The chess game had not even reached the stage of encircling and destroying the enemy when the messages on Zhuang Xiao’s phone exploded. In his trouser pocket it buzzed furiously, as though it meant to blow up the enemy’s city walls on the other side of the board.
Pei Yan was raging in WeChat. President Yan had clearly agreed the other day that once the box office passed its guaranteed floor of six hundred million yuan, his side would take twenty-five percent and the remaining seventy-five would go to the producers. If the total went over one and a half billion, Yan’s share would fall to fifteen percent, leaving everything else to the production. Had his people gone back on their word?
Zhuang Xiao still had a chariot piece in hand, ready to make a killing move. He stepped away from the board and leaned against the pedestrian bridge railing to take the call.
Pei Yan had been bottling up his grievances all morning. At last the volcano erupted. “Zhuang Xiao, now I know why President Yan agreed so easily! Do you know why? Because his word doesn’t mean a fucking thing! He doesn’t get the final say over there. Even though it’s his company, nothing counts unless their vice president nods and signs off!
“I can’t deal with people educated overseas. I don’t have any fancy education myself. I can’t even talk to them… I’d honestly rather negotiate with President Yan. He’s easier to talk to.”
Zhuang Xiao did not know who this deputy president was. All he knew came from Pei Yan shouting explanations at him over the phone, one angry sentence at a time.
There was another thing Pei Yan did not mention to Zhuang Xiao, because he felt private and business matters ought to be kept separate.
Liang Youhui was not the only libertine with a gaydar antenna sprouting from his head. Pei Yan had one too. He had always liked men and was naturally sensitive to this sort of thing.
The deputy who had arrived today had taken his breath away the moment he looked up and saw him.
One more look and he understood. Rumor had it that Knife Lord kept a formidable male fox spirit by his side, someone capable of twisting a steel bar into one of Guifaxiang’s famous fried-dough twists until it went soft. The rumor was true.
“But there’s no way around him,” Pei Yan continued. “Baoding Group bought another local entertainment and culture company outright the year before last, the one belonging to the Jian family. Their team includes a lot of old hands with real experience. I looked into it. Mr. Ling handled the original acquisition himself, then directed the later planning and operations. He’s been managing investment in film and entertainment the whole time. He’s the one who actually runs things.”
Pei Yan was so infuriated by the morning’s talks that he wanted to throttle someone, preferably Zhuang Xiao. “Zhuang Xiao, President Yan doesn’t run this side of the business at all. He’s only interested in you, so he wants to throw money into supporting you! Beyond that he doesn’t give a damn. It’s Vice President Ling who manages film planning and distribution. What am I supposed to do?”
“What do you mean, interested in me?… What sort of thing is that to say?” Zhuang Xiao frowned. The wording made him decidedly uncomfortable.
Pei Yan desperately wanted to point out that it was the truth.
The sides had finally deadlocked over the revenue-sharing percentages. The producers wanted seventy-five percent, or even more, of the box-office proceeds remaining after the taxes and other mandatory charges. But the distributor insisted on taking at least one-third. That meant thirty-three percent.
Pei Yan said, “If you take thirty-three percent, I might as well have Jiahuang distribute it. President Zhang only wants forty percent.”
Sitting across from him was Deputy President Ling, whose full name was Ling He. There was no need even to describe his appearance or clothes. He was shrewd, tough and absolutely unwilling to yield an inch. “Then go ask Jiahuang to do it. Why make a longer trip to come to us?”
Ling He said, “If I spend several hundred million to acquire your film’s distribution rights, my company assumes the entire risk. If the box office fails to hit six hundred million, we take a total loss with nothing to show for it. But you, Mr. Pei, don’t lose a cent. Even if the film bombs, you walk away from me with a substantial sum of real money. You’re the one who’s guaranteed a profit.”
Pei Yan immediately challenged him. “Who says this movie’s going to bomb?”
He and Zhuang Xiao, even traffic star Xing Rong, could each headline a film on their own. With three actors of leading-man status in the same movie, why would anyone assume the box office was destined to fail?
“My surname’s Pei, but I don’t make deals that pei, that lose money.” Pei Yan drained another can of beer. A line of empty cans stood before him. He lightly squeezed the one in his hand. “Who gave you the right to say I’ll lose?”
“I’d like to hear how you’re planning to make money too,” Ling He answered.
Ling He neither smoked nor touched the beer or red wine before him. He simply sat upright. “The market’s difficult these days, and the people making policy change their minds every other day. The good old times when a minimum guarantee meant guaranteed profit are over. Mr. Pei, you spend your days acting and don’t handle the planning and distribution, so naturally you don’t know the market as well as I do. Apart from mindless comedies and empty popcorn movies, which of the mainstream art films released from the end of last year to this year actually made money? These days a minimum guarantee practically guarantees a loss. The more a movie claims to have substance, depth or a grand historical backdrop, and tries to sell its audience patriotic sentiment, the worse it loses! Which kind of film do you think you’ve made? Are you selling comedy and popcorn, or are you selling sentiment?…”
For once, Pei Yan had absolutely no answer. It was obvious.
“In private, I respect you and Mr. Zhuang very much. You’re putting real effort into making a good film,” Ling He went on. “But I’m afraid you’re determined to sell ideas and sentiment. The Republican era, resistance against Japan, the Nationalists and Communists, people who love each other yet try to kill each other, a tragic ending. How many audience members do you think will pay for that?… Young viewers don’t like tragic films set in the Republican era, while older viewers don’t recognize the faces you’ve cast. They only know those veteran character actors. Who exactly is your target audience, and how do you intend to drive the box office higher?
“A ‘minimum guarantee’ is really protecting you filmmakers’ underwear, not us businessmen’s bottoms. Mr. Yan truly is a wonderful person…” Ling He lowered his eyes as he said this and smiled almost involuntarily. “He wants to talk about brotherhood in the jianghu and devotion to the nation with you. If he keeps doing business that way, his company will be bankrupt within two years and he’ll lose his own underwear.”
“…”
This fellow had a genuinely beautiful smile and a genuinely infuriating mouth. Every sentence seemed designed to choke and insult someone.
Pei Yan almost wanted to snatch the cigarette butt from between his producer’s lips and take a few drags himself.
He reached for the beer can on the table, but somebody pinned his hand in place and he could not lift it at all.
The man pressing his palm over the back of Pei Yan’s hand looked at him with a subtle light passing through his green eyes. “Sorry, Mr. Pei. I’m a businessman. If you want someone to sign this wager-style guarantee agreement, you have to show the people putting up the stake the temptation of a substantial return. Otherwise nobody’s going to jump into this pit. We want thirty-three percent.
“If you can’t accept that, go back to the man who wants forty.”
* * *
Pei Yan was furious beyond belief.
He had already offended that big monkey, practically slammed the phone down in Zhang Shaochi’s face. He really had nowhere left to go. He could not bring himself to return and beg his second uncle, nor did he want to bow his head and admit defeat to either party. But he could not accept the offer before him either.
He had a temper of his own.
He stared at the beautiful man sitting across from him and offered a compliment entirely free of charge. “Ling He, if you insist on taking a bigger share, fine. Come and make a cameo in a few shots of our movie. Just show your face, maybe even a bit of shoulder, and you’ll bring us more attention. Perhaps the box office will explode and pass a billion!… The extra percentage you want can count as your acting fee. Deal?”
That one remark probably managed to enrage Vice President Ling.
Ling He’s expression darkened; Pei Yan had evidently struck some absolutely forbidden memory. He stood and left, throwing back one sentence: “Even if I sold you, you couldn’t afford my appearance fee.”
Pei Yan nearly bit his own tongue off. As Ling He turned away in anger, he slapped himself across the face.
He simply could not keep his mouth shut. If he did not land a jab, he seemed to think he was losing. Now he had offended yet another person. But today’s target was not his second uncle or some elder who would forgive him after a scolding. Once he offended this one, he might not get a second chance.
He had said it because the man really was beautiful.
At a glance Ling He looked mixed-race. He was proud and aloof, with a face and figure like an exquisite beauty a big boss might hide away in a golden house. Put him into show business and he could easily be packaged as an idol with explosive popularity.
Pei Yan had to admit the man was handsome. Unfortunately, Pei Yan himself had not been blessed with such a gorgeous face. Even crawling into his second uncle’s bed now would do him no good. Zhang Shaochi had no taste for a rough fellow like him. Besides, his whole body bristled with defiance and refusal to submit. He would never make it into a boss’s bed; he’d probably plant his head straight under the bedframe.
The negotiations were horribly discouraging and came close to collapsing completely.
They did not fall apart on the spot, because the two men playing chess on the pedestrian bridge were capable of keeping their cool. Zhuang Xiao returned to the board, advanced his chariot across the Chu River and Han border, and casually showed Yan Xiaodao all the angry messages Pei Yan had sent him on WeChat, as though sharing a joke.
Yan Xiaodao looked at them, coughed, covered his forehead and shook his head. “I’m sorry, really. I haven’t kept him under control.” “I’m no good at handling this stuff. I don’t usually argue with him. I let him have his own way in everything. I’m sorry, A-Xiao.”
Zhuang Xiao smiled it away. “Mr. Pei has a rather explosive temper too. He’s not good at talking politely. I hope you’ll overlook it.”
Yan Xiaodao waved a hand and coughed again.
Both understood.
Neither said any more. There was no point in grinding away at the other person, bargaining until everyone lost face. Instead, they carried on with their chess match. The game itself was a complete mess, with neither side able to overcome the other. The two hopeless chess players had sacrificed their chariots, horses, cannons and elephants until only two lonely generals and a few scattered stragglers remained. Still they pretended to shout battle cries and threaten each other’s fortresses, though neither could break through. It was ridiculous…
Afterward, President Yan invited them all to dinner again, followed by an evening of leisure and conversation at a private club by the sea.
He was willing to spend money and give up his time. His sincerity was clear.
Both parties still wanted the cooperation to happen.
Curled in a corner of the sofa in the dim light, Pei Yan whispered to Zhuang Xiao, “Baoding Group is working with the city to develop a film base. That’s an enormous project. They’re supposed to work with producers to make films there. Otherwise why develop all those old stations, banks, theaters and famous people’s houses? Are they planning to fence everything off and sell a few admission tickets?”
“Settle down. Don’t get yourself worked up,” Zhuang Xiao said softly.
“I can’t settle down,” Pei Yan said, his stomach full of grievances even at dinner. “Knife Lord admires you so much and has been so loyal and generous… Put a bit more effort into charming him. If you’re so capable, pin him down tonight and get him to hand over the money. Can you manage that?”
He was practically radiating sour jealousy. Pei Yan had suffered a great many setbacks lately, and he was in a bad mood.
Zhuang Xiao sighed gently and patted his knee.
* * *
That evening at the club, Ling He showed his face briefly and left after one drink, far too grand to sit and entertain the guests.
President Yan went out at least three times during the evening to consult his Deputy President Ling. He was going to plead with him. When Yan Xiaodao came back, he patted Zhuang Xiao’s shoulder and said quietly, “Twenty-eight percent for us, seventy-two for you. Could you accept that?”
Zhuang Xiao looked at Pei Yan. Pei Yan said, “Do we have any room left to refuse or negotiate? Or would you care to tell us what the bottom line really is?”
Yan Xiaodao looked at Pei Yan. “Still not fully convinced you two can carry the box office.”
Pei Yan replied, “What would convince you?”
He was wearing a shirt with the front open. He simply pulled it down off one shoulder, showing the wild, aggressive tattoo across his back muscles. He was a trained fighter. If the man wanted to know what he was capable of, why not test it?
Yan Xiaodao took one look, smiled without speaking and casually removed his own shirt.
Pei Yan froze for a moment…
Beneath the close-fitting undershirt was another enormous tattoo, blue-green and red, done in the style of the gangs, a fierce tiger climbing the mountain. It might as well have said: Don’t try that routine on me, kid. I’ve been around a long time. What are you boasting about?
Zhuang Xiao pushed Pei Yan toward the far end of the sofa. Go sit over there, kid. You have no idea what you’re dealing with.
And that was how the private room turned into an improvised fighting arena.
President Yan stripped off his shirt and other layers, set aside his waist sash and the blades hidden within it, then turned toward Zhuang Xiao and announced, “A-Xiao, if you can beat me tonight, I’ll let you have seventy-five percent of the profit. But if I win, you give us thirty percent. Fair?”
“How are you going to beat me without your knives?” Zhuang Xiao returned coolly. “Better keep them tucked inside your shirt.”
The two traded challenges aloud. Yan Xiaodao shot Zhuang Xiao a look that said, You can definitely beat me, right?
Zhuang Xiao answered with his eyes, How can I beat you? If I knock you flat tonight, the partnership will really be finished. Won’t that deputy of yours lose his temper and tear somebody to pieces?
Before the spectators could react, the coffee table between the two sofas went flying and crashed into the wall near the door. Both men were agile and astonishingly fast, darting through the dim, flickering room. When they exchanged blows, fists thudded into flesh and muscles crashed together.
What a beautiful fight. There was none of the murderous tension of a real battle, because both men were racking their brains to find a way to lose. Every sweeping strike looked dazzlingly elegant, full of performance, as though they were acting out a duel on wires before a camera. Yet just before a blow could reach a vulnerable point, each man would break off his attack and throw himself flying away. He would roll across the floor, only to be grabbed and pulled back into the fight.
At close range, with barely any space between their bodies, Zhuang Xiao used a joint-locking technique to seize his opponent’s elbow. Yan Xiaodao swung his palm toward Zhuang Xiao’s collarbone! Zhuang Xiao leaned back out of its path and chopped toward the other’s ribs; Yan Xiaodao retreated and swept a leg sideways at him…
One was using the broad, expansive movements of traditional martial arts. The other was fighting with the rough-and-ready methods of street brawls.
The fight worked up a sweat and felt wonderfully exhilarating.
Zhuang Xiao deliberately offered an opening and fell backward, planting one hand on the glass coffee table before springing back up. Yan Xiaodao caught his lower leg and twisted him through a full 720-degree spin in the air.
Zhuang Xiao landed, caught his opponent by the shoulder and dropped first into a shoulder throw. Then he flipped up again and pinned the man to the ground, all in one fluid sequence.
Pei Yan, who had been watching with his heart in his throat, finally relaxed and leaned back on the sofa.
As expected, Xiao-ge was the stronger one. He had come out on top.
Then he heard Zhuang Xiao say, “I lost. I lost first.”
Zhuang Xiao pointed toward his throat and collarbone. “If you’d been holding a knife between your fingers at that moment, I’d have been dead on the spot. How the fuck could I have gone on fighting?”
“The great hero went easy on me. I nearly cracked my ribs!” Yan Xiaodao laughed, bending ninety degrees in a respectful bow before turning to the others. “My bones are killing me, but don’t tell anybody!”
Zhuang Xiao clasped his fists and declared that Knife Lord had won.
Later, Ling He poked his head into the private room and cast an exaggerated eye-roll at them.
A little while later he opened the door again, threw a heated medicinal compress straight at President Yan, and left without saying a word. Yan Xiaodao caught it in a hurry, gave him a smile, then slipped the warm pack inside his shirt and secretly pressed it against his aching ribs…
After that, a producer quietly informed Pei Yan that Deputy President Ling had agreed. They were willing to negotiate at the percentage the production wanted. They had better sign quickly before anything else changed.
The matter had been settled so smoothly that Pei Yan could scarcely believe it.
The fight between Zhuang Xiao and Yan Xiaodao had obviously been playful. Neither had been seriously trying to hurt the other. Both had traded a ridiculous number of hollow compliments too, going to the trouble of praising each other to the heavens.
Later, an assistant told Pei Yan some gossip about how President Yan had actually discussed matters with his deputy outside the private room.
Mr. Yan and Mr. Ling had stood beside the corridor, staring at one another with half-smiles on their faces, as though challenging each other.
Yan Xiaodao said, “I’m here for the movie. Not to look at some man.”
Ling He answered, “I’ve never seen you spend money renting an entire theater and treating people to dinner just to see somebody’s movie, then turn around and throw even more money at his next project. And you’re telling me you’re only interested in the movie?”
Yan Xiaodao smiled openly. “I never chased celebrities when I was little. There’s just this one actor I admire. He’s a true hero of the jianghu. I’m a fucking fake! I want to learn from him, imitate him, but I can’t even manage that.”
Ling He said, “So you’re absolutely determined to invest? You’re absolutely going to sign a deal? They get a sure profit, while we’re the ones gambling. Gambling that a movie starring those two men will become a box-office smash.”
Yan Xiaodao nodded. “I believe a film with those two leads will be a hit.”
They lowered their heads and talked for a long time. Yan Xiaodao raised three fingers and gestured: Three.
Ling He shook his head and gestured: Six.
Yan Xiaodao frowned. Three.
Ling He did not give an inch. Six.
In the end, President Yan gave way, muttering a curse. Six it is, then. You think I’m scared of you?
Standing beneath the dim lights in the corridor, the two gently caught each other by the wrist. It was a private accord of some sort, the equivalent of shaking hands and making peace.
So it was that in this world, there would always be one person capable of bringing another to heel.
Deputy President Ling had only to lift his hand and show a simple “six” to get the boss of the entire group wrapped around his little finger.
* * *