The Night is Called Gentle - Chapter 58

Mending her bit by bit with fingertips.

The rain poured heavily.

Occasional flashes of lightning outside the window cast shifting patterns of light and shadow across the room.

Lin Zhixia lay on the carved wooden bed, with Yan Huaiqing beside her. After the lights were turned off, her voice, mingling with the sound of rain, seemed even gentler.

“Should I draw the curtains?” she asked softly.

“No need,” Lin Zhixia glanced at the window. “The lightning isn’t too bright, and the shadows from the window are quite beautiful.”

Yan Huaiqing gave a soft “Mm” in response, her gaze falling on the knitted blanket in Lin Zhixia’s hands the one she had specifically brought upstairs while Yan Huaiqing was bathing.

“Why did you bring the blanket up? Are you cold?”

Instead of answering directly, Lin Zhixia pulled the blanket up slightly, placing it between the two pillows, and asked in return, “Did you used to sleep with your grandmother, Teacher Yan?”

Yan Huaiqing was momentarily taken aback, a warmth flickering in her eyes.

“Yes,” she replied, lying flat and gazing up at the ceiling beams. “She would even tell me stories from her childhood.”

Lin Zhixia, guided by touch, found the embroidery of “Xiao Qing” and pinched it between her fingers. “Did you learn opera because of your grandmother, Teacher Yan?”

Yan Huaiqing turned her head in surprise, her eyes reflecting the faint light from outside. “How did you know that?”

“I guessed,” Lin Zhixia said, sounding pleased with herself as she leaned back slightly.

Yan Huaiqing rested her hand on the pillow, fiddling with the edge of the blanket, and pressed further, “What made you guess that?”

“Actually, it was just a fleeting thought,” Lin Zhixia pondered for a moment, trying to articulate her reasoning. “I saw an old black-and-white photo on the first floor. The woman in the cheongsam in the photo must be your grandmother, right?”

“Yes,” Yan Huaiqing replied after a brief pause. “Could you really tell so much from just one photo?”

Lin Zhixia flashed a small, white-toothed smile and slowly explained her thoughts: “The woman in the photo was leaning slightly to the right, and behind her on the left, a corner of an opera stage was faintly visible. In those days, ordinary people only took photos in studios. Being able to take a photo outdoors meant it was specially commissioned and must have been very important. So, I guessed your grandmother must have loved listening to opera.”

“And from that, you inferred that I was influenced by her?” Yan Huaiqing turned to face her.

“I guessed right,” Lin Zhixia said, turning as well and placing her hand on the blanket, facing her. Their fingertips hovered close yet apart, creating a subtle distance in the dim light.

Yan Huaiqing took a deep breath, the sound of rain filling the silence that followed.

After a long while, she finally spoke: “Grandmother did love listening to opera, almost to the point of obsession. When she was young, she even wanted to learn opera herself, but her family firmly opposed it, saying she would disgrace the family name.”

Lin Zhixia clenched her palm, holding her breath as she listened quietly.

“She told me she tried everything to resist, even threatening to take her own life, but it was no use. In the end, she was locked up at home for a whole year and not allowed to leave.”

“That photo was taken at the first opera she attended after regaining her freedom. By chance, a newspaper reporter was there for an interview. She begged him for a long time before he agreed to take that photo with her. Unfortunately, only a corner of the stage was captured, and the performers weren’t in the frame. For that, she cursed that reporter for the rest of her life.”

“That sounds so regrettable. He was so unprofessional he deserved it,” Lin Zhixia said indignantly.

Yan Huaiqing smiled faintly, hesitated for a moment, then continued, “Not long after, the ten-year turmoil began. Opera was banned, so my grandmother hid the gramophone in the basement and listened to it secretly. Later, due to our family background, the entire family was dragged onto the stage to be publicly denounced, and her gramophone was discovered and confiscated.”

She paused briefly, her voice growing tighter. “The people criticizing her deliberately used her most cherished possession to humiliate her. They smashed the gramophone against her body again and again until it shattered, leaving her covered in injuries.”

Lin Zhixia’s breathing grew heavier as she listened, her grip on the blanket tightening. Yan Huaiqing placed a hand on her wrist, gently stroking it, and continued.

“After that, she rarely spoke and seldom went out. Later, the old family home was confiscated, and the family was forced to scatter across the country. Of the six family members, only she survived long enough to see her name cleared. That old photograph, after many twists and turns, remained and became her only keepsake.”

A flash of lightning streaked across the sky, followed by a few rumbles of thunder.

Lin Zhixia quietly grasped her fingers and sighed, “What often remains in life are regrets.”

Yan Huaiqing squeezed her hand in return, as if to comfort her, her voice now much calmer. “After her name was cleared, the confiscated houses were gradually returned. At that time, no one knew what tomorrow would bring, and most were too afraid to reclaim their property. But she dared. She said, ‘I have nothing left to lose the worst that can happen is dying here.’ That’s how this house remained as private property to this day.”

“What happened next?” Lin Zhixia’s voice was muffled behind the blanket, tinged with a slight nasal tone.

“Because of our family background, she didn’t marry until she was in her forties and had only one child my mother. After my mother was assigned to work in Shaocheng, she married, had me, and settled there. With the one-child policy in place, I became the only descendant in the family. So, every winter and summer break, I would come here to learn calligraphy and painting from her.”

Lin Zhixia gave a soft “Mm” to show she was listening attentively, her fingers unconsciously tapping lightly in Yan Huaiqing’s palm.

Their hands overlapped and clasped together, resting on the blanket, their silhouettes softly outlined by the light from outside the window.

Yan Huaiqing’s gaze drifted past her to the rain outside, her voice growing softer. “In my childhood memories, my grandmother’s radio was never silent. Whether I was asleep or awake, practicing calligraphy or painting, the faint, melodic strains of opera were always in the background.”

“Somewhere around the age of ten, during one summer vacation, I grew so tired of it that I hid the radio.”

She suddenly chuckled and pinched Lin Zhixia’s fingertips. “But my grandmother didn’t get angry. For the first time, she told me stories from her childhood. I didn’t really understand, nor did I care. I brazenly declared that I could learn opera in her place.”

“So Teacher Yan went and learned opera,” Lin Zhixia couldn’t help interjecting.

“Not at all,” Yan Huaiqing shook her head, a hint of shame in her expression, and squeezed Lin Zhixia’s hand. “My grandmother handed me a shovel and told me to dig by the wall in the yard. She said I could only learn if I dug up what was buried there.”

“What was hidden?” Lin Zhixia widened her eyes.

“She didn’t say what it was or exactly where it was. I pried up the floor tiles and dug for three days but found nothing. In the end, I gave up.”

“Ah?” Lin Zhixia shared her disappointment.

Yan Huaiqing tapped her finger on the back of Lin Zhixia’s hand, gently cutting short her regret, her voice growing clearer: “I obediently handed over the radio, and Grandma didn’t say anything. But she started going out more often, taking me to operas and even bringing me backstage many times. Gradually, I began to understand, and I learned a few arias by following along with the radio. Later, I genuinely wanted to learn and went to beg her again.”

She smiled again, as if laughing at her younger self.

“In the end, she dug out a rusty shovel and handed it to me, telling me to dig. That time, I stubbornly gritted my teeth, determined to dig and see what was buried. It took me a whole week to finally unearth a jar of aged yellow rice wine buried thirty years ago in the deepest corner of the eastern wall.”

“Thirty years?” Lin Zhixia gasped, as if the mere thought of it could make her drunk.

“Mm.” Yan Huaiqing nodded, her hair rustling softly against the pillow. “Three days later, Grandma invited her dear friend, who was also my mentor to a meal at the most famous restaurant in Ancheng and brought me along.”

She didn’t continue with the most captivating part, so Lin Zhixia belatedly realized “Is that the same place where you first took me out to eat?”

A faint smile touched Yan Huaiqing’s lips, wordlessly conveying that, despite the passage of time, it remained the highest honor she bestowed when treating someone to a meal.

Lin Zhixia’s heart raced as she whispered her guess, “You drank that day.”

“Yes.” A sparkle shone in Yan Huaiqing’s eyes, and her fingers tightened slightly over Lin Zhixia’s hand, her tone lifting slightly. “It was my first time drinking a toast to my mentor with the aged yellow rice wine I had dug up myself.”

“How old were you?”

“Thirteen.”

Lin Zhixia was swept up in her emotions, feeling as though, through her words, she had stepped into that moment in time.

Yan Huaiqing closed her eyes, as if trying to return to that very day.

“After I became her apprentice, Grandma informed the rest of the family. At first, they were all against it. They thought I was just a child and wanted me to choose a more stable path. But times had changed opera singing was no longer looked down upon. Besides, Grandma was the wealthiest and held the most authority in the family. Once she agreed, no one dared to object, so I was able to study opera without any trouble.”

Lin Zhixia listened quietly, feeling Yan Huaiqing’s fingers tracing lightly over the back of her hand, as if writing or drawing something.

“But back then, I had no idea I would follow my teacher all the way to where I am today.” Her voice gradually softened.

The rain grew quieter, their breaths mingling.

After a moment’s hesitation, Lin Zhixia asked, “Do you want me to write down Grandma’s story?”

Yan Huaiqing suddenly opened her eyes, gazing at her in the darkness. “You want to write it?”

“I’d need the family’s permission first,” Lin Zhixia said seriously.

“You have it.” Yan Huaiqing’s voice was incredibly gentle. “But there’s no rush. You can take your time ten years, twenty, thirty, it’s all fine.” It sounded like a promise meant to last a lifetime.

Lin Zhixia closed her eyes, thinking for a moment before looking at her again. “So, is this your gift to me?”

“What?” Yan Huaiqing seemed momentarily confused.

“Grandma’s story,” Lin Zhixia whispered.

Yan Huaiqing lowered her lashes and chuckled softly, not giving a direct answer.

After a moment of silence, she rested her fingers on Lin Zhixia’s wrist and called out tenderly, “Xiaxia.”

“Mmm ” Lin Zhixia responded.

Yan Huaiqing suddenly reached out and gently touched her forehead, then said unhurriedly, “The story in your book also takes place in my grandmother’s era. Though I don’t know the exact details, I understand that the sorrows of that time were largely similar, so I can sense your struggle.”

Her fingers traced a circle on Lin’s forehead as she continued, “Perhaps you’re also telling a story on behalf of an elder, just like how my grandmother told me her stories, and I’m now telling them to you. Even if there’s only one listener, one reader, we must tell it with the utmost sincerity.”

“So, write the story for me to read. I’m waiting.” Her voice was soft yet carried an undeniable force.

“Professor Yan,” Lin Zhixia’s voice choked slightly, “did you bring me to this old house to try and save me?”

“After being away for a week, do you still need me to save you?” Her hovering fingers paused above Lin’s forehead.

“Listening to Silence” had taken six months to write and ten months to revise. Now, all that effort had come to nothing, and Lin Zhixia’s sense of order had long been shattered.

It began when Li Meng first mentioned that a company wanted to adapt “Layered Mountains,” and she opened that seventy-four-page revision document.

It began on that rainy night when she was struggling with revisions and first encountered Yan Huaiqing by chance.

It began when she saw “Layered Mountains” on Yan’s desk.

It began when Yan said at the script meeting that every word, every punctuation mark, was soaked with the author’s blood and soul.

She had already lost her balance long ago.

It wasn’t that she used “Layered Mountains” to fulfill Yan Huaiqing’s ambitions and aesthetic sense rather, she wanted to use Yan and her adaptation to divert her own chaos.

She needed a pair of hands to reshape her, and Yan Huaiqing appeared.

She had needed her to appear from the very beginning, more than she needed “Layered Mountains.”

“I need it,” she leaned forward, pressing her head into Yan’s hand. “Professor Yan, I’ve long lost my order. Please deconstruct me again, will you?”

Yan Huaiqing’s fingers paused slightly, then drifted through her hair, stopping by her ear before sinking into her locks. She gently rubbed Lin’s head with her palm.

“Okay.”

Words like “save” might be too heavy. Words like “deconstruct” might be too abstract.

But Lin Zhixia’s struggles were buried deep within unseen by the eye, beyond anyone’s help.

Yan Huaiqing felt them in her blood and emotions.

All she could do was, on such a rainy night, use her fingertips dipped in her own stories to mend her, piece by piece.