The Night is Called Gentle - Chapter 3

If two people dine together yet their conversation revolves around someone else, it surely signifies something.

The restaurant was chosen by Jiang Jing Li Ji Private Kitchen. It was only two streets away from Lin Zhixia’s home, in a prime location, though slightly tucked away. The storefront was modest, but stepping inside revealed a surprisingly spacious and charming interior. The decor was rustic, with solid wood furniture and an abundance of potted plants, creating a lush, green ambiance that offered a sense of privacy.

As soon as Lin Zhixia entered, she spotted Jiang Jing waving at her: “Over here.”

Jiang Jing wore a hat and a casual blazer, with a long trench coat draped over the chair beside her. From a distance, she looked like a secret agent on a mission cool and composed.

“Have you been waiting long?” Lin Zhixia quickened her pace, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

“Just got here myself. Let’s order see what you’d like.” She handed the menu to Lin Zhixia.

“I’ve never been here before. Any recommendations?” Lin Zhixia scanned the dishes.

“The featured items on the first page are all pretty good, depending on your taste.” Jiang Jing poured a cup of floral tea and slid it toward her.

“Thank you.” Lin Zhixia accepted the tea, marked the salted egg yolk chicken wings and scallion lamb stir-fry both listed at the top and handed the menu back.

Jiang Jing glanced at it and exclaimed with exaggerated admiration, “You’ve got a keen eye! The scallion lamb stir-fry used to be their signature dish, but since not many locals order it, they moved it further back. Let’s add a vegetable dish and a fish that should be enough.”

She was efficient in handling things.

Lin Zhixia smiled in response. Scallion lamb stir-fry was Zhao Jinchu’s specialty. Because her mother, Director Lin, loved it, she had grown up eating it. However, it was rare to find this dish in restaurants in Ancheng, so she couldn’t resist ordering it when she saw it on the menu.

Jiang Jing handed the menu to the server, took a sip of her tea, and a brief silence fell over the table.

After all, it was only their second meeting. Though Jiang Jing was outgoing and easy to get along with, Lin Zhixia still keenly sensed the awkwardness in the air. She, too, picked up her teacup and took a small sip.

The tea was fragrant and smooth, and she was pleasantly surprised that a private kitchen’s floral tea could be so delicious. She nodded unconsciously.

Noticing this, Jiang Jing’s eyes sparkled with pride. She grinned boastfully, “The tea’s great, right? The owner of this place runs her own floral tea shop in Kuncheng but stayed here for her girlfriend.”

Lin Zhixia glanced toward the front counter, where a woman in her early thirties was tallying something. Dressed in a beige coat with her long hair tucked behind her ears, she exuded a gentle elegance that didn’t quite fit the image of a restaurant owner.

The owner’s girlfriend?

A thought flashed through Lin Zhixia’s mind, and she seemed to understand something. Quietly, she took another sip of tea. “Are you close with the owner?”

“At first, I was just a regular. Then one time, I forgot my camera here, and we got in touch. Later, I took a few photo shoots for them, and they were really happy with the results. They started booking me for couple photos regularly, and we became friends after that.”

Jiang Jing always wore a proud expression when talking about her profession. Lin Zhixia watched her, her eyes crinkling with a smile.

“What are you laughing at?”

“I just think you radiate brilliance when you talk about photography,” Lin Zhixia replied.

Perhaps sensing her sincerity, Jiang Jing’s pride soared even higher. She was naturally outgoing, and now she seemed even more at ease.

Once the conversation started, she began talking about the celebrities and models she had photographed, mentioning Yan Huaiqing and sharing some amusing anecdotes from her time taking photos at the theater.

Lin Zhixia wasn’t exactly an introvert, but compared to expressing herself, she preferred listening, so she didn’t interject much throughout the conversation.

“But your style is quite versatile,” Jiang Jing remarked when discussing photography styles, casually bringing her up, probably feeling it wasn’t great to dominate the conversation entirely.

“Huh? What style could I possibly have?” Lin Zhixia blinked. She truly didn’t have a fixed style most of the time, she prioritized comfort.

“The day before yesterday, you were the Lin family girl, but today, you’ve got this spirited, youthful vibe. Did you dress up specifically for Teacher Yan?” Jiang Jing’s gaze turned slightly suggestive, her tone teasing.

The day before yesterday, she had been dragged to the opera last minute by Zhao Jinchu, wearing casual clothes and a pair of sneakers.

As for today’s outfit, she had only spent half an hour picking it out yesterday that was all!

“Not at all, I just threw on whatever,” Lin Zhixia replied, quickly brushing the back of her hand across the tip of her nose and lowering her eyelashes.

“That’s totally normal. When I first started photographing Teacher Yan, I only dared to look at her eyes through the camera. Every time I went to the theater, I’d prepare for days in advance, making sure everything from head to toe was perfect before I dared to see her.” Jiang Jing smoothly shifted the topic back to herself.

Though Jiang Jing talked a lot, her words weren’t aggressive, nor did she pry excessively. Even her jokes were light and fleeting, which made the awkwardness Lin Zhixia hadn’t even had time to brew vanish instantly.

“Really? But you don’t seem like the type to be shy at all.”

“Who doesn’t go through these stages when meeting their idol disbelief, frenzy, madness, calm, insecurity, retreat, and finally throwing caution to the wind? It’s not just me many actors in the troupe don’t dare to look Teacher Yan in the eye. You’re so composed, are you sure you’re not just a fake fan?” Jiang Jing studied her, her emotions fluctuating noticeably.

Anyone who has ever been a fan knows that this process she described is actually quite accurate.

Lin Zhixia had never been a fan herself and wasn’t the type to wear her emotions on her sleeve, so naturally, she didn’t understand.

“Are you also a fan of Teacher Yan’s performances?”

“Can’t you tell? I’ve been a fan for twenty years from initially being drawn to her looks to now being a true ‘Yan fan.’ I’ve liked Teacher Yan for at least ten years or so.”

Despite the obvious holes in her story, she said it with absolute conviction.

Lin Zhixia was half-convinced, half-skeptical: “Twenty years? You look about the same age as me.”

“I started listening to opera with my grandmother when I was six. I’m twenty-six now, so that makes twenty years.” Jiang Jing said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Lin Zhixia felt a mix of speechlessness and amusement.

Who in Jiangsu province hadn’t heard a few lines of Yue opera as a child? If they were counting it that way, she might as well claim she’d listened to Zhao Jinchu’s performances in the womb then her “opera age” would also be over twenty years.

She picked up the teapot to refill Jiang Jing’s cup, then poured one for herself. Instead of continuing the competition over who had been a fan longer, she changed the subject and asked, “So, what’s a ‘Yan fan’?”

Seeing that Lin Zhixia knew nothing about it, Jiang Jing’s desire to introduce her to the fandom surged.

“Teacher Yan’s fans, especially the new ones, often start by liking her looks. They’re called ‘Yan fans’ ‘Yan’ as in appearance.”

She took a sip of tea and continued, “Opera has never had a huge following, especially among young people. But Teacher Yan managed to attract a whole wave of fans just with his face. Those new fans had never even listened to opera before they walked into the theater just for a handsome face, and then they never left.”

“Me included,” she said with evident pride.

Lin Zhixia nodded thoughtfully. She had never seen Yan Huaiqing without makeup.

Jiang Jing went on, “And it’s not just new fans or opera newcomers. Even my mom, my aunt, and my grandma are completely captivated by Teacher Yan’s stage presence.”

Lin Zhixia agreed with another nod.

Then Jiang Jing suddenly grew sentimental.

“Yan fans that’s ‘Yan’ as in Yan Huaiqing are like gold panned from sand. They’re the ones who’ve weathered storms and walked alongside him all this way. They’re people who, after thoroughly understanding his vocal skills, posture, performance, and even his character and personality, have been deeply won over.”

“That’s me now!” she exclaimed, her expression vivid and slightly theatrical.

Lin Zhixia didn’t laugh at her. A few droplets of water from when she’d poured the tea still dotted the table. She dipped her fingertip into one of them and traced a tiny “Yan” character on the table surface, the floral scent lingering in the air.

“Whether you’re a fan of his looks or a fan of his artistry, neither is inherently superior or more seasoned than the other. People will always question his vocal delivery, his performances, his condition in every show but that face is that face. There’s no doubt about it.”

Perhaps noticing that Lin Zhixia hadn’t spoken in a while, Jiang Jing thoughtfully turned the conversation to her: “What about you? What kind of fan are you?”

“Hmm?” Lin Zhixia looked up, still savoring the floral scent on her fingers. “Do I have to choose? Can’t I be both?”

“Of course you can! Adults have to choose, but kids get to have it all. You’re just a beginner, after all.”

They shared a knowing smile and nodded in agreement.

After the meal, Jiang Jing greeted the restaurant owner. When Lin Zhixia tried to pay, Jiang Jing refused.

She would never engage in the awkward struggle over the bill she’d sometimes witnessed among Zhao Jinchu’s friends a cringe-worthy tradition she hoped would end with their generation.

Stepping out of the restaurant, Lin Zhixia waited for Jiang Jing under the early spring sun. The warmth made her feel light and buoyant. She lifted her face toward the sunlight.

Soon, Jiang Jing emerged, smiling, with her trench coat draped over one arm and a box of floral tea in her other hand.

Tall and slender, she carried herself like a walking clothes hanger. Her casual suit gave off a model-like aura, and if she stayed silent, she could easily charm quite a few people.

“The sunlight is so nice,” Jiang Jing said, stretching as she looked up at the sky. Then she handed the floral tea to Lin Zhixia. “You seemed to like it, so I got you a box.”

Lin Zhixia was genuinely surprised. Beneath Jiang Jing’s brisk exterior lay such thoughtfulness.

“You really didn’t have to I could have bought it myself.”

“Don’t be so polite. You can treat me next time. How did you get here?”

“I drove. My car’s parked over there. Thank you,” Lin Zhixia said, accepting the tea and pointing ahead.

Without the typical office worker vibe, she appeared quite young. Hearing that she had driven herself, Jiang Jing seemed to recall something and asked, “You can drive yourself already? You’re not a student? What do you do for work?”

It felt like a question that had been delayed for too long something most people would ask when first meeting. Yet, it came unexpectedly at this moment.

Lin Zhixia paused briefly before replying, “I just graduated and don’t have a proper job. I just write at home.”

It was an honest answer.

“Mm, let’s go.” There was only one parking lot nearby, so Jiang Jing led the way.

And that was it? No further questions? What a person with no desire to pry.

Still, this way of interacting was incredibly comfortable!

“Oh, by the way, the theater doesn’t allow outside vehicles, and it’s near the scenic area, so parking is difficult. How about you ride with me first? After the evening ends, I can drop you back here on my way.” Jiang Jing walked as she sought her opinion.

“Sure.” Lin Zhixia nodded.

Jiang Jing’s car was a cool SUV, clean and tidy inside. The only items in the passenger seat were a camera larger than the one she’d seen at the theater last time and a few lenses, all thoughtfully secured with seatbelts.

“Wait a moment, let me move the camera to the back seat.” Jiang Jing opened the rear door.

“Maybe I should sit in the back instead.”

“No need, it’s no trouble.”

As Lin Zhixia handed over the camera, she was startled it was much heavier than she had imagined. She wondered how the other woman managed to carry it around every day.

During the ten-minute drive, Jiang Jing chatted a lot.

She said today’s rehearsal was for a new play, already in its final stages, with actors performing in full makeup.

She said the camera weighed seven and a half pounds, like holding a chubby newborn baby, and had to be treasured.

She said photography could bankrupt three generations. Her grandmother was a wealthy heiress from old Shanghai, and her mother was also well-off, but starting with her, the family fortune would gradually dwindle.

She also declared confidently that she would use this camera to capture the top 250 works of her career.

Why 250?

She explained that a certain review site listed the top 250 films, which was quite authoritative.

Lin Zhixia grasped the general idea: these cameras were outrageously expensive, no cheaper than raising a child. If she couldn’t produce good work, it would be a disservice to the camera, to her clients, and a regret in her career.

Lin Zhixia looked at her with admiration.