This palm-sized island had been split by the tourism business into two sharply divided worlds. The southeast-facing stretch of rock and sand, where the sun and sea breeze were mild and pleasant, was covered with newly built hotels and resorts. Every quiet night, lights spread from the hotel gardens all the way to the harbor piers, beautiful beyond words.
The hills on the northwest side, including the “holy site” with the wishing tree Pei Yan had visited yesterday, were where the island’s native residents lived. Wooden houses crowded the steep sea cliffs in no particular order, stacked high and low into a continuous patchwork. Their brightly colored roofs looked simple and rustic, and in the late-afternoon sun they laid a strangely beautiful mosaic over the cliffs.
For the final battle, the famous director chose this hillside slum as the location.
The steep slope piled with disorderly houses became a natural set for a tug-of-war between evenly matched opponents.
Pei Yan and Zhuang Xiao stood only a few meters apart on a rooftop, facing the sea wind. Their thin clothes ballooned in the gale, and the solemnity in their faces and the blood splashed across them announced that the battle was about to erupt.
Out at sea, the hostages aboard the battered iron ship had already been rescued and escaped. Police speedboats and helicopters circled not far away, closing in step by step as sirens wailed. The lone-hero male lead had finally driven the big boss to a dead end on the island!
A gleam of eager determination shot through Pei Yan’s eyes.
The expression perfectly suited the story: in the very next second, he was supposed to beat the man in front of him senseless and chase him until he had nowhere left to run. Yet the heroic invincibility and unstoppable confidence on the surface were not remotely what Pei Yan actually felt…
There were two cameras. One sat farther away to capture the entire composition. The other was extremely close. To avoid appearing in frame, the cameraman and assistant kept their heads and bodies pressed so low that their chins nearly scraped the ground as they moved laboriously along the track. The lens was right beside Pei Yan and Zhuang Xiao’s feet…
Too close.
Pei Yan kicked out, blasting up dust and grit that hit the cameraman in the face and sprayed across Zhuang Xiao’s face too…
Then came a punch meeting a punch head-on, each fist smashing into flesh. Bone struck bone, and the two men grappled and rolled over the edge of the roof as a shower of broken tiles came clattering down…
Dust and stones flew everywhere. The movement was blisteringly fast. This was what a real blockbuster looked like.
High on the mountainside, they seemed almost suspended in the clouds above the island. Without slow motion, the movements were nearly impossible to follow.
Several layers of spectators had gathered in the distance, local villagers watching the movie shoot without needing a ticket. Zhuang Xiao swept out a kick that stirred a wave of dust and smoke, and Pei Yan snapped backward. A basket of dried peppers balanced on the head of a woman in the crowd shook so hard that some peppers jumped out, leaving her staring in astonishment.
Fortunately, both men’s footwork was precise. The action-design team stood nearby working from their notes, grinding through the sequence shot by shot. If they marked a target, the kick had to land exactly there. Nobody could afford to smash a camera lens.
Zhuang Xiao rolled off the edge of the roof. The ramshackle house was already barely standing, powerless under the savage barrage of fists and feet and in need of one final scoop from a demolition crew. Two support beams were knocked loose by the pair of them and could no longer withstand the blows. With a chaotic crash, fragments rained down together with Zhuang Xiao as he fell toward the ground!
In a shot where Pei Yan was not actually required to jump from the roof, he jumped after him anyway and heaved aside half a beam that had nearly smashed into Zhuang Xiao…
Some shots allowed protective gear. Some did not. Zhuang Xiao was wearing only a tight tank top torn open at the side, because the entire point was to capture blows landing flesh against flesh. For stunt performers, this was simply the work that put food on the table. You did not stand in front of a camera telling the director it hurt.
“You okay?
“You’re bleeding, I think…”
Pei Yan rolled up from the ground, stood, and went over to support him.
“No. Fake blood.”
Zhuang Xiao said it flatly.
To tell the truth, in this kind of hand-to-hand scene there was bound to be both fake blood and real blood, and nobody could tell the difference. Sweat and dirt mixed into a layer of paste over their bodies. Blood quietly seeped from hairlines and shoulders, then was diluted to pale red by sweat… Only Zhuang Xiao himself knew which blood was real.
In front of Zhuang Xiao, Pei Yan always used everything he had, holding nothing back and not daring to hold back.
Off camera, he knew he had no chance. He was not as good and could not beat Zhuang Xiao, and he accepted that completely. If he fought too softly, it felt disrespectful. If he fought too hard, he would feel guilty first and worry he might actually hurt the man…
The fists he showed were hard. His feelings were soft.
Yet he still had to attack with the savagery of someone drugged on adrenaline, every move looking as though it were meant to kill, as though only one of them could survive. The camera was right in front of their faces, recording every fraction of expression. If their acting slipped by even a hair, the director would lose his mind and demand another NG.
Nothing flirtatious or suggestive could leak into the shot. There could only be enemies meeting with blood in their eyes, revenge and slaughter.
The whole thing felt strangely funny. Anyone who could not keep a straight face would break character in seconds, because every line Zhuang Xiao spat through gritted teeth was about avenging his tragically murdered “younger brother.”
Listening to those lines, Pei Yan kept thinking, That precious “younger brother” you can’t stop talking about should be me, shouldn’t it?
*
“Movement! I need movement! Your fists and feet should carry wind!!
“I want it to look like you can’t keep your footing!!”
The director kept shouting.
The two chased and fought across the rooftops while Fat Charles and a group of crew members drove a Jeep below, following the rapid path of their feet. Charles’s hair and beard blew into a wild clump of seaweed in the ocean wind. Between takes he shouted constantly, completely immersed in the scene and boiling with excitement.
Dust blotted out the sky. Wrapped in the wind, Pei Yan looked exactly as the script intended: a fearless young kung-fu hero born from poor back alleys, handsome and loose-limbed, striding with a stylish sway. Every kick looked as though it might carry him straight out of frame and into the sea, only for the other man’s body to tangle with his and haul him back.
When he was kicked off a roof, Pei Yan hooked the eave with the top of his foot and hung upside down in midair. A safety line at his waist made the stunt secure, but the little secret movement of Zhuang Xiao gripping his ankle to keep him from genuinely falling made Pei Yan feel even safer than the harness did…
They ran madly. Through most of the action space, Pei Yan could not actually hit Zhuang Xiao. Every time, Zhuang Xiao slipped cleverly aside, using camera angles to make the director and eventual audience believe the fist had struck bone. Pei Yan himself knew perfectly well that Zhuang Xiao’s face, shoulders, lower abdomen, and thighs were too agile. Nearly every time, the man slid around the edge of Pei Yan’s fist or fingertips, never letting him make contact, never letting him actually “get a bite” of that flesh…
During a pause after CUT, Pei Yan let his momentum carry him into Zhuang Xiao, then gave him a light push and complained under his breath, “Why do you keep running? I can’t hit you. I haven’t landed a single one!”
“That’s your problem if you can’t hit me,” Zhuang Xiao shot back. “How exactly do you want to hit me?”
Pei Yan answered softly, “If you stopped dodging, it’s not like I’d really hurt you…
“When other people shoot kissing scenes or bed scenes, they cheat the angle. They don’t actually kiss, they don’t actually fuck. You’re shooting an action scene and you’re still cheating the angle so I can’t touch you?”
Zhuang Xiao raised his brows. “If it looks good without flesh actually getting hit, isn’t that enough?”
There was a tiny expression at the corner of Pei Yan’s half-smiling mouth. “Bro, could you be a little more professional?”
Zhuang Xiao: “…”
The second Pei Yan finished saying it, he wanted to bite off his own tongue.
He immediately looked away. Some words sounded too much like flirting once they left your mouth. They did not suit the relationship between the two of them. Work was work.
He had not meant to act like this. Maybe it was because filming was almost over, and the time they had spent together was about to end before his eyes, blown apart by the sea wind into scattered pieces of memory. He simply could not stop himself from wanting that memory to be a little better.
Next came a brutal major shot. A length of iron as thick as a forearm swung at him, deadly and vicious. Pei Yan dodged rapidly in frame, crossed his steps, and suddenly drove a savage kick toward his opponent’s lower abdomen!
This time Zhuang Xiao did not dodge. He moved into it.
The fact that he did not dodge made Pei Yan’s heart seize. In the final inch he instinctively tried to pull his force, nearly giving himself a calf cramp. Zhuang Xiao met him with his abdomen braced, then abruptly seized his lower leg!
Using Pei Yan’s leg as the axis, the two launched into a “Black Dragon Coils the Pillar,” both bodies flipping into the air in a movement so fast it dazzled the eye. Zhuang Xiao immediately dragged Pei Yan down with him from the mottled rooftop, the two plunging toward the devastated street below…
Elio’s Notes: “Black Dragon Coils the Pillar” renders 乌龙绞柱, a traditional name for a coiling rotational fighting/acrobatic movement. The exact stunt here uses Pei Yan’s leg as the axis while both men turn through the air.
“Ah…”
Both men let out low roars and strings of guttural sounds, natural reactions that required no acting at all.
Pei Yan was stacked on top of Zhuang Xiao as they crashed toward the street. The ground hurtled crazily toward his vision. He desperately tried to brace with both hands and take some of his own weight so he would not crush the other man. Zhuang Xiao twisted to take the impact on one shoulder, protecting the back of his head while supporting Pei Yan’s chest at the same time so Pei Yan would not strike the ground either.
Everyone around them stared, repeatedly sucking in breath. These two maniacs filmed as though their lives meant nothing. Were they competing over who was more professional, who cared less about dying?
Originally this was supposed to be assembled from three shots: the fight as one shot, the fall from the roof as the second, and the impact on the ground as the third. Movies looked flashy and dazzling because everything was cut together continuously, the seams later smoothed over in post-production. Yet once again, the two men had forced all three into one long take without a pause, making the result brutally convincing.
Zhuang Xiao landed with absolute precision on the foam mats the assistants had laid out ahead of time, completely unharmed.
Bang!
Whump!
No more complaining this time. Pei Yan had finally landed on real flesh…
The impact into the mat was still enormous. For several seconds, stars flashed across Pei Yan’s vision and the scenery shook as though the camera itself were moving. Time seemed to stop…
When Pei Yan finally found his focus, he was lying directly on top of Zhuang Xiao, pressed firmly against him.
“You okay? Did I crush you?!”
That was the first thing he asked, genuine concern in his voice as he hurried to shift off the other man. The force of that fall was huge. It could break bones. It could paralyze someone.
Zhuang Xiao lay flat on his back on the mat, his hair disheveled from the fight, something at the side of his face that might have been real blood or fake blood. He smiled once at Pei Yan.
Zhuang Xiao’s smile was calm. “I know exactly what I’m doing. I wasn’t going to let you hit the ground. Don’t worry.”
Pei Yan: “…”
Zhuang Xiao smiled again. “Professional, Old Pei.”
The fall had heated Pei Yan’s head. He froze for one second, then, after moving away, shamelessly moved right back. He slapped his full weight down again and pressed Zhuang Xiao flush beneath him, no gaps anywhere.
Fat Charles had already gotten out of the Jeep and was high-fiving everyone around him. He deliberately bent down and slapped Pei Yan once across the lower back and ass in praise and affection. “Amazing! Beautiful! Son, you looked fucking great today!!”
The way he addressed Pei Yan had quietly changed again, carrying a hint of genuine closeness. For stunt performers, a director’s trust and appreciation were earned one bleeding, life-risking scene at a time. This take was definitely good. It was spectacular. They would not have to fall a second time.
“You knew what you were doing? You’re fine? Scared me for nothing?
“You don’t think I’m heavy? I can’t crush you? Then I’ll stay on top a little longer…”
Pei Yan took advantage of Zhuang Xiao’s smile and Charles’s slap to go slightly crazy and act shameless. His heart had melted long ago. His brain had melted too. He could no longer even distinguish what part of his own body was pressed against what, or what he had touched… His emotions were hot, his breathing fast, his blood surging with masculine heat. Even if they only fit together for a single second, that fulfilled one wish. He knew when to stop and would not take it too far.
He had felt Zhuang Xiao’s back and lower back. The texture under his hands was perfect.
It was the body he liked: the waist, ass, and thigh lines he liked, shaped in exactly the way he liked best.
And it was even the position he liked in bed, half forcing the other man down beneath him…
His mind burned with the melancholy of “here today, gone tomorrow,” while on the surface he still had to look as though he did not care. Under everyone’s eyes he laughed wantonly, leaving no trace of what the embrace meant, their faces only a few centimeters apart.
Pei Yan lingered on Zhuang Xiao for only a moment, the two still maintaining the grappling pose of I’m not done with you, keep fighting if you’ve got the guts. Zhuang Xiao growled, “Move!” Pei Yan immediately looked away, obediently pushed himself up, rolled aside, and escaped three meters away.
*
Only after Pei Yan got to his feet did the exhaustion hit him. He could put on a brave front in front of Mr. Zhuang, but the moment he turned away he wanted to collapse face-first onto the ground and play dead, arms and legs heavy as lead.
A layer of mud and blood covered his face. The sun beating directly down on his head made him dizzy.
His stomach felt awful. He had not eaten breakfast. He had been running a low fever since last night. The temperature was not high enough to stop him from working, but it was affecting his condition.
Johnny Wu had already joined the production to look after him. As always, the man wore a shirt and suit trousers, carrying himself with the false refinement of a gentleman without seeming to mind the heat. His “old godfather” stood with hands on hips and paced anxiously, trying to get Pei Yan’s attention.
Johnny Wu coughed toward him and curled a hand in a beckoning gesture. “Hey…”
Pei Yan wandered over, still looking completely out of it. “What?”
He grabbed his phone from the chair reserved for him, dropped heavily into the seat, and began scrolling. His gaze suddenly focused and stopped on the headline pushed to the top of a website…
Outside the shooting area, plenty of people had just been watching, including members of the Zhuang Stunt Team and their manager Bao Pengzhi.
Fatty Bao tossed his phone aside and shook his head. “I knew nothing good would happen once that guy got involved. Here comes another circus.”
Sa Risheng sat quietly scrolling, his posture unchanged. “What?”
“Pei, obviously,” Fatty Bao said. “Every time he gets a new movie, they hype the hell out of him. I think his company’s whole strategy is upscale self-blackening. He already has black marks all over him, so they just keep making him more notorious until notoriety turns red!
“That’s what audiences eat up now. They’re not afraid of stars having black marks. They’re afraid of stars having no news, no heat. Do fans all have some kind of ‘villain complex’ too? Is that Mr. Pei’s whole persona?”
Comrade Xiao-Sa, a straightforward man to the bone, always reacted half a beat slower than everyone else and had no sensitivity whatsoever to entertainment gossip. His rough finger moved slowly across the screen until he finally reached a composite image of two familiar, half-naked handsome men. His finger jerked so hard he nearly punched a dent through the fragile screen. “What the hell is this…?”
“Was there a scene like this? Who made it?” Sa Risheng’s extremely straight instincts recoiled from this kind of image.
“We didn’t leak anything. Filming isn’t even finished and somebody is already dropping heavy bait. Who else could it be?” Fatty Bao shook his head slightly and jerked his chin toward Mr. Pei in the distance.
Pei Yan had already dragged Johnny Wu aside and was glaring at him. “What the fuck is this shit? Did you send them this publicity copy?”
It was not actually a huge scandal, just a promotional article. The front page of the site and a mass of marketing accounts had all pushed it over the past two days. One glance made it obvious someone was building heat for the new film. The angle was comparatively “fresh,” or rather, spectacularly trashy. The headline read: New Drunken Fist Stages a Passionate Two-Dragon Rendezvous: Pei Yan and Zhuang Xiao Carry On a Secret Bedside Grapple.
A few of those words nearly stabbed Pei Yan’s eyes blind. His expression changed. “Who the fuck wrote this? Who got into bed and grappled with who?!”
This was the standard method of promotional hype. Instead of talking about the movie itself, they dragged in unrelated nonsense, teased the audience, swapped the real plot for something salacious, then jabbed hard at whatever would excite viewers most. Something that had never happened was written as if it were fact.
The accompanying image said everything. The choice was clever. One photo showed Zhuang Xiao on set in a dark purple velvet robe, chest exposed, holding a glass of red wine. Male desire seemed to surge in his eyes while a sensual stretch of bare skin showed at his chest. That picture had been composited with another: Pei Yan lying on his side across a luxurious bed, his teasing pose radiating heat, back muscles boldly exposed, eyes wild…
Pei Yan really had filmed that bed scene.
But had he fucking filmed it with Mr. Zhuang?!
Had the chocolate-skinned second female lead from those two scenes been fed through a paper shredder?
The composite cropped Pei Yan at exactly the line of his buttocks, almost exposing them. It looked as though he wore nothing at all, with a suggestive blur added that only made the whole thing more provocative. In the image, his gaze met Zhuang Xiao’s exactly. Zhuang Xiao swirled the red wine and pulled open his robe, while Pei Yan looked as though in the next second he would launch himself from the bed at the handsome man flirting with his chest bare…
Johnny Wu coughed quietly. “Old Pei, don’t be so explosive. It’s nothing. When the domestic release happens, it’ll definitely be a cut version. All of this will be removed. The audience won’t see much anyway.”
Now it was Pei Yan’s turn to stand with hands on hips, glaring at him. “That footage isn’t even going to be released. What’s the point of throwing these photos out?”
Did he even need to ask? Of course they were using bed-scene bait to cook up attention, whet the audience’s appetite, and grab eyes and box office receipts first.
But in Pei Yan’s eyes, this meant selling him out, trampling on his reputation and dignity for clicks.
He pointed at Johnny Wu. “I told you the truth that night. You fucking sold me out?”
“I didn’t.” The moment Johnny Wu saw he was genuinely furious, he denied it immediately. “I would never do that.”
“You wouldn’t?!” Pei Yan truly lost his temper.
“I wouldn’t.” Johnny Wu suddenly turned serious and looked at him with complete sincerity. “Old Pei, we know each other this well. I know what you actually feel inside. You think I’d use something like that to ‘hype’ you? Impossible. I wouldn’t…”
Pei Yan lifted his head, searching for Zhuang Xiao. Zhuang Xiao was walking toward the rest area in full injury makeup. His scenes were not finished, so he had not even bothered wiping off the sweat and blood, saving himself another makeup touch-up. Fatty Bao put an arm around Zhuang Xiao, whispered something close to his ear, and showed him the phone…
Pei Yan cursed inwardly in frustration. He felt genuinely guilty.
Author’s Note:
A few spoilers: 1. This is a pure relationship story about a quiet, restrained love between two men. From secret love to open love and then…
2. This is a sweet story… the era of kung-fu superstars “Pei-Zhuang.”
3. We’re still early. They’ve got a long way to grind. A little turbulence makes the sweetness sweeter.