Lin Yan · Chat

First Encounter Illustration Exhibition · Late Autumn Evening The gallery was a renovated old factory. The exhibition circulation designed by Lin Yan kept the ambient lighting deliberately dim, illuminating each painting with only a precisely calibrated spotlight directly overhead. By the third day of the exhibition, the crowds had thinned, leaving only a scattering of artsy youths wandering around with cameras. Lin Yan didn't need to be here. Her job had ended once the exhibition design proposal was delivered. But the client mentioned that the lighting angle on the corner wall was off by two degrees, so she took a detour after work to take a look. After adjusting the lights, she didn't leave right away. In the deepest corner of the hall, there was a small display area—a joint exhibition featuring several young illustrators. The location was far out of the way, so almost no one ventured over. Lin Yan had only intended to follow the circulation path to inspect the finishes, but her steps came to a halt before a gray wall. Six paintings hung on the wall, signed "Gu Nian." The first was a cat crouching under rain-drenched eaves, cloaked in the fragmented glow of a streetlamp. The second depicted someone lost in thought before an open refrigerator in a late-night kitchen, their face illuminated brightly by the light inside. The third showed two shadows drifting closer together on a subway platform, while in reality, three people stood between them. Lin Yan examined them one by one, very slowly. Usually, she viewed exhibitions with brisk efficiency—taking in functional circulation, spatial rhythm, and visual focal points in a single mental sweep before moving on. But this time, she found herself lingering in front of the sixth painting for an unusually long time. The sixth piece was small, roughly the size of an A4 sheet, depicting a pair of hands. One hand clutched a key, knuckles white with tension; the other hand rested loosely over it, fingertips soft and rounded, exerting no force, merely resting there gently. The title of the piece was scribbled in pencil at the bottom right: *Don't Be Afraid*. Lin Yan instinctively glanced down at her left hand—the plain band on her index finger was in the exact same position as the hand tightly clutching the key in the painting. "Do you like this one?" The voice came from her right, soft and gentle, as if afraid of startling her. Lin Yan turned her head. A tall young man stood two steps away, with dark brown wavy hair, wearing a faded oatmeal-colored sweater, holding a cup of coffee that had gone completely cold. He looked like someone who had just stepped out of a painting—the kind of person easily lost in a crowd, yet strikingly captivating upon closer look. "Is this your work?" Lin Yan asked. Gu Nian nodded, the tips of his ears slowly reddening. He had only come over to pack up the exhibition labels, but upon seeing someone standing before his corner display, his feet refused to move. He had already been secretly watching her from behind for two minutes—as this short-haired woman looked at the art, the profile of her face seemed aloof, yet her lips were slightly pressed together, as if she were listening intently to what the paintings had to say. "This corner is quite out of the way," Lin Yan said. "Yeah." Gu Nian offered a faint smile, without any hint of complaint. "The organizers said my art has a quieter style, so tucked away in the back suited it best." Lin Yan remained silent for a few seconds before turning back to look at *Don't Be Afraid*. "That hand," she lifted her chin slightly, "where did you see it?" Gu Nian was taken aback. He hadn't expected such a specific question. Most people would at most say "it's very warm" or "a bit bittersweet," but wouldn't point to a detail in the frame and press for its origin. "I didn't see it anywhere," he said. "It's just me... Sometimes I catch myself unconsciously clutching things with all my might. Keys, pens, my phone. Later, someone pried my fingers open and told me there was no need to hold on so tight." Only after speaking did he realize that sharing all this with a stranger seemed a bit much. Yet Lin Yan's expression didn't change—there was neither polite pity nor awkward avoidance. She merely looked at the painting for another two seconds, then said: "You captured it right." Gu Nian blinked. Right? The hand's position? The light and shadow? Or the meaning behind the gesture? Before he could ask, Lin Yan had already turned away. She took two steps, then paused abruptly—pulling a business card from the inner pocket of her suit jacket and holding it out. "Lin Yan," she said. "Architectural designer." Gu Nian took it with both hands and looked down. The card was matte black, printed with just a single line of text and a phone number. His fingers tightened slightly—unconsciously clutching it again. "I looked at all of your paintings," Lin Yan said in a flat tone, as if stating a design parameter. "I'm not just being polite." Gu Nian looked up to find that she had already taken two steps forward, her short hair catching the air conditioner's draft, her silhouette as crisp and clean as an architectural section. "Um—" he called out suddenly, his voice a little louder than intended. Lin Yan stopped. She didn't turn around, but her head tilted slightly toward him. "...My name is Gu Nian." "I know," Lin Yan said, continuing forward at an unhurried pace. "It's signed on the paintings." Gu Nian stood frozen in place, watching her figure disappear around the corner. The coffee in his hand had grown completely cold. Looking down at the card again, he suddenly noticed another line embossed in silver foil on the back— *Lin Yan Architecture Studio · Creating Spaces That Remember People* He carefully tucked the card into the first page of his sketchbook and closed it. That night, he drew a new sketch in his sketchbook: a woman standing before a gray wall, the light illuminating only her jawline and focused eyes. Beside it was a short annotation written in small handwriting— *The way she looks at a painting is like embracing someone invisible.* The next day, he sent a message to the number on the card. "Hello, Architect Lin. This is Gu Nian from the corner exhibition yesterday. I was wondering... when you design spaces, do you consider which spot gives a painting the best chance of being seen?" Lin Yan was on a construction site overseeing concrete pouring when her phone vibrated. She unlocked it, and upon seeing those words, the curve of her lips barely shifted. Yet three seconds later, she typed her reply: "I do. Every corner deserves to be seen. Are you free Wednesday afternoon? Come to my studio and let's talk." After hitting send, she glanced up at the overcast sky and slipped her phone back into her pocket. In her pocket, the photo of *Don't Be Afraid* remained saved in her camera roll—last night, she had searched Gu Nian's name on her phone, found his online portfolio, scrolled to the very last image, and taken a screenshot. *Just happened to be on the way.* She told herself, before putting on her hard hat and stepping into the dust-swept reinforced concrete.