Deep in the Act: Chapter 55

Chen Zhengsen threw down his phone: “It’s blown up,” he pressed his temples irritably: “If reporters and fans keep making trouble like this, we won’t be able to work at all!”

Zhen Xin kept his head down and said nothing, his right hand wrapped in bandages. Zhang Zhun sat beside him, expressionless. Seeing his attitude, Chen Zhengsen couldn’t help saying: “You’ve already been demonized, don’t you know? You come running when it’s not even your scene, and you get violent during exterior shots!”

“Sorry.” Zhang Zhun apologized readily.

“How many times have I emphasized this, don’t bring personal emotions into the production,” Chen Zhengsen spoke frankly: “At the end of the day we’re filming a romance. The leads are fighting, who would buy tickets to see that, would you?”

The TV behind Chen Zhengsen was on, broadcasting entertainment news. The footage of Zhang Zhun taking down Zhen Xin played on repeat. Because it was muted, you could only see the anchor talking nonstop. The scene switched, clearly to the lobby of the production base. Wu Rong was surrounded by a crowd of reporters, his cap brim pulled low. He had a bandage on his nasal bone and didn’t look good.

Scrolling subtitles appeared below the footage. A reporter asked him: “Teacher Wu, is the facial injury like the rumors say, that Film Emperor Zhen Xin used filming as an excuse for violence!”

Wu Rong rolled his eyes: “How can filming not have bumps and bruises? I’ve suffered injuries way worse than this, why didn’t I see you care so much then?”

“Teacher Wu! The video of the other lead Zhang Zhun beating Zhen Xin is spreading rapidly online. There are rumors in the industry that he privately calls you senior brother. Is this considered standing up for you?”

When they mentioned Zhang Zhun, Wu Rong couldn’t hold back his anger: “Who he stands up for, you ask him!”

“You’re all action stars, forming little cliques on set, and even laying hands on people, Teacher Wu you…”

Reading his lips, Wu Rong was cursing, but the subtitles didn’t show it. He pointed at the reporter’s nose: “I’m warning you, keep talking nonsense and see if I don’t sue you!”

“One last question, Teacher Wu! Recently there’s been widespread online talk about the ‘Shadow Martial Group’ being at odds. Netizens have uploaded large amounts of video evidence. Is their relationship on set really like fire and water?”

“At odds?” Wu Rong laughed, snatching the microphone: “Their relationship is extremely good, better than you can imagine!”

The interview ended. The anchor made some commentary on Wu Rong’s excessive attitude. Chen Zhengsen sighed: “Filming stops for two days. Go home and reflect. Tomorrow is the ‘Aido Fashion Night,’ go make an appearance, improve your media image.”

Zhen Xin and Zhang Zhun stood up to leave. Chen Zhengsen added: “Be a little more lovey dovey!”

Closing the door from outside, Zhen Xin immediately reached for Zhang Zhun’s hand. Zhang Zhun dodged. Zhen Xin leaned in to speak, Zhang Zhun still evaded. The two of them observed their surroundings while silently struggling in the narrow corridor. The sound of an elevator arriving rang in the distance. They quickly separated. Zhen Xin walked in front, Zhang Zhun walked behind, three to five meters apart. Looking up, it was Wu Rong coming over.

“Oh my god!” Seeing the two of them, Wu Rong exaggeratedly clutched his head: “Don’t let me see you two, my heart can’t take it!”

Zhang Zhun stopped nervously, watching Zhen Xin and him get closer and closer. They didn’t speak, carrying an air of the brave winning when paths cross in a narrow alley. Walking up to each other, the two of them stopped moving. Zhang Zhun wanted to rush forward, but at this moment Zhen Xin inexplicably raised his left hand. Wu Rong looked at him contemptuously, rather reluctantly, raised his palm high, and slapped a high five with him. They laughed, then brushed past each other.

“Zhun,” Wu Rong walked toward him, opening his arms affectionately: “Going drinking tonight?”

Zhang Zhun didn’t go. After briefly chatting with Wu Rong, he returned to his room. Zhen Xin wasn’t waiting at his door. He couldn’t say whether he felt relieved or disappointed. He closed the door, leaned against it wearily catching his breath. Before he could take off his shoes his phone rang. It was Zhen Xin.

“Hey,” awkwardly, the other end said: “Why didn’t you come over.”

Zhang Zhun’s tone wasn’t good either: “You didn’t come over either.”

Zhen Xin paused, somewhat angry: “Why does it always have to be me coming over? You nearly twisted my hand off, can’t you take the initiative to come over just once?”

“Can’t I just not want to see you,” Zhang Zhun thought of that magazine, of those men and women with glistening muscles on it: “Ever since you got tangled up with me, I’ve become someone I don’t even recognize!”

Zhen Xin laughed coldly: “I got tangled up with you, how could I love getting tangled up with you so much!”

Zhang Zhun still wanted to talk about the 20 million, wanted to complain about his self righteousness, but Zhen Xin hung up.

Zhang Zhun was stunned. Zhen Xin had never embarrassed him like this, let alone hung up on him. A sourness welled up in his heart, grievance mixed with resentment. This feeling was unfamiliar, like he had fundamentally turned into a woman, unable to bear being cold shouldered. He forced down his emotions, undressed and got in bed, aimlessly playing with his phone, checking WeChat and Weibo. Searching his own name, he saw words like this: “The production team is blind, finding trash like Zhang Zhun to act opposite Brother Zhen!”

“Exactly, so many young heartthrobs they could have found, but they found an old man well past his prime, who wants to watch that, absolutely boycotting!”

“This Zhang Zhun is something else too, don’t know whose thigh he latched onto. A few years ago he was still running errands for Brother Zhen. Thinking about it from Brother Zhen’s perspective, my heart feels exhausted…”

“Damn, cooking up rumors about being at odds with Brother Zhen, Zhang Zhun isn’t worthy at all okay!”

He really couldn’t control his emotions anymore. Zhang Zhun buried his face in the soft down pillow, his fingers pressing hard against the bridge of his nose. He deeply experienced what it meant to be isolated and helpless. Groundless abuse, physical and psychological imbalance, that heavy 20 million, and Zhen Xin’s lack of understanding… He felt painfully suffocated. At this moment his phone rang. He looked with red eyes. It was Zhen Xin.

He answered, but didn’t speak. The other end was silent too. This was a game, seeing who would soften first. In the end Zhen Xin hung up again.

Crazy! Zhang Zhun thought. Strangely, his mood improved. He held his phone lazily, somewhat expectant, his hanging heart finding its footing. Sure enough, in less than five minutes, Zhen Xin called again, opening with: “I’m wrong, is that enough!”

Said with righteous confidence, not a bit of apology in it. Zhang Zhun didn’t answer, but atmosphere is a subtle thing. Zhen Xin could feel it over the phone. He was smiling.

“My hand really hurts,” he talked to himself against the silence: “Can’t even do a hand shift.”

Zhang Zhun didn’t understand what he meant by “hand shift,” nor did he ask. Zhen Xin continued: “So many of your old photoshoots showed skin, so cocky.”

Zhang Zhun seemed to suddenly understand what “hand shift” meant. His face heated up. He finally spoke: “Where did you see them?”

“Online, tons of them with one search,” Zhen Xin’s voice was sticky: “Your adonis belt is so deep…”

Shamelessness seems to be contagious. Zhang Zhun’s voice softened too: “Don’t talk like you haven’t touched it.”

The other end probably turned over. You could hear the sound of bedsheet friction, then a low voice asked: “In bed?”

“Yeah.” Zhang Zhun answered carelessly.

After a moment, Zhen Xin asked again: “Wearing clothes?”

This was a strange question. Zhang Zhun was about to answer when he suddenly thought of something, hesitantly swallowing: “Why?”

“No reason,” Zhen Xin used a commanding tone: “Take them off. Strip naked.”

It really was what he thought. Phone sex. Zhang Zhun’s mouth went dry. He unconsciously stared at his boxer shorts. Zhen Xin’s breathing came through: “Strip naked, put it on speaker,” a heavy nasal sound, sounding consumed by lust: “Talk to me…”

“You…” Zhang Zhun said very very softly, afraid of provoking him: “You’re not acting, right?”

“I’m super hard,” the breathing over the phone was scorching, you could hear rhythmic wet sounds: “So much is leaking out… Are you naked yet, lying on your back or on your stomach, legs spread?”

Zhang Zhun had indeed taken off his shorts. Shamelessly, he lay buried in the covers with earphones in, his fingers wandering restlessly below: “Don’t say that kind of thing…”

The moment he spoke, Zhen Xin’s moans grew louder: “Say more, what are you doing?”

Zhang Zhun didn’t want to say it, but his tongue wouldn’t listen to his brain: “Touching… down there.”

“I want to stick it in…” Zhen Xin urged him impatiently: “Can you touch your backside?”

So Zhang Zhun reached from the front, trying to insert between his legs. His middle finger struggled to push in several times, but couldn’t get in: “No good…”

“Put on a condom,” Zhen Xin said. He knew his body: “There’s lube on it, two of your fingers can do it.”

Zhang Zhun thought he must be crazy, actually doing as he said and raising his butt, putting the oily condom on his finger and pushing it in. This time from behind. He trembled and hummed twice, it went in. Zhen Xin could tell from the sound, and immediately said: “I want to go all the way in.”

Like possessed by a demon, Zhang Zhun obediently pushed deeper. Zhen Xin said again: “Your nipples are so perky,” so Zhang Zhun pinched his own nipples. Zhen Xin said: “You’re squeezing me so tight,” so he clenched his butt hard. Until Zhen Xin asked: “Do you really want to come?”

The fingers were too thin. Zhang Zhun thrust unsatisfied: “You get down here, hurry!”

This year’s “Aido Fashion Night” had the theme “Spring Night in a Drunken Haze.” Near the lunar new year, the weather was still quite chilly. In the outdoor waiting area, numerous female celebrities draped in long down jackets took steaming thermoses from their assistants. Zhen Xin and Zhang Zhun stood among them, very close together, like Chen Zhengsen said, “lovey dovey.”

On the red carpet, male stars also wore heavy makeup. Foundation, eyeliner, nude lipstick. Zhang Zhun wasn’t used to it, constantly licking his lips. Although the event invitation’s dress code said black tie creative, he conservatively wore a gray suit, subtle birdseye pattern, white bow tie, collar pin and cufflinks matching Cartier, borrowed from Zhen Xin.

Zhen Xin was much more casual. Navy suit, pistachio colored shirt, matching pocket square. His hair was done, curly with a kind of relaxed sensuality: “Stop licking,” he stared at Zhang Zhun’s tongue tip: “It won’t look good on camera.”

Was it really not good looking? Zhang Zhun pressed his lips together, pulled out his phone to check the news. He just wanted to pass the time, but the so called “latest explosive news on the Shadow Martial Group” still stabbed into his eyes like a thorn: Film Emperor Zhen’s early interview clip dug up by fans, privately mocked Zhang Zhun as all brawn and no brains!

Zhang Zhun had truly had enough, hesitating whether to click or not. Zhen Xin leaned over: “What are you looking at?”

Zhang Zhun quickly flipped his wrist. Zhen Xin still saw it, snatching the phone from his hand and clicking in. Zhang Zhun silently observed his expression. Clearly he was nervous, angry, and somewhat guilty.

“Is it true?” Zhang Zhun asked.

“They took it out of context, at that time I…” The video was long. Zhen Xin covered his mouth in disbelief: “I wasn’t specifically talking about you, it’s just that sometimes the action director…”

“Right,” Zhang Zhun interrupted: “At that time I was just a gofer.”

At this point a staff member came over with a megaphone, asking them to get in the sponsor car. In the car, Zhen Xin tried his old trick of holding Zhang Zhun’s hand. Zhang Zhun didn’t pull away, but coldly gave no response. The car slowly drove out ten or so meters. Staff opened the door for them. One step down and it was the red carpet. Screams, flashbulbs, and within reach, glory. They walked in shoulder to shoulder.

First time knowing the taste of being swept by flashbulbs, Zhang Zhun was nearly half blind walking this stretch. When signing at the “Aido Wall,” reporters frantically shouted their names. Zhang Zhun even heard one or two calls of “Shadow Martial Group, look this way”!

A very intimate positioning. Two male actors, shoulders draped arms around waists, laughing freely, laughing until their faces went stiff before the media let them into the inner venue. Riding Zhen Xin’s coattails, Zhang Zhun’s seat was at the head table. Male and female stars of all sizes before and behind, all wrapped in expensive formal wear, greeting and shaking hands with them, passing around false kindness.

Once seated, Zhen Xin wanted to continue the previous topic. Suddenly his phone rang. It was Zhou Zheng. He answered, before he could speak, Zhang Zhun received a call from Little Deng, in a tense tone: “Bro, get out now, use the back door, a car is waiting.”

“What happened?” Zhang Zhun asked instinctively, his gaze turning and meeting Zhen Xin’s. Clearly, Zhou Zheng was saying the same thing. Zhen Xin immediately got up with him. The two walked one after another toward the exit. Along the way passing so many decorated tables, people at the tables either nodded casually or sized them up with hidden meaning.

Once entering the secure passage, the surroundings went quiet. Quiet enough to be frightening. Zhang Zhun’s limbs went ice cold. “Can’t take it anymore,” he said to himself, frantically thinking of every possible loose end. Zhen Xin suddenly pulled open the last isolation door. Like a thriller movie scene, a crowd of people flooded in at once, blocking them in place.

These people must have run from the front venue. For several seconds, no one asked questions. They were all panting. Leading the pack, a female reporter held up her phone. On it was a photo, secretly taken, late at night, two blurry men.

The scene instantly awakened in Zhang Zhun’s memory. Coming out of the midnight show, neither of them had put on their masks yet. Zhen Xin wore a haute couture coat with a fur collar. He remembered it got popcorn crumbs on it. Zhang Zhun casually blew on it once, the luxurious fur flipping up. And Zhen Xin, wearing black leather gloves, was holding a cigarette to Zhang Zhun’s mouth. That cigarette he had just smoked himself, white mist still at his nostrils.

Just this one image. No explicit action, yet it implied too much. Flashbulbs began clicking. Zhang Zhun’s face went deathly pale. He couldn’t hear what the reporters were saying. Zhen Xin held him tight, crashing through the wall of people.

Two cars, taking different routes. In the car, Zhang Zhun’s phone rang. It rang many times but he didn’t answer. Little Deng called to him from the passenger seat, reaching back to pat him: “Bro?”

Only then did Zhang Zhun press the green button in fear, softly saying “Hello.” A rural accent came from the other end: “Guess who I am?”

“Mom…” You could tell she was beaming with joy. Zhang Zhun relaxed: “I have your number saved.”

“Oh right,” a person in her fifties or sixties, voice still bright and clear: “You’re really not coming back for Spring Festival?”

“The production is rushing schedule,” Zhang Zhun was telling the truth, but his nose bridge ached with guilt: “Can’t help it…”

“Being busy with career is a good thing,” his mother quickly comforted him, quite happily saying: “Guess who’s with me?”

Zhang Zhun didn’t need to guess at all. She couldn’t wait to reveal the answer: “Danyi, she’s keeping me company for New Year’s,” like calling her own daughter, she called out a few times: “Wait, she’ll talk to you.”

Tears were already streaming to his cheeks. Zhang Zhun heard Xie Danyi come over with a string of laughter: “Auntie and I are cooking, put in lots of chili peppers, what are you eating tonight?”

Zhang Zhun was silent for a moment: “You already know, don’t you.”

She didn’t answer. Zhang Zhun then said: “Thank you, for keeping my mom company.”

“This is the second time…” Xie Danyi lowered her voice, sober to the point of near cruelty: “Don’t you understand yet, you’re both gambling with everything you have…”

“Danyi,” Zhang Zhun took a deep breath: “No matter what happens to me…” he trembled: “Don’t wait for me anymore.”

After speaking, he hung up.