Chapter 23: Moving Day

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Jingjing—sorry, it's all my fault… Jingjing, please don’t cry… I was wrong…”

Her tears came faster now, spilling onto Yu Tu’s face. Her slender body trembled as she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into the crook of his neck and sobbing softly: “I have no clothes to wear…”

It was deep in the night when the research institute’s gatekeeper, after going through emergency entry procedures, let a SUV pass through—thankfully, the license plate was on file. Otherwise, he’d have had to wake up the team leader.

The car left once, returned shortly after, then pulled out again.
By the third time, the gatekeeper felt he had to tighten his grip on protocol:
“Mr. Yu, sorry to bother you—but we’ll need to check your vehicle.”

The trunk popped open. Packed from top to bottom with books.
The back door swung wide—seats piled high with more books.
He flipped through two at random. No institutional stamps.
“Mr. Yu… what’s this?”

“Moving,” Yu Tu said simply. “No time to get to work.”

“Oh, you’re both so busy…”
“Yeah, you too.”

Later, on the logbook, the gatekeeper added the final notes under unit, name, ID, phone:
Reason: Moving; Time: 12:30–2:30 AM.

Yu Tu finally climbed into bed just past five. The sheets were soft and cool, the thin summer blanket yielding beneath him. The pillow smelled faintly of something—something oddly pleasant…

As he drifted off, morning light already slanted across the living room from the balcony, slicing through the desk and bookshelves. Only a few stray books remained, unplaced, scattered like forgotten thoughts.

Qiao Jingjing woke up earlier than usual. She rolled over several times, burying herself in her teddy bear, then grabbed a bunny and hugged it tight.

She shot up, sprinted down the long hallway, and hurried to the work area, where she pulled open a drawer and retrieved her carefully stored Tsinghua student ID and campus card. Holding them close, she stepped outside to find a good spot.

The east-facing terrace caught the early sun at a harsh angle.
The floor-to-ceiling window offered no view worth photographing.
The greenery on the west side looked dull today—lacking its usual vibrancy.

But in the photo that followed, a delicate hand held both IDs, framed against the distant skyline and a quote from a woman star’s latest post: *“There’s always a cloud thinking of you.”*
*Yu Tu’s Love Letter (III).jpg*

When Yu Tu arrived at Qiao Jingjing’s place, she and Xiao Zhu were sitting side by side at the storage room door, surrounded by an overwhelming array of… things.
Vases, ceramics, glass sculptures, wood carvings—all exquisite, all beautiful.

Still, even Yu Tu’s non-artistic brain blinked in shock at the sheer volume: “You’re… taking all of these?”

“Of course not. Quality over quantity—we’re choosing styles that fit.”

Xiao Zhu had nominal voting rights but was really just the muscle. Once Yu Teacher showed up? He became the mover.

After selecting the best pieces, Xiao Zhu began packing each item one by one. Yu Teacher handled the rejects. And Qiao Jingjing? She made sure everything looked *just right*—a little more polished, a little more perfect.

Later, Xiao Zhu told Ling Jie another reason to admire Yu Teacher: “Honestly, how does he do it? That shelf was already stuffed to bursting—then he just… *fit everything in.*”

Xiao Zhu, do you know geometry?

With a truckload of boxes and crates—and two cheerful girls in the back—the drive to the observatory felt less like a move and more like being dragged behind a mule. If the car could think, it’d probably be muttering about exploitation.

Today was important. Very important.
They entered through the staff gate. Jingjing and Xiao Zhu split up—she went to thank the director, Xiao Zhu to handle reimbursements.

Yes, reimbursement. The training program fees were self-paid, then partially refunded based on performance—up to 100%. Jingjing strutted down the hall with her head high, proud as a queen.

The director and department head were waiting. Who wouldn’t love a bright, hardworking, effortlessly charming superstar?

“Little Qiao,” the director said warmly. “Your senior called you that—hope you don’t mind?”

“Then I’ll call you Director Li?” Jingjing smiled.

“Little Qiao, we’ve included your speech clip in this year’s promotional video. Take a look—any changes needed?”

The projector turned on. There she was, projected on the office wall, voice clear and bright:
“As the ambassador of the observatory, I want to tell the kids—stars and oceans are humanity’s eternal dream.”

“Oh, and there’s also a tiny bit from last year’s video. Here it is.”

A round-faced man appeared on screen, voice booming: *“Professor Steve, Deputy Director of the International Academy of Astronautics, visiting our facility…”*

Then came her narration—brief, elegant. A few seconds later, the simultaneous translation cut in, drowning her out for a moment. But then, in the pause, her voice rose again, pure and strong.

In the frame, a glimpse of Yu Tu’s bent form, his profile sharp and calm. Jingjing’s heart skipped.
Was this fate?

There wasn’t a decent place nearby to eat. And with the department head insisting they stay, Jingjing and Xiao Zhu ended up in the canteen’s private dining corner—where they could order small stir-fries.

“Teacher Yu…” Xiao Zhu mouthed silently at Jingjing, reminding her: *Don’t forget to invite him to eat.*

“You go ask,” Jingjing whispered back.

“How should I say it?”

“I don’t care—just tell him he has a meal card. Let him order big stir-fry.”

Meanwhile, Yu Doctor was standing in line at the large cafeteria when the director spotted him:
“Hey, Xiao Yu! What brings you here today?”

Before he could answer, the director grabbed his arm and pulled him aside.
“Come on, come eat with us!”

Later, the director called his brother, buzzing with excitement:
“You didn’t see it—those two were *perfect* together. Should we play matchmaker?”

Another laugh echoed down the line:
“You’re hopeless. Not only do you have terrible taste, but you’re slow on the uptake.”

Back at Tianyu Residence, it was nearly nine. Though “homebody” was Yu Tu’s default mode, a few people still strolled the neighborhood. Jingjing walked up alone, leaving Yu Tu and Xiao Zhu to carry the rest of the boxes.

“Mr. Yu, so many things—need help?”

“It’s just moving from the dorm. Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”

“Mr. Yu, who’s this?”

“Oh—this is the interior designer.”

“Mr. Yu, let us know when it’s done. We’ll warm up the space for you.”

Three trips later, it was finally all inside. Xiao Zhu meticulously unpacked every box, laid everything out on the table while Jingjing arranged each piece with quiet precision—then, with the air of a true artist, she left.

“Jingjing, is this your telescope?”

The man who’d spent the day hauling boxes now stood on his knees in the living room, staring at the long, bulky case.

“Looks like an older model. Celestron switched to new designs a few years ago.”

“Yu Tu—let’s go stargazing!”

Together, they assembled the telescope in seconds. It was ready, aligned, pointing skyward.

The rooftop was small—top-floor, surrounded by tree canopies that blocked most of the streetlights.
And because this part of town lacked tall buildings and neon signs, the sky was surprisingly dark.
In the city, it was rare to find such a clear, star-filled night.