“It is said that the nearest star to us is called Proxima Centauri, which is 4.22 light-years away from Earth. It takes at least nine years for the wishes we make to come true, so be patient when placing orders with the universe.”①

“In the tenth year, if I become the most dazzling star,”

“will your gaze ever briefly linger on me?”

—”Diary of a Moonlit Dash”

　　-

Late summer, as the city lights began to glow.

The biennial Golden Bell Awards ceremony was in full swing, with stars gathered under a dazzling array of lights, as media outlets and fan photographers had long since taken their positions with their camera arsenals at the ready.

On the red carpet, a hundred flowers bloomed in vibrant splendor, an apt description for the scene where all vied for attention and glory.

Suddenly, the atmosphere began to stir, and an excited shout erupted from somewhere in the crowd.

“—It’s Qin Sang.”

It seemed like a clever code; cameras swiveled simultaneously from all directions. As Qin Sang’s figure appeared on screen, the carnival reached its peak.

She strolled leisurely with a rose in hand, a champagne-colored fringed gown perfectly accentuating her slender waist and beautiful legs. A delicate silver chain traced her delicate shoulder blades, with jet-black hair and scarlet lips, while a faint tear mole beneath her eyelid softened the overly intense allure.

Gently pinching the rose’s pistil, she lowered her gaze slightly at the camera with a faint smile, the vibrant color on her fingertips seemingly tingeing the corners of her eyes and brows.

One shade more would be too vulgar, one shade less would be too cold.

Crisp and vivid, blended just right.

Obviously, the champion of tonight has emerged.

This god-tier animated image of a light smile while twirling a flower effortlessly topped the trending charts, creating an immense sensation. Moreover, the live broadcast of the Golden Bell Awards ceremony suffered a total crash, requiring 15 minutes of emergency repairs in the background to barely restore functionality.

As a hot candidate for Best Actress at this year’s Golden Bell Awards, Qin Sang naturally commands significant attention. Over her decade-long career, she has produced outstanding works almost every three years. Yet, while her star continues to rise, her luck with awards always seems to fall just a little short.

Shortlisted for the Golden Bell Award three times, each time falling just one step short of soaring to new heights, she always left with regrets, missing out on the throne of the Golden Bell Best Actress.

Tonight’s Golden Bell Awards ceremony is similarly full of suspense.

Liang Tingwan, also nominated for the Golden Bell Best Actress this time, is not to be underestimated. While she hasn’t been in the industry as long as Qin Sang, as a rising star, she possesses formidable strength and has entered this cutthroat battlefield of fame and fortune like a dark horse.

What’s even more intriguing is that at the start of her career, Liang Tingwan modeled herself after Qin Sang. Their appearance and public personas overlap so significantly that for a long time after Liang Tingwan’s debut, she couldn’t shake off the label of “little Qin Sang.”

For nearly three years now, Qin Sangxing’s star power has been waning, while Liang Tingwan, as a rising talent, has surged forward with unstoppable momentum, gradually overshadowing her. This six-year-long grudge has slowly faded from the public eye.

However, tonight, this three-year-old feud has been dragged back into the spotlight, transforming from a behind-the-scenes rivalry into a fierce, open confrontation. This invisible war, filled with tension, promises nothing short of spectacle.

“Tonight, whose crown will be claimed as the Golden Bell Best Actress?”

The host, clearly well-versed in the art of suspense, paused meaningfully. As he did, the camera swept across the audience, lingering on one face after another with deliberate implication.

Liang Tingwan’s smile was graceful and confident. Her flourishing career in recent years had given her poise, so a touch of composed arrogance and self-assurance inevitably colored her expression, as if she already had her sights set on winning the award tonight.

When the camera swept past Qin Sang, the frame noticeably shook for a moment.

With her left hand supporting her chin, her dark lashes veiled the faint glow from the screen. Compared to her radiant, eye-catching presence on the red carpet, she now seemed more like a polished pearl that had shed its ostentation, quietly exuding a soft, gentle luminescence.

Where did the resemblance lie?

The audience in front of the screens and the cameramen behind the lenses all shared the same doubt simultaneously.

Liang Tingwan’s facial proportions appeared more aggressive, and with the soaring luck of the past two years, her rising fame seemed to nourish her aura. The upward tilt of her eyes now looked even more assertive, faintly revealing an air of arrogance and domineering.

But Qin Sang was different. Though she had the classic features of a striking, intense face, her facial proportions were more harmonious. Her features carried the gentle, soft-edged quality unique to Eastern beauty, with smooth, gradual contour lines. The tear mole near her eyelid looked like an accidental drop of ink, softening the haughty impression that such intense eyes might otherwise convey.

Moreover, she remained unflappable, appearing either utterly indifferent or genuinely unconcerned. Her fingers idly scrolled across the screen, her thoughts seemingly far removed from the ongoing conflict—so much so that she didn’t even notice the live camera had already cut to her.

What is she watching so intently?

The cameraman manipulated the crane arm, discreetly zooming the lens onto her phone screen.

Only two seconds—the lens barely managed a hurried sweep across the screen before it went dark, and the phone flipped face down.

As the camera helplessly pans up, Qin Sang gazes at the lens with a radiant smile. She presses a finger to her lips, making a “shh” gesture, then swiftly winks with one eye—a look that appears lively and playful, as if silently saying, “That’s our little secret, so please don’t spread it around.”

The cameraman is struck right in the heart, and viewers behind the screens are equally slain by this sudden, sweet wink.

Unfortunately, it’s already too late. Qin Sang’s discreet slacking off at the award ceremony still ends up trending.

The shot of the camera sweeping over the phone screen is quickly saved by sharp-eyed netizens.

Online users, with the mindset of “let me see what’s so captivating that it made the beauty zone out right in the middle of an awards ceremony,” kept zooming in on the screenshot.

It wasn’t a problem until they zoomed in—once they did, both netizens and fans fell into a collective silence.

　　_

The vast, boundless Gobi Desert, barren and desolate, with sandstorms sweeping across the sky. The temperature difference between day and night was extreme, and darkness didn’t fall until around ten in the evening. As dusk lingered, the moon climbed quietly into the sky, and gradually, the night was dotted with countless stars.

In this uninhabited territory, the aerospace research institute was conducting comprehensive ground tests for propulsion systems and simulation training for wilderness survival.

The desolate Gobi Desert was quiet all around, occasionally punctuated by the distant howls of wolves. When resting, the ways to pass the time were even more limited, and the signal baseband was intermittent at best.

When a new notification came in, He Chengyu took a moment to glance at it.

#Qinsang Aerospace#

Qinsang? Who’s that? Noticing the term ‘Aerospace’ involved, He Chengyu, initially puzzled, clicked on the heading and carefully read through the content, finally piecing together the full story.

It turned out that a female celebrity named Qinsang was secretly scrolling through her phone at an award ceremony, all the while browsing information related to aerospace, which led to her being linked with the term and trending on social media.

The discussion forum also featured a forwarded video from the event, showing her caught off guard while daydreaming, after which she playfully and adorably winked at the audience.

Bullet comments flooded with exclamations of “awsl.” The lightly fluttering eyelashes seemed to flutter right into his heart. He Chengyu’s cheeks slowly flushed, even the roots of his ears burning hot.

Across from him, Song Ziyue witnessed the whole scene. Seeing He Chengyu’s rapid breathing and flushed face, he furrowed his brows, suspicion in his voice, “He Chengyu, you punk, you’re not looking at some weird stuff, are you?”

He Chengyu, gripping his phone like a hot potato, felt as if his backside were on fire, and he leaped up in one move, cursing, “Screw off.”

“Alright, alright, if you say so.” Song Ziyue shrugged indifferently, letting out a lazy chuckle, “But why are you so worked up? Could it be I hit the nail on the head?”

Before He Chengyu could speak, Song Ziyue abandoned his previously careless demeanor, stood up properly, and looked past him, “Director Chen, Chief.”

Only then did He Chengyu turn around, and saw the two people who had emerged one after the other standing not far away. Director Chen was still instructing, “Test it again after the data modification.”

Director Chen paused and looked at the young man before him. His figure was slender and upright, and the same black uniform seemed to hang with an air of noble integrity, like an unsheathed blade—cold and sharp, or a high-hanging crescent moon, aloof and solitary.

Director Chen had high hopes for this young man and deeply believed that the future ultimately belonged to their generation. He patted the other’s shoulder in reassurance, “Don’t be disheartened; failure is a common occurrence.”

Xie Yunchen spoke sparingly, “I understand, Director Chen.”

“As for your father’s matter…”

Chen Suo hesitated, just as Song Ziyue called out from a distance. Glancing over and seeing both Song Ziyue and He Chengyu present, he halted his words and said no more.

After Director Chen had left, Song Ziyue and He Chengyu finally dared to approach. Song Ziyue glanced at the departing figure of Director Chen and asked curiously, “Boss, what did Director Chen just say to you?”

“The data issue,” Xie Yunchén replied nonchalantly, then added lightly, “What were you arguing about?”

Sòng Zǐyuè frowned briefly before his expression relaxed, half-jokingly saying, “Oh, He Chéngyú was looking at something that made him blush and get all worked up. I was just kindly reminding him to keep his cool, in case he lost his composure.”

“Bullshit!” He Chéngyú exploded at the slightest provocation. “Quit spreading rumors about me.”

“Boss,” He Chéngyú flipped through his phone to prove his innocence, “I wasn’t looking at anything—just glanced at this for a moment, some actress.”

Song Ziyue was his usual irreverent self, lounging like a piece of deadwood. With a teasing smile, he said, “Let me see, which starlet is it that’s got our little He so worked up?”

He Chengyu had opened a trending video. It buffered for a moment before the image slowly appeared, the presenter’s forceful voice coming through the phone.

“I announce that the winner of the 26th Golden Bell Award for Best Actress is—”

“—Qin Sang.”

Before seeing the person, one hears the voices of many.

The deafening cheers from the crowd were more than enough to prove how well-loved she was, well-deserved.

You can feel the enthusiasm of the live audience through the screen, a vibrant and vigorous life force.

When her figure appeared before the camera, on the other end of the screen.

Screams and shouts, ceaseless to the ear.

Xie Yuchen lowered his gaze, watching the dense barrage of comments on the screen, nearly obscuring her face.

Ten years, an unexpected encounter.

She became a superstar in the public eye.

In this isolated place.

Separated by countless mountains and rivers, separated by the vast galaxy.

Without a doubt, she has become the brightest star.