The Night is Called Gentle - Chapter 19

Yan Huaiqing’s home was different from what one might imagine unique, interesting, natural, relaxed, and even a little cozy.

Though the space was large, it didn’t feel empty. The furniture wasn’t arranged uniformly, and with the lights on, it gave off a lazy yet tasteful vibe.

Knowing it was impolite to bring one’s emotions into someone else’s home, Lin Xiaoman, ever the rule-follower, put on a pair of slippers and began with polite small talk.

“Professor Yan, your home is lovely. Is this what designers call ‘high tolerance for clutter’ in interior design?”

Does “high tolerance for clutter” just mean messy?

Yan Huaiqing glanced around. A shawl was draped over the sofa, several cushions and a tissue box lay scattered on the rug, and a water cup was left out of place.

She’d heard that writers tend to have a strong sense of order in their minds and find it hard to tolerate mess.

Setting her bag down, she hurried toward the living room. “Sorry, it’s a bit messy. It was a bit sudden, so I didn’t have time to tidy up. Please, have a seat.”

“Professor Yan, you’ve misunderstood. I meant your home feels harmonious and comfortable.”

Lin Zhixia walked around to the other side of the sofa. “Look, this shawl is just casually draped here doesn’t it look like one of those lazy-style interior design photos from a magazine?”

Yan Huaiqing’s hand, which had been reaching for the shawl, paused.

Just as she was about to turn her attention to the scattered cushions, the person behind her spoke again. “The rug also adds such a cozy touch. Professor Yan, do you sometimes curl up with a cushion here and just daydream when you have free time?”

Was she being a bit too attentive? For a moment, Yan Huaiqing felt oddly self-conscious in her own home.

She turned around and asked with a smile, “Professor Lin, are you also well-versed in interior design?”

Lin Zhixia actually quite liked it when Yan Huaiqing addressed her that way. She smiled modestly. “Many interiors look neat and clean, but they have very low tolerance for clutter. When people step inside, they feel out of place, like a piece of trash. But your home isn’t like that.”

Yan Huaiqing scanned the room. “Is that so? I’m glad you’re comfortable with it.”

“Very much so~” Lin Zhixia rested her hands on the sofa, thinking for a moment. “It’s like a cat’s nest where you can roll around and bask in the sun it’s very soothing.”

She’s become much more talkative, not as flustered as she was on the way here.

“It seems the little kitten isn’t angry anymore. Go ahead and roll around make yourself at home.” Yan Huaiqing turned to make tea, her tone laced with amusement.

Who could resist being called “little kitten,” especially by Yan Huaiqing? Lin Zhixia’s heart skipped a beat, and without thinking, she grew clingy, trailing after her to explain.

“Professor Yan, I wasn’t angry. I just felt a bit awkward and self-conscious after being exposed so suddenly.”

“Got defensive, huh?” Yan Huaiqing turned to face her, now standing very close.

Lin Zhixia was used to following her parents around at home while talking, but the faint scent of grass and trees reminded her that this was Yan Huaiqing. She quickly took a step back, politely accepted the teacup, and let out an awkward laugh. “You could say that.”

“It’s still early. Have a seat. Is there anything you’d like to eat? I’ll cook for you in a bit.” Yan Huaiqing guided her to the sofa.

Lin Zhixia leaned against the corner of the sofa, holding her teacup, and asked, “Professor Yan, do you live alone?”

Yan Huaiqing lifted her eyes, a bit puzzled, but answered anyway. “Yes.”

“People who live alone often keep their proudest homemade dishes and their last bit of comfort food in the fridge. So could I try the dish you’re best at and love the most?”

The answer was unexpected, yet heartwarming.

Even when observing and prying, it felt as soft and harmless as the tentacles of a snail.

Moreover, she always seemed to make people pause and reflect on themselves.

Yan Huaiqing’s heart softened as she looked at Lin Zhixia. “Xiaoman, you’d actually make a great journalist.”

“Really?” Lin Zhixia’s eyes sparkled, sensing the compliment.

So this was how she looked when she was pleased.

Yan Huaiqing chuckled softly, resting her hand on the arm of the sofa. “I only cook simple home-style dishes, so I’m not sure if they’ll suit your taste. But I make a pretty good sweet soup it’s perfect for this season. Would you like to try some?”

“Yes, please.” Lin Zhixia’s eyes shone with anticipation, not bothering with polite refusals.

“What about wine? Would you like some?” Yan Huaiqing raised an eyebrow slightly, her tone hinting at the earlier “inadequate hospitality” from lunch.

“Since there’s sweet soup, I’ll skip the wine,” Lin Zhixia replied after a moment’s thought, her voice soft, not so much a refusal as a deliberate choice.

After sitting for a while, Yan Huaiqing got up to wash some fruit. Soon after, Lin Zhixia followed and joined her.

When Yan Huaiqing started preparing the meal, she turned to find Lin Zhixia standing at the doorway, sleeves rolled up, watching her cook.

She was like an affectionate little pet, quietly following her owner everywhere eager to participate if possible, or simply offering silent companionship if not.

There was no forced politeness, no intrusion, no disturbance.

Yan Huaiqing didn’t ignore her, nor did she constantly engage her, allowing her to observe from the side.

To Lin Zhixia, Yan Huaiqing was not only skilled in the kitchen but also captivating to watch, as if she had stepped out of a TV drama.

Though surrounded by the warmth and bustle of cooking, Yan Huaiqing seemed to exist in a different layer altogether. Several times, Lin Zhixia wanted to speak to her but felt too shy, so she just pressed her lips together and waited.

“Do you often wait by the kitchen door at home for your mom to finish cooking?” Yan Huaiqing finally addressed her, without any attempt to shoo her back to the living room.

“At home, I’m even bolder I hover right by the pot,” Lin Zhixia admitted happily, not sugarcoating her habits.

Yan Huaiqing seemed to find her amusing, her eyes crinkling as she extended an invitation. “Come on over, then.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Lin Zhixia darted to her side.

“Back when my training was intense, I’d come home from school absolutely starving. I used to pace around the kitchen too, unable to wait even a second,” Yan Huaiqing shared, picking up on her earlier remark.

“So, did you learn to make sweet soup from your mom back then?” Lin Zhixia asked, her chin nearly resting on Yan Huaiqing’s shoulder.

Yan Huaiqing calmly heated oil in the pan. “Not really. I was so hungry my mind went blank all I could focus on was whether the food was ready or not.”

It sounded adorable.

But Lin Zhixia had a habit of fixating on questions. She pressed further, “So, is the sweet soup your own creation, Teacher Yan?”

“Yes, it’s a secret recipe. No copying allowed,” Yan Huaiqing replied, stepping back slightly to shield her from the steam rising from the pan.

Lin Zhixia realized she might be getting in the way, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave. Instead, she found ways to help washing scallions, peeling garlic, handing over ingredients, and even boiling half a pot of water.

Yan Huaiqing was like an easygoing mother not chasing her away, not nagging, but indulging her.

Their harmonious interaction made the meal all the more enjoyable.

The sweet soup after dinner carried the fragrance of rice and a subtle hint of medicinal herbs. Lin Zhixia downed three bowls in one go, feeling warm, light, and utterly comfortable, as if all the damp chill accumulated over the winter had been driven from her body.

Her cheeks slightly flushed, she asked, “Teacher Yan, is there any more soup? I’d like another bowl.”

“So supportive,” Yan Huaiqing felt quite pleased. “There is, but you’ll have to wait. It needs to be heated up.”

Lin Zhixia tilted her face up and replied with an “Okay.”

Within minutes, the soup was heated. When she came out again, the young girl by the dining table was resting her cheeks in her hands, her face flushed and her body swaying gently from side to side.

Was she drunk?

Yan Huaiqing walked around the table and bent down to take a closer look at her.

Lin Zhixia slowly spread her hands out in front of her, her gaze fixed on the bowl in Yan Huaiqing’s hand, looking somewhat dazed.

“Lin Xiaoman, you couldn’t possibly be drunk, could you?” Yan Huaiqing moved the soup farther away to avoid scalding her.

Lin Zhixia followed her hands with longing eyes and mumbled, “How could sweet soup make me drunk?”

“There are three liang of yellow wine in the sweet soup.” Normally, people wouldn’t get drunk from it, but it was clear that this girl was different from others in every way.

Lin Zhixia blinked a few times, as if realizing something, and pressed her right hand against the spot on her left arm where she had drawn blood. “I’m sensitive to alcohol. Even rubbing a cotton ball on my arm can make me drunk.”

Before she could finish speaking, her head drooped, and her body began to tilt to one side.

Yan Huaiqing quickly supported her neck to steady her. The skin under her touch was burning hot, and her breathing had become much heavier.

“There’s a scent of alcohol. Didn’t you notice? Have you ever drunk alcohol before?” Yan Huaiqing asked, holding her chin.

“I’ve had fermented rice wine before. It made me dizzy, but it felt nice. With Teacher Yan, I could have another bowl.”

Oh my, such alcoholic talk.

Yan Huaiqing grew anxious and gently touched her forehead with her fingertips. “Are you very dizzy? Do you need to see a doctor?”

After all, it was a twenty-year-old aged wine, with a much higher alcohol content than fermented rice wine.

“My mom is a doctor. No need to see one. Just pat me for a while, and I’ll be fine.”

Lin Zhixia tilted her head and nestled into Yan Huaiqing’s arms along her arm.