Chapter 15
Winter break slipped away quietly in tranquility and sweetness. As the new semester began, the campus was once again filled with the hustle and bustle of youth, as if the silence of winter was just a fleeting dream.
Shortly after the start of the semester, Lü Xiaoyan devoted more energy to his series "Street Life and Time," which he was preparing for an inter-school photography competition. This series was a labor of love for him, and also an attempt to break through his own limitations and incorporate more "human touch" after receiving guidance from Uncle Li. He often went out early in the morning with his camera, and did not return to the darkroom until nightfall, exhausted and with a wealth of materials.
Qiu Yayu continued to support him as always, sometimes accompanying him to shoots and helping him carry tripods or reflectors; more often, she would quietly stay in the darkroom, watching him bring those captured moments to life little by little in the developing solution.
However, as the competition deadline approached, Lü Xiaoyan's pressure became increasingly apparent. He was extremely demanding of himself, scrutinizing every detail of his photographs. Sometimes, he would spend hours or even a whole day reshooting or re-developing a photo for a minor flaw. The atmosphere in the darkroom was no longer always warm and peaceful; occasionally, a tense anxiety would permeate the space.
That afternoon, Qiu Yayu came to the darkroom after class. Lü Xiaoyan was frowning as she looked at a newly enlarged photograph. It was a key piece in the "Street Life and Time" series—an old shoemaker mending shoes at the alley entrance. The afternoon sun slanted in through the small window behind him, illuminating his gray hair and the nylon thread weaving in his hands. The wrinkles on his face were like the deep, serene furrows of time.
In Qiu Yayu's opinion, this photo is almost perfect. The lighting, composition, and expressions of the subjects are all impeccable, and it is full of warmth and power.
“I think this picture is amazing,” she said as she approached, exclaiming sincerely, “especially his eyes; it feels like he has a whole life story hidden in them.”
Lü Xiaoyan shook her head, pointing to an inconspicuous corner near the old craftsman's feet in the photo. There, a discarded, brightly colored plastic toy car stood out somewhat from the overall rustic and serene tone.
“Here,” his voice was weary and slightly irritated, “it disrupts the purity of the image. The light and shadow here create a small, discordant highlight, distracting the viewer’s focus.”
Qiu Yayu looked closely and confirmed that the toy car was indeed there. However, in her opinion, it was not destruction, but rather a touch of childlike innocence that had inadvertently entered into real life, making the scene more realistic and down-to-earth.
“I think…it makes the photos more vivid,” she tried to express her opinion. “Life isn’t entirely pure; there are always unexpected little things. And don’t the old craftsman and the little toys create a kind of contrast? The weight of time and the vibrancy of life…”
“I don’t need this kind of comparison.” Lü Xiaoyan interrupted her, his tone somewhat stiff, with the unquestionable stubbornness that he possessed when immersed in his work. “What I need is ultimate tranquility and the sense of time’s sedimentation. Any superfluous or discordant elements are distractions.”
He picked up the cutter and gestured, "Cut it off, or I'll go back and reshoot it tomorrow."
"Crop it?" Qiu Yayu was somewhat taken aback. "But that would make the composition incomplete! Is it worth it for such a trivial detail? The photo itself is already moving enough!"
“It moves you, but that doesn’t mean it meets the requirements of the competition, nor does it mean it meets my standards.” Lü Xiaoyan raised her head and looked at her, her eyes filled with the obsession and coldness of an artist pursuing perfection. “Ya Yu, you don’t understand.”
"I don't understand?" These words were like a tiny thorn, gently pricking Qiu Yayu. She had been trying so hard to understand his world, to learn about his beloved photography, but now she was easily pushed away by his "you don't understand." Looking at his bloodshot eyes from staying up all night, and at his tightly pursed lips that seemed somewhat cold, she felt a surge of grievance and helplessness.
“Yes, I may not understand your profound compositions and theories,” her voice rose slightly involuntarily, tinged with emotion, “but I do understand what is real, what can move people’s hearts! In the name of your so-called ‘purity,’ are you going to cut out all the accidental, real things in life? What’s left of the photograph then? Just a cold, meticulously designed shell?”
That was a rather harsh remark. The air in the darkroom seemed to freeze instantly.
Lü Xiaoyan's face darkened. He put down his cutting knife and looked at her sharply: "You're saying my work is just a cold shell?"
As soon as Qiu Yayu said it, she regretted it, but seeing his cold expression, her stubbornness flared up, and she refused to back down immediately.
“That’s not what I meant… I just think you shouldn’t push yourself too hard, and don’t be… too stubborn.” Her voice lowered, but it still carried a hint of dissatisfaction.
Lu Xiaoyan looked at her silently, his chest rising and falling slightly. The pressure, exhaustion, and almost demanding self-discipline he had accumulated over the past few days seemed to find an outlet at this moment, and this outlet happened to be the person he least wanted to clash with.
"It's my job, I know how to do it." He finally said this coldly, then turned around, his back to her, picked up the photo and the cutter again, making it clear that he refused to communicate any further.
Watching his cold and distant back, Qiu Yayu's eyes instantly reddened. She hadn't expected that they would have such a big disagreement over a photo. She just felt sorry for him, and just wanted him to see the warm parts in the photo that he had overlooked.
A mix of grievance, anger, and a touch of sadness at being misunderstood mingled within her. She bit her lip, said nothing more, turned, pushed open the door to the darkroom, and strode out.
The door slammed shut with a soft bang, temporarily separating her from his world.
In the darkroom, only Lü Xiaoyan remained, along with the lamp casting a lonely red glow. His hand, gripping the cutting knife, lingered, his gaze fixed on the colorful toy car in the photograph, a complex mix of emotions in his eyes. Her tearful question echoed in his ears—"What's left of that photograph? Just a cold, meticulously designed shell?"
He closed his eyes in frustration, threw the cutting knife onto the workbench with a dull thud.
He knew she meant well. But he couldn't bear to deliver an imperfect piece, especially when he was trying to push his boundaries. That obsession with perfection had almost become instinctive.
But... is there really no reason behind what she said?
For the first time, he felt a slight wavering and confusion about his pursuit. This wavering, coupled with their first real argument, left him feeling as if a damp, cold cotton ball was lodged in his heart, heavy and uncomfortable.
Outside the window, the early spring wind still carried a chill, rustling the bare branches and making a whistling sound, as if playing a melancholy interlude for this debate about "focus" and "reality" that took place under the dark red light.
---
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
