The herd led by the Little Prince was blocked by a vast stretch of mud. The horses could not get through, so the two of them could only gaze at each other from opposite ends of the long street.
People hurried over to help. A crowd of bare-chested men dug and shoveled mud from the road, then laid wooden planks across it. They called out in their local dialect, told jokes and worked together in a cheerful bustle.
Xing Rong, wearing a white undershirt, joined the crowd to shovel silt from the street. His shirt quickly lost its original color. He had never really done hard manual labor before. Every time he used to go out, he would put on painstakingly perfect makeup, then hide it beneath an enormous face mask, dye his hair and wear earrings. It was as though not a single part of his body was truly his anymore. After all that careful dressing up, he would still arrange to “accidentally” run into all sorts of people and pose for photographs… He was tired of living like that, putting on a mask to perform even though he was a terrible actor.
Now he felt as though he had shed another layer of skin, been reborn and finally begun to understand many things.
Who cared whether he was famous anymore? Fame depended on fate; he simply had not been born with the destiny of a crown prince. But there were plenty of other things in the world that had nothing to do with fate. You had to fight for them yourself, bravely and persistently.
He had long since stopped taking his antidepressants, quietly discontinuing them some time ago.
A clearance truck hoisted debris off the street and hauled it away. By noon, they had finally managed to open up a broad stretch of road…
The film base’s horses were all back. They were led to a temporarily safe gathering place nearby and given fodder and other feed. They were ravenously hungry too.
At last the people from opposite ends of the street met. Xing Rong immediately asked, “Why didn’t you answer my calls?”
Sa Risheng was still wearing the historical costume he had had on at the film set two days earlier. He had never had a chance to change. He pulled aside the outer robe and rummaged, rummaged, rummaged… After a long search, he finally found his phone stuffed into some obscure pocket, as though the device were the least important burden he owned.
Xiao-Sa said with perfect innocence, “It ran out of power.”
Xing Rong asked, “Want to guess how many times I called you?”
“A hundred?” Sa Risheng grinned. “Hah, so that’s why the battery died. You kept calling me until you drained it.”
“Pretty pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” Xing Rong said. “That swaggering expression when you rode through the street just now! I should’ve filmed it for you. You looked like a top scholar parading through the streets after winning the imperial examinations. Just look at how proud you are!”
Xiao-Sa was proud of himself. Could just anybody command a massive troop of horses and ride in from the horizon like that? Of course he looked impressive!
Xiao-Sa asked, “Did I look silly?”
“Not at all. You were really, really handsome…” Xing Rong smiled. “Like someone in a movie. Shame I forgot to record it.”
Sa Risheng smiled. “If I looked handsome, I’ll ride down the street again for you next time.”
Then he remembered something quite important. He tugged back his sleeve and showed Rong-ge his wrist. “That bracelet with the red stone. I lost it. Can’t find it anywhere.”
“Ah…” Xing Rong froze, turned over Xiao-Sa’s left wrist and then checked his right. It really was gone. Perhaps the red cord had come undone.
“Sorry,” Xiao-Sa said, lowering his eyelids and pouting a little, looking hurt. “I liked that red stone a lot.”
He had noticed the ornament was missing while riding through the mountains. For a moment Xiao-Sa had turned his horse back to look for it, but the valley and streams covered an enormous area, and he had already ridden so far. The red stone had probably merged into the vast earth, into the magnificent landscape of mountains and rivers, becoming a trace of the world’s vital essence. There was no way to find it.
“If it’s lost, it’s lost,” Xing Rong said. “You’re back. That’s what matters. Who cares about the bracelet?”
“It was red crystal,” he added after thinking about it, speaking earnestly. “Red crystal is supposed to ward off bad luck. Losing the crystal means it took that bad luck away for you and kept you safe until you came back.”
Thinking of it that way, Xing Rong smiled with genuine gratitude. The important thing was that Xiao-Sa had returned unharmed.
Xiao-Sa smiled too. The person before him was so good, so considerate and gentle.
They helped clear fallen trunks and branches outside a shop along the street, then pushed and hauled a heavy rubbish cart away. Finally it was time to eat.
Sa Risheng had not had a proper, filling meal in two days and was almost mad with hunger. Like a starving wolf, he planted himself in front of the meal truck at the film city, squatted down and refused to move.
Xing Rong fetched Xiao-Sa a bowl of pork-intestine rice noodles, then went to get some hot-and-sour noodles. When he returned, the first bowl was already empty. He brought over a steamer of buns, looked back, and the hot-and-sour noodles had vanished too.
Sa Risheng squatted on the ground, eating one bowl after another, but he was still unhappy. He muttered quietly, “Is there no meat?”
Xing Rong pointed at the topping on the dan dan noodles. “Isn’t all that meat? And you’ve had loads of pork intestine and shrimp.”
Sa Risheng sounded terribly aggrieved. “That doesn’t count as meat. Those are just little scraps!”
The Little Prince only showed such pitiful, aggrieved expressions before someone he cared about. Without a whole leg of lamb to eat, he looked as though all the life had gone out of him. Both men chuckled together, squatting on the roadside with their legs spread as they ate noodles beside a stinking great mud pit.
“Maybe we should go to your hometown for a whole roast lamb,” Xing Rong said. “Now you’ve got me wanting mutton too.”
“Come to my hometown. I’ll be going back after I finish filming this,” Sa Risheng invited casually. “Want to visit Xilinhot?”
“I do!” Xing Rong’s eyes lit up.
“But it’s bitterly cold in winter. So cold that you swing a knife and it freezes inside the sheep’s neck…” Sa Risheng started on one of his tall tales again.
“Enough, I can recite it by heart! You chop with the knife, and the knife freezes into the sheep until they’re all one piece. You can’t cut anymore. You pull and pull and finally get it out and, look, you’ve only got the handle left in your hand!… You’re so annoying.” Xing Rong mercilessly mocked him. Both burst into helpless laughter at the ridiculousness of it.
They spent a long time drawing on the ground and enthusiastically discussing which seasons were best for visiting which places in Inner Mongolia, what there was to eat at different times of year, and when the grasslands looked their most beautiful…
Xing Rong glanced at Xiao-Sa’s profile and found himself staring. His gaze lingered on those thick eyelashes, then moved to the curves of the lips and jaw and the slight movement of the Adam’s apple in his throat. He really was handsome.
He suddenly murmured, imitating a Sichuan accent, “Little brother, you’re so ridiculously handsome! I’ve been looking at you for ages. Want to find somewhere and fool around for a bit?”
“Huh?” Xiao-Sa looked up at him, completely lost.
Xing Rong laughed so hard he had to wave a hand. “Hahaha, just teasing you.”
“What were you saying?” Xiao-Sa asked, baffled.
“I was saying you’re a silly goose!” Xing Rong laughed.
Back and forth they went, joking and teasing each other. They did not fear being photographed anymore. Anybody who wanted to take a picture could take one.
There had never been anything underhanded going on between them. No secret affair.
This was what wild, spirited youth ought to be: looking each other openly in the eye beneath the sunlight, blooming without restraint and enjoying this exhilarating part of life. What was there to be ashamed of?
* * *
Meanwhile, the secondary disasters caused by the heavy rain across the towns and counties of western Sichuan kept appearing in online reports. The situation eventually drew some media attention, making a small splash in the film industry as well.
Several film and television companies joined forces behind the scenes to organize an elaborate charity sale and fundraising event. Many stars appeared and donated money. These events happened every year, of course, under all kinds of names, providing an opportunity to demonstrate the obligations and responsibilities of public figures, and the entertainment industry’s compassion and positive spirit. Everyone was happy to participate and to contribute generously.
The celebrities taking part in the auction, donations and fundraising all appeared in a big group photograph, each looking vigorous, confident and fresh as spring onions.
The internet overflowed with praise. Suddenly several more young people’s “idols” and “role models” for the new generation of performers appeared. Naturally, less harmonious voices mingled with the applause. Some fought over status and billing: who stood at the center of the charity group photograph, who was merely an accessory, who was the bright red flower and who a little green leaf, who was the currently favored empress and who the neglected consort squeezed into a corner of the cold palace. Fan groups mocked and argued endlessly. Others nitpicked donation amounts: who gave two million, who gave a million, who gave half a million, and who earned more than a hundred million a year yet had the nerve to give only two hundred thousand!…
Naturally, some busybodies went down the list looking for celebrities who had not joined the fundraiser at all, the ones who refused to part with a single cent.
Jiahuang was one of the organizations behind the charity event. Its boss, Zhang Shaochi, had even opened his own wallet to make a donation for once: two million yuan. In the past, he had been one of those people who would not give away a penny. Somehow he had seen the light this time. Perhaps sleeping alone atop his piles of cash every day no longer gave him enough pleasure, and he had decided to scatter a little pocket money around to build the image of a socially responsible private entrepreneur.
President Zhang texted and called Pei Yan, checking whether he was safe and asking what he was doing.
Pei Yan said, “I’m in this town near Chengdu. The local township government is short-handed, so I’m helping with the disaster relief.”
“You really went down to the countryside to haul bricks for them? And you’re not publicizing your rescue work? Don’t you think you’re missing out?” Zhang Shaochi told him over the phone. “You forgot to send a check for our charity event too. You’ve missed a perfect chance to show your face.”
“It’s enough that you showed yours, Second Uncle. I won’t go on stage and make a spectacle of myself,” Pei Yan said dismissively.
“You silly monkey. I know how you are. You’re still too young…” Zhang Shaochi said slowly. “You can’t do things on hot blood and a sense of duty alone. You need methods, strategy and tactics. You think you’re doing something wonderful by putting your back into it. Other people have given real hard cash, kept their shoes perfectly clean and still had the chance to look glamorous in public.”
Pei Yan did not care for that argument, so he changed the subject. “President Zhang, the truth is I’m in a difficult position right now. I don’t actually have cash to spare. All I’ve got is a pair of hands and a bit of strength.”
It almost sounded sad. Pei Yan was speaking the truth. “The film’s production costs are definitely going over budget. Could you… support us with another ten million yuan afterward?”
Zhang Shaochi answered, “Our previous distribution deal. Sixty percent for you, forty for me?”
Fucking bastard. Kicking a man when he’s down, taking advantage of somebody else’s crisis! Pei Yan cursed silently, then said into the phone, “I thought this two-million-yuan charity donation meant you’d had a change of heart. Turns out you were planning to make me cover your charitable losses?”
“My losses are much bigger than that,” Zhang Shaochi said coldly. “You’re making Sleeping with the Enemy, and you’ve only paid yourself a five-million-yuan acting fee. Then you give me some miserable ‘two-fifty’ worth of tax. You know perfectly well what your acting fee ought to be at your market value!… Who do you think you’re fooling with that little trick?”
With a sharp click, Pei Yan hung up in a fit of temper.
Having hung up on President Zhang, he knew he had driven himself into a corner.
* * *
Pei Yan turned around after the call. They were still outside the township government offices.
He was so angry he could barely see straight, because that big monkey had hit a sore spot. He really had tried to be clever. His own studio was investing in the movie, and the actors’ fees counted as production costs. Wasn’t that just taking money out of his left pocket and putting it into his right, only to have to pay Zhang Shaochi a fucking “protection fee” on top? That was why he had set his acting fee at five million. What businessman these days was stupid enough not to watch his own interests?
Fine rain drifted across the nearby streets, the rain refusing to stop for days on end. Far across the horizon, a bright sliver of daylight gradually appeared, struggling to push away the heavy, dark clouds.
“Teacher Zhuang, why don’t you come down for a rest?… Take a little break!” the township Party secretary called from the doorway.
“I’m fine. Don’t need to rest.” Zhuang Xiao braced his hands at his waist, panting heavily.
“If I take a break now, I’ll never manage to stand up again.” He lowered his head with a tired little laugh.
“You’re really working too hard. Thank you! Ah, I need to take a call first…” The secretary’s shirt was drenched, strands of hair stuck crookedly to his forehead. He pushed his glasses up his nose, gripped the doorframe and spoke loudly into his phone. Judging from the red veins in his eyes, he had barely slept in days either.
Places like this were the unluckiest. Hardly anyone had died, but almost the entire town had been washed into a swamp. The relief teams outside could not reach every little area, and this town had effectively been crossed off their map. Neither troops nor food, fuel or funding were coming. Only scattered groups of volunteer rescuers were here.
Zhuang Xiao stood on the back of the big truck, helping the townspeople unload relief supplies, carrying one sack of rice, flour or sweet potatoes after another.
He bent to lift another sack of rice, but this time he simply could not straighten up. He grabbed the frame at the edge of the truck’s canopy and stayed where he was.
“Stop carrying things. Let me do it,” Pei Yan called. “Just sit there in the truck.”
“…” Zhuang Xiao did not answer. Even after a long moment, he still could not stand straight. He remained half-bent, the pain plain in his tightly clenched face. Something in his lower back seemed to have locked up.
Pei Yan steadied Zhuang Xiao’s waist and carefully helped him straighten his back. He had carried heavy loads too often in one day, overstraining an already worn-down spine. Now his lower back had seized up with an acute fatigue reaction. He could neither sit nor bend, nor even lie down. All he could do was prop himself against a wall.
Pei Yan nodded his chin toward one of the younger crew members. Give me a sack. Then he turned around. The young man heaved a bag of rice onto his shoulder, and Pei Yan carried it away…
When he had finished that load, he stood still for a moment, then turned and walked straight back to Zhuang Xiao.
He threw his entire weight into the other man’s arms and leaned against him, both bodies pressed tightly to the wall.
“Are you crazy?… There are so many people here…” Zhuang Xiao murmured, but he did not push him away. One arm came gently around Pei Yan’s waist.
“About to go crazy… Maybe I’ll just come out of the closet. I don’t want to stay in the business anymore.” Pei Yan buried his face against Zhuang Xiao’s shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” Zhuang Xiao knew something had happened.
“If this one doesn’t earn back its costs, I’ll go bankrupt and sell the house. Then I’m quitting the industry and going back to America with you.” Pei Yan’s voice was thick and muffled. “You can support me… You haven’t taken back what you said last time, right?”
“I haven’t taken it back. But you don’t need me to support you.” Zhuang Xiao patted his back. “You’re so capable, so handsome. Don’t lose faith in yourself.”
Pei Yan wiped at his face. Whether he was wiping away rainwater or something else was hard to tell. After hanging on Zhuang Xiao’s shoulder for a while, he finally pulled away.
How could he let the silly kid sell his parents’ house? That would be outrageous. At worst, Zhuang Xiao could mortgage his villa in Irvine again and raise another sum of money… That was what he was thinking.
Somebody noticed their occasional intimacy and glanced over, but said nothing and went back to work. Everyone was busy and too tired even to talk; nobody had the energy to meddle in other people’s business.
Even the old granny sitting on a doorstep chewing tobacco said, “What’s the fuss? Two handsome young fellows hug each other and give each other a kiss. We see that all the time around here!”…
Pei Yan probably carried two thousand jin of rice and assorted heavy loads that day. His shoulders, back and legs no longer felt like parts of his own body.
The township secretary came back downstairs and was deeply moved to see them still there. He thanked them over and over, eyes brimming with tears as he spoke, and invited them to stay for a meal even though there was not much to eat in the office canteen. Another villager brought a steamer of yellow-millet glutinous rice cakes. Pei Yan picked one up and took huge bites. “Good, this is great! This is my dinner. Best thing I’ve eaten!”
Many people who had lost their homes were sheltering in a temple near the town center. As Pei Yan carried a crate of mineral water over the threshold of its main hall, a little girl ran sobbing straight into his arms.
“Waaaah… I want my mommy…” The child wept bitterly. Both her parents were in the hospital, though her teacher was still keeping that news from her.
“Hey, little sister, no more tears. Look who’s here!” Pei Yan balanced the water on one shoulder and snapped his fingers in a flashy gesture.
“Waaah… Who’re you?” The girl rubbed her grubby face and stared at him.
“Little sister, take a good look at me. I’m the handsomest, most wonderful big brother you’ve ever seen!” Pei Yan declared, and people nearby were already laughing.
“You… You look like… Yanyan-ge?” The little girl looked at him with innocent eyes.
What?
Pei Yan gave a start and the tips of his ears promptly turned red. How embarrassing! He had only wanted to tease a little girl anonymously, and now he had once again fallen into the vast ocean of the people’s recognition…
“Waaaah… Y-you’re Yanyan-ge? Waaaaaah!” The girl’s mouth trembled, then she broke into great, aggrieved sobs, crying harder than ever.
Pei Yan set the crate of water down, lifted the little girl into his arms and played the full game of kisses, hugs and swinging her up high until his tiny fan laughed again.
Inside the mountain gate of the temple, the Buddha hall remained illuminated throughout the night. May the Buddha, in his compassion, bless all living beings and keep them safe through the hardship.
After Pei Yan had distributed the crates of bottled water and instant noodles he had brought, many people asked him to sign their water bottles and noodle cups. He signed them all, and even asked insistently, “You’re really going to keep these bottles and noodle cups instead of throwing them away, right? You have to keep them! I took those signatures seriously!”
The children giggled at him. “We’ll keep them!”
That night, many people still tossed and turned, unable to sleep. They sat awake, staring blankly at the lofty ceiling of the main hall. Pei Yan looked toward Zhuang Xiao, who suddenly spoke. “I’ll sing a song for everybody.”
They were sitting side by side with their backs against the wall. A man like Zhuang Xiao had actually offered to sing in front of everyone.
At first the girls requested Invisible Wings, but that was a song originally sung by a woman and did not suit his rough, low voice particularly well. So, in the empty hall, Zhuang Xiao began singing a song for a man’s voice.
Who has never known a memory carved into the heart? Who can foresee the consequences?
Who has never held old resentments or demons in the heart, or made some careless little mistake?
Who has never had a dream beyond their reach? Who can say whether you or I have wronged the other more?
Who would want to explain the reasons? One smile, and the storms of life have already passed.
It was an old Cantonese song, Smiling at Life’s Storms.
Zhuang Xiao sat without moving. His voice was deep and melancholy, weathered, free-spirited and full of emotion.
Stars glittered overhead, while frogs and insects called outside the hall. The melody was intensely familiar, though the lyrics perhaps less so. But after that night, many of the people who had listened would know those words well enough to recite them from memory.
Live happily, keeping no grudges in your heart. Sing a song and smile for today.
Let your heart welcome fresh joys; open its locks in the evening breeze.
* * *
“Your Cantonese singing is that good?” Pei Yan was so absorbed in gazing at Zhuang Xiao’s profile that he had forgotten to applaud.
“Mm. I can sing.” Zhuang Xiao looked at him too. “Want to hear another?”
Pei Yan nodded as though enchanted. Of course he did. Zhuang Xiao had become famous as a teenager and had worked on several Hong Kong wuxia films during that period. All that time on Hong Kong sets had not been wasted. His Cantonese was remarkably authentic, without a flaw in his accent.
So Zhuang Xiao began another song, A Man Should Strengthen Himself.
The song had been played to death, so familiar it was almost corny. Who hadn’t seen those movies? Young and old, male and female, everybody in the hall knew it. As soon as Zhuang Xiao began, it turned into a great mixed-voice chorus. People smiled through tears as they sang together about courage, pride and blood burning brighter than the rising sun.
Courage hammered from iron, bones tempered like steel;
A heart vast as a thousand mountains, a gaze reaching ten thousand miles;
Swear to strive and grow strong, to become an honorable man!
There could be no musical accompaniment here, yet the hall seemed to resound with the rousing drumbeats that introduced the song. The rhythm already lived in their hearts, drawing everybody into the same emotion. A red sun seemed to rise over the mountain peak, and their blood burned with a heat brighter than the sunlight…
The lights gradually went out. Night deepened into silence, broken only by the sound of people snoring around them.
Zhuang Xiao’s back was hurting too badly for him to lie down, so he stayed seated with his spine against the wall. Under the blanket, he caught Mr. Pei’s hand.
Pei Yan nestled close, his head resting on Zhuang Xiao’s thigh.
“You silly fool. So damn stubborn,” Zhuang Xiao murmured.
“You’re a fool too. Has your back broken yet?” Pei Yan said. “From now on, just lie there obediently and let me look after you.”
Just admit you’re getting old already.
I’ll take care of you in every possible way.
Zhuang Xiao gave a contemptuous little smile by way of answer.
“When I was seven, I became my master’s disciple and started learning martial arts. It was hard. I was punished and beaten all day, made to run half-naked through the snow in winter. But there was one thing my master taught me that I think was absolutely right,” Zhuang Xiao said quietly in the darkness. “A martial artist shouldn’t be obsessed with fighting for supremacy, meeting violence with violence. The first duty is martial virtue. But most of the time we only pay lip service to it, shout a few stirring slogans, then forget them. When real suffering is right in front of me, what am I supposed to do?… If everybody else runs off and disappears, the two of us have to stay, even if somebody has to tie us here.”
“I know all that!” Pei Yan laced his fingers tightly through the bigger hand beneath the blanket. “Everything your master taught you, my master taught me too. What’s the use of learning martial arts? Our motto is eight characters: help those in danger, aid the needy; suppress the violent, protect the good!… Benevolence and righteousness as our foundation, the heart of a chivalrous hero, the greatest hero acting for country and people. Hahaha, I’ve read all those fine words in wuxia novels since I was little. You can’t go around shouting them every day. We keep them right here, in our hearts.”
Exhausted and smiling, Pei Yan felt a rare fullness in his heart.
Once again, in the darkness, their hands clasped tightly, fingers tracing each other’s palm lines with so much love. Across all the ages, few things in life were more precious than finding a kindred spirit.
The greatest hero was one who carried his family, his country and all under heaven in his heart.
* * *