The Night is Called Gentle - Chapter 7

Lin Zhixia hadn’t seen Yan Huaiqing for a long time not since the rehearsal.

Her book had entered a phase of repeated revisions, leaving her no time to visit the theater, yet thoughts of Yan would suddenly surface.

Jiang Jing had gone to Beicheng for a celebrity magazine shoot, and the two of them only occasionally exchanged a few idle messages.

In the early spring of Ancheng, the rain always fell in a steady drizzle. Lin Zhixia, too lazy to go out, would sometimes curl up on the rug by the study window and spend an entire afternoon watching a Yue opera. Occasionally, Li Meng would drop by, and the two would lounge together for hours.

Zhao Jinchu often cooked a few dishes to lure her back for a meal. On her way home, passing by the theater, Lin Zhixia would slow her car and glance inside, imagining what the people inside might be busy with.

On fine days, she would choose to walk home instead. As she reached the theater entrance, she’d slow her pace even further, stealing glance after glance inside.

Had the security guard been observant, he might have thought she looked like a suspicious character casing the place.

Some studies say spring is the peak season for mental health issues perhaps because everything in nature is reviving, while grown-up human offspring only keep their heads down and press forward.

As dusk approached, Lin Zhixia impatiently rolled her mouse a few times. These past few days, her revisions had twisted the story into knots. Her protagonists were unhappy and had run away from home. Wrapping herself in a coat, she pushed open the door, determined to find them again.

The aroma of roasted sweet potatoes wafted through the air, and the sugar-fried chestnuts smelled sweet. She took a deep breath and wandered aimlessly down the street.

After the rain, the temperature had dropped back to winter levels. The early spring blossoms, halfway to blooming, were now trapped in a thin layer of ice deceived by a passing warm front.

Office workers hurried past, their footsteps sounding sticky on the damp pavement, as if anyone who didn’t quicken their pace would be glued to the spot.

Arriving once more at the theater entrance, Lin Zhixia slowed her steps and tilted her head to peer inside. The courtyard was empty, save for the leaves on the ground swirling in the wind, twirling in circles like dancing sprites.

Even the theater’s leaves had such graceful movements? She chuckled softly and walked on.

Though she said she was walking forward, it was really without any purpose. Turning the corner ahead would lead her home, but she had no intention of going back just yet.

The wind grew sharper. She tucked her chin into her coat collar, lowered her head, and braced against the wind, pretending to be a wandering knight patrolling the mortal world on a snowy night.

“What a coincidence, running into you again, Xiaoman.” A long-unheard voice came from ahead.

So, all that seems delayed is merely fate carefully setting the stage.

Lin Zhixia looked up. Yan Huaiqing stood before her, just as surprising and breathtaking as the last time she had appeared from behind.

She wore a long gray coat that enveloped her entirely, giving off a vague, ambiguous aura. Her long hair was casually tied up, and the stiff collar of her coat hid part of her face, lending her an air of subtle mystery.

This was the first time Lin Zhixia had seen Yan Huaiqing without makeup. Her skin was exceptionally pale, evoking images of snow under the moonlight on a winter night, or the white porcelain of Northern Song Ru ware.

Her features were flawless, and together they were stunning especially her eyes, which one hardly dared meet directly.

Lin Zhixia wanted to look longer, to study her more closely, but she couldn’t stare it would be impolite.

“Teacher Yan, what a coincidence. What are you doing here?” She collected herself, her words coming out haltingly.

“My workplace is right here.” Yan Huaiqing’s gaze drifted past her shoulder, toward the theater behind her.

Yes, her workplace was here.

Subconsciousness leads people to where they want to go otherwise, why would she be wandering around this exact spot?

Lin Zhixia realized her question had been rather foolish and offered a slightly awkward smile.

“I’m working overtime tonight, so I grabbed a bite to eat up ahead.” Yan Huaiqing still offered an explanation.

Whether intentional or not, those words dissolved Lin Zhixia’s embarrassment.

“And you? It’s so cold out Running away from home?” Yan Huaiqing tilted her head slowly, studying Lin Zhixia’s somewhat disheveled appearance in the chilly wind, drawing out her words with deliberate pauses.

There are people like this seemingly disciplined and proper, yet occasionally playful in an unexpected way. It creates a charming contrast.

That was exactly the impression Yan Huaiqing gave at this moment.

Lin Zhixia blinked rapidly in disbelief and explained, “No, my protagonist ran off wait, no, I mean my writing isn’t going well, so I came out for a walk.”

“Would you like me to help you look for them?” Yan Huaiqing scanned the surroundings with concern.

“No, no need.” Lin Zhixia waved her hand.

Pfft,

They glanced at each other and simultaneously let out soft laughs, lowering their heads.

A gust of wind swept past, stretching the headlights of speeding cars on the roadside into long streaks of light, filling their pupils with the bustling traffic, blurring their vision.

“The wind is picking up. Would you like to come up to my office for a bit?” Yan Huaiqing asked, her tone as gentle as if she were inviting a stray kitten off the street.

But Lin Zhixia was more like a domesticated cat, aware of some social boundaries. “Won’t I disturb your work?” she demurred.

Yet her expression betrayed a simple complexity her mouth slightly agape in clear surprise, her eyes sparkling. It wasn’t hard to guess she was hopeful.

What can someone in their early twenties truly hide?

A subtle smile curved Yan Huaiqing’s lips, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Let’s go,” she said softly, then turned and left Lin Zhixia with her retreating figure.

“Let’s go” two soft words, as if pulling you along by the sound of her voice.

Lin Zhixia obediently followed behind her. A domesticated cat, after all, harbors little wariness.

The figure before her was tall and straight-backed, her well-tailored coat half-concealing an aura of authority. Lin Zhixia kept a slight distance.

She glanced up at the top of Yan Huaiqing’s head, then down at her shoes. If not for the heels, she probably wouldn’t be much shorter, she mused, comparing their heights internally.

Her posture was so upright every time they met, it was the same. It must be a habit cultivated through conscious effort. Unconsciously, Lin Zhixia straightened her own back.

Her coat was truly beautiful, gray in color. Gray the shade that runs between black and white, a delicate transition drifting between extremes. Neither bright nor dull, it holds a mysterious harmony, much like the human heart. Or perhaps, gray is the color most resembling a person.

And then, she was simply beautiful, especially her eyes. No wonder Jiang Jing said she only dared to look into Yan Huaiqing’s eyes through a camera lens. Ah, if someone’s eyes were so captivating that others couldn’t bear to gaze directly, what a pity that would be.

But what was with these strange, coincidental encounters? It had happened several times now, oddly cinematic, somewhat romantic. The little version of herself in her heart was already curling up under the blankets, rolling around in delight.

Lin Zhixia had always been accustomed to letting her thoughts wander freely with whatever she saw and heard, a way to pass the silent moments. At this moment, her thoughts were racing among the gray figures in front of her.

“You just said your protagonist is missing you’re the author?” Yan Huaiqing slowed her pace slightly, turning her face to ask.

Lin Zhixia’s mind was still adrift. Hearing the question, she instinctively let out an “Ah?” before answering, “Mm, I write ghost stories.”

She wasn’t trying to deceive anyone, nor was she prone to lying. She just felt comfortable hiding behind a pseudonym, simply unwilling to reveal the truth.

Back in her school days, when she’d been typing away noisily in her dorm room and her roommate asked, she’d answered the same way.

Yan Huaiqing’s usually composed expression flickered with a moment of hesitation. When she turned back, she was still wearing a faint smile, leaving it unclear whether she believed it or not. After a brief silence, she asked hesitantly, “Then, just now, were you looking for?”

A ghost?

It was hard not to misunderstand a ghost story writer searching the streets for her protagonist.

The wind was strong, rustling through the surrounding greenery, making it shiver.

Lin Zhixia choked back a response, forcing an awkward laugh. “Inspiration I was looking for inspiration, hehe…”

Silence fell again.

As they approached the theater entrance, Yan Huaiqing asked, “Have you ever toured the theater?”

“Not yet. I’ve been here twice, but it was always late when the shows ended, so I haven’t had the chance to look around.” Lin Zhixia hurriedly stepped forward.

“What a shame. It’s late again today, and the wind has picked up. I’ll take you on a tour another time when there’s a chance.” Yan Huaiqing slowed her pace once more, as if waiting for her to catch up.

Lin Zhixia recalled a conversation a few days earlier, during a meal with Zhao Jinchu, who had mentioned that Yan Huaiqing was not only the theater troupe’s leader but also the owner of the new theater. At the time, Lin Zhixia had sighed and marveled along with Zhao Jinchu.

It really wasn’t appropriate to have the theater owner and troupe leader personally give her a tour.

“No need.” Uh, that didn’t sound quite right. “I wouldn’t dare, I wouldn’t dare. I can manage on my own.” Lin Zhixia felt her forced composure teetering on the edge of exposure, her steps lagging half a pace behind.

Yan Huaiqing lowered her eyelashes but maintained her smile. She was a perceptive person; some things couldn’t be forced, just like the distance between people it required coordination at every step to walk in sync.

Entering the theater courtyard, instead of taking the main entrance used by audiences, Yan Huaiqing led her around to the side of the building.

“Come in,” she said, pushing open a heavy glass door.

“Thank you, Teacher Yan.” Lin Zhixia politely expressed her gratitude. As she stepped inside, her gaze inadvertently fell on Yan Huaiqing’s hand as it pushed the door.

She rarely saw such distinct veins on a woman’s hand a clear “Y” shape, bluish-green, hidden beneath snow-white skin, extending into her sleeve.

Lin Zhixia had always noticed odd details. As a child, she had once held her own hand and earnestly asked her mother, Director Lin: Are thick veins better, or thin ones? Is it better for them to be visible or hidden?

Director Lin, speaking as a professional doctor, had clearly told her that in terms of physical health, there was almost no difference.

All these years, Lin Zhixia had stubbornly refused to believe it. And now, that stubbornness grew even firmer.

She was convinced that veins like Yan Huaiqing’s bluish-green and slightly prominent were the best. They were like rivers surging through the body, carrying abundant emotion and vitality.

Yan Huaiqing on the side had no idea what she was thinking, but she clearly sensed that the other had been observing and pondering all along the way.

So, with a faint smile in her eyes, she quietly led her up the stairs, through the corridor, and into the office.