EGRV 1 | Evening

“He didn’t have much attachment to them; it was just business as usual.”

Midway through the twelfth lunar month, after the first snowfall, Beijing officially entered winter. The days grew darker earlier, and by three or four in the afternoon, the setting sun cast slanted rays. The room faced west, fittingly aligned with the five characters of “Evening Studio.”

Liang Muye sat on a high stool in the studio, watching the sunlight filter through the window frame, casting measured shadows on the wall. In summer, it wasn’t until six o’clock that the light would sweep across the corner of the equipment cabinet. Now, just past four, it was already nearing the floor. He had once been a landscape photographer, capturing light and shadow as a sort of professional obsession, with a scientist’s rigor and persistence.

A flurry of footsteps—thud, thud, thud—came from outside. The photography assistant, Xiao Tang, burst in with several people, hurriedly greeting him. She carried a thermos in one hand and a suitcase in the other, directing the team to start setting up in the cramped space.

Only then did she turn to Liang Muye: “Sorry, the other team said Teacher Xu is still on set and got delayed. He’s on his way now. Here’s the shooting plan and requirements—they sent a new version last minute. The agent made changes, probably two or three pages worth. I haven’t had time to look through it…”

The appointment that afternoon was with a young celebrity, Xu Xiaochen, known for his role in a historical drama. This was the third time Xu’s side had rescheduled, pushing the shoot to noon today with various excuses, and he was still nearly four hours late. Liang Muye had finished a morning shoot, eaten lunch, and waited here ever since, sitting until now.

He stood up, took the documents from Xiao Tang, and offered her the stool. “I’ll look over the files. Sit for a bit, don’t rush.”

Xiao Tang was the type who could never stay idle. The moment she sat down, she sprang back up, helping the set team race against time to prepare.

“If I’m not in a rush, who will be? Sister Li specifically told me before she left—this is a big client.”

“Your Sister Li shot him before. Back then, he not only showed up on time but even brought her coffee, asking her to make him look good.” Sure enough, the bigger the star, the longer the delay. Liang Muye said this to ease Xiao Tang’s nerves, but unlike him, she didn’t dare openly complain about the subject. She just lowered Rochowitzered her head and got to work.

Li Xiangwan was a renowned portrait photographer, a darling of fashion magazines. Barely in her forties, she seemed to have lived two lifetimes. She and Liang Muye met during a commercial mountaineering trip to a snowy peak. Li Xiangwan had paid hundreds of thousands of yuan for the summit experience, while Liang Muye, a close friend of the team leader, doubled as the expedition photographer.

From then on, she repeatedly offered him high-paying jobs at her studio, only to be turned down each time—until three years ago. Out of the blue, Liang Muye sold all his outdoor gear, packed his bags, and returned to Beijing.

He sent himself an email: “Is your offer still on the table?”

Li Xiangwan replied with one word: “Come.”

After that, he started working as an independent photographer under her studio, taking on jobs and shooting personal projects in his spare time. Two years later, he gained some recognition in the industry. Li Xiangwan began passing him celebrity shoots, like today’s with Xu Xiaochen, a plum assignment she handed off to him because she had to go to Paris.

Fifteen minutes later, a commotion erupted outside. Three cars pulled up in a grand procession, accompanied by chaotic footsteps.

“I already told Sister Xiangwan everything was set. Why did she go to Paris…” The studio door swung open, and Xu Xiaochen walked in, frowning, visibly tired and seemingly unimpressed with the venue. “We’re shooting here?”

Xiao Tang, holding a coffee in one hand and Xu’s bag in the other, was sweating bullets.

“Um… Sister Li left instructions. Teacher Liang Muye will be taking over. He’s very familiar with the shoot content and the company’s vision, and we’ve worked together before…” Xiao Tang stood at attention, reciting her carefully prepared diplomatic speech.

But before she could finish, Xu Xiaochen waved his hand, his face brightening instantly. He extended a hand to Liang Muye. “Teacher Liang, right? I’m Xiaochen. Please bear with me.”

Xiao Tang followed his gaze. Liang Muye sat on the high stool, the afternoon light softening the lines of his face in an almost surreal way. He dressed simply—black sweater, black pants—blending into the background, as was his intention. But that face made even Xu Xiaochen pause and stare.

Xiao Tang understood. In this industry, a portrait photographer who couldn’t market themselves wasn’t a good one. Li Xiangwan was a prime example, her brand being the independent female photographer. Liang Muye’s brand, besides being the best mountaineer and free-climber among photographers, with a natural vagabond-artist aura, was undeniably his face.

It wasn’t so much that Liang Muye was saving the day for Li Xiangwan—it was his face doing the saving.

The client, a French toy manufacturer, wanted an advertisement with a childhood playground theme. The set team brought life-sized toy models, and Xu Xiaochen was to navigate through them, exploring. The brand chose him because he was on the rise and had a pure, youthful look that matched their image.

What they overlooked was that Xu Xiaochen, at twenty-five, was far from a child. He looked at the set with visible distaste. Several times, as Liang Muye adjusted the lens, Xu couldn’t help but break into an ill-timed grin at the camera.

Though his efficiency was lacking, his attitude was decent. He kept smiling and apologizing to Liang Muye, flashing his signature four-dimpled smile.

Seeing Xu struggle to get into character, Liang Muye said to Xiao Tang, “Open the back door.”

“But…” Xu’s female assistant started to protest.

Xiao Tang ignored her and followed Liang Muye’s instructions.

“Open the storage room door too.”

With both doors open, a chilly draft swept through the studio. Xu, wearing the brand’s wool vest, shivered instantly.

“Teacher Liang, it’s… pretty cold.”

As Xu’s assistant moved to close the door, Liang Muye raised a hand to stop her.

“Teacher Xu, you’ve got one hour of my day. Follow my rules, alright?” He pulled off his sweater, revealing a black T-shirt. “I’ll freeze with you. I won’t waste your time, so don’t waste mine.”

His words silenced Xu and his three or four staff members. No one dared speak.

The draft brought in cold air but also something else—the rustle of ginkgo leaves outside, the distant hum of the street, and the faint aroma of roasted sweet potatoes.

“Close your eyes. Feel with your ears, your body. Think of a moment from your childhood that made you happy—or just a moment. Then open your eyes.”

Xu Xiaochen opened his eyes, catching sight of a life-sized teddy bear, but Liang Muye stopped him. “Don’t look at it. Look at me. The set doesn’t matter. It’s just background. What matters is what you see, what you’re thinking.”

In that moment, Xu seemed to forget the cold. A flicker of nostalgia crossed his face, his expression unreadable. The last rays of the setting sun bathed his face in soft gold. The 24mm lens focused, and the electronic shutter clicked silently.

It was absurd, an adult lost in a fairytale world, yet filled with longing and melancholy—a perfect moment.

Liang Muye lowered the camera and turned to Xiao Tang, who was holding a reflector. “Take a break.” He glanced at the shooting schedule, signaling to switch to the second set, and began changing the lens with his left hand.

Xu Xiaochen, as if familiar with the process, said, “You can shoot closer, it’s fine.”

Liang Muye ignored him, speaking only to his assistant. “Give me the 85mm, thanks.” He didn’t want to shoot too close—it wouldn’t look right.

The childhood-themed shoot wrapped up in less than half an hour.

Liang Muye never took multiple shots of the same scene or pose, like an old-school film photographer who cherished every frame. This made selecting photos remarkably easy.

Xu Xiaochen leaned in close, so close Liang Muye could smell his cologne—clean and sharp, like a northern winter. Xu seemed to wish Liang Muye had taken more shots so he could linger over the selection, nestled close.

“Alright, these look good. Send them to Tracy’s email for final review.”

Liang Muye nodded, marked the photos, and slid his chair back with a push of his foot.

Xiao Tang rushed in. “Oh, good, you’re still here!” She leaned forward, the scent of roasted sweet potatoes wafting in. “Brother Muye had me buy these. Teacher Xu, have some sweet potato.”

Xu Xiaochen dropped his celebrity airs, saying it was for the experience, and shared a sweet potato with his assistant, ignoring any talk of dieting.

Liang Muye watched, quietly packing up the equipment. Before joining Li Xiangwan’s studio, he had never handled so many cameras at once. In the outdoor photography world, he was known for his minimalist approach—one camera, one lens. His love for lightweight gear led him to favor Nikon’s small cameras, often using a 35mm prime lens for landscapes. These were cheap tools, scoffed at by enthusiasts, but in his hands, they produced priceless work.

His 35mm shots graced the pages of major photography magazines, including National Geographic.

He always believed equipment wasn’t everything—just a means to an end. In the studio, surrounded by top-tier gear, he felt no attachment to them. It was just business.

After finishing the sweet potato, Xu Xiaochen, seeing Liang Muye hadn’t left, leaned in with a grin and invited him and his team to dinner.

Liang Muye declined, saying he had plans.

Xu Xiaochen took it in stride. “Another time, then.”