Half a month later, Zhuang Xiao and Pei Yan returned to China, one after the other.
By “one after the other,” it meant a difference of exactly one day. Zhuang Xiao took a flight on the first day, and Pei Yan flew the next. Their efforts to throw people off the scent were so halfhearted that they clearly did not care very much.
Separated for just a day, both found it hard to bear. They had grown used to having someone beside them, someone warming the bed every night. Pei Yan had Zhuang Xiao’s entire house in Irvine to himself, along with the keys to every door. In “our home,” he could do whatever he pleased and turn everything upside down to his heart’s content.
Strangely, he had no desire to snoop or conduct surprise inspections anymore. He could not be bothered to look through anything. Only now did he truly understand that the size and luxury of a house meant nothing. A home meant having someone beneath the same roof to share a life with.
Zhuang Xiao had an entirely ordinary reason to return: his film crew was moving to China to shoot on location. To outsiders, nothing about the trip suggested he had ever been driven overseas against his will.
As for Pei Yan, his explanation was that he had gone abroad for medical treatment and rest, and had now recovered.
Precisely what illness he had been treated for was up to his management company to explain. They deliberately left themselves room to maneuver instead of revealing that he had “eloped for love.” According to the company, Young Hero Pei had suffered a severe bout of encephalitis while filming Drunken Fist and had never fully recovered. Then, during the production of Dragon Battles Heaven’s Pass, exposure to the bitter cold on the grasslands had aggravated the lingering condition, forcing him to take time off and travel abroad for medical treatment.
Why couldn’t he simply rest at home? Why did he specifically have to travel to California for treatment? Gossip forums were full of speculation. People talked about encephalitis as though it were brain cancer, and then, in the blink of an eye, the fellow had come bounding back as vigorous as ever.
Somebody said, “Southern California… Who do we know in Southern California?”
“Doesn’t Zhuang Xiao live there? What a coincidence.”
Fans from both camps immediately came out to refute the rumors. Brother Xiao had been filming nonstop, one movie after another, and had spent all his time on set. Pei Yan hadn’t been anywhere near the production. Stop spreading nonsense.
The couple’s fans also stepped in. We ship the characters. We like the stories and the character pairing. Don’t drag the actors’ private lives into this, okay? Yanyan and Brother Xiao each have their own lives. Please don’t let your shipping fantasies interfere with their normal lives. We’re taking them both away and won’t let you speculate!
Others asked, What’s wrong with shipping the real people? They really are perfect for each other. Find me one person who suits Xiao better than Yanyan, or Yanyan better than Xiao.
There was nobody.
* * *
Pei Yan had originally been due to begin filming a fantasy television drama at the start of the year. He had failed to report to the production, so the crew had been forced to replace him at the last minute, leaving everyone in a thoroughly awkward position.
Who had taken his place?
Zhang Shaochi had handled the replacement behind the scenes. The new lead was that popular young actor nicknamed “Peach Dragon,” the one who had crawled out of President Du Mingjun’s bed.
Du Mingjun had been ready to explode at President Zhang. His poor backside had taken a beating, his expensive antique vase had been destroyed, and he had spent days simmering with rage. Then Zhang Shaochi had casually said: I have a lavishly produced drama available, an excellent opportunity. Your little lover already begged me to put him in it once, but he couldn’t get the part. Now it’s his. Mingjun, calm down. Take a step back and the world opens up.
Du Mingjun was displeased. “You want me to take a step back? So I lose everything and those two get to enjoy all that open space? I paid fifty million for that vase!”
“Give it a rest.” Zhang Shaochi smiled coldly. “That big red lacquer vase of yours is in pieces now, but you and the auction house staged your little show to drive up the price, and you washed fifty million through a purchase and resale. A few days later you’d have taken it to a bank and borrowed another thirty million against it. You think I don’t know about your dirty tricks? …Was that piece of rubbish even worth five hundred thousand?”
President Du immediately fell silent and glared at Zhang Shaochi, breathing heavily.
“Enough. Don’t argue with me.” Zhang Shaochi abruptly changed his tone. “This time I’m doing you a favor. I’m helping your little sweetheart, Mingjun.”
Du Mingjun lay sideways across the bed like a delicate, sickly beauty. “Hmph. Some favor. Old Zhang, that pampered house cat of yours ran away and turned into a wildcat. All those years of keeping him were wasted, weren’t they? Your crew’s in chaos because they can’t fill the cast, and your company’s reputation is suffering. That’s why you’re selling me this cheap little ‘favor.’”
“We’re family. Better to keep the good things within the family. The production’s got an excellent team. Your boy might even become a huge star this time,” Zhang Shaochi said.
“Oh? When did we become family?” Du Mingjun suddenly sounded aggrieved. “Old Zhang, you’re such a hypocrite. Always putting on airs and pretending to be above everything. If you’d agreed to be with me twenty years ago, we’d have been a perfect match, equals in status and loyal to each other. Think how well we would have suited each other! Would I have had to suffer through all this?”
Zhang Shaochi got up to leave. “Stop talking shit.”
Du Mingjun raised his head from the bed. “Am I wrong? …Old Zhang, get your ass back here.”
Zhang Shaochi was already in the corridor when he turned and cursed, “Your asshole’s been torn to shreds. Even the shit that comes out of your mouth stinks worse than ever.”
* * *
When Zhuang Xiao appeared at Beijing Capital Airport, he was once again greeted by an overwhelming crowd of fans, cheering loudly enough to shake the building.
He had originally intended to slip back quietly and keep a low profile. But Pei Yan had asked him why he should sneak home. Had they done something wrong? Did they have a guilty conscience? They should make a spectacle of his return and let everyone know he was coming back to work in mainland China. Then they’d see who dared openly make trouble for him.
Bringing everything into the light would keep his enemies from finding opportunities to strike from the shadows.
An enormous welcome had been organized at the airport. His management company and official fan club cooperated, carrying lighted signs and lining his path. The instant Zhuang Xiao emerged from the arrivals corridor, people pushed coffee mugs into his hands. Even he burst out laughing.
By now it had become a running joke. If you asked Zhuang Xiao for an autograph on a notebook or a card, that only proved you were an amateur fan who didn’t know the rules. Fans who understood the etiquette reached into their bags and produced coffee mugs made of every imaginable material, asking Sir Zhuang to sign the cups.
Zhuang Xiao was in a good mood and looked it. He smiled down at each cup as he signed it. There seemed to be no end to them. Every hand in front of him held another mug.
The livestream was full of floating hearts and pink bubbles while he stood there quietly signing cup after cup. He was still beloved by his audience.
For an actor, a star, the most important thing was always to keep producing work. Internet gossip, whether publicity stunts or scandals, stories about “a father and son settling their family conflict with an action scene” or “an old drunk wandering the streets destitute in his bathrobe,” were passing clouds. A few days later, the audience had usually forgotten. When such stories did resurface, most viewers simply scoffed. What really mattered to audiences was the work you made and the classic characters you portrayed.
Zhuang Xiao would not be forgotten. He was still working. Drunken Fist, the Hollywood blockbuster in which he played the big-boss villain, had opened during the Lunar New Year season. It had fewer screenings than the officially favored patriotic films rolled out by the authorities to guard the New Year against evil spirits. Yet the Zhuang–Pei pairing brought in young viewers, while the remake of an old Hong Kong classic stirred nostalgia among the middle-aged. It had topped both the daily and weekly box-office charts for two weeks running. At the very least, it would recover its investment and turn a profit.
By summer, Dragon Battles Heaven’s Pass would be finished and scheduled for release. After that, his art-house drama and his fantasy blockbuster would reach audiences one after the other, keeping him constantly in the public eye. He would remain popular because he kept appearing in new works. Publicity was just passing smoke. Actors did not need to depend on hype.
Some sharp-eyed fans noticed something and burst into the livestream comments. Wait. What’s happened? Brother Xiao shaved his beard!
People gasped. He really was clean-shaven. Nobody had noticed at first, only that something seemed different. Now they realized he had shaved it all off.
Was it a new look required by his next film? Had his company repackaged his image? Or did he simply feel like changing his style?
Or perhaps… he was in love.
The livestream comments went berserk. I’ve lived to see time run backward! Come look at eighteen-year-old Xiao! He’s so handsome…
The following day, Pei Yan returned to China. He stepped off the airplane jet bridge just as openly, emerging into the crowd surrounding the airport.
Entertainment reporters followed the newly recovered “star of the set” with their cameras and discovered that Young Hero Pei appeared to have changed his look as well.
He wore a mid-length blue down coat, more like a huge padded sack wrapped around his body, with tight pencil-cut jeans and New Balance sneakers. He swaggered out of the arrivals passage looking altogether “seductive.” Still somewhat dazed, he seemed to have forgotten his way and plunged sideways into a dense mass of fans. Realizing his mistake, he covered his mouth and laughed, then turned as though to flee. Too late. The ocean of people swallowed him whole…
Pei Yan was grabbed for photographs. In the chaos, his down jacket was nearly ripped down to its inner and outer fabric, with the duck down flying out as if somebody had plucked him.
He stretched his long legs and bolted, laughing all the way, unable to hide his excellent mood. White duck feathers drifted in his wake…
His team finally collected him. On the way out he caught sight of an airport souvenir shop, stopped, and insisted on going inside for a look.
Zhuang Xiao had a habit of buying little gifts on a whim. Every time he went somewhere, especially every time he passed through an airport, he brought Pei Yan a souvenir.
So Pei Yan wandered around the shop, looking for something amusing.
He spotted a stuffed lion on a shelf. It looked absurdly childish and adorable. He snatched up one of the little lions.
Behind him, Johnny Wu gave a discreet cough. “The label says ages three and up.”
Pei Yan rolled his eyes. “Right. I’m over three.”
“It’s a toy for children,” Johnny Wu insisted.
“Doesn’t say under ten, does it? …Besides, I’m buying it for someone else,” Pei Yan grunted.
Johnny Wu nagged softly in his ear. “There are reporters waiting outside. Do you think they know Mr. Zhuang’s a Leo? It’s written right there in his online biography!”
“Think they could guess?”
“Of course they could! Any idiot could guess.”
Pei Yan immediately shoved the lion into his godfather’s arms. “You buy it. Go pay for it for me. Tell them it’s yours… And wrap it nicely. It’s a gift.”
That evening, a paparazzi photographer received a last-minute tip that Zhuang Xiao had appeared at a small Hunan restaurant in Sanlitun.
The restaurant was owned by another entertainment-industry celebrity and claimed to serve the best Hunan cuisine in Beijing. More accurately, it probably served the most expensive. Whether the food was actually good was a different question. The dishes had all been modified for its clientele, the decor was elegant, and it consisted mostly of small private rooms.
The two heroes had quietly reserved one of those rooms for dinner. They were finally keeping the dinner date they had arranged so long ago, sharing a meal to ease their longing.
They ordered six hot dishes in one go: fish head with chopped chilies, steamed cured meats, crispy duck, farmhouse stir-fried pork… Their tastes were similar, and anything either ordered was something the other loved.
In the middle of dinner, both reached into their backpacks for the little gifts they had brought.
“Guess what I bought you,” Pei Yan said.
“Can’t imagine. What would you give me?” Zhuang Xiao answered. “If it’s something for me to use, condoms?”
Pei Yan burst out laughing. “What the hell! I can be romantic too!”
A second later, the implication caught up with him and he grew furious. “So condoms are for you to use? You think I can’t use them?!”
“Then if it’s something just for you, I suppose it’s lubricant,” Zhuang Xiao replied.
Pei Yan threw his chopsticks at him. Now it was his turn to be driven to distraction by the man’s uninhibited, shameless true nature.
Beneath the table, they passed their carefully wrapped, ridiculously cute presents to each other.
Pei Yan squeezed his package. “Huh? It’s soft and furry? So not jelly-type lubricant, then.”
Zhuang Xiao felt his own package under the table. “Hair? …You don’t have any hair. Whose hair is this?”
They lifted the gifts into view and burst out laughing.
Zhuang Xiao had received a fluffy-maned little lion. Pei Yan had received a soft, woolly white lamb.
The brand labels were identical. They had bought the toys from the very same airport shop.
On a tag around the little lion’s neck, Pei Yan had written: [BEAUTY.]
Zhuang Xiao looked at him. “Who’s Beauty?”
“Him!” Pei Yan said with a grin. “His name is Beauty!”
Then he took the white lamb’s label and wrote [HANDSOME] on it, showing it off to Zhuang Xiao. “Allow me to introduce you! This is Beauty’s boyfriend, Handsome. Aren’t they perfect together? Heh-heh. Such a perfect match.”
Zhuang Xiao did not rise to the bait. He quietly tucked “Beauty” away in his backpack to take home and look after.
The paparazzi entered the restaurant, but they did not know the layout. They prowled furtively around the entrance hall without finding Zhuang Xiao.
A little later, Zhuang Xiao came down from upstairs to greet the owner and manager at the front desk. He ignored the photographers, leaving them to hide their lenses behind menus and keep snapping photographs.
A table of young women suddenly looked up and recognized him. They covered their mouths and squealed, asked him for autographs, and cried, “We don’t have any cups! Quick, find a cup!”
Zhuang Xiao deliberately lingered in the lobby. After signing their things, he spent a while chatting with the fans, then walked boldly out through the main entrance, climbed into his car, and drove home.
Later the manager told the girls that Brother Xiao had already paid their bill. There was nothing left for them to pay.
By the time the paparazzi realized what was happening and rushed up to the private room, the other man was long gone. They caught no evidence at all.
The other young hero happened to be an expert at scaling walls and leaping over roofs. He had slipped down by some back staircase on the second floor, carrying several boxes of takeaway food for a late-night snack, and escaped through the rear door.
* * *
Afterward, Zhuang Xiao followed the fantasy-blockbuster crew to a film studio in another part of China.
Pei Yan had missed the television series he had originally planned to film. His next scheduled project was Bloodshadow Wanderer.
This was an expensive, large-scale Jiahuang production.
If he still wanted to star in the film, he could not ignore his boss. And if he wanted to join Fat Charles’s next movie and return to Hollywood, there was no way he could simply go behind his management company’s back and do as he pleased…
The authorities convened a roundtable meeting of executives from several film and television companies. It was an annual event held at the start of each year. Everyone sat together and discussed their ideas and plans for cultural development in the coming year. Officials explained new policies, reiterated the forbidden lines they must not cross, and established the proper themes and tone for officially approved productions.
Zhang Shaochi emerged from the building dressed with severe propriety. He shook hands with the officials and his industry colleagues, giving each a restrained nod of farewell.
But as soon as he turned to descend the steps, his expression plunged, step by step, as though his mood were sliding down the stairs all the way to the bottom…
Film and television productions really were becoming harder to make. The money was getting harder to earn too. Subject matter was restricted, content scrutinized ever more strictly. Projects could be completed only to be shelved without permission to release them. Top stars’ salaries were increasingly capped, while production budgets and investments faced tighter oversight… Businesspeople had fewer and fewer opportunities to turn a quick profit through film.
To make more money, they had to slash production costs. To cut those costs, they had to control how much they paid their actors. But lowering actors’ fees also directly reduced the profits of the talent agencies that represented them. That part of the business would earn less! Jiahuang Brothers, the enormous flagship that had expanded without limit into both film production and artist management, had finally collided with an essential contradiction in its own growth. Every strategy for making money seemed to cancel out another, so that it was practically hacking off its own hands and feet, stabbing itself in the ass. What a miserable position!
The vast flagship twisted and turned through an ocean full of floating ice. That route seemed to be reaching its end.
Zhang Shaochi yanked open his car door and climbed inside, his head heavy with too many worries. Only after sitting down did he discover Pei Yan waiting for him in the back seat.
The driver knew better than to stay. He stepped out and stood smoking in the wind.
“Say what you came to say. What do you want?” Zhang Shaochi took off his coat, threw it onto the front seat, and did not even look at his passenger.
“Second Uncle,” Pei Yan greeted him.
“Who’s your Second Uncle?!” Zhang Shaochi sneered. That little monkey really had a thick skin. He could bend, stretch, and put on a performance whenever he wanted. He was a born talent for show business.
“I know I caused you a lot of trouble this time. I came to explain my position,” Pei Yan said, lowering his head.
“What position? You want to terminate your contract with me, is that it?” Zhang Shaochi stared ahead, his chest rising and falling slightly.
They had originally signed a seven-year management contract. More than four years remained. If he wanted out, he would have to negotiate damages, or go to court.
But did either of them actually want to destroy their relationship in a lawsuit? It would be disastrous for both sides. Besides, they were relatives. Family. Turning on each other would only provide entertainment for their many competitors.
When that gigantic flagship had first been established, it was a small company. It had been called “Jiahuang Brothers” because its founders were Zhang Shaochi and a “sworn older brother” from their residential compound, Pei Yan’s maternal eldest uncle. Zhang Shaochi had not even been the big boss back then. He started as vice president, but soon took over the film and television business and assumed the responsibilities of chairman.
How could the company possibly sue little bald Pei over a contract?
Even if he drove them all insane, they couldn’t afford to offend that particular little tyrant.
“So what exactly do you want?” Zhang Shaochi asked.
“I want to go independent and establish my own studio,” Pei Yan said.
Zhang Shaochi lifted his eyes and stared fiercely at him. He had known this was coming.
Only a few years had passed and the boy’s wings were already strong. He was desperate to fly out of the cage.
“You’re squeezing me while I’m down? Taking advantage of a crisis, kicking me into the gutter?” Zhang Shaochi asked. “Ruthless.”
Jiahuang was facing a corporate breakup and restructuring. More than one established star was already plotting to separate from the management company, set up an independent studio, and produce, operate, and market their own projects without sharing that piece of the pie with Jiahuang.
Everything looked calm on the surface. Underneath, waves were building. Sooner or later they would overturn the entire sea.
“No. I’m not trying to take advantage of you, and I’m not breaking up with you,” Pei Yan said seriously. “I do want a studio, but not for myself. It’s for Brother Xiao. He’s coming back to work in China, and he shouldn’t have to stand alone without anyone to depend on. Everyone needs a big tree to shelter beneath if they don’t want to be bullied. I’m setting up the studio so I can sign him.”
This was not what Zhang Shaochi had expected.
“You want to sign him?” he asked quickly. “What about you?”
“That’s right. I want to sign Zhuang Xiao,” Pei Yan said. “President Zhang, you can keep representing me.”
“With a studio, I can give Xiao a proper foothold and a place he belongs in Beijing. And my studio can still sit in the shade of President Zhang’s big tree. If you’re protecting me, everything I do will be easier.” Pei Yan had clearly been thinking about this for a long time. He smiled.
“Hah. You’ve thought of everything. You want to shelter beneath my tree, but you won’t give me a proper ‘title’?” Zhang Shaochi made his displeasure plain.
“What do you need a title for? Aren’t the benefits enough?” Pei Yan rolled his eyes. “Officially, we part amicably. You graciously allow me to go independent, and you get a good reputation for it. Privately, I’ll keep working for you and paying you the middleman’s cut until my original contract expires. That way I’ll still have repaid you for bringing me into this industry and helping me build my career. Would that work? …I’ll keep paying you a fifty-fifty share. If I negotiate a ten-million fee, I’ll give you five million. Is that enough?”
Zhang Shaochi suddenly understood what Pei Yan really intended.
The little monkey was giving up his own profits.
After all this fuss, he wasn’t actually doing it for himself.
Under their existing contract, a new actor’s fee was split fifty-fifty for the first two years. From the third year it became sixty-forty, and later seventy-thirty in the actor’s favor. Pei Yan was voluntarily accepting a smaller share of his earnings, keeping only half for himself.
After a long silence, Zhang Shaochi asked, “You’re doing all this for Zhuang Xiao? Making a sacrifice this big?”
Pei Yan laughed lightly. “Come on! You call that a sacrifice? So I earn a little less for a few years. Maybe that seems like a sacrifice to you. It doesn’t to me. How much money would it take to buy Zhuang Xiao’s love for me?”
Zhang Shaochi was speechless.
After thinking for some time, he said quietly, “I underestimated you, little monkey. To go this far… You really are a man who knows love and loyalty.”
“Of course.” Pei Yan ran his tongue over his lips and smiled. “You need love before you can have loyalty. Xiao is willing to stay here with me in China, and that’s the biggest sacrifice of all. Do you know how much pressure he’s shouldered? What does it matter if I earn a little less for him? …Money isn’t worth a fuck.”
“Without money, you aren’t worth a fuck. Without money, you’re nothing,” Zhang Shaochi said coldly.
Pei Yan shot back without hesitation, “Second Uncle, you’re richer than I am. You’re so damn rich. Does all that money make you happy? Are you happy when you go to sleep every night? You lie alone in a cold bed hugging your pile of money. Why don’t you just sleep with the banknotes? Stare at a mountain of red hundred-yuan bills and pretend you’re having an orgasm! …
“I’ve got Brother Xiao to love me. He told me he loves me and will love me all his life. Have you got anyone like that? Those little demons fighting each other to get into your bed, why don’t you ask what they actually think? Does anyone really love you, like you, or value you? Every one of them deserves an international acting award for the performances they put on under your quilt.”
Pei Yan decided he had said enough. There was no point provoking the big old monkey into an actual rage.
He and Zhang Shaochi settled the rough outlines of his proposed studio. Then, on behalf of his parents and particularly Ms. Xu Qishang, Pei Yan passed along his regards to the elderly head of the Zhang family. One enormous piece of business was finally done. He climbed out of the car and left.
Zhang Shaochi’s profile, reflected in the window, was a steely gray that matched the color of his cashmere coat.
His fingers trembled slightly. He badly wanted to hit someone. Instead of striking the little monkey, he reached into his coat pocket for a cigarette.
He had a cigarette but no light. For no apparent reason, Zhang Shaochi shouted at his driver, “Don’t you know to keep a fucking lighter in the car?!”
* * *
That evening, President Zhang was drinking in the club at Jiahuang’s headquarters.
The young male star nicknamed “Peach Dragon,” who had been lucky enough to land the lead in the lavish fantasy series thanks to President Zhang’s backing, also appeared at the club. His eyes lit up at the sight of the boss, and he hurried over to greet him, chat, pour his drinks, and keep him company…
Somebody at the company saw the actor leave with Zhang Shaochi that night, solicitously escorting him home.
Everything that happened afterward belonged to the realm of rumor and malicious gossip.
The huge bed in the master bedroom of President Zhang’s villa had not been trampled or collapsed under anyone’s weight. In fact, almost nobody was ever allowed past that bedroom door. Peach Dragon never even made it upstairs. Down on the ground floor, in the restroom beside the living room, Zhang Shaochi slapped him down against the floor…
Since he had come to sell himself, he no longer got to decide the terms of the sale.
When the boss ordered him to kneel, he had to kneel. When he was told to lick, he had to lick obediently. If the boss ejaculated into his mouth, every drop of the “precious essence” bestowed upon him had to be swallowed.
Holding the younger man’s head down, Zhang Shaochi demanded, Do you love me? Do you value me? It hurts? Then act as though you’re enjoying it, as though it feels wonderful and doesn’t hurt at all! Aren’t you an actor? Haven’t you got any acting ability?
According to the gossip, Peach Dragon ended up in a gastrointestinal or colorectal clinic the very next day. Publicly, of course, they said he was having “hemorrhoids removed.” Perhaps he had suffered an anal fissure.
Kneeling had its risks. Floors were hard, and an anus was fragile. It could hurt.
But refusing to kneel, standing straight and tall with the courage to face frost and snow, required a different kind of bravery. Which road through this industry was ever going to be easy?
* * *