The Night is Called Gentle - Chapter 13

The rehearsal hall’s floor had no cracks.

Lin Zhixia genuinely loved the feeling of living at home. It wasn’t about being waited on hand and foot, but rather the sense of life’s vibrancy and its myriad forms that filled the house.

Zhao Jinchu would often share stories from school sometimes trivial, sometimes profound. On happy days, she’d hum a tune or cook a meal; on gloomy ones, she’d shut herself in the study across the hall to practice calligraphy.

Director Lin, an oncologist who appeared to have seen through life and death with a stoic demeanor, strictly enforced healthy habits at home. She kept up with fashion, enjoyed horror movies and web novels, and occasionally locked herself in the study after work to sit in silence for a while.

Most of the time, Zhao Jinchu shared the master bedroom with Director Lin, though sometimes they would spend the night at Zhao Jinchu’s place across the hall.

From a very young age, Lin Zhixia had accepted having “two mothers,” even when Zhao Jinchu was merely the “aunt next door,” and even now, without any explanation from either of them.

Years ago, she gradually understood the truth hidden beneath the surface. She never questioned it, never asked, but naturally grew closer to Zhao Jinchu, even starting to resemble her in appearance.

It was as if they had skipped past doubt and resistance, moving directly to a place of openness and honesty.

Now, Zhao Jinchu would casually recount, as if telling a story, how she had pursued the taciturn, aloof Dr. Lin, who came from a prominent family.

In this home, a delicate balance seemed to prevail unreserved in moments of noise, and mutually respectful in moments of silence.

Thus, from a very young age, Lin Zhixia developed a strong sense of boundaries.

She could keenly perceive the emotions of those around her but never pried, instead absorbing and understanding through every pore of her being.

Of course, if others were willing to share, she was an excellent listener.

Even now, Lin Zhixia always drew from home an indescribable energy that greatly benefited her, whether in life or in her writing.

But as much as she loved it, the daily routine was truly exhausting.

It was only 7:15 in the morning, and Lin Zhixia was already forced to sit at the dining table, enveloped in the resentment of waking early. Her eyelids drooped weakly, and even her breathing felt heavy and labored.

Director Lin, who had an outpatient appointment at 8:00, had already left for the hospital. Zhao Jinchu, sipping millet porridge, chided her, “Waking early prolongs your life. You young people always stay up late and sleep in, living like lab mice.”

“What’s the use of an extended life if it’s ineffective?”

At that moment, Lin Zhixia didn’t like living at home at all. After Zhao Jinchu left for school, she retreated to her bedroom for a nap.

The restaurant she had agreed to meet Jiang Jing at was a Japanese place in a shopping mall. After her nap, she went back to change clothes before heading out.

Due to its proximity to a scenic area, the traffic was congested, and parking was hard to find. By the time she parked, it was already 1:10 p.m.

Worried that Jiang Jing might be growing impatient, Lin Zhixia sent her a message: “I’m in the garage, will be there soon.”

After closing the car door, her phone buzzed several times.

“I’m in the garage too.”
“Some jerk in a big G just stole my parking spot.”
“Damn.”
“Please don’t tell me it’s you.”
“Stay right where you are.”

Lin Zhixia stood by her car as instructed, staring at her phone to see if Jiang Jing would send another message.

Thud.

The sound of a car door closing caught her attention. She looked up to see Jiang Jing walking toward her, dressed in a casual jacket that made him look quite handsome.

“Hey, care to explain?” Jiang Jing called out from a distance.

“Explain what?” Lin Zhixia looked bewildered.

As Jiang Jing drew closer, he first examined the car, then her, his eyes gleaming. “You drive such a cool car without saying a word? Who exactly are you? Spill it.”

Lin Zhixia glanced at her own car, feeling a bit awkward. She knew a little about Jiang Jing’s background he was practically a third-generation rich kid. Her own modest means seemed almost ostentatious in comparison.

“I just bought it casually,” she replied.

That only made her sound more arrogant.

Truth be told, she really had bought the car on a whim.

After her book was published, she had saved up some money. Originally planning to buy an apartment after graduation, she learned from Director Lin that one had already been purchased for her. Zhao Jinchu then suggested she buy a car instead.

At the dealership, Lin Zhixia spotted this car within ten minutes. It was available in stock, and she could afford it. An hour later, she drove it home with a temporary license plate.

That evening, the three of them went to the garage to see the car. Director Lin was stunned, his face full of disbelief, while Zhao Jinchu beamed with pride, praising her decisiveness.

And so, Lin Zhixia became an ordinary person driving a luxury car.

Jiang Jing’s jaw dropped in exaggerated disbelief as he stared at her audacity.

“I don’t know much about cars. It looked cool, so I bought it,” Lin Zhixia added, trying to soften her earlier remark.

“Such Versailles energy so arrogant. I like it,” Jiang Jing said, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward the mall.

“I remember you said you write for a living. What kind of writing pays enough to afford a G-Class?” he asked, turning back to her.

“Not really. You know me I might seem unassuming, but deep down, I’m all about showing off. I sold everything I had to buy that car,” Lin Zhixia began to ramble nonsense.

“I had no idea! Show me that arrogance right now,” Jiang Jing teased.

Feeling comfortable around him by now, Lin Zhixia laughed and playfully shoved him, steering the conversation elsewhere.

It was a weekday afternoon, so the restaurant wasn’t crowded. They chose a table by the window.

Jiang Jing seemed tired from his business trip. Though more energetic than Lin Zhixia, he was noticeably less spirited than usual.

Sensing this, Lin Zhixia took the menu and took charge of ordering, patiently asking about his preferences and tastes.

After handing the menu to the server, she asked with concern, “Was your trip exhausting? You seem a bit off.”

“Stayed up too late gaming last night,” Jiang Jing muttered.

Lin Zhixia inhaled sharply, her sympathy vanishing instantly.

She didn’t mind gaming she even played some anime-style mobile games herself and occasionally spent money on them. But compared to the exhaustion from work, staying up late to play games felt somewhat irresponsible.

“What, now that you know I’m tired from gaming, you’re not concerned anymore? You sound just like my mom,” Jiang Jing complained.

Lin Zhixia smiled. It was true, and she saw no point in pretending otherwise.

Over the course of the meal, Lin Zhixia finally realized that Jiang Jing wasn’t exhausted from overwork or gaming it was because an organized group of malicious commenters had suddenly emerged on Yan Huaiqing’s forum posts, accusing her of being overly ambitious, undeserving of her position, and failing to give newcomers opportunities as the troupe leader.

As a fierce defender, Jiang Jing had spent the entire night arguing intensely, barely getting any sleep.

This made Lin Zhixia feel that she was a rather inadequate new fan. She also came to understand that everything Zhao Jinchu had said the night before was true behind Yan Huaiqing’s glamorous exterior lay considerable hardship and pressure.

When facing Jiang Jing again, Lin Zhixia resumed her caring and attentive demeanor.

After the meal, Lin Zhixia paid the bill. As they headed to the parking garage, Jiang Jing suddenly stretched out her hand in front of her and demanded in a bossy tone, “Give it to me. The car keys, hand them over.”

Lin Zhixia, who wasn’t in the habit of carrying a bag, pulled the keys from her coat pocket and handed them over without asking why.

“I’ll drive,” Jiang Jing said, her energy somewhat restored.

Lin Zhixia felt a surge of relief she had never told anyone how much she disliked driving.

The two of them cheerfully loaded the camera, laptop, and various bags into Lin Zhixia’s car and set off for the theater.

When they reached the theater entrance, they were stopped by security. The car wasn’t registered, and they had no temporary access pass, so the guard refused to let them in.

Jiang Jing made a WeChat call, and shortly after, a young woman came running over. After a few words with the security booth, they were allowed in.

“Troupe Leader Yan is in the main rehearsal hall. You can head straight there,” the girl said through the car window.

“Thanks, Sister Xiaohua. I’ll treat you to bubble tea later,” Jiang Jing replied, making an “OK” sign before driving into the garage.

When they entered the rehearsal hall, it was bustling with activity. The beat of music filled the air, and several actors in the center were following an instructor’s movements no makeup, no costumes.

The rehearsal hall was spacious, with no pillars in sight. A row of floor-to-ceiling windows faced south, flooding the room with light. The other three walls were covered in massive mirrors, used by the actors to correct their postures.

Yan Huaiqing sat cross-legged by the windows, holding a stack of documents as she discussed something with the person beside her.

She wore a slightly loose-fitting shirt over a simple mid-neck cashmere sweater. Her hair was tied up in a casual, slightly messy bun, giving off a relaxed vibe.

Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, enveloping her in a soft, gentle glow.

Look even light couldn’t travel in a straight line when it met her.

Lin Zhixia tilted her head, observing Yan Huaiqing. Though she sat with casual elegance, her focused expression as she studied the documents made her seem unapproachable, like a world-famous painting in warm tones, meant to be displayed in the most luxurious and radiant hall.

Jiang Jing quickly scanned the room and, seeing Yan Huaiqing busy, sat on the floor and pulled out her laptop.

Lin Zhixia sat beside her, occasionally stealing glances in Yan Huaiqing’s direction. She couldn’t detect any clues related to the adaptation of How Many Peaks.

With her inexperienced eye, even if there were hints, she probably wouldn’t have noticed.

After sitting for a while, Lin Zhixia curiously picked up the camera Jiang Jing had placed beside her leg to examine it.

Unlike the ones she had seen before, this camera was neither large nor heavy. It had a somewhat retro design and, with its camera bag, resembled a stylish crossbody purse quite attractive.

Lin Zhixia assumed it was part of Jiang Jing’s everyday persona as a photographer after all, photographers always carried a camera to assert their identity.

And so, the custom-made Leica worth over a hundred thousand yuan became, in the eyes of the uninformed Lin Zhixia, nothing more than a decorative item. One couldn’t help but wonder if Jiang Jing’s heart would bleed if she knew.

Lin Zhixia held the camera in front of her, fumbling with it for a long time, but the view remained pitch black. Frowning, she tried to figure out what was wrong.

Jiang Jing, however, had no time for her heart to bleed. She stared at Lin Zhixia as if looking at a fool, then reached out and flipped open the lens cap, shrugging helplessly at her.

Lin Zhixia gave an awkward smile and asked, “How do I turn this on?”

Jiang Jing didn’t have anything urgent to do, so she took on the role of a teacher and began instructing her on how to take photos. She briefly explained aperture, shutter speed, and focus, then demonstrated by taking a couple of shots.

Lin Zhixia nodded, raised the camera, and took a photo toward the window.

“Overexposed,” Jiang Jing remarked after glancing at the photo. She then adjusted a few settings on the camera.

Lin Zhixia lifted the camera again, but this time, instead of shooting an empty scene, she aimed it at Yan Huaiqing. Adjusting the focus and angle, the outline of Yan Huaiqing’s profile appeared in her view. Her eyelashes shimmered and trembled slightly, her nose bridge was sharp and defined, and the light halo enveloped her in a serene and gentle aura.

With a click, Lin Zhixia pressed the shutter, feeling quite pleased with herself. She pulled up the photo to take a look.

“Hmm, the lighting and composition are good, but it’s slightly out of focus,” Jiang Jing leaned over and commented as she looked at the photo.

“I did it on purpose,” Lin Zhixia explained with a satisfied expression. “I wanted to capture that hazy, glowing effect. Do you get it?”

“Do I get it?” Jiang Jing looked at her incredulously.

“You misunderstood. I meant the feeling I wanted to capture,” Lin Zhixia clarified.

“You don’t even know how to turn on the camera, and with one overexposed shot and one out-of-focus shot, you dare question me? Hah, I can see it now you really are arrogant and domineering.” Jiang Jing’s rebellious nature flared up.

“Hehe, how would I dare question a great photographer like you? It’s just if I want to capture that kind of hazy, glowing effect, how should I do it? Could you teach me?” Lin Zhixia smiled sweetly, softening her tone as she humbly sought guidance.

“You haven’t even learned to walk yet, and you’re already trying to run. First, take a photo with proper composition and clear quality, then we’ll talk,” Jiang Jing rejected her with a look of disdain.

Lin Zhixia picked up the camera again and clicked away repeatedly.

“Do you have enough film for this?” she suddenly asked while pressing the shutter.

Jiang Jing’s finger paused on the laptop’s touchpad as she once again looked at Lin Zhixia as if she were a fool.

“This is digital, girl,” she said in disbelief, her mouth hanging open as she stared at her.

Lin Zhixia aimed the lens at Jiang Jing and clicked, capturing her stunned expression.

Since birth, she had always used a phone to take photos. Knowing nothing about cameras, making a fool of herself was just a meaningless joke to her.

After taking a few photos of Jiang Jing, she snapped a few shots of the young actors sitting nearby. Just as an actor in the middle of the rehearsal hall turned around, she quickly captured a few more shots.

Slowly, she turned the lens toward the floor-to-ceiling window. Huh? Where did she go?

The camera lens scanned along the window but still couldn’t find Yan Huaiqing.

Lin Zhixia lowered the camera, blinked, and looked toward the window. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed someone nearby. When she turned her head, she saw Yan Huaiqing sitting not far from her.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she quickly greeted him, “Mr. Yan, are you done with your work?”

“Mm, I saw you taking photos, so I didn’t want to disturb you,” Yan Huaiqing said softly.

Lin Zhixia smiled, though she couldn’t quite explain why every encounter with him felt so abrupt.

“Did you happen to capture me in any of them?” Yan Huaiqing gestured with his eyes toward the camera in her hand.

Of course she had the first dozen or so shots were all of him! But since they were all taken without his knowledge, Lin Zhixia felt a little guilty, and her smile turned awkward.

“I was just taking random shots, Mr. Yan,” she tried to steer the conversation away.

“She took one, but it’s out of focus,” Jiang Jing chimed in without even looking up.

Lin Zhixia: “…”

“Really? Can I take a look?” Yan Huaiqing followed up, prompted by Jiang Jing’s remark.

Lin Zhixia: “…”

“She was trying to capture you with a soft, hazy glow,” Jiang Jing leaned in and added.

Lin Zhixia: “…”

“Oh~, did it turn out well? Let me see how your photography skills are,” Yan Huaiqing’s tone grew even more curious.

Lin Zhixia: “…”

“By the way, she just asked me if there’s enough film in this camera. What do you think of her skills?” Jiang Jing propped her chin on her hand and looked at Yan Huaiqing.

Yan Huaiqing’s gaze drifted, glancing at the camera in Lin Zhixia’s hand before slightly raising his chin, feigning sudden understanding. He, too, propped his chin on his hand and looked at Jiang Jing. “Hard to say.”

Lin Zhixia, caught between their gazes: “…”

There’s a song that goes something like, “I should be under the car, not inside it.”

Lin Zhixia felt she should be hiding in the cracks of the rehearsal hall’s wooden floor.