The evening had been noisy and crowded, with too many people watching. Pei Yan never got another chance to speak to Zhuang Xiao.
Elio’s Notes: The Chinese titles of Chapters 52 and 53, 拔剑 (drawing the sword) and 张弩 (drawing/cocking the crossbow), form the two halves of 剑拔弩张, an idiom for a tense confrontation on the verge of erupting. See Taiwan Ministry of Education’s Dictionary of Idioms: https://dict.idioms.moe.edu.tw/idiomView.jsp?ID=-668&la=0&webMd=1.
A lot of guests drank too much. Eventually, their assistants came to pick them up, each returning home with their own entourage. Being drunk was convenient. Whatever happened that night, everybody could pretend the next morning that they remembered nothing and had seen nothing. This was how the entertainment industry, both entertaining its audience and playing games with the world, kept turning day after day.
The next day, the stars of Jiahuang’s major productions for the year, together with the newcomers the company was aggressively promoting, gathered at a studio to shoot a calendar of glossy portraits for release near the end of the year.
Its twelve months would be ordered by star status and the popularity of their work. The later the month, the bigger the star.
By seniority and clout, Pei Yan would originally have fallen somewhere between January and June. His company still had several seasoned veterans and established Best Actor and Best Actress winners. But the popularity of the Zhuang–Pei pairing and the scale of the film’s investment and publicity allowed Pei Yan to squeeze into the July-to-December tier. A joint portrait of the two men was assigned to September. Not bad at all.
Zhuang Xiao was also the only person appearing in that calendar who had not signed an artist contract with Jiahuang. Fans who supported both halves of the pairing had enough purchasing power to sell out this kind of merchandise. Businesspeople never turned down money, so even if they had to carry Sir Zhuang into the studio in a sedan chair, they were going to invite him.
Zhuang Xiao came entirely to take pictures with Pei Yan. As long as Yanyan was happy, that was enough.
It was the first time they had seen each other since the night before. They nodded rather coolly at each other. Time to work.
They sat side by side while makeup artists dusted their faces and styled their hair.
The young makeup artist leaned in to inspect Pei Yan. “Yanyan, have you got a big sore at the corner of your mouth?”
Pei Yan snorted. “I know.”
“What have you been doing? Ate too much lamb and overheated yourself again last night?”
Pei Yan pouted. “Didn’t get to eat any ‘lamb’ last night.”
Zhuang Xiao said, “More like he ate gunpowder.”
They exchanged glances in the mirror, though two makeup artists kept moving between them and blocking their view.
Zhuang Xiao asked with his eyes: Is that sore bad?
Right then, the brush touched the tender spot. Pei Yan let out an “Ow!” and bared his teeth at the mirror in pain.
“I’ll have to cover it with concealer and contouring,” the makeup artist said.
“Can you leave it alone?”
“If they don’t cover it, you’ll have a mouth sore in the photographs,” Zhuang Xiao said.
“That’s me. I’m going for the authentic, true-to-myself look,” Pei Yan replied.
The makeup artist joked, “Brother Xiao has a dimple at the corner of his mouth, and you’ve got a sore at yours. The two of you are a matching set!”
Pei Yan liked the sound of that: “a matching set.” Excellent! But did their match really have to consist of one dimple and one gigantic ulcer?
They sat only two meters apart. Pei Yan lowered his eyes to his phone, shielding it with his palm, and sent a WeChat message. [My mouth hurts.]
A buzz sounded like an earthquake inside Zhuang Xiao’s trouser pocket. He had switched off silent mode. [Take something to clear heat and toxins when you get home. Drink tea. No greasy food, spicy food, lamb, or seafood.]
Typing out that whole string of words gave Zhuang Xiao an almost cricked neck. He had to angle the screen and look at it sideways to keep the makeup artist from seeing.
Pei Yan: [Then what can I eat?]
Zhuang Xiao: [Eat me.]
Pei Yan continued: [It hurts to open my mouth, and it hurts to pucker up. I can’t even kiss you.]
Zhuang Xiao replied: [Can I kiss you instead?]
Pei Yan immediately sent a string of flaming-red-lips emojis, then added the sound effects himself. [Mwah mwah mwah.]
Zhuang Xiao smiled so broadly that his dimple appeared. Without thinking, he sent a row of flaming-red lips back. The moment he did, he wanted to poke his own eyes out…
The stylist selected several outfits for each man and sent them to the changing rooms.
They went into separate little cubicles as though nothing were out of the ordinary, having deliberately sent their assistants out for coffee.
Through the thin partition, Pei Yan said softly, “The stylist says we need a contrast in the pictures. One of us should be more covered up, and the other should show a bit more skin. Which one are you planning to wear?”
“Go ahead and show some skin. Whatever you like,” Zhuang Xiao said.
Pei Yan snorted. “You’re actually okay with me showing skin?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? Am I supposed to control what you wear?”
“So you don’t care at all what I wear…”
“Wear whatever the hell you like!”
They were making conversation out of absolutely nothing, a whole basketful of rubbish. Pei Yan was deliberately being clingy. Deep down, yesterday’s unpleasantness still bothered him. President Du Mingjun had ruined their evening, but neither of them wanted to bring up anything that would spoil their mood.
After a while, another sound came from the opposite cubicle.
Zhuang Xiao asked warily, “What are you doing?”
Bang!
Bang, bang!
The entire partition moved with a creak, then started swaying. It really felt like an earthquake. Zhuang Xiao braced it from his side in a lunging stance, certain the wall was about to collapse.
A few seconds later, Mr. Pei’s face appeared above the partition, peeking through the wide open space near the ceiling and smiling at him.
Zhuang Xiao whispered an order. “Get down. These cubicles are temporary. They’re not sturdy. The partition will collapse.”
Pei Yan grinned. “Pretty impressive, huh?”
Zhuang Xiao nodded. Very impressive. Now get down.
Pei Yan mouthed the words: I climbed up here to kiss you.
Zhuang Xiao tilted his head back to look at the monkey.
How could he not be moved? How could he not love him?
Could he bear to let go?
He truly could not bear it…
Holding the partition steady, Zhuang Xiao planted one foot, sprang upward with the momentum, and accurately touched his lips to Pei Yan’s, right on the spot where the ulcer had formed.
Pei Yan was delighted to be kissed, then made a startled “Uh!” as his limbs tangled and he slipped right back down…
They went on to shoot photographs inside the studio, posing enthusiastically under the photographer’s direction. Hundreds of shots were taken, from which only a few of the best would be selected.
In one pose, one man showed his face while the other presented his back, their shoulders partly overlapping. Zhuang Xiao wore a stern, unsmiling expression and put an arm around Mr. Pei, his hand settling solidly on Pei Yan’s shoulder in the shot, commanding and powerful. Pei Yan had his back partly turned toward the lens, eyes on his partner and a smile at his lips. The translucent hem of his shirt fluttered open in the breeze, exposing the large, wild tattoo across his lower back…
Pei Yan sat at the computer to inspect and select the shots himself. He chose the one he liked best and copied all the other original files to keep.
“Make us a little more handsome when you Photoshop these,” he told the young retoucher.
“How am I supposed to make you any more handsome?”
“Look, here and here. You can touch all this up…” Pei Yan worked the mouse, scribbling invisible flowers over his own face and body in the photograph as he moved it around.
“Don’t retouch my tattoo right out of existence. And don’t smooth my lower back so much that the whole thing turns blurry,” he added.
“We know, Brother Pei, you’re already the prettiest! Naturally beautiful. You never need beauty filters,” the retoucher teased.
“Exactly. Our publicity portraits are as honest as we are.” Pei Yan laughed. The cursor gradually drifted over Zhuang Xiao’s face, tracing his jaw. His mouse movements slowed; suddenly he felt embarrassed to draw random marks across the other man’s face.
The cursor moved down to Zhuang Xiao’s chest, waist, and abdomen, then lower still toward the crotch of his trousers.
Brother Xiao was fully dressed, covered so thoroughly that not an inch of skin showed. Yet that restrained look made Pei Yan shiver all over.
Because he had seen everything beneath those clothes. That skin was shown only to him.
“Don’t edit his dimple out. When you retouch moles, you always remove things you shouldn’t!” Pei Yan said.
“What dimple? He’s not even smiling,” the retoucher said, leaning close to peer at the screen.
“It’s there! Right here!” Pei Yan pointed with the cursor. He knew that spot better than anyone.
“Enough already.” Zhuang Xiao, unable to take another word, reached from behind and pinched Pei Yan to make him stop talking. His fingers found the sensitive hollow at the back of Pei Yan’s neck…
Zhuang Xiao went downstairs first, leaving the studio on the second floor. As expected, President Zhang of Jiahuang was still sitting in command of the lobby.
He had even come to supervise a photoshoot for a calendar. What a dedicated boss. Give him a little pale-green canvas bag slung across his body, and he would look exactly like the old man collecting parking fees outside the building. President Zhang never took his eyes off the “cars,” the luxury vehicles passing under his watch. Every car that went past had to pay its fee. He was practically counting money in his hands!
Zhuang Xiao nodded to Zhang Shaochi. “President Zhang, there was a little accident at the club last night. Sorry you had to clean up after us and help escort that gentleman out. I’ve caused you trouble. I appreciate your understanding.”
Zhang Shaochi smiled. “A small favor. No need to thank me.”
“President Du was the one causing trouble. That old brother of mine has had this one disgusting habit for years. He’ll never change.” Zhang Shaochi’s voice held contempt. “He had to be sent home last night reeking of piss. I told him he deserved it. Of all people, why did he have to pick on you? He said he’d had too much to drink and really fancied you. Seriously, Du Mingjun isn’t that bad a man. He does hold you in high regard.”
Zhuang Xiao shook his head. The movement was small, but his meaning was unmistakable. Tell him to fuck off. He’s asking for a beating.
Zhuang Xiao raised his clasped hands in a martial artist’s salute. “Thank you for your understanding.”
After looking him over, Zhang Shaochi seemed even less willing to give up. “So, about that film of ours?”
Zhuang Xiao refused with his eyes. “I’m sorry again about that. I can’t make money with you this time. I’m the one without vision or good sense.”
Zhang Shaochi raised an eyebrow. “Zhuang Xiao, I’m only asking you to make a movie! I’m not asking you to get into bed under the covers and have a chat. You don’t have to be so damn afraid of me!”
“I’m not afraid of you,” Zhuang Xiao said. “Your company and I don’t work in the same style.”
Zhang Shaochi nodded. “You’re a stubborn man. I admire stubbornness. I respect it. Fine. We’ll consider the matter closed and say no more about it.”
Zhuang Xiao had already made his decision in the restroom at Jiahuang’s building last night. There were some things that could not be compromised. He had nowhere left to retreat.
Baiguixing and Jiahuang were longstanding partners, jointly funding and producing their big films. Beautiful Colleagues was only the beginning. Agree to one project, and a second would follow, and then a third, fourth, and fifth. Getting entangled with Zhang Shaochi meant there was no avoiding that gray-haired old flower.
Du Mingjun had a nickname within the industry: Du Mingju, or “Famous Chrysanthemum Du.” He supposedly specialized in “curing straight men,” pressuring popular young actors who wanted screen time to submit to him and let the old demon feast on their masculine energy. People had heard gossip about which particular popular actors he had “drained,” but nobody had seen hard proof.
And yet if Zhuang Xiao avoided both of them, how could he possibly keep working in this part of the industry? He might as well quit the business.
Entering this world meant there were always gains and sacrifices. If you wanted something, if you wanted an invitation into the capital’s entertainment circle and wanted the powerful to let you play, how could you expect not to pay a price?
Things a man treasured, such as dignity and sexual autonomy, were valuable to those people precisely because they wanted to see you give them up. Who was going to let you in to make easy money without extracting a price?
Pei Yan seemed not to understand these things. That young man never had to consider them.
And what was Zhuang Xiao supposed to tell him?
Should he tell Mr. Pei that there had indeed been reasons he spent so long refusing to be “together,” dragging things out and hesitating?
And yet they had gotten together anyway, because he truly loved the man…
* * *
Other people emerged from the studio one after another, greeted the company president, and shared coffee. They exchanged the usual pleasantries with Zhuang Xiao. Among them, astonishingly, was the veteran actor and multiple Best Actor winner who had once competed against him for the Cannes Best Actor award. He was also signed to the company. It said plenty about Jiahuang’s clout among mainland entertainment agencies that half the industry seemed to be under its wing.
Their expressions were a little awkward at first sight. Zhuang Xiao stepped forward to shake hands respectfully. The older actor patted him on the back. “Kid, I hear you’re doing even better now than back then. You’ve really made a comeback? Your fame has circled the whole globe!”
Zhuang Xiao protested that he had no fame anywhere, just muddling through.
The veteran Best Actor said, “Even I couldn’t beat you back then. I lost to you. Young talent is something, isn’t it?”
“You’re my senior. You’ve won so many awards your hands must be sore carrying them. You just let me steal the prize that once. I was young and barely educated, so I got lucky. There’s really nothing I can boast of. I’m embarrassed.”
The veteran laughed. “Ah Xiao, trying to play humble with me?”
“I’m not pretending. Look at this calendar: you’re on December. That shows your standing.”
By then Pei Yan had also come downstairs and was standing nearby, sipping his coffee and giving them sideways looks without joining the conversation.
Whenever the company held a group event, the older veterans clustered together and the younger actors formed another group. Neither could really get close to the other. They might cooperate on Jiahuang’s big films, but privately each group looked down on the other. The young mocked their elders for putting on airs and refusing to understand that the world had changed. If they could no longer sell tickets, why stop others from making money? And every so often the veterans made snide remarks in front of the media, then submitted proposals to ministries or political assemblies. One day they wanted reality television restricted, the next day they wanted caps on actors’ fees, and the day after they complained about internet fame, publicity stunts, piercings, jewelry implants, tattoos, and dyed hair. Whatever happened to be popular, they disapproved of it.
Where there were people and interests, there were open and hidden struggles, circles within circles. The industry was a miniature society.
That supposedly aloof Best Actor had even criticized Zhuang Xiao behind his back. “Winning a prize so young isn’t necessarily a good thing. If you start at the top, it’s easy to become arrogant. Wait and see how his career develops. At thirty, forty, fifty, when an actor really needs to mature and show the depth of his craft and charisma, will he still win awards?” Pei Yan had heard remarks like that around the company.
Between those clearly divided factions of veterans and youngsters, Xing Rong naturally stood with Pei Yan.
In the calendar, Xing Rong belonged among the January-to-June group, appearing alongside two other young male stars. The company had no shortage of promising fresh-faced boys and girls, all beautiful as blossoms, obedient, and sweet-tongued.
Zhang Shaochi had been drinking coffee with a dark expression. Light flickered in his eyes. Certain things were going his way, but others plainly would not work out as he wished…
He lifted his eyes and happened to see Xing Rong from behind, chatting with Pei Yan. “Rongrong, come here,” Zhang Shaochi called, grabbing him over in one motion.
Right there in the large room, in full view of everyone, Zhang Shaochi pulled Xing Rong onto his lap. When irritable, he stroked and petted the young man as casually as somebody petting their own cat.
Xing Rong immediately looked uncomfortable. Zhang Shaochi placed one hand on his thigh and ran the other over his back, quickly sliding it into his rear trouser pocket to squeeze his buttock.
That squeeze made every hair on Xing Rong’s body stand on end. So many people were watching. He kept his head down, embarrassed and at a loss, sitting as though the president’s lap were covered with thorns.
“What’s wrong? Nervous?” Zhang Shaochi asked.
“I’m not used to this,” Xing Rong said quietly.
“Heh, Rongrong. You’re always so shy. That won’t do,” Zhang Shaochi said with a laugh.
“You know I’m clumsy and I don’t know how to handle myself. Please don’t make a joke out of me…” His voice was very low. He was pleading with his boss to let him go.
The senior Best Actor veterans all saw it. Silently they turned their faces away without commenting, pretending they had noticed nothing. Nobody was about to submit a proposal to a political congress condemning the dark practice of film company bosses sexually harassing their artists or demanding sexual favors. Who wanted to risk their own livelihood?
Pei Yan set his coffee down on the table. Today’s brew had gone off; it smelled of chicken shit. He glared at Zhang Shaochi in disgust, then turned and walked away.
As he left, his shadow passed over Xing Rong’s face like a slap. The humiliation was unbearable.
Xing Rong did not dare curse his boss. Pei Yan did. That was why Zhang Shaochi never grabbed Young Master Pei onto his lap to fondle his thighs and buttocks. He had never done so.
President Zhang only touched the pretty little actresses and young male stars. As for whether he had actually slept with them and which ones, outsiders even compiled lists for discussion, but no one had seen who shared the president’s bed. Besides, plenty of people threw themselves at him willingly. They had probably worn down the very edge of the master bed in his villa by now.
Pei Yan and Zhuang Xiao passed each other. Underneath their hands, the backs of their fingers brushed lightly. Zhuang Xiao said with his eyes: Follow me.
Zhuang Xiao went toward the bathroom corridor first. Half a minute later, Pei Yan followed.
But neither entered the men’s restroom. They turned the corner into the costume room and slipped all the way to the back, hiding among huge piles of clothing and dresses.
The first thing Pei Yan did was explain. “Don’t take that personally. Zhang Shaochi is just very casual about that kind of thing, and his moods change all the time. I hate watching him do it, too… Rongrong is just too soft and compliant. He takes everything lying down. He’d never dare slap the guy.”
“What kind of man he is has nothing to do with me,” Zhuang Xiao said.
Pei Yan looked sheepish. “Do you think this place is really messed up? It’s not that bad. What company isn’t like this?”
That was the plain truth. What company was different? If you wanted to be a pure white lotus, stay out of the world of fame and fortune.
Zhuang Xiao abruptly changed the subject to something he had wanted to ask for some time. “That President Du last night. Do you know him well?”
Pei Yan blinked. “Huh…? Why would I know him?”
Zhuang Xiao stroked his face and neck, then hooked an arm firmly around his waist. Pei Yan found himself pressed into a pile of skirts, with the padded bust of a huge pink evening gown flopping onto his shoulder. Frowning, he said, “That Du fellow has always been like that. Horny as hell. I know what kind of person he is.”
“He harassed you, didn’t he?” Zhuang Xiao asked.
“Oh, come on…” Pei Yan did not want to discuss it. “I wouldn’t exactly call it harassment… The bastard sent me flowers and gifts.”
Zhuang Xiao burst out laughing, plainly not believing him. Pei Yan laughed too. “Fuck, it’s so embarrassing. Who the hell wanted his flowers? Nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine imported tropical flowers. He claimed he’d had them flown in from overseas, incredibly expensive. It was revolting…”
Zhuang Xiao buried his face beside Pei Yan’s and laughed. “Why didn’t you fall for him?”
“He’s too old! His hair’s already white. He’s old enough to be my grandfather, isn’t he?” Pei Yan exclaimed. “He’s not handsome, his body’s no good, and I don’t like his hair or any of the rest. I wasn’t interested.”
“He doesn’t look like you, so I wouldn’t like him.” Pei Yan turned Zhuang Xiao’s face toward the nearby mirror. “This is the kind of face I like.”
“That old chrysanthemum even insisted on giving me a car. Had it driven straight to my building. I kicked one of its headlights to pieces and left a dent in the hood,” Pei Yan continued.
Zhuang Xiao kissed his cheek, still laughing.
“Maybe he got scared after I kicked the car a few times, because he finally cleared off. A few days later, another guy in the crew, some second-tier young actor who’d publicly announced he had a girlfriend, turned up flaunting an identical luxury car. I looked closer and recognized it. The old chrysanthemum must have fixed the dent and replaced the headlight before passing the car on to this guy… They must have slept together, heh.”
As Pei Yan finished his story, his lips were still parted, still moving, when Zhuang Xiao looked at him quietly and suddenly leaned in to capture his mouth.
His tongue entered hotly, sweeping through Pei Yan’s mouth, pressing deeply toward his throat, kissing and sucking with rough urgency… The ulcer hurt terribly. Every brush of that tongue burned. But Pei Yan responded instinctively, kissing back, holding him tightly, angling his head into a more comfortable position and hooking a leg around him as they returned each other’s kisses.
Zhuang Xiao almost never did this, almost never kissed him first with such heat and initiative anywhere outside a bed.
Pei Yan could feel the powerful desire in the other man’s breath. Zhuang Xiao even let one hand slide into Pei Yan’s suit trousers and down inside his underwear, pushing him against the corner as he squeezed his buttocks insistently.
Pei Yan grew hot under his touch. In his own rough way, he grabbed Zhuang Xiao between the legs. That touch pushed them both close to losing control.
Even after they pulled apart, neither wanted to stop. Their breathing was harsh and ragged.
“What are you doing?” Pei Yan asked softly.
“Kissing you.” Zhuang Xiao said, “Didn’t you say just now you wanted to kiss me?”
Warmth flooded Pei Yan’s heart. Everything unpleasant he had witnessed earlier suddenly mattered less. He had something precious, something entirely his.
Zhuang Xiao wrapped an arm around his waist, then smoothly drew up one of his hands and held it elegantly, looking directly into his eyes.
“What now?” Pei Yan could barely keep from laughing. What kind of pose was this?
“May I have this dance, Mr. Handsome Pei? Would you do me the honor?” Zhuang Xiao asked quietly.
“…” Pei Yan understood. His Adam’s apple shifted and his face lit with a smile. Brother Xiao could not have been more considerate.
He turned his heated gaze aside. “Trying to take advantage of me? I don’t dance the lady’s part.”
He would not get to choose which part he danced. Zhuang Xiao had already caught his waist, arranged their stance, and taken the first step, all but making Pei Yan throw his arm around his shoulders. The space was much too cramped for real dancing, so they traced a few imaginary steps and turned slowly on the spot, hearing a melody in their hearts as they studied each other’s faces…
Cheek to cheek, they shared silent intimacy in a world that belonged only to them.
The padded bust of the enormous pink dress swung down and struck Pei Yan’s face. He finally dissolved into laughter. Zhuang Xiao kissed him again, and their dance became another bout of passionate kissing and touching…
Without warning, Zhuang Xiao gathered his strength, lifted both Pei Yan’s legs, and hoisted him up.
Pei Yan’s head knocked against the edge of a cabinet. He cried out, “Ah!” The pained sound dissolved into soft laughter as he kept kissing Zhuang Xiao’s face.
It was the first time anyone had ever picked him up like this.
Wasn’t he supposed to be the one who carried other people?
Yet held in Zhuang Xiao’s arms, his legs wrapped around the man’s waist, everything felt perfectly right. He badly wanted to make love.
Only when a couple of the evening gowns tangled around them and crashed down with a rustle did they finally have to stop staging their own private “action movie.”
Pei Yan flung the huge, puffy pink dress off his head. “Was this made for a flamingo?”
Zhuang Xiao pulled the dress across and draped it against him. Its neckline was low, particularly alluring.
“Fuck off. I don’t have breasts. I can’t hold it up,” Pei Yan said.
“Your chest is bigger than mine. It suits you better.” He pushed the dress against Zhuang Xiao instead.
“My waist is too big. I’d never get inside it,” Zhuang Xiao said, passing the dress back.
“King of the Chinatown Dance Floor, this is your outfit!” Pei Yan pushed it toward him again.
Neither could stomach the double layers of thick padding over the chest. Neither had a taste for dressing in women’s clothes or could tolerate that kind of coquettish look. They flung the dress back onto its hanger. Laughing, Pei Yan said, “You only wear things like this when you get married. Get it out of here!”
He had spoken those two words without thinking. Both their hearts seemed to drop, leaving an empty feeling. Pei Yan remained anxious about gaining and losing so many things. The more he wanted to hold on, the more terrified he was of letting go. Zhuang Xiao treated him well, was already a thoughtful boyfriend, yet Pei Yan could never feel entirely secure…
He had never been this way with anyone before.
He had never truly been in love before.
Pei Yan searched Zhuang Xiao’s face for a little reassurance and did not find it.
He had been stupid again. They had only been together for a few days. He was rushing.
Something had been wrong throughout these days. He simply had not wanted to think too deeply or touch the sensitive matters they both resisted discussing.