Jingjing:
Hope this letter finds you well.
Last month when I returned to Whale City, I found some chat logs on my old computer. You had asked me many questions, yet I was terribly rude and awful back then. Now I wish to ask: after all this time, would you still be willing to hear my answers?
Your first question was about the first cosmic velocity.
If I remember correctly, the three cosmic velocities should have been covered in high school physics class. Were you not paying attention during lessons?
There was a slight error in the question you asked...
Qiao Jingjing curled up on the living room sofa, a glass of red wine resting beside her. Reading this, she paused briefly.
So her question had been flawed from the start? Was that why he couldn't be bothered to respond and directly told her to search online?
She drifted in thought for a moment before lowering her head to continue reading.
There was a slight error in the question you asked, likely confusing the concepts of launch velocity and satellite orbital velocity. To clarify, let's begin with the definition of the first cosmic velocity.
The letter went on to explain in detail what the first cosmic velocity meant, elaborating on the calculation principles and formulas, complete with orbital diagrams, walking through the derivation process step by step.
Though Qiao Jingjing had been decent at physics in high school, she had long forgotten most of it. Yet she found his explanation remarkably clear and easy to follow, likely because he had written with such thoroughness and clarity.
Even through the paper, she could sense the writer's boundless patience.
She set the letter down and, after a while, picked up another one.
It began similarly—
Jingjing:
Hope this letter finds you well.
I suddenly found myself with some free time this afternoon, so today's letter might be a bit longer. Previously we discussed the history and current state of aerospace development in Germany and the United States. In this letter, let's talk about the former Soviet Union, a country more closely connected to our own aerospace development.
Qiao Jingjing frowned. Hadn't the previous letter been about the first cosmic velocity? How did it shift to the history of aerospace development in Germany and the United States?
She gathered all the letters on the coffee table and noticed that each was dated in the bottom right corner. There were nine letters in total. The one about the first cosmic velocity was the first, and the one she had just picked up was already the third.
She picked up the second letter in chronological order.
Jingjing:
Hope this letter finds you well.
There was a heavy snowstorm in the south today. I walked home instead, pondering your question the entire way.
The gap between Chinese and American aerospace capabilities... well, that's too broad a question. I might need many letters to answer it. In this one, let's first discuss the history of modern aerospace development...
The clock in the living room slowly ticked past midnight, one o'clock, two o'clock... Qiao Jingjing read letter after letter until finally, she reached the last page of the final letter.
It must be acknowledged that in the field of aerospace, there remains a significant gap between us and the world's top level. Sometimes when colleagues chat about this, some express frustration, directly stating it will take at least thirty or forty years to catch up.
But a thirty- or forty-year gap doesn't mean it will take thirty or forty years to close. Part of the meaning behind the work my colleagues and I do lies precisely in this.
We've finished comparing rockets and manned spaceflight. Tomorrow we can discuss deep space exploration, which is my area of expertise. Both Voyager and our Jade Rabbit have rather romantic stories. But given postal speeds, you probably won't receive it before the New Year.In these letters, Yu Tu's handwriting initially appeared neat and standardized, as if the writer was patiently striving for clarity. But as the writing progressed, his true nature emerged—unrestrained, free-spirited, and slightly hurried. By this section, the brushstrokes followed his thoughts, becoming vigorous and expansive, with sharp edges fully revealed.
Yet, in the final sentence at the end of the letter, the handwriting became careful and orderly again, as if the writer had paused after finishing the previous content, pondered carefully for a long time, and only then resumed writing—
"Jingjing, will you return to Whale City for the Spring Festival?"
Qiao Jingjing's gaze lingered on this sentence for a long time before she set the letter aside.
The clock in the living room showed it was already 3 a.m.
Nine letters, over four hours—she had finally grasped the meaning of the first cosmic velocity, understood rocket structures, learned what a fairing was, what payload meant, and recognized the gap in aerospace technology between China and the United States...
The questions she had painstakingly asked in her youth suddenly had detailed answers.
Yet, it also made her unexpectedly fragile and sorrowful.
This fragility hadn't surfaced that day when she nonchalantly returned to the car and asked the driver to leave.
It hadn't appeared when Ling Jie repeatedly brought up Yu Tu.
But on this deep night, at the moment when the questions she had racked her brains to ask in her youth were finally answered, it surged over her like a tidal wave.
She stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.
It was truly late.
Even in Lujiazui, looking out now, the world outside was already pitch black, with only a few scattered lights flickering.
This was the most bustling area of Shanghai, yet on many nights, against such prosperity, it only made one feel more isolated.
Was Yu Tu also in this city? Had he ever felt lonely? Over the past ten years, had he ever thought of her?
Probably, yes—after all, her advertisements were plastered everywhere, on streets and alleys.
But it was entirely different from how she thought of him.
It had taken her immense effort to forget him. Just like back then, after learning he was already with someone else, she had exerted great effort to delete those foolish questions from their chat logs, one by one.
She had deleted them so forcefully, yet in doing so, each sentence had been etched into her heart.
So the moment she saw the letters, she knew what he was answering.
Yu Tu probably knew she remembered, too. That's why his letters were so direct, without excessive explanations—straight to the point, cutting right to the heart of the matter.
So how could he be so cruel?
Using these seemingly gentle and detailed replies to slice another deep cut into her heart.
She blinked her sore eyes, returned to the sofa, and picked up her phone.
Two months without contact—his name was already far down in her WeChat list, and she had to scroll for a long time to find it. Clicking open, their last chat record was still from over two months ago, on the day of the competition. She had asked if he had arrived, and he replied that he was already in the audience seats.
How wonderful, such ordinary exchanges.
What she had truly wanted was nothing more than this.
Her vision suddenly blurred.
She blinked hard to dispel those fragile tears, lowered her head, and calmly typed into the chatbox:
"Thank you for your answers."
"But."
"They no longer hold any meaning for me."
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