how to control the situation.

What made him curious was: just who was this unforgettable moonlight, that Ling Chen couldn’t forget her after all these years?

So the moment he’d seen a strange woman get out of Ling Chen’s car, and then seen her face up close, an idea had popped into Ling Xingyan’s head, unbidden.

This is Ling Chen’s “Classmate Little Silkworm.”

This thought wasn’t just Ling Xingyan’s intuition.

Having been in the industry for years, he’d seen all kinds of actresses — the flamboyant and dazzling kind, the cute and coquettish kind, even the cold, ethereal, fairy-like kind.

But someone as scholarly and refined as Zhu Wenshu — he’d never come across before.

Just one glance, and he could tell this girl was clean and unspoiled, utterly out of place with the glitzy, money-drenched atmosphere of the entertainment world.

That bare face, without a trace of makeup — if it really were placed in the entertainment industry, people would spontaneously bestow the title “unforgettable moonlight” on her, no company branding required.

And yet Ling Chen had said she was just “an ordinary high school classmate.”

Ling Xingyan felt relieved on one hand, and even more curious on the other.

If a classmate like that was merely “ordinary,” then just who on earth was his unforgettable moonlight?

“So why was she in your car?”

Ling Xingyan asked.

“Ran into her by chance, she came in to find something.”

Ling Chen didn’t seem to want to talk more about this ordinary high school classmate. He rolled down the window, letting the night breeze in, and changed the subject. “Weren’t you supposed to take your son out to play? Why are you back here?”

“He’s asleep. Took him running wild in the countryside all afternoon, exhausted me.”

Ling Xingyan pointed out the window at the long-haired man. “But this photographer, Xie, has a lot of big ideas — I don’t trust him, had to come check for myself.”

—

Zhu Wenshu used her phone flashlight to search for over an hour without finding any trace of the bracelet, and bad news had come from Ying Fei’s end too.

It was nearly nine o’clock, and the park was quiet, only the sound of insects.

Zhu Wenshu sat on a bench for a while, gradually accepting that the bracelet was, in all likelihood, gone for good.

Forget it. Someone must have picked it up.

Zhu Wenshu let out a heavy sigh, and as she stood up to leave, she took out her phone to send her mother a message.

[Zhu Wenshu]: I lost the pink crystal bracelet I bought last year.

[Zhu Wenshu]: I wonder if anyone who loves me will buy me another one.

[Mommy]: Sure.

[Mommy]: Have your boyfriend buy you one.

[Zhu Wenshu]: Where would I have a boyfriend?

[Mommy]: Then where would you have someone who loves you?

[Zhu Wenshu]: …

Rejected by her mother, Zhu Wenshu looked up and glanced toward the Ferris wheel.

That was the only place she hadn’t searched yet, since Ling Chen was working over there and she hadn’t originally planned to go near it.

And the odds weren’t great, either — she and Ying Fei had only wandered through there briefly in the afternoon; it wasn’t likely to be that much of a coincidence.

But—

Figuring she’d already come all this way, Zhu Wenshu craned her neck and walked in that direction.

The bustling film set was a much bigger production than Zhu Wenshu had imagined — nearly the entire amusement area had been taken over, packed with all kinds of equipment she’d never seen before.

And there were no fewer than twenty or thirty staff on site.

Zhu Wenshu couldn’t understand why taking a few photos of Ling Chen required so many people.

She stood watching from a distance for a while; the lighting kept shifting, and Ling Chen, surrounded by the crowd, was barely visible except for his silhouette.

Without realizing it, Zhu Wenshu had drifted closer and closer to the edge of the set.

Standing behind a cluster of staff, Zhu Wenshu moved cautiously, only meaning to glance briefly at the ground, but found herself unconsciously drawn to the man standing beneath the lighting panel.

The night was thick, the stars scattered, neon lights flickering and swirling.

In that riot of color, the man everyone crowded around wore a simple black suit. He accepted the crowd’s attention and the starlight above with equal ease, long legs casually crossed, leaning lazily against the railing.

Camera flashes went off one after another; Ling Chen, long accustomed to it, didn’t blink once.

It was as though he had been born to exist in front of a camera.

But Zhu Wenshu knew he’d once had a dim, lightless past — utterly unlike the sharp-edged Ling Chen standing before her now.

In that moment, Zhu Wenshu suddenly felt as though time itself had split apart.

Watching all these busy staff members, she felt clearly that Ling Chen and she, an ordinary person, seemed to live in different worlds now.

How strange, really.

Someone who, back in a small classroom, she could see just by turning her head — and now it felt as though a galaxy stood between them.

Zhu Wenshu was deep in contemplation about life when she didn’t even notice someone had come to stand beside her.

As the photographer’s angle shifted and someone carried a lighting panel past, Zhu Wenshu stepped back with the crowd. Turning her head, she found the man she’d run into earlier, when getting out of the car, standing right next to her.

This person really did look extremely familiar.

Zhu Wenshu felt certain she must have seen him somewhere before, but couldn’t for the life of her remember where.

So she couldn’t help glancing at Ling Xingyan a few more times.

Perhaps sensing her gaze, Ling Xingyan turned his head. “Did you find your thing?”

“Hm?” Zhu Wenshu hadn’t expected this person to know why she was here, and paused a moment before saying, “Not yet.”

Ling Xingyan nodded. “I’m Ling Chen’s manager.”

Zhu Wenshu couldn’t tell if he was simply introducing himself or hinting at something. After a moment’s thought, she said, “Am I in the way of your work, standing here?”

“It’s fine.” Ling Xingyan crossed his arms, fingers tapping lightly against his forearm. “You’re Ling Chen’s high school classmate?”

Zhu Wenshu nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Then do you know whether, back in high school, he ever…” Ling Xingyan paused, as if considering his wording, “…liked some girl?”

“Huh?” The question caught her off guard, but Zhu Wenshu couldn’t help but start recalling.

A girl Ling Chen liked?

Was there one? Had he been close with any girl in their class?

Wait a moment—

Wasn’t the girl Ling Chen liked in high school Ling Siyuan’s mother?

So even his own manager didn’t know about this old history?

Zhu Wenshu glanced hesitantly at Ling Xingyan, then said, hesitating, “Sorry, I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t close with him at all.”

Ling Xingyan seemed a little surprised at this, raising an eyebrow.

After looking Zhu Wenshu over a few times, he laughed. “First time I’ve met one of Ling Chen’s high school classmates — I was just chatting, don’t get nervous.”

“Mm…”

Zhu Wenshu nodded, saying quietly, “It’s getting late, I won’t disturb your work any further.”

Ling Xingyan: “Mm.”

Before leaving, Zhu Wenshu debated whether she should say goodbye to Ling Chen first, since he was the one who’d let her in, after all.

Turning to look where everyone’s attention was focused, she saw the shoot had just paused for a break; Ling Chen stood in place, eyes lowered, looking at his phone, his attention nowhere near the onlookers.

A few men and women crowded around him, fixing his clothes and hair, looking busy themselves.

Zhu Wenshu thought it would be a bit awkward to go up and talk to him now, so she decided against it.

So Zhu Wenshu turned and walked toward the park’s main gate.

Setting off on the path back, she still kept her head down, scanning the ground, trying one last desperate search.

Just then, her phone suddenly buzzed.

[c]: Leaving?

Zhu Wenshu typed absentmindedly.

[Zhu Wenshu]: Mm.

[c]: Found it?

[Zhu Wenshu]: Didn’t find it. Forget it, I’ve got to be at school by seven-something tomorrow.

[c]: Guess it wasn’t that important after all.

Losing the bracelet had already made her upset enough, and now Ling Chen was needling her about it too. Zhu Wenshu gave a cold huff and typed with a stony face.

[Zhu Wenshu]: If it wasn’t important, would I come all the way back here at night to look for it?

[c]: Then instead of properly looking for your bracelet

[c]: you just stood there staring at me taking photos?

Zhu Wenshu: “…?”

Staring at him without moving?

Coming out of his mouth, it made it sound like she was drooling over his looks.

[Zhu Wenshu]: I was there because that’s the only spot I hadn’t searched yet.

[c]: We’re on break right now, want to come look?

Zhu Wenshu thought about the scale of the shoot.

However valuable the bracelet was, it wasn’t worth weaving through a crowd of working strangers to look for.

That would be way too awkward.

[Zhu Wenshu]: No, forget it. I just looked and it doesn’t seem to be over there either.

She walked a few more steps down the path.

[c]: Are you sure your bracelet was really lost here?

Zhu Wenshu held her phone, mulling over that line for a while.

However she looked at it, it seemed like he was questioning her real reason for being here today.

Could it be he thought she’d made up an excuse just to come see him?

Being a celebrity for so long really did make him think everyone was his fan.

Zhu Wenshu figured the more she said, the more mistakes she’d make, so she decided to just brush it off.

[Zhu Wenshu]: Oh, actually, a few seconds ago, I looked down and there it was.

[Zhu Wenshu]: Found it, finally.

[Zhu Wenshu]: Thank you.

[c]: ?

[c]: Aren’t you amazing.

Maybe out of guilt, Zhu Wenshu couldn’t shake the feeling that Ling Chen’s “aren’t you amazing” sounded more than a little sarcastic…

—

Ever since becoming a substitute homeroom teacher, Zhu Wenshu’s sleep quality had plummeted, and tonight was worse than usual.

The next morning, Zhu Wenshu, staring at her own haggard reflection, arrived at school early as usual, stopped by her classroom to check on the students, then returned to the office to deal with a pile of odds and ends.

The moment she turned on her computer and looked at her bare wrist, Zhu Wenshu spaced out for a while.

Maybe she should just buy another one.

After all, she hadn’t come across one she liked more this whole year of shopping.

Remembering that payday was next week, Zhu Wenshu had no hesitation left, and immediately pulled out her phone to browse the flagship store.

More than ten minutes later, having scoured the online shop and asked customer service, Zhu Wenshu confirmed that model had been discontinued, and finally set down her phone, disheartened.

At the same moment, a small head suddenly poked in beside her desk.

“Ah.”

Zhu Wenshu jumped, startled by Ling Siyuan. “Why’d you come over?”

Ling Siyuan carefully set his homework notebook on her desk. “I’m turning in my homework.”

“Okay.” Zhu Wenshu, guessing he’d nearly been late again, didn’t ask further, just patted his head. “Hurry back to class, it’s almost time for class.”

“Okay, teacher.”

Once Ling Siyuan left, Zhu Wenshu propped up her chin, listlessly gazing out at the sunshine through the window, twirling her pen, trying to console herself.

Lots of people said rose quartz attracted romantic luck. Since it was lost, maybe it had blocked some bad romance for her.

Yeah, that was good too, then.

With that thought, she reached down and casually picked up Ling Siyuan’s homework, which he’d left beside her.

The moment she touched it, she noticed something felt off.

There was a large bump in the middle of the small essay notebook, as if something had been tucked inside.

“Yuanyuan!”

Zhu Wenshu called out, turning to catch Ling Siyuan. “Is there something inside your homework?”

Just then, the bell for class rang, and Ling Siyuan, already at the office door, said hurriedly, “My unc—my dad asked me to give it to the teacher!”

Ling Chen?

Puzzled, Zhu Wenshu stared at the notebook for a moment before lifting the cover.

Bright autumn sunlight streamed through the leaves, dappling across the office desk.

The pink crystal bracelet — missing for a whole night — was tucked inside Ling Siyuan’s essay notebook, sparkling with tiny flecks of light.