The Night is Called Gentle - Chapter 22

Lin Zhixia was actually a child raised with strict discipline, always following the rules from a young age.

She had never slept over at a classmate’s house, never copied answers from the student next to her during exams, never developed any verbal tics, and never seemed to step out of line in anything she did.

Zhao Jinchu once said she was a child who came to repay kindness even her rebellious teenage phase passed quietly and unnoticed.

So, for her, staying overnight away from home was an act of transgression wild, thrilling. She didn’t reply to any messages on her phone, afraid someone might find out.

Lin Zhixia was also particular about her sleeping environment and didn’t rest well.

She woke up several times in the middle of the night, half-asleep and disoriented sometimes startled awake by the pounding of her own heart, other times grinning as she roused from a dream.

In her palm, she clutched the slightly long sleeve of her pajamas. Against her back rested a soft little slime plush. On the nightstand stood a thermos with water at just the right temperature. Her phone was plugged into a charger…

All of these belonged to Yan Huaiqing, but for now, they were briefly hers.

She didn’t need to invent a story to lull herself to sleep everything that had happened that day replayed in her mind, unbidden.

Contrast, surprise, unfamiliarity, danger, and yet, a profound sense of security.

She really, really liked Yan Huaiqing.

When people hide behind rules, they conceal and obscure, guarding their secrets. But when affection hides within the heart, it can be open and unashamed, without evasion.

There are no rules when it comes to liking someone.

So, once a person admits their own feelings, there’s no longer any need to search for other reasons.

She simply liked Yan Huaiqing.

Holding this affection close, she drifted off to sleep as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Alcohol disrupts the body’s internal clock, but the next morning, Lin Zhixia didn’t sleep in. In fact, she woke up much earlier than usual.

After washing up and changing clothes at a leisurely pace, she neatly folded the blankets and pajamas, then tiptoed out of the room.

Yan Huaiqing wasn’t in the living room, and the door to the master bedroom was shut tight. Outside the window, a light rain had begun to fall the sun had conspired with Yan Huaiqing to set her up.

As she wandered toward the sofa, she caught a glimpse of a tall, slender figure in the study. Peeking in, she saw the woman who had tricked her standing by the desk, texting. Dressed in loungewear with her hair casually draped over her shoulders, she looked incredibly beautiful.

So what if it was a setup? It didn’t matter. She walked toward the study door.

“Good morning, Teacher Yan.”

“Good morning.” Yan Huaiqing looked up, noticing she was fully dressed, and asked, “Why are you up so early? Didn’t you feel like lazing in bed a bit longer?”

The way she said it as if lazing in bed was a given, something to be taken for granted felt so comforting.

Lin Zhixia revealed a row of pearly white teeth in a smile. “Teacher Yan, have you forgotten? Those hours I spent passed out drunk still count as effective sleep. Of course I’d wake up early.”

“Does your head hurt? Do you have an appetite?”

“It’s okay. I don’t feel hungover.”

“Then let’s order breakfast delivery. We can cook lunch ourselves later.”

“Sure.”

She had expected it to be an ordinary, lazy morning just waiting to go sign the contract. But then she stepped into Yan Huaiqing’s study, saw her calligraphy, and admired the painted fan in her collection.

Somehow, the morning didn’t feel so ordinary anymore.

“Teacher Yan, teach me how to write,” she said, her fingers brushing over the row of brushes hanging on the stand as though strumming strings, her eyes full of anticipation.

“Do you think that highly of me?” Yan Huaiqing studied her with a meaningful gaze.

“Huh? What do you mean?” Lin Zhixia looked back, puzzled.

Yan Huaiqing pursed her lips into a faint smile and tapped the corner of the desk where a framed artwork rested.

Lin Zhixia followed the graceful line of her finger and noticed, for the first time, the small regular script of the Heart Sutra in the lower left corner, signed Zhao Jinchu.

Why did she have to be everywhere? So annoying and exasperating.

“Professor Zhao is the vice president of our provincial calligraphy association. Her calligraphy may not be world-renowned, but it’s quite well-known within the province. Since you grew up with her, didn’t she teach you how to write?”

Well, those are just empty titles. She did teach me, but who’d want to learn from her?

Isn’t it the same for everyone? The closer the person, the more ordinary they seem. Lin Zhixia didn’t even think much of Zhao Jinchu.

But if she hadn’t learned, why start now? And if she had learned, why learn from her again?

Lin Zhixia’s face darkened.

Unconsciously, she rested her hand on the desk and tapped a few times. The tip of her pinky brushed against some ink paste, accidentally smudging the partially sketched fan surface on the table.

White paper, gray ink, and a dot of red it was glaring. The moment she snapped back to reality, she saw it.

Creating a bigger mess to cover up a smaller one couldn’t that count as a way out?

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Teacher Yan. Please, punish me.” Lin Zhixia raised her hands in apology, as if she wished she could chop them off.

Yan Huaiqing glanced at the fan, then at her hands, pulled out a few wet wipes, and handed them to her. Turning toward a row of folding fans, she gestured with a backward hook of her hand, saying, “Come, pick one.”

Judging by her expression and tone, she didn’t seem angry.

“Pick one?” Lin Zhixia was surprised. She took small, hesitant steps closer, double-checking, feeling both relieved and unexpectedly honored. “Teacher Yan, are you giving me a fan?”

Yan Huaiqing lowered her gaze with a soft laugh, returned to the desk, and carefully blew the smudged fan dry. “No rush, take your time. Pick one you like, one that feels comfortable in your hand.”

Sometimes, a person’s back conveys permission and indulgence more clearly than words. Was she trying to ease Lin Zhixia’s guilt?

Lin Zhixia felt a secret thrill but stood by the fan rack, unsure where to start. “Did you paint all of these yourself, Teacher Yan?”

“Yes, and I even made the ribs for a few of them.” Yan Huaiqing frowned slightly, studying the stained fan as if deep in thought.

“Which ones?”

By now, Lin Zhixia was fully absorbed in the joy of selecting a fan, opening one after another, carefully admiring each painting and inscription.

“Find them yourself.”

Yan Huaiqing’s brows relaxed a little as she set the fan aside, uncertain whether she had found a way to fix it or had given up entirely.

“Then I’ll have to look carefully.”

Bent on her task, Lin Zhixia vowed to pick out a fan with ribs made by Yan Huaiqing herself.

Yan Huaiqing tidied the fan away and slowly walked up behind her, offering no hints or urgings, patiently watching as Lin Zhixia overlooked one fan after another.

Lin Zhixia was clever enough to glance subtly at Yan Huaiqing’s expression with each fan she considered, gradually forming a plan.

“This one looks familiar. Did it appear on stage with you, Teacher Yan?” she ventured to ask.

Yan Huaiqing was taken aback, a flicker of recollection in her eyes. “That was from a play years ago, one I haven’t performed in a long time. How did you know?”

“I saw a fan-recorded video from an audience perspective. The comments were all saying the fan was painted by you.”

“It’s a rather obscure play. I’m surprised you came across it.”

“I specifically looked for all of Teacher Yan’s plays I could find and watched them.” Lin Zhixia had no intention of hiding the fact that she had studied Yan Huaiqing’s entire body of work beforehand.

Yan Huaiqing seemed genuinely pleased by this, a subtle light gleaming in her eyes as she explained leisurely, “This particular play is quite special fans are crucial props, and every actor carries one.”

“During the premiere, there were twenty-seven actors in total, each with a fan I painted myself. This one is a spare that never made it onstage, so it remained.”

“Remained? What about the others?” Lin Zhixia asked softly.

“Given away to fans after the curtain call,” Yan Huaiqing replied, seemingly lost in reminiscence.

Carefully, Lin Zhixia closed the fan and returned it to its stand. She couldn’t bring herself to take away someone else’s memento and memories.

More privately and difficult to admit, since there were twenty-seven fans, this one wasn’t unique she didn’t want it.

Yan Huaiqing read this hidden thought from her expression and movements, smiling faintly without comment.

Hesitantly, Lin Zhixia picked up the fan again, deliberated over seven of them set aside, then narrowed it down to four.

After meticulously examining each one multiple times, she finally selected a folding fan made of jade bamboo.

At first glance, it appeared simple and understated, but its lines were fluid and elegant, with intricate details that revealed true craftsmanship unmistakably Yan Huaiqing’s style.

“This must be the one,” she declared cheerfully, tapping the fan twice in her palm with satisfaction.

Yan Huaiqing showed no obvious reaction, only a faint, ambiguous smile as she took the fan, opened it for a look, closed it, and also tapped it twice in her palm before nodding in approval. “Hmm, good eye. It feels quite comfortable to handle.”

Lin Zhixia waited with a mix of excitement and bashful anticipation.

“Your hand,” Yan Huaiqing reminded.

Obediently, Lin Zhixia spread both hands open, adopting a posture as if receiving an imperial decree, ready to accept graciously.

Yan Huaiqing chuckled, then lightly tapped the tip of the fan on Lin Zhixia’s little finger, which had previously been stained with ink. “This is the hand that dirtied the fan, right? Then we’ll punish this one.”

What the hell?

Make someone let their guard down, handpick a legendary treasure, only to use it to stab their own heart?

This woman is truly formidable.

Lin Zhixia froze, pulling both hands back into fists and retracting her smile and presumptuous expectation.

“What? Didn’t you ask me to hit you?” Yan Huaiqing gazed at the two fists clutched to Lin Zhixia’s chest, her eyes calm, noting the clear defensiveness.

“If you break it, I won’t be able to sign the contract,” Lin Zhixia attempted to threaten her with her own future.

“Teacher Lin, do you write with your left hand?” Yan Huaiqing asked, eyeing the left fist.

Ahem, well, not exactly.

“Fine, go ahead and hit me. I deserve to be punished for my mistake.”

Resigned, Lin Zhixia boldly extended her left hand. After all, they weren’t that close, so she doubted the other would actually strike probably just trying to scare her.

Watching her fingertips, Yan Huaiqing raised the fan quite high. The motion was so natural, it seemed she had plenty of practice disciplining students.

Could she actually be serious?

“Wait.”

Lin Zhixia withdrew her hand half an inch.

“I only accept being hit with a fan made by Teacher Yan herself. I won’t accept any other.”

Quite picky, and her tone was audacious with a hint of masochism.

Yan Huaiqing smiled wryly and asked, “Do you remember what I just said?”

“What?” Lin Zhixia was puzzled.

“Good eye,” Yan Huaiqing hinted.

“So, I picked the right one?” Lin Zhixia inappropriately felt a spark of glee.

“And it’s very comfortable to handle,” Yan Huaiqing continued, her gaze resting on Lin Zhixia’s palm.

Ah, this! No wonder she was specifically reminded to choose one that felt comfortable in her hand based on its size.

It was all a setup, premeditated from the start.

Lin Zhixia narrowed her eyes slightly, staring at the fan, then stretched her hand out in front of her again.

“Go ahead and hit me.”

“Good attitude.”

Yan Huaiqing nodded approvingly, raised the fan once more, and looked at her.

*Tap *

A tingling sensation shot through her fingertips.

Lin Zhixia opened her eyes. The raised fan, however, hadn’t descended as expected.

Yan Huaiqing had only patted her palm with his hand, then turned and placed the fan back where it belonged.

At the same time, four words drifted lightly into her ears:

“Not deserving of such punishment.”