Deep in the Act: Chapter 61

Chen Zhengsen wanted to add a scene.

“Final scene, everyone perk up,” at Fang Chi’s “blue house,” by the window full of daylight, Chen Zhengsen said while looking at camera positions: “Adding this scene is to highlight that kind of feeling between the leads. They’ve been through hardship and finally found happiness, so it’s all sticky sweet and lovey dovey. Don’t be afraid of being mushy, you can give more.”

Zhen Xin stood to his left, Zhang Zhun stood to his right. Both expressions were grave. Chen Zhengsen sensed it, patting their shoulders: “Pay attention to the everyday feeling.”

Zhen Xin needed to walk through the scene first. This had never happened before, because he wasn’t confident. Both were in shirts and suit pants. Zhen Xin draped the tie around his neck, eyes flickering, waiting for Zhang Zhun to slowly walk toward him.

Just a few steps, yet like a catastrophe. Zhang Zhun’s fingertips were numb, his heart tearing violently. He didn’t know if he was Zhang Zhun or Gao Zhun, whether the person opposite was Zhen Xin or Fang Chi, whether he was in the scene or outside it: “Starting,” he said. Zhen Xin lazily nodded, making a “go ahead” gesture: “Come on.”

Come on. But Zhang Zhun felt his distance. Lowering his head to adjust his emotions, he stood before him, both hands grasping the two ends of the tie: “This color really suits you,” he wanted to smile, but the corner of his mouth pulled strained. The silk tie was too slippery, his hands shook, wrapping several times it kept coming loose. He gave up and pressed his palm against Zhen Xin’s chest, dryly delivering his line: “The Windsor knot you like.”

Zhen Xin had to tie it himself, leaning in to wrap his arm around his waist. As the script required, rubbing his nose against his hair. When drawing close he was reserved and careful. Zhang Zhun subconsciously also shrank back a bit: “Why do you insist on me tying it, it’s not like you can’t…”

“You tie it, I’ll have good luck.” Zhen Xin’s lips wandered around his cheek. Zhang Zhun looked trembling with fear, like a yellow sparrow just out of its cage: “I’ll go with you? Waiting for you.”

Following the graceful curve of his jaw, Zhen Xin curled his tongue, simultaneously grabbing Zhang Zhun’s hand, placing it on the tie knot: “For the university interview, is this color too handsome?”

Zhang Zhun was about to respond to his line when Chen Zhengsen sighed: “Enough, all wrong,” he threw the script onto the director’s chair: “You don’t need to walk through it either, just do it directly,” he sat behind the monitor in frustration: “Walking through is useless!”

So all departments got in position. Two cameras started rolling simultaneously. Zhen Xin pulled the tie loose, standing in the early morning pale pink light. The director called “Action.” Zhang Zhun entered the frame. His dark forelock wet in a few strands, with a fresh domestic feel.

“This color really suits you,” Zhang Zhun picked up that tie. To avoid mistakes, he slowly rolled it. His voice shook somewhat, so he lightened it: “The Windsor knot you like.”

Zhen Xin hugged him suddenly, very abrupt, and forceful. Chen Zhengsen didn’t call Cut. They continued. Zhang Zhun looked at him somewhat confusedly, watching that familiar face draw closer bit by bit: “Why do you insist on me tying it, it’s not like you can’t…”

Zhen Xin’s lips drew near, not kissing, but brushing past the fine hairs in a tantalizing near miss: “You tie it, I’ll have good luck.”

Zhang Zhun nervously closed his eyes: “I…” The tie was tied. He trembled, feeling his eyes burn with sourness: “I’ll go with you…”

It really was the final scene. After today, they would be worlds apart. Zhang Zhun had never desired so much at this moment for Zhen Xin to stay, to remain in his own dull and tasteless life. The despair of parting choked him: “Waiting for you!”

Zhen Xin must have read him, frenziedly biting back and forth at his chin. This kiss changed flavor. It wasn’t like an early morning casual flirtation, more like the final tenderness before lovers parted. Zhen Xin panted heavily, asking hastily: “For the university interview, is this color too handsome?”

“My man…” Zhang Zhun opened his eyes, looking at him with eyes brimming with tears: “Has to be the most handsome.”

Zhen Xin finally kissed him, impatiently, tossing and turning. Zhang Zhun hugged him back with his backhand, tears spilling from his eyes. This definitely wouldn’t pass. Zhang Zhun knew it clearly, but couldn’t control himself. Zhen Xin grabbed the thick curtain at hand, pulling it high to cover the two of them. In the orange shadow, he loosened his mouth, lifted Zhang Zhun’s face, gently wiping his tears.

The two pressed close together, heartbeats clearly audible. Zhang Zhun’s head naturally nuzzled Zhen Xin’s curly hair. They leaned in each other’s neck hollows crying. Time was running out. What should end must end. One brief eye contact. Zhen Xin released the curtain, leaned down to kiss again. Fabric brushed past his back slowly sliding down, swaying left and right in the sunlight for a while, slowly returning to stillness.

“Cut!” Chen Zhengsen didn’t say anything, silently taking off his headphones. It passed.

Neither Zhang Zhun nor Zhen Xin moved. Their lips and tongues separated bit by bit. Hot breath sprayed on each other’s faces. They both wanted to look at each other once more, but their gazes coincidentally averted.

The wrap party, still at that KTV across from the hotel. Still got two rooms. Coincidentally, those same two rooms.

“Today at the final scene, both of them cried after filming, did you see?”

“Saw it, so strange, two grown men!”

“What’s strange about it, they got into character. Being together so long, kissing every day, even a dog would develop feelings.”

“They did way more than kiss, getting naked and holding each other, being able to get that into character, and that atmosphere… some guesses online, I’m telling you, it’s absolutely not hype…”

Just as they were speaking, Little Deng accompanied Zhang Zhun in. Staff immediately surrounded him to offer toasts, all “Teacher Zhang worked hard,” “Teacher Zhang this film will definitely be a hit” and such flattery. Zhang Zhun should have loved hearing this, should have cared very much about this film’s prospects, even should have been somewhat ambitious. But at this point, he didn’t look forward to anything at all. His whole mind was on what lay beyond one wall.

After finally drinking a round, Little Deng suggested going next door. Zhang Zhun rose slightly tipsy, carelessly saying: “It’s time to say goodbye…”

Little Deng looked at him with a complex expression, saying nothing. A crowd escorted him, bursting open the door to the next private room. This side was also rowdy. Chen Zhengsen was clearly drunk, hugging two prop girls, singing “Sad Pacific” at the top of his lungs. Zhen Xin was drinking with Little Wang, mixing beer and liquor, his face completely red.

Zhang Zhun first toasted the director, then Zhou Zheng. When he walked before Zhen Xin, his chest was in pieces, like it had been torn apart: “These few months…” he raised his glass: “Thanks for the care.”

Zhen Xin turned back to pick up a bottle, with a rather relieved magnanimous air: “Likewise likewise.”

A clink, the wine glass along with his hand trembling slightly. Zhang Zhun suddenly remembered when filming had just started, also in this room, him and Xie Danyi together, standing at the door listening to Zhen Xin shouting crazily: I just want to get in Zhang Zhun’s bed, so what!

He couldn’t take it a bit, urgently swallowing the wine. Little Deng wanted to support him, but was pushed away. He fled in panic rushing out. Once out the door, the KTV’s long corridor suddenly made him恍惚. He didn’t return to the private room, but walked in the opposite direction. This same long corridor, he had once been hugged from behind by a broad chest,稀里糊涂 being pushed into the men’s restroom.

“Men’s restroom,” he stared at those words, slowly pushing the door. Sink, mirror, a row of white urinals, everything seemed unchanged. “Click,” he could still seem to hear Zhen Xin pressing the lock. He was pushed by him to the sink edge, forced to make eye contact with him, watched obsessively, listening to him drunkenly say “sorry.”

Behind him a creak, someone came in. Zhang Zhun panicked and lowered his head, turning to leave. In his field of vision was a pair of familiar men’s shoes. Zhang Zhun looked up in surprise. But Zhen Xin brushed past him, walking silently toward the urinals without a word. Zhang Zhun should have left decisively, but he didn’t. Instead he stared with wide eyes, struggling to hold back tears: “About to leave, not one last time?”

Zhen Xin seemed to have heard this before, but couldn’t remember. He didn’t dare show expectation, even less wanted to show attachment. Putting on an indifferent act, looking like he wasn’t hurt: “Sure.”

The voice was light and quick. Zhang Zhun suddenly hated him, hated his ease, his carefree manner. He casually picked a stall and went in. Zhen Xin followed. As usual they first kissed, but however they kissed it didn’t taste right. Bitter, kissing until his heart shattered. Zhang Zhun gave up on himself undoing his belt, pulling his pants to his ankles. Clearly his heart was dead ash, yet his body burned with lust: “Hurry…” he threw himself into Zhen Xin’s embrace, reaching into his pants to tease him. Zhen Xin watched him clumsily acting wanton, his mind in chaos: “No, you’re not ready…”

“It’s fine,” Zhang Zhun simply turned his back, barely grabbing the wall hook, collapsing his waist and raising his butt: “Really it’s fine.”

“No,” Zhen Xin shook his head. He wanted to, wanted to so much, but couldn’t bear to: “I don’t want the last time to draw blood.”

Zhang Zhun was somewhat disappointed, or rather embarrassed, turning back in shame. He seemed at a loss, not knowing how to please this man. He wanted so much to make him happy, even if just for one instant. In his panic, he knelt down, grasping Zhen Xin’s straining member, taking it in his mouth in one gulp, swallowing very deep, almost self torturing. Zhen Xin couldn’t withstand it at all, losing balance and leaning against the stall door, lowering his eyes to trace his outline again and again, roughly rubbing his hair, wanting to brand this moment into a wound.

Zhang Zhun gagged from swallowing. Even while gagging, he wanted to say, don’t break up, let’s just be together unclearly like this. But reason remained. The show was over. Clinging on would be a joke. Time would erase everything. This wave of heat would recede. This sickness would heal. They would eventually forget, walking toward their respective paths ahead.

The taste of breakups varies. Some are sour, because past investment was all for nothing. Some are sweet, because someone else waits ahead. Zhang Zhun’s was fishy, that carnal bitterness lingering on the tongue, like it had grown feet, crawling thread by thread into his heart. Zhen Xin and he exited the restroom separately. He didn’t even greet him, directly returning to the hotel. 3705. Opening the door, he packed like crazy. Clothes, shoes, scattered odds and ends. One suitcase filled. The rest left for Little Deng to ship by courier.

The nightstand held some important personal items. ID card, bank cards, and a small amount of cash. He pulled open the drawer, scooping everything out in one go. A clink, something slid out and fell on the cabinet board, spinning slowly before coming to rest. He glanced at it, his nose suddenly going sour. It was a platinum ring.

Tiger in my love. That day at the art museum, in that secluded restroom, he had crawled on the floor searching bit by bit for it. Such a small circle of metal, among the white reflective tile urinals, easily missed with the slightest inattention.

He sat by the bed, carefully picking it up. Zhen Xin had good taste, a bold yet restrained design. He hadn’t dared wear it. Now timidly slipping it onto his fingertip, immediately taking it off like a guilty thief, turning it over and over looking for a long while, before finally mustering courage to wear it on his left ring finger. So fitting, snug against him.

Zhang Zhun thought about it. Between them, only this remained. Tears suddenly welled up, faster than he himself expected. He was prone to crying. Zhen Xin had teased him about it earlier. Recalling those days, even the tiniest scene made him dizzy with happiness. He reverently placed a kiss on the ring, stood up, pulled out his phone.

Entering Xie Danyi’s number, dialing out. It rang briefly twice before she picked up. He could hear eager breathing, carrying barely concealed excitement: “Hey, wrapped?”

She asked impatiently. Zhang Zhun pressed his lips: “Yeah, just had the wrap party.”

“Oh, I went to the flower market today. Orange trees were so pretty, I bought…”

“I want to say…” Zhang Zhun interrupted her: “You really shouldn’t wait for me anymore.”

The other end went quiet. For a long while no speaking. When she spoke again, she had turned aggressive: “Two men together? Don’t be stupid!”

“Not together,” Zhang Zhun said softly: “It’s just… without him, I can’t be with anyone else either.”

“Beep,” the phone hung up decisively. Zhang Zhun watched the gradually dimming phone screen, tidied his hair slightly, dragged his suitcase to the door, briefly looked back once, turned off the room light.

“Into the Role” ended. Zhang Zhun also said goodbye to his old life. He moved up from Guangdong, renting an apartment near Ocean Star. Life alone was very regular. When not working, every morning he went downstairs for a morning run, running around the tree lined road to below Ocean Star. His phone always played Rumer’s “Slow.” Following the music, he would slow down, looking up at the dawn. Having looked so many times, with one glance he found the 37th and 38th floors. The window glass like an old familiar friend, faintly flashing at him.

Sometimes he would walk in, take the elevator, stand a while outside 3834. Standing bored, he would fiddle with his phone, open WeChat to look at Moments. Someone got married. Someone had a second child. Only that person, not a single bit of news. One year. The pain gradually numbed. The initial madness truly receded, becoming a cigarette addiction like bad habit. Can’t quit, he thought. So be it.

Until late September when Zhou Zheng called him, saying the film was releasing, they needed to record the promotional song. The recording list had him and Zhen Xin together. Only at that moment did he discover, his heart hadn’t been calm as still water after all. What he had always been was expectation and longing. Expecting to hear that name. Longing to see him again.

The recording location was in Shanghai. As agreed, he went over early. Newly picked clothes, hair also done. While waiting in the lounge, he kept trembling. Until the recording engineer came in and handed him a thin sheet of paper, casually saying: “Zhen Xin’s part was recorded in Taiwan. You just need to dub some dialogue with him.”

An old song, Leslie Cheung and Anthony Wong’s “So Far Yet So Near.” Zhen Xin sang it in Mandarin. You could tell, the post production autotune was heavy. Zhang Zhun smiled disappointedly. What was allotted to him was just a few lines of spoken dialogue.

Silently walking into the recording booth, he put on headphones and faced the mic. In the final preparation time, his phone received a text message, from the “Into the Role” production team: Teacher Zhang Zhun, February 14 Western Valentine’s Day, “Into the Role” global premiere, please attend on time, time and location as follows…

The recording engineer called ready. Through the thick glass window, the green light came on. Zhang Zhun’s voice was low, with considerable depth of feeling as he delivered his spoken lines: “When leaving the bookstore, I left an umbrella. I hope the one carrying it home, is you.”