Chapter 2: Qiao Jing's New Drama

At night, Xiao Zhu left. Jingjing opened the website of the planetarium to watch the live stream replay.

There she was—confident, poised, effortlessly showcasing her deep knowledge of astronomy.

“Ahem… just the basics of astronomical knowledge,” she muttered under her breath.

But even more impressively, she radiated beauty—so much so that she was clearly the very definition of a “beautiful, brilliant fairy.”

Qiao Jingjing thought this had to be her shining moment.

For Yu Tu, however, the day felt like one long string of missteps.

His advisor, Academician Zhang, had lent him out for a week as translator and tour guide for visiting Academician Steve—a man whose energy seemed to know no bounds.

The past few days had gone smoothly, too smoothly. So smoothly, in fact, that Steve had already begun subtly pitching Yu Tu during meetings, right in front of Academician Zhang: “You know, with his talent, he could finish his PhD early.” He’d toss in remarks about how promising Yu Tu was, how well-suited he was for postdoc work—leaving his own mentor visibly sour at dinner.

On the sixth day, after riding the cruise ship and climbing up Shanghai Tower, Steve finally spoke up, sighing dramatically at the city’s modern grandeur.

Then came the surprise: he wanted to add a stop at the planetarium.

Yu Tu hastily called ahead from the car, silently cursing the mental gymnastics required to keep up with such an energetic old man.

By the time they arrived, it was nearly closing time. Families were trickling out, kids dragging their parents by the hand. The director met them at the entrance like a VIP event—just for them.

He greeted Yu Tu warmly. A junior brother of Academician Zhang, though he’d taken a civilian path later on. He’d seen Yu Tu before—his senior brother’s prized student—and always teased him: “You get both face and substance when you pick a student.”

Under the vast dome of the main hall, the lights dimmed. Stars bloomed across the ceiling. A soft, sweet voice filled the air:

“Perhaps the oldest yet youngest science known to humanity is cosmology and astronomy…”

Sweet, yes—but also crisp, cool, tinged with mystery. Before Yu Tu could even process what kind of mystery it was, he began translating into English, low and steady, letting each syllable roll out with a faint breathy undertone. His voice wove through the original narration like a counterpoint—Chinese and English, like a mountain stream meeting the ocean.

Years later, when his girlfriend heard that recording, she offered a wildly imaginative comparison: “Doesn’t it sound like Jin Wuming and Shangguan Jinhong?”

Qiao Jingjing’s new drama squeezed in just at the tail end of summer blockbuster season—and predictably exploded again. The Crystal Bunch squad expanded once more, reorganized and ready to march toward Jingjing’s ideal of high-caliber fans.

They were already leveling up. “Jingjing, I’ve been following your videos to build my abs—guess what? I’m doing better than you!”

“Jingjing, what kind of telescope do you use?”

And so on.

One evening, while scrolling through messages, Jingjing paused at that last question.

Telescope?

She stared blankly at her screen.

Her telescope…

It had been years since she’d used it. How many years?

Eight?

Yu Tu…

She jumped up, rushed to her computer, found the folder for the new series, and fast-forwarded to the first episode—16 minutes in.

There it was—the shot hadn’t been cut.

Maybe the lighting caught just right, highlighting the boy’s youthful energy.

In the corner, Yu Tu stood quietly—no longer the wild, proud kid she remembered from the court. This was the library, not the field.

As she watched, she sent a message to Pei Pei, her high school classmate:

“Hey, what’s everyone in our class up to now?”

Of course, she didn’t mean it as small talk. After dozens of messages, there it was—the name she’d been waiting for.

“Yu Tu’s studying for his PhD in Shanghai. Don’t know which university exactly. Ask Li Ming—he’s nearby.”

Later that night, after she’d fallen asleep, her phone buzzed softly.

Pei Pei’s reply came through:

“Yu Tu’s doing a direct Ph.D. at the Aerospace Research Institute. His advisor’s an academician—super impressive. Oh, and by the way… he broke up with Xia Qing ages ago. They split before even graduating from Tsinghua.”

Jingjing woke up the next morning and read those words slowly, dazed.

Her mind wandered. What was the brand of that telescope again?

Was it… Starlight?

It took a few days before she actually found it.

The team had turned their monthly gathering into a trendy, romantic camping trip—out to see the Perseid meteor shower. Everyone had their own wish tucked inside, so preparations were serious and heartfelt.

Xiao Zhu dug through the storage room for ages, finally pulling out a long, bulky box. She announced triumphantly to the group:

“Jingjing! Here it is! Looks super professional—we don’t need to rent or buy anything!”

“She said she used to observe stars for months on end,” Xiao Zhu added. “Not just staring—*observing*. Probably with this one.”

The box opened. Xiao Zhu turned around, eyes wide, looking at her boss sitting on the couch, lost in thought.

“Jingjing… can you set this up?”

Of course she could.

Back in high school, she’d joined the astronomy club just for him. Assembling telescopes, drawing star charts—basic skills, but she’d done them all perfectly.

That year was the peak viewing period for Comet Hale-Bopp. For over half a year, every night at 10 p.m., she’d meet him—

And the rest of the astronomy club—at the school observatory. They’d record data, page after page, painstakingly drawn by hand.

Their research paper won a provincial award. But on the list of winners, her name and his were separated by six others.

After that, it was late summer. She’d asked him beneath the green vine arbor.

She’d waited for an answer.

But what she got wasn’t what she hoped for.

That night, she didn’t remember how she got home. Maybe Pei Pei had held her hand the whole way.

That night, she shut down the space forum where their names—his ID, even—had once shared the same page. And she sealed the box away.

Originally, she’d planned to give it to him two weeks later—as his birthday gift. It had cost every penny she’d saved since before joining the astronomy club.

She’d imagined his face when he opened it—sure to light up. He didn’t smile often, but when he did, it was like spring breaking through winter.

The camping spot was chosen by Jingjing after consulting the planetarium director. There was no better place in all of Shanghai for stargazing—not even close.

Surrounded by fellow enthusiasts, young and old, she set up the telescope again.

Calling it “a viewing experience” would be a massive understatement.

With practiced ease, she assembled, aligned, and calibrated the old but still pristine Celestron.

“Now, line up and take a look!”

A chorus of gasps and applause rose around her. Flashlights from phones lit up the dark sky.

Tents were pitched on the flat ground nearby. Jingjing sat on a stone just outside her tent door. Xiao Zhu handed her a cup of rosewater tea—warm, comforting.

Around her, friends laughed, gasped, hummed songs. Xiao Zhu kept reporting updates.

“Jingjing, you’re trending again. Look!”

“Qiao Jingjing Meteor Shower.”

“Qiao Jingjing Telescope.”