The Forbidden City in late autumn looked freshly washed beneath the sky after a rainstorm. Wet flagstones reflected the silhouettes of the great palace halls.
Everyone assembled before dawn, working overtime in the makeup trailers to put on cosmetics and costumes. Cast and crew filed along the palace passage beside the Palace of Heavenly Purity, hoping to finish the day’s shots before tourists were admitted.
The production of Dragon Battles Heaven’s Pass had wrapped its location scenes. Now that everyone was back in Beijing, they needed only to shoot some additional footage inside the Forbidden City, in the imperial court and the deep palace compounds, before filming would be finished completely.
Pei Yan stood beside a great water vat along the palace passage, bending to peer inside. “Tsk.”
Zhuang Xiao strolled over at his leisure. “What are you doing? Thinking of jumping in?”
“How could I? There’s water in it.”
“Then jump in and swim.”
Pei Yan glanced up at him. “I spent so long swimming in the bathtub last night I’ve turned into a fish… I’m practically growing gills…”
Zhuang Xiao looked him over just as coolly. “You’re a beautiful little scaleless fish.”
Pei Yan laughed lewdly. “Scaleless fish have very fine, tasty flesh. Mine’s tender, right? I taste good, don’t I?”
Zhuang Xiao gave the smallest approving look. “Extremely delicious.”
They whispered intimate nonsense together between shots. Nobody else noticed what the two were saying, and even if someone had overheard them, they probably wouldn’t have understood a word.
They had slept at Zhuang Xiao’s apartment the previous night. They’d originally considered going to Pei Yan’s place, but too many paparazzi knew his Sanlitun address, and the neighborhood was full of celebrities and entertainment reporters. They were still afraid of being seen together, so they hadn’t even dared go out to eat. Later Pei Yan drove discreetly to Chunxiu Road and visited the place where Zhuang Xiao lived.
In Pei Yan’s opinion, the apartment Liang Youhui had furnished was in excellent taste. The man didn’t have many other talents, but he certainly knew how to enjoy life. Everything in the place was expensive, luxurious, and comfortable. Warm, moist air circulated through the bedroom with aromatherapy and gentle surround-sound music; the kitchen boasted a complete set of German electrical appliances; and the bathroom contained an enormous whirlpool bathtub.
Like a great big fish, Mr. Pei thrashed his head and legs around in the tub and told Zhuang Xiao, “Fuck, this bathtub’s big enough for a threesome! So-o-o amazing!”
He paid something of a price for that remark later that evening. He swam several more laps around the tub, his head pushed against the wet mosaic wall as he braced himself against the tiles and the bath’s edge, crying out and panting with water running down his face, once again on his knees… His skin was naturally quite pale, though two weeks beneath the grassland’s fierce ultraviolet sunlight had tanned the back of his neck and his arms a deep reddish color. But the parts of his body only an intimate partner could see, including his buttocks and thighs, were still white.
Naked and trembling in the water like a large white fish, he looked incredibly tempting, the tattoos on his lower back shining beneath a film of water… Zhuang Xiao shifted his gaze away from the collar of Pei Yan’s thoroughly respectable costume, forcing himself not to stare and summon up fantasies. Being in this sort of relationship was going to be the death of him too.
Zhuang Xiao asked coldly, “Who’ve you had a threesome with?”
Pei Yan confessed honestly, “Nobody. I’ve never done that with anyone. I’ve just seen porn where several people do it.”
Zhuang Xiao looked away. “Pointless.”
Pei Yan flashed him a teasing glance and whispered, “It’s really exciting. Want to watch? Next time you come to my place, let’s watch together. We can do it while we watch. That’d be fantastic.”
“I’m not interested.” Zhuang Xiao genuinely had no interest in gay pornography. All that indiscriminate penetration seemed rather disgusting to him.
“…” Pei Yan looked into his eyes. “Then are you interested in me?”
“Yes.” Zhuang Xiao met his gaze. There was no need to hide how he felt.
The heart that had suddenly clenched in Pei Yan’s chest settled back into place, though not very steadily. Their two reflections floated side by side in the enormous water vat beneath the palace wall, ripples washing across their faces…
Zhuang Xiao didn’t actually have any scenes to film today. Why would a wandering martial hero turn up inside the Forbidden City? His own shots were all finished. He was supposedly visiting the palace as a tourist, but really he was here to keep Pei Yan company, another sort of visit to someone on set.
One shot required Eunuch Cen to fly from above the roof eaves on a stunt wire, swoop down into the middle of the palace passage, extend his claws like a tiger, and arrogantly tear away a piece of human skin with a single swipe.
The effects crew helped Young Hero Pei into his wire harness, while Pei Yan reached around to tug at the shorts built into it.
He told his assistant, “It’s too tight. Loosen it a little.”
The stunt technician said, “If it’s any looser, you might slip out and won’t be able to do the move properly. You’re relatively slim.”
Pei Yan frowned. “It’s pinching too hard… It’s uncomfortable…”
The technician protested, “It’s not tight! We’ve always secured it this way!”
Pei Yan gave a miserable little smile. Of course they’d always secured it like this. In the past, neither his front nor his backside had been swollen and sore.
Zhuang Xiao walked over without a word and adjusted something behind him for a while. Pei Yan turned and gave him a complicated look. Your equipment’s too impressive, your fingers are rough, and after all those assaults from front and back, you’ve nearly killed me…
During the actual shot, Pei Yan sprang into the air and spread his legs wide. “Ah!” His face twisted out of shape.
“What happened? Did you pull a muscle?!” the baffled director shouted.
Crouching nearby, Zhuang Xiao signaled to Pei Yan with his eyes. Use a double.
The director was still puzzled. “What’s wrong, Yanbao? Suddenly you don’t know how to fight with your arms and legs anymore?”
Pei Yan had enormous dark circles beneath his eyes. “I’m not in good shape today. Let’s try again.”
He could hardly tell the truth: Somebody fucked me in bed last night, and spreading my legs pulls at my tender little opening. It hurts.
Zhuang Xiao crouched on a chair nearby with an unlit cigarette between his lips, his expression apologetic. Want me to go in for you?
Pei Yan answered with a look of his own. Forget it, Hero. Neither of us could ever double for the other. We’re far too different. Everything about us is different.
How could two people who were different in every possible way have such incredible chemistry and fit together so perfectly?
Another vehicle arrived. Apparently the big boss of Jiahuang had come all the way to the Forbidden City to visit the set. A tall figure in a trench coat passed fleetingly through the palace entrance, surrounded by a bustling crowd of attendants. It looked as if the emperor himself had arrived at the Palace of Heavenly Purity.
Zhuang Xiao wandered away. He had no intention of approaching the man or exchanging greetings.
He walked along the passages between the palaces, lifting his camera to photograph beautiful scenes. After the rain, the buildings stood quietly against a pale blue-green sky. The vermilion palace walls were grand and weathered.
More than one media outlet had heard about the filming and sent reporters inside. Now that they were back in the capital, avoiding the press was impossible.
“Taking scenery photographs, Xiao? Has it been years since you last visited the Forbidden City?” A microphone was already being thrust toward him.
“Just a few snapshots.” Zhuang Xiao lowered his eyes and adjusted his camera. “I haven’t been here for many years.”
“What are your plans after Dragon Battles Heaven’s Pass wraps?” a reporter pressed.
“Go back to America,” Zhuang Xiao said calmly, polite but expressionless.
“Now that you’re back in Beijing, will you spend some time with family? Which friends in the industry do you plan to meet up with?” Several microphones jostled in front of his mouth. Each sported an enormous logo designed to appear on camera, the brands pushing and crowding one another out of the frame.
“No.” Two words answered both questions, making the whole competition between microphones pointless.
“So you’ll be leaving again so soon? Your fans have waited such a long time. Do you intend to make any more films or television dramas in China?” the reporter asked.
“No plans. I won’t be filming here again,” Zhuang Xiao answered clearly.
One film was enough. A single production had entangled him so unexpectedly and completely that his cold reserve and self-control had turned out to be worthless.
To the media, Zhuang Xiao was a particularly difficult subject. He seemed willing to answer questions, was polite and restrained, never lost his temper, never shouted, and had never smashed a paparazzo’s car. When he noticed a female reporter stepping backward and almost missing a stair, he reacted with lightning speed and caught her with a gentlemanly hand before she could fall. Yet nobody could squeeze even one extra word out of him. Interviewing Mr. Zhuang was like confronting an unbreakable wall. Outsiders could pound against it as much as they wished and never get through.
Pei Yan didn’t hear those things Zhuang Xiao said during the interview.
He had finally finished the difficult midair splits, stripped off his wire harness, and freed himself from the tight bindings. His lower body instantly felt much more comfortable. With a light step he bounded down the palace stairs, searching from afar for Zhuang Xiao’s figure in the open courtyard…
There was a souvenir shop inside the Forbidden City, selling artistic little cultural gifts that had become extremely popular online. Zhuang Xiao went in for a look and came out again. Some time later, Mr. Pei wandered in too, then emerged.
Beneath the wet fallen leaves of the ginkgo trees, several spotted deer kept in an open enclosure strolled about the courtyard, searching for food and obligingly posing for tourists.
Zhuang Xiao leaned against a palace wall in his ordinary clothes, still wearing a long-sleeved, high-necked shirt, smoky-gray cargo trousers, and high-top boots. He handed a little present to the man in front of him.
Pei Yan was still in costume and hadn’t taken off his makeup. His face was painted in bright reds and greens and he almost bounced with excitement, charging up to Zhuang Xiao like a ball of fire. He looked at the gift and laughed. “What’s this? Another present for me?”
“Saw it and thought it looked just as stupid as you,” Zhuang Xiao replied.
Inside the box was an adorable little ceramic doll of a Ming-dynasty Jinyiwei guard, standing on a pen holder. It was an official Palace Museum souvenir. The figure wore a red flying-fish robe and carried an embroidered-spring saber. Its plump, bun-shaped cheeks were painted with peach-blossom makeup, its eyes narrowed and lips pouting adorably.
“Hahahaha!” Pei Yan laughed, holding the doll beside his own face. “Looks like me, doesn’t it? Exactly like me, right?”
Zhuang Xiao couldn’t resist reaching out and giving that cheek a firm pinch. Only afterward did he quickly glance all around. He shouldn’t be getting handsy in public, but he simply couldn’t help himself.
Zhuang Xiao appeared cold, but he liked giving Pei Yan little presents. Whenever he browsed a shop, he thought of him. That brought warmth to Pei Yan’s heart amid the chill of late autumn and helped him understand the man’s real temperament.
Pei Yan held out something in return. “I picked up a little present for you just now too.”
Zhuang Xiao unfolded it. A silk handkerchief?
It was exquisite, embroidered with a martial-arts-inspired pattern of mountains and clouds. Zhuang Xiao frowned. “Why buy this for me? I’d never use it.”
“Of course you’ll use it. I just used it myself…” Pei Yan narrowed his eyes. “I suddenly started missing you so much I went to the bathroom and jerked off with this. It’s got my cum all over it. Keep it and give it a sniff.”
Zhuang Xiao: “?!”
“So fine and silky. Feels amazing against your cock. You should try it next time.” Pei Yan delivered his dirty joke with a perfectly straight face.
Zhuang Xiao frowned down at the handkerchief in his hands and muttered, “Fuck.”
There was a rustle of secret, unspeakable laughter beneath the palace wall.
Using the move “Leaning on a Horse to Ask the Way,” Zhuang Xiao jabbed at Young Hero Pei’s lower abdomen, then hooked an arm around him and tickled his sensitive spots. Pei Yan curled up immediately, pleading for mercy…
“You’re so filthy… I don’t need to jerk myself off. I’d rather jerk you off,” Zhuang Xiao scolded. Yet he could barely keep from laughing. Somehow, every time he went out, he ended up bumping into this lunatic.
“Just teasing you…” Pei Yan laughed and confessed the truth. “I saw a tea set in the shop that I thought you’d like. I had them send it by courier straight to your home. Wait for the package to arrive.”
* * *
At dusk the crew finished filming and everyone went home, agreeing on another predawn makeup call for the following day.
In a relatively quiet upscale café on the Sanlitun pedestrian street, an entertainment and fashion magazine had arranged an exclusive interview in advance. The photographer even took several profile shots of Zhuang Xiao sitting alone by a window, enjoying his coffee.
The American version of Drunken Fist would soon enter its promotional period ahead of its mainland Chinese theatrical release. The interview mainly concerned Drunken Fist and Dragon Battles Heaven’s Pass.
North American critics had responded fairly well to the small advance screenings and strongly believed that Drunken Fist would receive Best Action Choreography nominations at several film festivals that year. The Oriental martial-arts moves were distinctive, beautiful, and effortless, enhanced by grand Hollywood special effects. The two climactic fights in particular, including the minute-long continuous “Dance of Death” during the naval battle and the extended sequence of tumbling, tilting rooftop combat high on a cliff, were rare in earlier films, innovative and thrilling.
Zhuang Xiao admitted he was looking forward to it. Of course he’d be delighted by a nomination. If the martial-arts sequences succeeded and won recognition, the credit belonged not only to the action direction of the Zhuang Stunt Team but also to the work of the other leading actor, Mr. Pei.
Zhuang Xiao told the reporter honestly, “I performed only a small portion of the action in this film. Most of the actual martial-arts shots were performed by Mr. Pei. He did a perfect, beautiful job. No matter how good your action choreography is, without actors who can bring it to life, it’s useless. Audiences won’t see how good it could be.”
But Pei Yan was only the second villain, with not even a dozen minutes of screen time, wasn’t he? The magazine’s chief writer was puzzled and asked him to confirm what he’d said.
“He was practically playing the male lead!” Zhuang Xiao said calmly, then dropped the revelation outright. “The starring actor gets all the credit, but almost all of his fight scenes were actually performed by Pei Yan in front of the camera. Every arm movement, every kick, every technique. Pei performed them all. The post-production team simply filled things in on a computer afterward and replaced his head.
“In the last two climactic battles, he performed all the most spectacular fighting, from the sea to dry land and then up into the mountains. He kept going even when he was sick.”
The magazine writer asked, “Sir Zhuang, how would you evaluate your collaboration with Pei Yan across two major big-budget kung fu films?”
“Our cooperation has been excellent. I’ve enjoyed both productions.” Zhuang Xiao nodded sincerely. “Old Pei is the finest opponent and partner I’ve ever encountered on a set. I doubt I’ll ever meet someone so difficult to handle, so challenging to face again… When it comes to fighting, he’s simply a genius.”
He just wanted to praise Mr. Pei.
Openly, sincerely, from the heart. Why shouldn’t he praise him? Didn’t he deserve it?
Everyone was busy in the final quarter of the year, racing to meet profit targets and prepare New Year projects. The magazine writer hurriedly thanked Mr. Zhuang and left for the next appointment. The café manager and servers came over together, brought him more coffee, and took the opportunity to request autographs and photographs.
Zhuang Xiao obliged them all and hastily ate two sandwiches for dinner. Even in those few minutes, someone else came specifically to meet him and sat directly across from him: a project planner and director from a production company under Jiahuang Brothers.
There’d been no end of such approaches lately. Countless scripts and offers of cooperation were being thrown his way. Many had been blocked by Fatty Bao before they ever reached Zhuang Xiao. He glanced at the thick script inside a large brown paper envelope and politely declined. He had no plans to remain on the mainland filming in the near future, so he wasn’t accepting roles.
The visitor smiled winningly and launched into a long pitch. Mr. Zhuang, at least take a look at the script! It had two male stars as leads, an urban workplace and entertainment-industry setting, a straightforward lively style, a fast shooting schedule, a short production period, and excellent pay. It would be an easy salary to earn!
Zhuang Xiao interrupted with an apologetic shake of his head. “Do you really think this kind of movie suits me? I don’t.”
Why wouldn’t it suit him? Mr. Zhuang was handsome, with long hair; in a suit he would look tall and mature and irresistibly masculine. He was perfect! Their project badly wanted him. His name guaranteed publicity and box-office success.
That final point was the real key. They wanted to exploit his current fame and popularity to lure the audience into theaters.
An urban entertainment-industry film about workplace romance, melodramatic love affairs between men and women, with no serious depth or demand for actual martial arts. The script probably hadn’t even been revised properly, and the whole project seemed thrown together at the last minute. It was the very definition of fast-food filmmaking.
Still, this kind of lightweight, brainless urban romance could make astonishing amounts of money. Several films near the top of the mainland box-office rankings in recent years had belonged to that genre.
The planner leaned closer, giving him a meaningful look. “Mr. Zhuang, another reason we’re so eager to invite you is that the company has already chosen Pei Yan for the other male lead. We’d have the two of you playing a pair of partners in the entertainment industry. It would be perfect! You want to work with Mr. Pei again too, don’t you?”
Zhuang Xiao raised his brows. “You’ve approached Old Pei about playing the other lead?”
The planner nodded. “Of course. We’re all part of the same company. Naturally we’d give him priority for the role. Nobody else could steal it away from him.”
Would anyone actually fight to “steal” a part like that?
Would Pei Yan ever accept a movie like this or a role of that sort?
Nobody would believe it. Zhuang Xiao certainly didn’t.
Besides, given his present relationship with Mr. Pei, other people probably wouldn’t expect them to repeat the foolish mistakes that had led them to sign for Drunken Fist and become involved in the wrong roles through misleading promises.
Without showing a flicker of emotion, Zhuang Xiao muted his phone and sent a WeChat message beneath the café table: [Did you agree to that movie Beautiful Colleagues?]
Pei Yan replied almost instantly, as though he’d been holding his phone waiting for the message: [No.]
Zhuang Xiao: [Have you had any talks about it? Is it under discussion? Ask your agent whether he’s negotiating for you. An urban entertainment-industry story.]
Pei Yan: [I think I heard of that project. It’s one of our company’s, right? But it’s got nothing to do with me. Why the hell would I take a movie that cheapens my name?]
Communicating with Mr. Pei was wonderfully satisfying. The man got straight to the point.
Zhuang Xiao asked one more question: [What if your company insists that you accept it?]
Mr. Pei launched straight into a rant: [What the fuck? Have they lost their minds? They want me in that boring garbage? They should ask Rongrong or somebody to play in that kind of movie. Who the hell has nothing better to do than come and bother me?!]
Who the hell would be foolish enough to provoke Master Pei into appearing in a production like that? Zhuang Xiao couldn’t suppress a smile as he watched the screen. That fiery temperament really was lovable. So adorable, so refreshingly straightforward…
The planner was making one last effort. Mr. Zhuang, wouldn’t you at least consider the pay? Was he really so busy lately? He wasn’t that busy, surely? The production company belonged to Jiahuang Brothers and had ample funds. They could pay him this much…
On one corner of a paper napkin on the café table, the man wrote a nine-digit figure.
Zhuang Xiao’s expression went cold.
A nine-digit offer? For this trash?
“Your boss at Jiahuang approved this figure?” he asked.
“Of course. President Zhang has already authorized the salary budget. We can pay you this amount as long as you agree to take the role,” the man promised.
Zhuang Xiao shook his head. “I’m not taking it.”
The nine-digit offer slammed into that impassable wall with a resounding thud. The planner froze.
A trace of anger appeared on Zhuang Xiao’s face, taking on a bronze sheen. He sneered. “Your President Zhang at Jiahuang would never offer me that figure. He’d much rather I work for nothing while making him billions, the more the better. Pay me a hundred million yuan for a random popcorn movie? What’s he doing, opening the granaries to hand out relief? Running a charity?
“According to our contract, I still owe your boss a mountain of debt. You think he’d come personally to hand me money?”
“…”
Deep down, Zhuang Xiao knew that the longer he stayed here, the more trouble would seek him out, one problem after another, refusing to let him go.
Another WeChat message appeared. Pei Yan asked: [Where are we eating tonight? I’m hungry. When are you coming over?]
Zhuang Xiao replied: [Find yourself something to eat. Don’t go hungry. I’m busy tonight, so I won’t come over.]
Zhuang Xiao got up, left the café, concealed his face with his hat and clothing, and drove away.
“President Zhang, he won’t accept. There’s nothing to discuss. He didn’t even open the script… What do you think? Shall we find somebody else? No point trying to chew through something this tough.”
“I know. I saw. That’s Zhuang Xiao for you. He’s always had that stubborn temperament. He was like that back then too. I expected it.”
The man sitting in an upstairs corner of the café put down his phone. He wore a pure black trench coat, one long leg crossed over the other. His hair was cut in a short bristling crop, the skin at his temples tinged bluish, his angular jaw carved into sharp planes that stood out under the lights.
His appearance had drawn several curious glances from the café’s young waitresses. He looked as though he might pull out a three-edged dagger at any moment and rob the cash register.
The big boss of Jiahuang Brothers casually sent somebody else a WeChat message as well: [Yanyan, darling, the wrap party’s in a few days. Bring your partner Mr. Zhuang along, remember? I admire him very much. I’d like to meet him.]
Author’s Note: The third story arc. The third male lead shows his cool face. He’ll have a somewhat bigger part.