Rongrong had filmed several scenes and earned enthusiastic applause from everyone present.
Between takes, he studied posture and memorized arias with the Kunqu opera master hired by the crew. He was extraordinarily diligent. A few people would often sit in a circle on stools or low benches, discussing the scene, and now and then a delicate, tender melody would drift across the set.
Xing Rong wore Du Liniang’s elaborate full stage makeup as he sat cross-legged on a long bench beneath a huge locust tree. He balanced himself like someone practicing martial arts, holding a large porcelain bowl in one hand and gulping tea, while keeping the beat on his thigh with the other. At the same time, he listened to the director and opera coach explain how to play his next scene.
Because the weather was hot, he’d stripped off his boudoir costume, exposing the little white sleeveless undershirt beneath.
His painted face and the rest of his outfit were hilariously mismatched. Somebody accidentally captured the peculiar scene in a photograph.
The candid photo wasn’t even taken by Xing Rong’s own publicity team. Another member of the crew posted it online without thinking, and it immediately went viral…
When Xing Rong came across the photo, he cried out, “Aaaah! Who took that? I was drinking water with my head down and my eyes were rolling back. You can see right through my undershirt! Couldn’t you wait until I finished drinking before taking a picture?”
Pei Yan leaned over to look and burst out laughing. “It’s a great shot! Well, look at you. Still an innocent young man, are you?”
Xing Rong shot him a sideways glance. “Yanyan, was this you?”
“Not me,” Pei Yan denied firmly. “I’d never sneak a photo of you.”
“When I bend down, you can see right inside my vest…” Xing Rong muttered in embarrassment, looking down to inspect himself.
“What’s the problem? You showed a little chest. It’s pretty sexy.” Pei Yan shrugged.
“What’s sexy about me?” Xing Rong glared. “You’re the curvy one, the real beauty. Everyone wants to see you showing your chest or waist.”
“Hey, now!” Pei Yan cried.
The two were equally matched when it came to verbal sparring. By now neither could get through a day on set without trading a few barbs.
The internet was going wild over descriptions such as “Delicate opera beauty with a man’s heart: Young Master Rong opens his robes and drinks from a huge bowl on set.” Some people teased, others applauded, and still others demanded, “Show us more!”
That candid photograph was far more successful than any publicity stunt or posed shot produced by Xing Rong’s team, precisely because it wasn’t staged. It was a genuine glimpse behind the scenes.
White Crane was a celebrated opera performer with a frail body but a tenacious spirit. Though he’d attached himself to a warlord, he possessed a hero’s heart. He could recognize worthy people, had courage, beauty, and deep feeling, and at a moment of danger wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice his life for a righteous cause. White Crane was an appealing character.
Xing Rong stood before a doorway and looked up. Commander Zhuang came riding magnificently down the street on horseback, accompanied by his personal guard. Xing Rong smiled and bowed slightly, then noticed that the captain of the guard behind the commander was none other than Comrade Xiao-Sa in an impressive military uniform…
Commander Zhuang dismounted and exchanged a meaningful glance with White Crane. The two silently communicated a wealth of feeling at the threshold. They got the shot in one take.
The instant the director called cut, Zhuang Xiao turned around to find Mr. Pei sweeping him with a distinctly sour glance.
Zhuang Xiao looked back. What does this child want now?
Pei Yan had just finished half a Hami melon. As usual, he had held the halved fruit in both hands and used his great squirrel teeth to devour the flesh, leaving only the rind. Then he’d wiped the sweet melon juice off his face and mouth.
He stood fanning himself vigorously in the shade of a wall. Zhuang Xiao leaned against the same wall, each facing a different direction along the road, without looking at the other.
Pei Yan murmured, “Beautiful, isn’t he?… Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for him?”
Obviously somebody was bored from eating melon. Zhuang Xiao grunted. “You know perfectly well who I fell for.”
Pei Yan asked, “But I need to know: are you interested in elegant little delicacies?”
“I only eat the kind that goes into the wok without even being washed or cut. You just break it apart by hand and stir-fry it over a roaring fire. That’s the kind I like. All right?” Zhuang Xiao retorted.
“I… Who says I never wash anything? …I always wash it, every time!” Pei Yan protested.
Zhuang Xiao smiled.
They fought a furious silent battle with their eyes, then swiftly looked away again.
“I have a beautiful, alluring stage look too, you know. I’ve got a scene tomorrow. Just wait till you see me in full makeup. I’ll be every bit as lovely as him,” Pei Yan murmured.
“Absolutely. You’d suit Du Liniang much better than he does.
“He hasn’t got much of a chest. You’ve got a C cup…” Zhuang Xiao laughed. “Big chest, big backside. You’ve got exactly the figure of a sheltered young lady.”
“HEY!” Pei Yan exploded.
Once a man like Zhuang Xiao stopped worrying about what he said, he could drive Pei Yan completely insane.
Before Pei Yan could launch his favorite underhanded attack at his crotch, Zhuang Xiao took off in long strides and ran several yards away, adopting an expression of perfect dignity as he went to speak to the director… There were some people you simply didn’t provoke. A wise man knew when to retreat.
Pei Yan really did have a scene in opera makeup. It was a major sequence in the film. White Crane arranged a private meeting with Commander Zhuang at a country house outside the city, stole military intelligence while they were together, and even had the audacity to help an underground Communist agent escape.
The farmhouse stood in a bamboo grove, with a brook murmuring nearby. The courtyard had a rustic charm, and the stone table was covered with brightly colored dishes to accompany their wine.
Commander Zhuang had already drunk several rounds. His face looked gentle, but his eyes were red and his posture a little languid, as though he had all the leisure in the world.
Xing Rong’s White Crane swayed his slender waist with graceful elegance, singing selections from the opera to Commander Zhuang and leaving the military officer entranced.
In the dressing room, it was time for the grown men to put on makeup.
“Come on, Rongrong. Paint a face for your Uncle Pei here,” Pei Yan ordered.
“Paint your face? Should I turn you into a literary clown, a martial clown, or maybe one of those elaborate painted-face characters?” Xing Rong replied.
“Hey, if you can be Du Liniang, why can’t I be Cui Yingying?” Pei Yan protested.
The moment the words “Cui Yingying” came out of his mouth, almost everyone wanted to burst out laughing at him: Xing Rong, the makeup team, the coordinators, director, cinematographers, Zhuang Xiao, and Sa Risheng.
Xing Rong handed Pei Yan the powder compact and brushes. “Here, you do it yourself. I’d love to see how you make yourself into Cui Yingying.”
The owners of the farmhouse, an auntie and uncle sitting nearby watching the crew, were laughing too. The spread of authentic Sichuan dishes had been prepared fresh that morning by the auntie. Filming wasn’t even over and Pei Yan had already sneaked several helpings of spicy bullfrog and rabbit meat.
“What’s wrong with Cui Yingying?” Pei Yan turned for support. “Director?!”
The director answered without changing expression. “Scholar Zhang says you’re not good enough. You’re not Cui Yingying.”
Hahahaha! Everybody laughed mercilessly.
“Hey, Little Prince! Come here. I’ve got a question.” Pei Yan beckoned Sa Risheng and pointed at him. “Do you even know who Cui Yingying is? You’ve got no idea who I’m talking about, yet you dare laugh at me?!”
“Don’t know,” Xiao-Sa admitted honestly. “But she’s supposed to be beautiful, isn’t she? …You look like that, and you’re not beautiful.”
The room erupted into laughter. What extraordinary honesty.
Xing Rong gave Xiao-Sa a long look, increasingly pleased. At least the Little Prince had some basic sense of beauty.
Pei Yan felt that this band of cruel people had broken his fragile heart. “Fine, fine! Just make me Xi Shi instead.”
Zhuang Xiao came up behind and slapped his shoulder. “Old Pei, you, Xi Shi? I feel like finding a brick and hitting you in the face with it.”
The director said, “Pick one of the four great painted-face warriors: Dou Erdun, Ma Wu, Zhang Fei, or Li Kui. See? I’m giving you plenty of options, Yanyan!”
Pei Yan collapsed against the table, laughing. I’m not listening! I’m not doing it! I don’t want any of those choices!
Elio’s Notes: Cui Yingying is the romantic heroine of The Romance of the Western Chamber, while Xi Shi is a legendary Chinese beauty. The director’s four alternatives are imposing painted-face roles in traditional opera, the exact opposite of the delicate beauties Pei Yan wants to play.
Mr. Pei was a great big ray of sunshine who could always cheer people up and make life around him brighter.
Zhuang Xiao had known that for a long time. Now everyone around them knew it too.
Pei Yan once hadn’t cared to make people like him and had preferred to be a thorn in their side. Now he was much more easygoing. The prickly fellow had turned into an enormous, soft, sticky marshmallow.
Joking aside, the film really did require Pei Yan to disguise himself in a woman’s opera costume so he could escape from military police surrounding him.
Pei Yan sat beneath the small dressing-room window, where a shaft of sunlight fell across his and Zhuang Xiao’s faces.
Pei Yan was perched on a tall stool, while Zhuang Xiao sat on a table, looking down at him from above. The pale makeup base was already finished. Zhuang Xiao dabbed rouge onto his palm, held Pei Yan’s face gently between both hands, and smoothed the color across his cheeks, giving the pale face a lovely, feminine blush.
Then he took a lip brush and painted Mr. Pei’s mouth a bright red.
Pei Yan opened his mouth and bit the bristles.
“Stop it,” Zhuang Xiao mouthed.
“Want to bite your bristles…” Pei Yan mouthed back.
“Shut up.” Zhuang Xiao fixed him with a stare.
Pei Yan immediately behaved, sitting still and obediently, though he couldn’t stop a smile from blooming around his lips. The moment was so beautiful that he wanted to remain in it forever, lost in the play.
He was portraying the exquisite young Buddhist nun Chen Miaochang from The Jade Hairpin, a woman who rejected convention, gave free rein to her desires, and fell in love at first sight with the handsome young scholar Pan Bizheng. They exchanged subtle tests and flirtatious hints until both discovered the feeling was mutual, then secretly pledged themselves to each other and met in the supposedly pure and quiet temple. Despite many obstacles, they eventually became a couple, their story celebrated as a romance…
“Being so intimate with me, aren’t you worried what people will say?” Pei Yan asked him quietly.
“Me? Afraid of gossip?” Zhuang Xiao replied.
No one knew where love began, but once it took hold, it ran deep. Even sheltered young women in ancient times had dared to follow it. Why should two men be afraid?
Besides, the two of them had worked together so often that they were considered an unbreakable pairing online, impossible to expose or break apart. The real news would be if either of them suddenly started being affectionate with somebody else.
“This makeup looks familiar. It’s a bit like how you looked when you played Eunuch Cen Jiang,” Zhuang Xiao said as he finished coloring Pei Yan’s lips and studied him.
“Whether I’m playing a young lady, a nun, a eunuch, or a painted-face warrior, they all look the same to you, don’t they?” Pei Yan asked helplessly.
“They’re all you,” Zhuang Xiao replied. “What’s there to be different about?”
Pei Yan had a long, slender, oval face, bright and slightly narrow eyes, and a high, straight nose. He could never look ugly in women’s makeup. He was truly charming.
“Well? Is it all right? Do you like it?” The beautiful little nun, now wearing her false hairpieces and wig, raised her face to gaze at the man she loved.
“Very handsome,” Zhuang Xiao said.
As soon as he spoke, he felt his thoughts begin to scatter. He was finding it difficult to restrain some decidedly wicked ideas… Whatever it was, someone had bewitched him completely today. Zhuang Xiao stood up and walked away.
The bamboo-grove courtyard chase was finished before sunset.
In the distance, Mount Qingcheng was lush and green. Its silhouette gradually dissolved into the evening, and the surrounding landscape was exquisite…
The producers deliberately preserved plenty of behind-the-scenes footage and photographs from those scenes for early publicity. Soon Young Hero Pei’s lovely photographs in female opera costume were flying all over the internet.
At the foot of a mountain, among the woods, beside a stream: a beauty.
It was rare indeed to see such a rough man appearing so delicate and alluring.
For a long time afterward, Rongrong’s “Du Liniang” and Yanyan Baby’s “Chen Miaochang” were a pair beloved by fans on entertainment gossip sites. Following the earlier online fascination with the “Four Great Beauties,” a new set of Two Peerless Beauties had emerged. Both looked exquisite in costume and carried themselves beautifully.
The internet summed it up in eight characters: Male or female? Impossible to tell. Beauty beyond compare.
There was one problem. When Pei Yan wore skirts and pretended to take tiny lotus steps on bound feet, the act looked rather false. After only a few steps, his fierce natural bearing broke through. He began striding like a dragon and tiger, knocked over a stool with a tremendous crash, and tore his skirt wide enough to expose everything underneath.
“Get those hairy legs back under your skirt!” the director roared through his megaphone.
Zhuang Xiao spat out the cigarette butt between his lips. Sa Risheng, crouched on a stool, laughed like a little boy until he almost cried.
The director shouted “NG!” and the “beautiful nun” promptly burst into laughter too, revealing Young Master Pei’s naturally rough, powerful voice.
The producer threw a vegetable basket at Little Nun Pei, nearly hitting his head. Protecting his head, Pei Yan sprang onto the wall in one leap and climbed to the roof. Standing there with his hands on his hips, he shouted curses down at them. Everyone threw cabbage leaves onto the roof…
As for Xing Rong, he was playing the other half of a secret, flirtatious affair with Zhuang Xiao in the movie. Surely some gossip would emerge about the two actors, on or off set?
In fact, no rumors emerged at all.
There was no behind-the-scenes footage of the pair sharing the same frame. Even the official stills placed them several yards apart, never touching hands.
Xing Rong’s accompanying team still consisted of many of the same familiar faces, but their attitude was radically different. The photographs they released showed Xing Rong performing alone, with perfectly respectable headlines such as “New Film Breaks Gender Aesthetic Barriers,” “Young Master Rong Paints His Own Opera Makeup,” and “Rongrong Studies Opera Earnestly on Set.” There wasn’t the slightest improper insinuation.
Some entertainment reporters still tried to rekindle the old rumors and came to the film set to pester the team. “Rongrong is working with Mr. Zhuang and his stunt double Xiao-Sa again. Weren’t there some stories about those three before…?”
Xing Rong’s management team denied everything in unison. “There was never any such thing! That was all a misunderstanding, a complete misunderstanding! We were victims of the misunderstanding too!”
Xing Rong’s manager walked past the courtyard gate and immediately fixed his sharp gaze on Pei Yan. He picked up a stool and followed Young Master Pei all the way across the yard. When Pei Yan stopped beneath a shady tree, the manager hurried to offer the stool behind him.
Pei Yan didn’t sit. What was this about?
The manager offered him a cigarette and a light, smiling broadly as he tried to start a friendly conversation. They were all old acquaintances, after all. Pei Yan glanced at him. “I don’t smoke. The smell of cigarettes makes me feel sick.”
Zhuang Xiao was trying to quit smoking himself, even if he hadn’t succeeded yet. And this man wanted to shove a cigarette into Pei Yan’s hands?
“Oh! Sorry, I forgot.” The manager quickly put the cigarette away. He even took his own cigarette from his lips and held it between his fingers, not daring to blow any more smoke. “Old Pei, so much has changed since we last met. I’m really impressed by you. You’ve built a fine company, you’ve got a head for business. We hope you’ll look after people like us in the future…”
Pei Yan regarded him.
This movie was being planned and largely financed by Dragon Across the World Studio. Pei Yan was effectively the boss behind the scenes, the person who could make the final decision. Who would dare stir up rumors involving Zhuang Xiao right in front of him? If they provoked him, a single word from Pei Yan could cut every one of Xing Rong’s scenes out of the movie. That was why everyone had suddenly become so well-behaved.
Jiahuang had lost several of its biggest stars, including Pei Yan. The other managers had assumed that the resources once devoted to those people would now be divided among the remaining teams. Instead, the company was becoming stingier about investing in its artists, and the industry was getting harder to navigate. Every team was looking for another way to survive, considering starting its own company or finding a more profitable patron… Nobody in this business was stupid enough to offend the person paying for the production.
“Our Rongrong really has worked hard this time. He specifically learned several Kunqu arias and all the movements, and he looks excellent on camera… Unfortunately, his role’s quite small. He’ll finish filming in a few days. It’s a bit of a shame, don’t you think?” the manager suggested.
“What do you think we should do about it?” Pei Yan asked.
“I think audiences will love his appearance and his singing. It’s the first time he’s played this sort of role, after all, a real breakthrough in image and acting,” the manager replied.
“I think audiences will enjoy watching me act too,” Pei Yan said.
“Of course, of course! You’re the leading man.” The manager smiled. “But if possible, could we add another couple of scenes for Rongrong?”
“The screenplay already runs for two hours,” Pei Yan answered. “If we add two scenes for him, whose do we cut? Zhuang Xiao’s?”
“Well, no, of course not.” The manager smiled awkwardly.
“We hired an award-winning screenwriter. Every line is there for a reason. There’s not a single piece of filler dialogue, and we can’t squeeze in meaningless chatter. We’re not some amateur troupe making up the script as we shoot.” With that, Pei Yan turned and called out, “Food’s ready! Time to eat!”
* * *
He really could hold a grudge. Even now, he remembered that when he fled to America, someone inside the company had stabbed him in the back. The guilty party knew perfectly well who it was.
He silently swore at them. Stop annoying me.
Those were the gentlest words in his vocabulary. Now that his love life was going so well, he had become far more generous and magnanimous. He wasn’t going to make a fuss.
* * *
The set lunch that day was spicy as usual.
When filming in Chengdu, whether you ordered a fancy main dish, a boxed lunch, dumplings, or noodles, everything was spicy, with red chili oil floating across the top or an entire layer of chilies covering the plate.
Today’s lunch also included several big takeaway buckets of chuanchuanxiang, skewered food in a spicy broth. The chili-loving crew was thrilled. Delicious! Thank you, Boss, for looking after us!
Even Xing Rong was eating spicy food with his head down.
How the young man managed to strip those sticks of spicy beef tripe, lotus root slices, and tofu skin into his mouth was a mystery. When faced with a bowl of spicy diced rabbit, he was surprisingly fierce. He held his chopsticks sideways and swept away the obstructing layer of chilies, then scooped up the rabbit meat and heaped it into his own lunchbox.
“Rongrong, did you have to train yourself to eat spicy food too?” Pei Yan teased from the same table.
“Huh? …Yeah. Just practice a little and you get used to it.” Xing Rong didn’t change expression as he continued eating skewers of spicy quail eggs and sausage.
“Surely you’d need a ‘master’ to teach you that too?” Pei Yan asked. “Great teachers produce great students.”
“Why would anyone need a master to learn to eat spicy food? Eating skewers doesn’t require technique!” Xing Rong shot back. “I’ve got a good appetite. I just like them!”
Pei Yan chuckled. Well, well. Young Xing’s getting formidable these days.
Of course, none of them knew what had been happening. They’d been kept in the dark. During the time Pei Yan eloped to America, Xing Rong hadn’t merely braved the snow to meet the Little Prince at the airport.
After that, the two had visited several places around Beijing, walked along the city walls in the snow, and shared a few meals.
Later, although Pei Yan failed to report to his intended film production, Sa Risheng honored his own contract and joined the crew, spending a full two weeks at a film studio in Zhejiang. At that very time, Xing Rong was filming at the same studio. Every day after work they could call or meet… Who knew about any of that? Who had seen them?
Sa Risheng was sitting at another table eating boxed lunches and skewers. After finishing his own food, Xing Rong carried over three cans of cooling herbal tea and casually handed two to Xiao-Sa. “Have this with your spicy food, or you’ll get overheated again.”
Xiao-Sa drank herbal tea like this: tilt his head back and empty the first can, accept the second, tilt his head back and empty that one too, wipe his mouth, then reach out again… Oh. There wasn’t another for him?
Xing Rong had brought a large packet of milky wafers from some foreign brand. After tasting one, he declared them “too milky, only suitable for babies,” and handed Xiao-Sa the entire packet, including the half-eaten wafer he’d been holding.
Sa Risheng accepted everything without a second thought. Their giving and taking was perfectly natural. Within ten minutes he’d demolished the entire packet of milk-flavored snacks.
“Are you going to another film set tomorrow?” Xing Rong asked. “You’ve arranged it all?”
Sa Risheng nodded. “Mm. They’ve got some difficult horseback battle stunts. They asked me to do them.”
They were talking about the producer Pei Yan knew from Dragon Battles Heaven’s Pass, who’d asked to borrow the Little Prince for a neighboring production. You could count the well-known mounted stunt performers in the industry on your fingers. Xiao-Sa had already agreed to help.
Xing Rong asked anxiously, “How difficult?”
Sa Risheng placed two wafer biscuits side by side on the table, an inch apart. He pointed at them. “Two horses. They’re running, running, running, and I jump from one horse onto the other. Then…”
He moved the wafers in circles over the tabletop. “One horse runs, runs, runs, and pretends to get shot by an arrow, so it kneels. I’m riding the other one. Whoosh, I get hit by an arrow too and fall off. Half my body goes underneath the horse. Then I grab the reins and get the horse back on its feet, keep running around the first horse, and jump over its back. Finally both horses stand up and run away… That’s it. Done.”
“Who wrote that script? It’s far too dangerous!” Xing Rong frowned. “Can’t they just do it in postproduction? Use computer graphics? What can’t they draw these days? Why do they insist on having you do it?”
“Somebody has to guide the first horse too, the one that’s supposed to kneel. It needs someone who knows how to direct it, so it’ll know exactly when to kneel and when to stand up,” Xiao-Sa replied.
“Those horses are both going to be difficult,” Pei Yan interjected. “Baby, are you sure you can manage?”
Sa Risheng smiled his innocent smile, showing a row of white teeth. He stuffed both wafer biscuits into his mouth at once, chewed them with gusto, and swallowed happily. With that confident appetite, he was telling them: Of course it’s difficult for city boys who’ve never seen a horse. You’d be frightened to death.
Xing Rong reminded Xiao-Sa to be careful while filming and look after his safety.
After a long silence, Xing Rong couldn’t suppress one last complaint. “It’s because postproduction effects cost money. They can’t bear to spend it. Hiring a stuntman is so much cheaper, maybe only a tenth of the price, so of course they want to save money. Then when they wrap the project, the people in charge can divide up the savings and spend them on themselves… Who do they think they’re fooling?!”
Xiao-Sa said a few more things with a smile, trying to comfort this new, hot-tempered Xing Rong.
Xing Rong looked down without speaking. His lips moved almost imperceptibly. He wanted to swear too. How utterly hateful.
* * *