Drunk On The Night Breeze - Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Ruan Lingfeng had always thought that while Tao Zhi had a massive temper, it was like a summer rain—the emotions would pour down like the Milky Way collapsing, but they would vanish just as quickly.

This time, however, was a departure from the norm. His WeChat messages went completely unanswered. Later, Ruan Lingfeng sent a probing, casual greeting, but Tao Zhi continued to ignore him. He stopped coming to the studio entirely, saying that any new content should just be relayed to his manager, as if the person who previously insisted on following up on every single detail wasn’t him at all.

According to Chen Ping, Tao Zhi was currently participating in a music variety show and was filming out of town, which was why he couldn’t return. The other members of the team were already a bit intimidated by Tao Zhi; with him gone, they were actually happier.

This was the standard state of work. Ruan Lingfeng led the team methodically, continuing to refine the proposal and push forward the implementation of details. The storyline and overall framework of the concert had been established, and a large portion of the smaller segments—such as the specific arrangement for each song—was mostly complete. They interfaced directly with Chen Ping, who relayed everything to Tao Zhi.

Ruan Lingfeng suspected, however, that Tao Zhi’s absence wasn’t entirely due to the out-of-town filming. He had checked Tao Zhi’s itinerary; he only filmed for two days this week, so the rest of his time should have been free.

Ruan Lingfeng hadn’t expected the band issue to cause such a huge emotional reaction in Tao Zhi, and he had already done what he could. He felt he might have fallen short in some areas, but it wasn’t a sin that required him to track Tao Zhi down and beg for forgiveness—and he wouldn’t do that anyway.

Since Tao Zhi hadn’t asked to replace their team, they would just stick to the plan and finish the job.

But it would be a lie to say he wasn’t disappointed. A few days ago, he and Tao Zhi had talked about a rapper named Xie Jiashu coming to Yuncheng to perform. At the time, he couldn’t remember who had suggested it first, but they had mentioned going together if they had the chance. Xie Jiashu was famous, but the venue was small and tickets were scarce and hard to get. Ruan Lingfeng had asked someone to find tickets, and only today did someone manage to get two for him. He had originally intended to invite Tao Zhi; now, he would have to find someone else.

A few days later, it was Mid-Autumn Festival. Two days prior, Ruan Lingfeng had once again used the excuse of being busy with work to tell Ruan Xinyu over the phone that he wouldn’t be coming home for the holiday. On the day of the festival, Ruan Lingfeng spent a rare, leisurely day lying around his apartment. Perhaps destined for a life of toil, he found he couldn’t quite enjoy this kind of aimless time. By evening, boredom began to set in. Scrolling through a social media feed full of Mid-Autumn greetings, family dinners, and photos of the full moon, a sense of desolation crept into his heart.

Everyone else was busy with reunions, while he was bored to death in a rented apartment in a foreign city.

Even though not going home was his own choice.

But then again, if he did go back and saw his mother, it would inevitably remind him of past unpleasantness. If they ended up arguing over a disagreement, it would ruin the holiday.

On a whim, Ruan Lingfeng changed out of his loungewear and into a shirt suitable for going out. Grabbing his laptop, he drove to the studio.

Since I have nothing to do, I might as well work overtime at the studio. When you’re busy, you have less time to be sentimental.

Actually, he could have worked from home or gone to his own company, but many of the printed and hand-drawn physical materials were kept at Tao Zhi’s studio. He had the access code for the door, so going there was more convenient.

The studio was completely empty. Having worked here for so many days, Ruan Lingfeng hadn’t really explored the layout beyond the meeting room and the breakroom. Not in a rush to start working immediately, he finally took a walk around.

Since it was Tao Zhi’s studio, everything here was designed to serve him. A giant poster of Tao Zhi hung on the wall of the common office area. Ruan Lingfeng stopped beneath it, looking up at Tao Zhi’s handsome but perpetually unhappy face.

Setting aside all the unpleasantness, objectively speaking, he still believed Tao Zhi was a rare, high-quality star. His natural looks, voice, talent, and aura—far exceeding other singers his age—were enough to take him a long way in this industry.

It was just that his personality was truly a bit eccentric.

Once this project was over, he probably wouldn’t have many chances to see this “stink face” again.

Ruan Lingfeng stood under the poster for a while before heading back to their meeting room.

When Ruan Lingfeng said he was there to work overtime, he meant business. He began working on an animation for a performance effect—as a mature planner, one doesn’t just need to know how to make proposals; after being tortured by various clients for so many years, Ruan Lingfeng had leveled up a wide variety of skills.

Immersed in his work, he lost track of time. He wasn’t sure how long had passed when the sound of a doorknob turning suddenly broke the silence of the meeting room.

Startled, Ruan Lingfeng stopped what he was doing and looked toward the door. The door creaked open, and Tao Zhi, whom he hadn’t seen for days, appeared.

Tao Zhi was clearly stunned when he opened the door.

The two looked at each other and asked almost simultaneously:

“Why are you here?”

“Why are you here?”

Ruan Lingfeng answered first: “As you can see, working overtime.”

Tao Zhi didn’t say why he had suddenly shown up. After a moment of silence, he actually made a move to back out: “Right. Carry on then.”

Ruan Lingfeng: “…”

“Don’t go yet,” Ruan Lingfeng stopped him before he could actually retreat. Having stopped him, Ruan Lingfeng didn’t know what to say for a second. He paused, looked at the half-finished animation on his laptop, and simply stood up, walking over to the small white board. “I have something I need to confirm with you.”

Tao Zhi gave him some face and didn’t leave immediately. He even asked: “What is it?”

Tao Zhi truly hadn’t expected Ruan Lingfeng to be here at this hour on Mid-Autumn Festival. He himself had nowhere to go—he didn’t want to go home and didn’t want to participate in any other activities—but staying at his place alone was stifling. He had simply wandered over to the studio; at least on the other floor, he could practice the piano or his singing.

When he arrived and saw the lights on in the meeting room, he thought someone had forgotten to turn them off before the holiday. He came over to check and was surprised to see Ruan Lingfeng.

He had been avoiding Ruan Lingfeng for several days.

Yes, avoiding.

That day, also in this meeting room, he had been triggered by the news that Ruan Lingfeng had close contact with his former bandmate. His mind had exploded with negative emotions at the time, but once he calmed down, he knew Ruan Lingfeng was entirely innocent and shouldn’t have been the target of his anger.

But he truly didn’t want to have too much contact with Ruan Lingfeng anymore. He only felt no ill-will toward this Omega because of Alpha physiological instincts anyway, and he didn’t want to be controlled by instinct. He had received Ruan Lingfeng’s apology message and knew Ruan Lingfeng was asking Chen Ping about his status. He thought about replying but felt it wasn’t necessary.

Let it be. That team could finish the proposal without him, and if there were issues, Chen Ping could act as a middleman.

Once this project was over…

But despite his efforts to avoid him, an accidental encounter had brought him face-to-face with Ruan Lingfeng.

Ruan Lingfeng had called out to him.

He thought Ruan Lingfeng might bring up the previous incident again and was considering how to respond, but the other didn’t mention it at all. Instead, he really did talk about work: “One of the songs on your setlist is about vampires. The whole song is very ornate, but it’s actually a bit out of place with the tone of the rest of the show. Before the holiday, we were discussing how to integrate this song…”

Tao Zhi wasn’t actually listening very closely. He watched Ruan Lingfeng’s lips moving and, for some reason, his mind drifted.

He subconsciously asked a question that wasn’t really related to what Ruan Lingfeng was saying: “No one is pressuring you to rush the work. Why come in to work overtime… thinking ‘finish this garbage project sooner so I can be free sooner’?”

Ruan Lingfeng, who was usually all smiles, frowned upon hearing this.

“I came to work overtime just because I had nothing else to do, not to rush the work,” Ruan Lingfeng said seriously. “And I don’t think it’s a garbage project… I admit we may have some conflicts, but I have never felt your concert was a garbage project.”

As if to prove something, Ruan Lingfeng opened his music app to his “Recently Played” page and held it up to Tao Zhi’s eyes: “I’m not lying. I’ve been listening to your songs even in my spare time.”

Tao Zhi hadn’t realized Ruan Lingfeng’s attitude toward this question would be so serious. He didn’t know how to respond, and after a while, he said: “…I was just saying it casually.”

Fortunately, Ruan Lingfeng didn’t dwell on it. He smiled: “Let’s continue with the topic. I was saying, the previous song’s theme is related to dreams. I was thinking the next part could directly transition into things that appear in dreams, throwing all the songs that don’t quite fit into other categories in there together.”

Ruan Lingfeng shared more of his ideas, suggesting that during the entrance for this song, Tao Zhi could use a wire to slide in from the top of the venue, dressed as a real vampire. As he drew a simple diagram on the whiteboard, he asked Tao Zhi if he was brave enough to use a wire.

Since he was already here and the other was genuinely focused on work, Tao Zhi thought he might as well discuss it; it was his concert, after all. The discussion lasted for nearly an hour.

Once that small segment was settled, the two of them returned to a state of silence.

Tao Zhi was still thinking about Ruan Lingfeng saying he “had nothing else to do, so he came to work overtime.” He hadn’t intended to ask, but curiosity eventually won out: “It’s Mid-Autumn Festival. Why didn’t you go home?”

Ruan Lingfeng was slightly surprised that Tao Zhi would care. But he didn’t answer, asking instead: “And why didn’t you go home?”

Tao Zhi muttered: “I just didn’t want to. Why ask so many questions?”

Ruan Lingfeng found it amusing—this “stinky younger brother” was the one who asked first.

But Ruan Lingfeng understood. Everyone likely had their own difficult issues. At this moment, neither knew the other’s specific troubles, but Ruan Lingfeng suddenly understood what it meant to be “fellow sufferers at the ends of the earth.”

The fifteenth day of the eighth month is the best time of the year; it really shouldn’t be wasted on work.

Tonight, Tao Zhi wasn’t that “bomb spirit” who exploded at the slightest touch. Ruan Lingfeng acted on a sudden impulse: “I know a good place… want me to take you to see the moon?”

Tao Zhi: “…”

Tao Zhi hadn’t expected Ruan Lingfeng to suddenly ask him to go look at the moon.

The answer was obviously no.

No.

Ruan Lingfeng leaned against the wall next to the whiteboard, shedding his professional and serious work persona. A lazy aura inexplicably surrounded him.

Looking at Tao Zhi, Ruan Lingfeng asked again: “Shall we go?”

Tao Zhi stood up irritably, his chair nearly flipping over with a loud noise. He walked straight past Ruan Lingfeng to the door.

Ruan Lingfeng pursed his lips, thinking to himself that he shouldn’t have invited a snub.

But then he heard Tao Zhi say: “Let’s go. What are you standing there for?”