Chapter 28: Friction

Early the next morning, Yin Mengxi went outside the school to get the photos developed.

The camera she used was shared by the Youth League and had to be returned after use. According to department rules, data had to be exported and memory cleared before returning it, with photos printed by a designated student. However, she didn’t follow the rules this time because last night… she secretly took an extra photo. Sometimes the lens is like the photographer’s eye, and she feared her shots might reveal her inner thoughts, so she had to sneak out to develop them.

—What was there to hide? It was just a close-up of his hand. She had taken similar close-ups of Senior Zhang Li before, and there hadn’t been any issues. But she felt guilty, as if she were hiding something.

His hands were beautiful—long, clean, and well-defined. She could imagine how he turned pages, held a pen, received things from others, or did all the trivial things in life.

His face was even more striking. Even casually shot in the audience seats, he exuded elegance and refinement. She truly deserved to be a new media student—she had recognized his compatibility with imagery at first sight and would surely become an excellent journalist someday.

A young girl’s secret heart transformed into quiet gazes, and one or two photos were enough to draw her in. Turning the photos over, the blank backs became her diary where she could freely pour out her secrets.

“Like.”

“You.”

“So much.”

She wrote each character carefully, seeing her heart clearly for the first time. Perhaps these few words were the most beautiful and tender things in the world. She lacked the courage to say them aloud, even blushing when they appeared on paper.

Hurry.

Hurry and hide it.

She tucked it into her little notebook, placing it with her bookmarks and the note he had left her last time.

Phew.

—Now no one would find it, right?

After the interview ended, Yin Mengxi never saw Xiao Zhi again.

She later learned that he wasn’t actually part of the drama club; this time, he wrote the script purely as a favor to Guo Yue. He wouldn’t attend daily rehearsals but might drop by during the final run-throughs or watch the official performance.

Not seeing him was undoubtedly disheartening, but luckily, life within the drama club was interesting enough to keep her spirits up. Yin Mengxi coordinated with Yushan and Stone, dividing responsibilities. She mainly focused on documenting the costume and props teams’ daily activities. These tasks were tedious but crucial for building the foundation of the production.

Senior Han Yunqiao was the overall head of logistics, with Junior Zhou Ke in charge of costumes and Sophomore Peng Zechuan overseeing props. They were enthusiastic and gradually became familiar with Yin Mengxi. Seeing her interest in their work, they even invited her to join the drama club. She considered it, and they began treating her as a reserve force, meticulously teaching her specific logistical tasks.

Thus, she juggled two jobs—working as an editor for the Youth League while assisting the logistics team. One day she helped Keke tally actors’ costume sizes, the next she helped Zechuan shop online for vase props. Her days were fulfilling; though tiring, watching a chaotic production gradually take shape offered a sense of accomplishment difficult to describe.

She seemed to enjoy coordination work... what kind of job was that?

Producer? Executive Producer?

“Xixi, can’t you come to every rehearsal?” Keke would ask whenever Yin Mengxi arrived. “When you’re here, I feel ten times lighter.”

“That’s true,” Zechuan agreed. “Xixi is proactive—no need to assign tasks; she works automatically.”

Keke laughed heartily, agreeing with Zechuan’s summary, then teased, “You’re hoping Xixi comes just for her work ethic? I don’t think it’s that simple.”

Zechuan blushed deeply, stealing glances at Yin Mengxi while telling Keke to “stop talking nonsense.”

Due to her involvement in some logistics work, Yin Mengxi also interacted with Tang Fei.

One day, a large set of Republican-era furniture rented by the logistics team arrived. Everyone on-site had to help move things. Han Yunqiao instructed Yin Mengxi to oversee the scene, saying, “There shouldn’t be much to do. Just watch and lend a hand if anything happens.”

Yin Mengxi nodded and sat in the audience with her camera, watching the actors rehearse. A scene featuring Tang Fei came up, but she seemed off. She stumbled on her lines twice and misplaced her movements.

Guo Yue called for a stop, asking what was wrong. Tang Fei apologized and pressed her hand to her forehead, saying, “I’m feeling dizzy, maybe low blood sugar…”

“Low blood sugar?” Guo Yue immediately became concerned, taking two steps closer. “Are you alright? Is it serious?”

She shook her head, but swayed slightly. Her close friend, Senior Yang Yuanyuan, quickly supported her, asking, “Did you skip breakfast? Why are you suddenly having low blood sugar?”

“Yes, I skipped it,” Tang Fei smiled apologetically. “I’ve been dieting lately.”

“I’m really fed up with you girls,” Guo Yue sighed. “How thin are you trying to get?”

“Exactly,” Yang Yuanyuan chimed in. “If you need to lose weight, what should other girls do? Should they fast? Beautiful girl, wake up already—you’re slim and gorgeous enough!”

They flattered her profusely, then shouted, “Is there anyone from logistics here? Help buy some food! An actor has low blood sugar!”

Yin Mengxi hadn’t reacted yet, but the other actors rolled their eyes. What actors and logistics? Weren’t they all classmates? A short rest would suffice—why send someone out to buy snacks…

…Yang Yuanyuan was such a sycophant.

Before the thought finished forming, Tang Fei herself spoke up, saying, “Just get some chocolate—it works faster…”

Oh, this.

Guo Yue, usually too rough to notice details, didn’t find the request odd. Spotting only Yin Mengxi in the audience, he politely asked, “Junior, are you free now? Could you help buy some chocolate? The club will reimburse you.”

Yin Mengxi felt uneasy but, being a freshman and the youngest present, couldn’t refuse. She ran out to buy it. Upon returning, she handed the chocolate to Tang Fei, who glanced at her, thanked her with a smile, and resumed the rehearsal.

Similar small incidents occurred several times afterward, sometimes involving Yin Mengxi, sometimes others in the logistics team. Softer personalities said nothing, while tougher ones muttered complaints. Han Yunqiao, known for her explosive temper, outright refused to accommodate.

The conflict erupted at the end of April.

By then, the first round of rehearsals was nearly complete, and actors began running scenes with props. In Act Two, Ye Wan and Mr. He meet for the first time, already developing feelings during student movements. Ye Jing believes the impoverished literature teacher unsuitable for her sister, thus preventing their meetings.

On stage, Zhang Li, with outstanding acting skills, passionately portrayed the emotions of a lovestruck teenager, describing her romantic fantasies and pursuit of love to her sister in a Western-style house setting. As they discussed women’s new culture, everyone watched intently. Suddenly, Tang Fei paused mid-scene, raising her hand in a stop gesture. The logistics team, traumatized by past incidents, assumed she had low blood sugar again.

Guo Yue, seated in the audience controlling the scene, didn’t understand why she stopped. After asking, Tang Fei explained, “I think we need another scene here—the transition feels abrupt.”

“Another scene?” Guo Yue raised his eyebrows. “What scene?”

Everyone stopped to look at Tang Fei. Calmly, she continued, “Ye Jing keeps advising Ye Wan not to see Mr. He, but the reasoning feels weak. We need a preceding scene—a confrontation between Ye Jing and Mr. He, either highlighting their ideological conflict or creating an event-based conflict to make the storyline more coherent.”

This was…

…adding a scene.

To be fair, Tang Fei wasn’t entirely wrong. Adding a scene would indeed enrich the logic, but the play primarily focused on the school’s arduous development history, emphasizing Mr. He’s personal journey. His romance with Ye Wan was a subplot, and Ye Jing’s role was even more peripheral. Elaborating on such characters would likely bore the audience.

At that moment, Yin Mengxi stood backstage, hearing Yunqiao mutter, “Dramatic diva,” loud enough for several nearby logistics members to hear.

Guo Yue, calmer, patiently listened to Tang Fei’s reasoning, then gently explained that the entire play already approached two hours. Adding another scene would exceed the time limit and disrupt the rhythm, suggesting maintaining the original structure.

Tang Fei said nothing but furrowed her brows deeper. During the second run-through, she paused again at the same spot, insisting, “It doesn’t work, Guo Yue. This section lacks substance. How can I perform convincingly without it?”

Guo Yue: “… “

Interrupting progress was frustrating, especially during full cast rehearsals where both actors and logistics teams coordinated non-stop. Being halted twice by the same person was maddening. Guo Yue scratched his head, irritated, saying, “Let’s finish running the play first, okay? Whether to add or not, we’ll discuss after rehearsal, maybe inviting Teacher Xiao.”

“No need to involve him,” Tang Fei countered. “It’s just a small scene—easily added. He’s busy; why bother him?”

Blabbering on, she continued.

Han Yunqiao, who had just carried a heavy coffee table onto the stage, couldn’t bear it anymore. Pushing aside classmates trying to calm her, she stormed onto the stage, hands on hips, shouting, “Tang Fei, are you out of your mind? It’s late April, and you want to add scenes? Do you think this drama club exists solely for you?”