The floodwaters had been particularly high in late summer that year. Heavy rains continued across the southern provinces, and the film crew withdrew to Beijing to work out what to do next.
Whenever Pei Yan had free time in Beijing, he would bring something good to eat and visit his father-in-law. He told Old Master Zhuang, “Your son’s been in poor health lately. That old back of his’s given up on him, so he’s getting treatment at the hospital. His son-in-law’s here in his place.
“Count yourself lucky. At least you’ve got a real son-in-law. Some people don’t even have one.
“Seriously, if your son married a wife, she might not be half as filial as I am! Mother-in-law and daughter-in-law, father-in-law and daughter-in-law, those relationships are so hard to manage these days. Not everybody’s as handsome, dashing, lively and generous as me!”
Old Master Zhuang nodded along, agreeing wholeheartedly. The moment his lips moved, out came the truth. “From now on, you can just come by yourself. Don’t bring A-Xiao. I don’t need to see him.”
“Wooow.” Pei Yan teased the old gentleman. “You really love me. And you sure love your son!”
“You’re more fun than him,” Old Master Zhuang muttered.
Pei Yan laughed. “That’s right. I’m fun. I am pretty entertaining.”
Once, both men drove to the building together. Zhuang Xiao pulled up the handbrake, gave Mr. Pei a meaningful look and said, “Why don’t you go up by yourself?”
Pei Yan glared at him. “Whose father is this?”
Zhuang Xiao shook his head. “The old man’s just so fucking fond of you. Seeing you makes him happy. Seeing me makes him miserable. Better if I stay out of it.”
“Can’t you make your dad fond of you too? God, you’re always like this. Can’t you say a few nice, soft words to cheer him up?” Pei Yan grabbed Zhuang Xiao around the neck and shook him back and forth. Zhuang Xiao stayed stubbornly unmoving in his seat, impervious to both coaxing and threats. There was nothing to be done with him.
Old Master Zhuang often sat beneath his window, turning over a pile of battered boxes. Inside were newspaper clippings and movie pictorials collected across more than twenty years. Some showed stills and articles from his own wuxia films, others photographs of his son acting as a teenager. They were layer upon layer of memories, though part of what he remembered had already broken away from the real world, and those glorious times would never return.
“Hey, you coming back for another lesson? Still want to learn?” Old Master Zhuang made a mysterious martial-arts gesture and leaned closer.
“Learn what?” Pei Yan asked.
“Real skills! My secret moves… You can beat that rotten boy up for me. I can’t fight him anymore,” Old Master Zhuang said.
“Uncle, you really do love me! Hahaha!” Pei Yan roared with laughter. Then he sobered and said seriously, “No more lessons. I like your son too much to bear the thought of beating him.
“Besides, I’ve already secretly learned all your special moves. If Zhuang Xiao really couldn’t beat me next time, he’d lose face! Why would I want to embarrass him?… I like watching him look all powerful and handsome.
“Seriously. My Xiao-ge really is incredible. So handsome. Heh.”
Entertainment reporters still came occasionally to harass Old Master Zhuang, hoping to coax petty father-son grievances out of him. Zhuang Wenlong sometimes grumbled himself, criticizing his son for being unfilial or inconsiderate. But he never once told outsiders that a certain Mr. Pei was exceptionally filial and thoughtful toward him, and that Mr. Pei was his family’s son-in-law.
The old man would run his mouth about anything else, but on this particular subject his lips stayed sealed tight.
Was his brain going? Was he really stupid?
The highest achievement in life was pretending to be so foolish that everybody thought you had lost your senses, while in fact you understood things better than anyone. If the relationship came out, his son-in-law would not be able to keep bringing him cakes, chatting with him and practicing boxing in the mornings. That precious son-in-law might one day even become somebody else’s son-in-law!
How could he allow that? He adored the boy too much.
So the secret had to be kept. Nobody was to know… The old drunkard understood perfectly well, no matter how much he drank. He had never truly become muddleheaded.
During that period, Zhuang Xiao’s assistant drove him to the hospital every day for traditional Chinese medicine acupuncture to ease his old lower-back injuries.
It could treat the symptoms, not the root of the problem. It could not reverse the wear and tear of years of accumulated strain. Every professional stunt performer carried injuries. Their bodies were covered in scars.
Visible injuries and hidden ones. Wounds people could see and wounds they could not.
Dragon Battles Heaven’s Pass was about to be released, and Jiahuang had scheduled a series of promotional roadshows through seven or eight cities, north to south. Both martial-arts leads were required to attend. The film market had been sluggish for most of the year; nobody could say what the box-office receipts would look like.
Zhuang Xiao returned home at dusk, still needing his assistant to help him through the door. He walked slowly, his back almost completely rigid.
Before he even returned from the hospital, photographs of his miserable state were already circulating online. The capital’s big hospitals were always crowded. Every time the great hero visited for treatment, he encountered fans. Plenty of people had seen the reality of him edging down the corridor, one hand pressed to his back while an assistant supported him.
Fans asked how he had injured his back, and Zhuang Xiao replied, “An accident while filming.”
Their double-bed mattress had been removed; he could not sleep on it. At night Zhuang Xiao lay facedown on a hard wooden bed, turned his head slightly and told the person behind him, “Sorry. I’ll have to trouble you to sleep in the guest room for a few days.”
“Cut the crap,” Pei Yan whispered. “Don’t make me feel even more sorry for you.”
“Feel sorry for me? Then get me a plate of diced chicken,” Zhuang Xiao said into the pillow. “A little oral action.”
“You’re so annoying!” Pei Yan slapped Mr. Zhuang’s backside.
That position did not even make oral sex convenient. Pei Yan pulled down the other’s pants and sank his teeth into the solid flesh of his backside, leaving a deep bite mark. Zhuang Xiao frowned slightly.
Pei Yan remembered something. “In a few days we’re going to Tianjin for a promotional roadshow. Want to come and meet a few of my friends?”
“Who?” Zhuang Xiao asked.
“Well… The person who did my tattoos. A friend. No harm meeting people together, right?”
“Go by yourself.” Zhuang Xiao turned to look at him. “Planning another tattoo? Where would you even put it?”
His gaze slid toward Pei Yan’s lower body. “Front? Back? Where’ve you still got room?”
Pei Yan shot him a look. “I’ve got plenty of room, front and back.”
“You’ve only got one ass, where else can you draw flowers on it? You’ve already filled the whole thing. What, you’re going to tattoo your dick and balls next?” Zhuang Xiao’s dimples appeared, his eyes contemptuous. “Put any more ink on there and I won’t have anywhere left to fuck you.”
“Then I’ll fuck you. And don’t you dare pretend your back hurts!” Pei Yan threw himself on top, scratching Zhuang Xiao’s ticklish places. Then, thoroughly carried away by lust and bravado, he pressed a finger against his man’s anus through the fabric of his sleep pants.
His finger pushed almost half an inch inward. Zhuang Xiao cried out, “Ah!” His reaction was strong and his entire body went rigid.
Zhuang Xiao violently knocked away that troublesome hand, turned over in one sharp movement and covered his backside, refusing to let Pei Yan touch it. Chaos erupted across the bed.
He might casually offer, “I’ll let you top,” when it was only talk, but actually being penetrated made him look like a male lion ready for battle.
That one touch made it obvious he was untouched, that nobody had ever been there before… The cry had made Pei Yan blush all over. Every day he faced this alluring, powerfully masculine body, yet he still could not top him.
If Pei Yan kept pestering and insisted, Zhuang Xiao probably would not outright refuse to reciprocate. He might eventually consent. But Pei Yan felt Zhuang Xiao was still quite straight in both mind and body and did not genuinely like the idea of doing it that way.
* * *
Several days later, the distributor held an industry preview screening and promotional event for Dragon Battles Heaven’s Pass at a theater in Tianjin.
After the screening, some businessmen invited them to dinner at a well-known old restaurant called Ziyun Tower. In a large private dining room, Zhuang Xiao finally met “Xiu-ge,” the person with tattoos all over and hair tied up in a little bun. Her full name was Mao Zhixiu.
Miss Mao had a long cigarette between her lips. Her features were fair and delicate, and she possessed an almost otherworldly elegance. One glance told you she was no ordinary woman. Mao Zhixiu put an arm familiarly around Mr. Pei, took the cigarette from her own mouth and offered it toward his lips. “Yanyan, want a puff?”
“I don’t smoke.” Pei Yan shook his head to decline. “Give it to him.”
Mao Zhixiu looked at Zhuang Xiao and smiled. Quick to read the room, she moved Pei Yan aside and stopped embracing him. She pulled out another cigarette and offered both cigarette and flame.
“I’ve quit. Just one,” Zhuang Xiao said, accepting it.
Mao Zhixiu flicked her lighter and offered him the flame. Her slender eyes shimmered with an odd light as she smiled. Then she suddenly thrust the burning lighter toward the side of Zhuang Xiao’s face!
Zhuang Xiao reacted instantly. Instead of striking or grabbing, he flicked two fingers against a sensitive nerve in her wrist.
Mao Zhixiu’s hand went numb and she snatched it back. The lighter flew from her fingers. Zhuang Xiao caught the still-burning lighter in midair and snapped its lid shut with a click, extinguishing the flame in his palm.
He opened his hand and offered the still-warm lighter back to the woman.
“God, you’re both impossible. Do you have nothing better to do?” Pei Yan rolled his eyes, but he could not hide the childlike pride and delight around his mouth. He wanted to show off his treasure for everyone to see. Xiao-ge was his pride.
“Hahaha!” Mao Zhixiu made a sheepish face, her smile sunny and unrestrained. “Mr. Zhuang, just a little joke. I hope you don’t mind. Our boss, President Yan, has wanted to meet you in person for ages. It’s so rare that you can spare the time. Even a bunch of little nobodies like us get to bask in your reflected glory today. What a sight!”
“You’re too polite.” Zhuang Xiao nodded. “I haven’t met many people, so I’m not actually familiar with this gentleman you’re talking about…”
“Ahem! You don’t need to know him. He knows you!” Mao Zhixiu lit another cigarette and blew delicate spirals of smoke. “He’s nobody important. Sign an autograph for him later and he’ll be over the moon. He’s been your fan for years!”
* * *
The advance screening of Dragon Battles Heaven’s Pass had been a considerable success. The theater audience consisted of people from the industry, cultural celebrities and business owners with professional connections.
The older people were, the more nostalgic affection they seemed to feel for classic, pure wuxia films, and they were eager to support them. When the closing credits rolled and the house lights came up, several middle-aged businessmen were still standing among the seats, talking animatedly.
The light from the enormous screen played over their faces. Still immersed in what they had watched, they spoke over one another, almost spraying each other as they enthused.
“You young people don’t understand these things anymore. Do you know which actresses we loved most in the old days? Nie Xiaoqian, Zixia, Thirteenth Aunt… We watched that stuff in our dorms every day back at university. Heard the saying ‘If you’re going to marry, marry Thirteenth Aunt’? Those were the goddesses we poor bastards dreamed about! Movies we loved were the old classics, The Swordsman, Once Upon a Time in China II, New Dragon Gate Inn. Those screen heroes like Wong Fei-hung and Linghu Chong… Really, these days films like that aren’t so popular. They’ve gone out of fashion, and fewer and fewer people are willing to invest in making them!”
That kind of film was increasingly rare, left behind by the times.
Yet what each person remembered with undying fondness was the love of their youth, those fierce years when they had burned with passion.
The image of a hero who lived by honor and righteousness, once held close in their hearts, had unexpectedly taken solid shape in a particular man again. It was as though the screen had reconstructed the moonlight cherished in their hearts, the cinnabar mark of an unforgettable love. It was only natural that a certain great hero should receive such enthusiastic attention at the preview screening.
People came one after another to chat with Zhuang Xiao, make his acquaintance, and offer cigarettes and drinks.
“Mr. Zhuang, you’ve served in the military, haven’t you? With a presence like yours and skills like that… You must have been a soldier?” one of the bosses kept asking. Clearly a fresh crop of fans had arrived who had not yet thought to research their idol online.
“No. Apart from spending a few days on a military base being criticized and drilled for a variety show. That doesn’t count,” Zhuang Xiao said honestly. “But I respect soldiers.”
His haircut and the shape of his head were rather misleading. His manner was cool, and he radiated an air of hard authority.
Other people asked about scars at the corner of his forehead and across his brow, assuming they were injuries from his military service.
Zhuang Xiao said they came from an accident during filming.
Pei Yan watched from the side and had the good sense not to interrupt. Only he knew how the scars on Zhuang Xiao’s face and forehead had really been made.
He had seen his own father-in-law smash a liquor bottle at Zhuang Xiao’s face, nearly adding fresh wounds atop old scars… How many people could understand that bitter history?
At the banquet at Ziyun Tower, glasses kept clinking and polite greetings flowed. Once dinner was over, several bosses wanted to take the two martial-arts stars to Rain-Kissed Paradise in the city to “practice their martial arts” some more.
Zhuang Xiao was the first to turn the invitation down, and naturally Pei Yan refused too. He knew perfectly well what the local establishment called Rain-Kissed Paradise did: it was a place to chase prostitutes. A boss smiled and suggested they go together for a deluxe “health treatment,” somewhere to soothe their troubles, strengthen the body, unblock the conception and governing vessels and make every last opening in their bodies feel wonderfully refreshed.
Both Zhuang and Pei had attended without female companions, so the bosses assumed, according to their usual way of thinking, that the two men needed some nighttime entertainment.
These businesses had often entertained visiting stars from all over, famous names from the mainland, Hong Kong and Taiwan, married and unmarried. Eight out of ten would order women, and the other two might ask for male hosts. In private, everybody let their true nature loose, eagerly sampling the delights of brothels wherever they went, determined to taste every beauty under heaven.
But these two kung fu movie stars had no interest in it at all. They would not even go to the sauna. Rather unusual.
Unfortunately, President Yan, the man Miss Mao had wanted them to meet, never appeared at the dinner that evening. They did not get to exchange a word with him. Something had come up and he had slipped away early, though he called to pay the bill before leaving.
“Important man, always busy,” Pei Yan said, a little disappointed. “Probably rushing to sign some huge deal.”
“What huge deal?” Mao Zhixiu held her chopsticks elegantly and chewed with pursed lips. “He went home to coax someone.”
“Is he really that whipped?” Pei Yan almost laughed.
Mao Zhixiu nodded. “He’d planned this dinner specifically for Mr. Zhuang. President Yan has rather unusual interests. He likes sword practice and boxing in his spare time, so he’s admired Mr. Zhuang for years and really wanted to meet him… A grown man his age, out chasing a movie star, renting a theater and paying for dinner, spending so much money. Somebody at home wasn’t happy about it and called him back to give him a proper talking-to. Ha!”
The whole thing was so fucking funny that Pei Yan laughed aloud.
Zhuang Xiao sat across the round table, listening as several people repeatedly mentioned President Yan, referring to him as “Knife Lord.”
He was a businessman working around the local port. His family name was Yan and his nickname was Little Knife. His interests included property development, port trade and ocean shipping in both the old city and the new district. Apparently he also had an eye on film and television, with spare money he was thinking of investing in the industry.
Zhuang Xiao held a cigarette between his fingers throughout the dinner but never lit it, quietly rolling the tobacco inside the paper for a long while…
Pei Yan was distracted and still whispering privately to Zhixiu. “Going to get any more new ink?” he asked. “Too much already. It makes my eyes spin.” “Those two words you tattooed last time were so beautiful. How did he react?” “He was really moved. Now stop asking. Can’t you leave a person’s private life alone?”
Out of nowhere, Zhuang Xiao asked Miss Mao whether President Yan smoked or drank.
When everyone rose to leave after the meal, Zhuang Xiao stopped the restaurant manager and asked for the finest bottle of wine in the establishment.
They brought an enormous, handsomely packaged bottle of red wine. It was heavy as a small cannon barrel. Zhuang Xiao turned to Mr. Pei and quietly asked, “I don’t know anything about wine. Is this bottle all right?”
Pei Yan was astonished. What was he doing? He did not drink himself, and that wine was far from cheap.
It really was expensive. Zhuang Xiao rarely spent money so freely on luxury items, yet he did not blink at this extravagance.
Wasn’t that man supposed to be an “old fan” who only wanted an autograph?
Zhuang Xiao produced a pen and solemnly signed his name and the date on the bottle’s paper label. He handed it to Miss Mao together with a note bearing his mobile number.
Still concerned, he added his agent’s phone number to the note as well, afraid the recipient might be unable to get in touch, and asked Miss Mao to deliver them together.
Pei Yan had never imagined Zhuang Xiao could be so worldly-wise. He was utterly surprised.
Zhuang Xiao had never imagined either that he would one day go out of his way to flatter and court a rich boss, putting on such an attentive show of offering someone a favor. That autograph could hardly have been more solicitous.
An outsider who did not know the circumstances might have thought he was ready to switch allegiances and sell himself for advancement.
But they had been driven to this point. Selling himself was still a step too far. Selling a little face, even a kidney if it came to that, was something he could still manage. There were too many worrying matters he did not want to discuss with Pei Yan. Why rub salt into every wound? Yet both men knew what was at stake. Digging their heels in would do them no good. When begging gods and Buddhas for help, a person had to know when to bend and when to stand tall.
Yanyan was young and proud. He would never bow or bend, even if he broke in the attempt. So Zhuang Xiao would be the one to swallow his pride and do the bending.
* * *
A few days later, the team went to Tianjin again, this time to inspect and negotiate possible outdoor locations for reshooting the film’s remaining scenes.
There was never enough money, and finding an appropriate location that was also affordable was difficult.
They went to Tianjin North Railway Station.
The station had a long history, built toward the end of the Qing dynasty. During the Republican period, presidents and leading political figures had come and gone along its platforms and through its carriages. In the past couple of years, the station had reduced its passenger services and trains rarely came through. An old, retired train still stood on its tracks, and the station’s pedestrian bridge retained the plain, unadorned appearance it had worn for a century. Rain fell in a fine curtain from its roof… The place was on the verge of being developed into a dedicated outdoor filming location, a new film base.
Pei Yan came along with the producers and director, working personally despite all the travel, walking over and examining every part of the station, bridge, tracks and carriages.
“This section of rail will work. We can shoot from here and add the Chengdu Plain landscape back into the background in post-production.”
“We need the shot of Baihe jumping off the train. He’ll jump here, then the train comes into the station. There’s a pedestrian bridge right above the carriage roof.”
“Then we’ll consider making small changes to the storyboard and adding a few shots on the bridge,” Pei Yan said, gesturing continually from the platform. “The train comes into the station from there, then Zhuang Xiao and I climb off the roof and onto that bridge. The height is about right, so we can make it… Then a squad of Japanese soldiers charges out. We climb onto the railing from here, move, move, move, exchanging gunfire, then climb up the hospital building opposite. That’s another old Republican-era building! Finally, Commander Zhuang is wounded, falls from the building and is captured. He falls here, this spot. If we want a wide shot, the camera pans up from here, swoosh…
“Would that be okay? Is the director okay with it too?…
“Is this the scene we actually need?”
He had talked so much that his throat was already hoarse.
Without a word, someone beside him offered him a bottle of water.
Pei Yan took it without looking and started twisting the cap, only to discover that someone had thoughtfully loosened it already. He tipped his head back and emptied the whole bottle without pausing for breath.
He handed it back behind him. Zhuang Xiao took it and said, “You don’t even look at what water somebody gives you before drinking it?”
Pei Yan tossed his head. If you’re the one giving it to me, I’ll drink whatever it is. His throat hurt, and he was too tired to waste another word.
Another big red pimple had sprouted by his eyebrow, right at the inner end close to the center of his forehead, making him resemble a handsome young monk with a red mark between his brows.
Zhuang Xiao lightly touched the inflamed bump and made Pei Yan wince at once. He frowned. Too much stress was making him break out, and the painful boil between his brows was joined by swollen gums.
The night before, he had wanted to ride Zhuang Xiao, burying his face in the hollow of the other’s shoulder and biting fiercely at his chest and shoulders like a wild dog.
Zhuang Xiao would not let him ride him, though he did not stop the frantic biting. By the end, his chest bore a patch of marks that looked as though a wolf had gnawed on it…
Then, on that very day, at exactly that moment, Zhuang Xiao’s phone rang.
He answered, listened for a few seconds, and hurriedly said, “Mr. Yan? Yes, this is Zhuang Xiao.
“We’re at Tianjin North Station right now. Are you nearby? I can come and meet you.
“Good. We’ll wait for you!”
* * *
As it happened, the whole group had been walking back and forth through the station in fine wind and rain that day. The rain never seemed to stop. The sky was gloomy, reflecting the agitation and depression weighing on their hearts until they could scarcely breathe.
But at the very moment the man approached from the other side, the rain abruptly stopped. It stopped within the distance between their searching gazes, between the hurried steps coming toward one another…
A man in a suit came down the stairs and strode onto a platform. He hurried in their direction along the tracks, looking around as he went. Zhuang Xiao was searching for him too. Their eyes met the moment he looked up. They raised their hands in greeting across the tracks, waving from a distance.
A brilliant patch of light broke through the clouds overhead, washing the railway in pale gold. The beginnings of a rainbow appeared in the damp air, revealing a bright, beautiful arc.
Just like that, the sky had cleared.
Neither man had to introduce himself. At first glance, both knew exactly who the other was.
But the newcomer had taken the wrong passage and descended the wrong staircase, landing on the opposite platform. Zhuang Xiao hurriedly gestured. This side, this side. Come around.
The man looked up at the long staircase. He had only just come down those steps. Climbing them again would be exhausting as hell! He gave Zhuang Xiao a bold wave, shrugged off his suit jacket and, with one step, jumped off the platform.
Huh?
He had jumped.
Zhuang Xiao immediately understood. This side of the station had been abandoned and no trains used those tracks anymore. The other man was a local and naturally knew the place better than visitors from far away.
The newcomer strode across the tracks and ran over with a laugh. His leather shoes crunched over the sleepers and gravel, his suit coat dangling from one hand… He seemed frank and spirited, a man who did things without hesitation.
Zhuang Xiao crouched, caught the other man’s hand, then simply sat on the edge of the platform.
“My back’s no good. I can’t bend over and haul you up, so I’ll sit here and pull you, Mr. Yan!”
Zhuang Xiao’s clasp of his hand was already a handshake. He gripped the man’s wrist, hauled and supported him, then reached around his shoulder and pulled him onto the platform.
* * *
For the rest of that day, they spent their time in restaurants and teahouses, talking endlessly. They took to each other immediately.
After several rounds of drinks, President Yan clasped his hands in a formal salute and thanked him sincerely. “Thank you, Great Hero, for that autograph!”
Zhuang Xiao lowered his eyes with a smile. “I don’t know the first thing about wine. Was that bottle any good?”
“There’s no way I’m drinking that wine,” President Yan said, laughing with a hand on the table. “I never intended to open it. I’ve got it standing in a glass cabinet in our living room so I can admire it! Whenever somebody comes to the house, I’ll take it out and show them. I’ve got a bottle signed by Zhuang Xiao! Hahaha!”
“Then have him sign a few more. You can put one on the door of every room,” Pei Yan suggested. “His handwriting’s really good.”
“Paste charms on every door?” Zhuang Xiao replied.
“His handwriting really is beautiful. Definitely good enough to guard the house and ward off evil!” President Yan laughed.
President Yan also instructed everyone not to pour Zhuang Xiao a drink. Even he knew that Zhuang Xiao did not drink, not a single drop. Nobody was allowed to urge him. Anyone who tried to force alcohol on him would get chopped.
How do I know? Because I’m a real fan! I love his movies! Hahaha!
Yan Xiaodao draped an arm around Zhuang Xiao’s shoulder. “Call me Xiaodao, and I’ll call you A-Xiao. Calling me ‘President’ is too stiff. It almost sounds like you’re insulting me. And please don’t call me by my full name. When I hear someone shouting my real name outside, it’s usually an enemy coming for revenge, with a gang of men and knives ready to chop me up. Trauma from my younger days, you know? Don’t say the name, or I’ll want to pull my knife too! Hahaha!”
* * *
President Yan’s real name was Yan Xiao. He had once been known as the number-one street thug of Linwan Wharf, a man from the underworld whose original methods of accumulating wealth had been harsh and sometimes utterly inhumane. Of course, after getting rich, these men usually retired from that world, learning to hide their sharp edges, cultivate themselves and live at leisure. Their tastes rose from vulgar material pleasures to more spiritual pursuits. They adopted a few refined hobbies, treasured them, and made friends who shared their interests.
With this formidable, slightly wicked jianghu figure holding court at the table, even Master Pei could barely get a word in. His eyes were too busy taking everything in.
Zhuang Xiao actually rather admired people like Yan Xiaodao. He was generous, frank and true to his nature, not given to empty courtesies or saying things he did not mean. He said what he thought, discussed business plainly, agreed at once when he could, and made decisions on the spot.
That was exactly the sort of person Zhuang Xiao enjoyed befriending. Old Pei was similarly straightforward and open about what he wanted.
They had approached Yan Xiaodao to discuss location filming and future promotional distribution cooperation. To put it plainly, they had latched onto a local money man and were trying with all their might to pull funding into the production’s pockets.
Tianjin North Station had seen passenger numbers declining year after year. Half the station now lay idle, and the ticket office was shuttered and sealed. It had nearly become a nostalgic destination where citizens and tourists went to wander around. Operating it as a passenger station was no longer worth the expense. The municipal authorities therefore intended, within the next year or two, to transform North Station into a museum of Republican-era railways and, together with several nearby buildings more than a century old, develop the area into a film and tourism base.
The historic traces of the city’s old foreign concessions were scattered throughout Tianjin. These shadows of the Republican era, a century and more old, offered considerable potential for future development.
Major projects like that needed substantial financing and the right connections. In the end, local corporations with deep pockets were the ones that would acquire them. President Yan’s company was already working with the municipal government on plans to develop the project. Their interests aligned immediately, and both sides clicked.
For all the parties involved, it was an excellent opportunity.
It was a clear, fine autumn day. The sky was an immaculate blue without a cloud in sight, the very picture of an auspicious day.
On the pedestrian bridge at Tianjin North Station stood a small table and two folding stools.
Yan Xiaodao opened his Chinese chess game with a cannon strike and called, “Check!” He charged over the river without hesitation.
Zhuang Xiao did not like talking when he played chess. He quietly marshaled his pieces. What was the point of shouting? If he said nothing, his opponent might overlook a move, allowing a small pawn to cross the river and slowly encircle the enemy’s city.
Zhuang Xiao said, “I used to play the occasional game with my dad, but the old man doesn’t ask me anymore. He thinks I’m beneath him. Now he only wants to play Mr. Pei.”
Why did Old Master Zhuang love playing chess with Mr. Pei? First, Pei Yan talked a lot and was fun. Second, Pei Yan was hopeless at chess. His own son always stubbornly resisted, struggling over every move. His son-in-law was completely unable to fight back and lost every game so thoroughly that he made the old gentleman look good.
Yan Xiaodao said, “That’s right. My dad used to enjoy playing with me too, because I was terrible at chess. I never deliberately went easy on the old man, but I still lost every time. What a shame. Now I’d love to lose to him again, but I’ll never get the chance. He’s gone.”
President Yan added that the larger his businesses grew and the better known his name became, the fewer close friends he seemed to have. It had become hard even to find a friend to sit down with for a game of chess.
Zhuang Xiao nodded. He understood. He understood completely.
The two sat high on the pedestrian bridge, gazing toward the far end of the railway and the bustle and prosperity of this coastal city.
Before long, North Station’s waiting hall would also be transformed into part of the museum. For the moment, it was serving as a temporary conference room where the two sides could discuss the details of their partnership.
Nobody had anticipated that negotiating the contract would prove so exhausting and draining. It turned into an endless tug-of-war, each side fighting over the terms and nearly falling out completely.
Pei Yan’s studio team was there. Across the table sat one of President Yan’s group’s senior deputies, a man surnamed Ling.