Deep in the Act: Chapter 62

In the morning, the morning light was just right. Fang Chi pulled a silk tie from Gao Zhun’s tie rack, draped it around his neck, and walked to the window while putting on his watch: “Hurry up, I’m going to be late!”

Gao Zhun set down his milk glass and walked over. His forelock was a bit wet. He casually shook it, both hands grasping the two ends of the tie, looking up with a glance, smiling somewhat shyly: “This color really suits you,” his nimble fingers wound around, skillfully tightening, pushing up, flattening out. He deliberately drew close, carrying a teasing flavor: “The Windsor knot you like.”

Fang Chi hugged him at once, pinning his waist with his arm, rubbing his nose tip against that black short hair. Gao Zhun stroked his upper arm, looking like someone who was used to being spoiled: “Why do you insist on me tying it, it’s not like you can’t…”

Fang Chi’s lips wandered around his cheek, almost touching but not quite: “You tie it, I’ll have good luck.”

“I…” Gao Zhun slightly lowered his head, his forelock falling down to cover his face, fingertips unconsciously playing with the wrinkles on Fang Chi’s shirt shoulder: “I’ll go with you?” He raised his eyes looking upward, somewhat coquettish: “Waiting for you.”

Fang Chi opened both hands and rubbed vigorously, turning that back over and over, his breathing growing more urgent. He would occasionally nestle his neck down to bite Gao Zhun’s chin: “For the university interview, is this color too handsome?”

Gao Zhun dodged ticklishly: “My man…” Like a cat that had its fill of its master’s affection, he haughtily pushed apart Fang Chi’s lips, raised his head, looking straight at him: “Has to be the most handsome.”

There was honey in these words, there were stars in those eyes. Fang Chi clamped him tight at once, kissing him hard. Gao Zhun happily enjoyed this domineering obsession of his, wrapping his arms around him from behind, letting him pull and rub.

Soon, Fang Chi would grab that thick curtain at hand, pull it up to cover the two of them. To anyone looking it was a lingering sweet kiss. But Zhang Zhun knew, the shadow beneath the curtain was orange. In that dark orange, guiltily and furtively, Zhen Xin wiped away the tears from the corner of his eye.

Sure enough, Fang Chi grabbed the curtain. A wave of amazed exclamations rose from the audience seats. This was the film’s final segment, also the last shot filmed. Zhang Zhun stared at that enormous screen reflecting strong light. The calloused wall of his heart seemed about to collapse at any moment. He stood up, walking rapidly along the direction of the green light indicator toward the emergency exit.

Leaving the pitch black event venue, the suffocating feeling in his chest improved a bit. At the end of the corridor was the smoking room. Thinking about the Q&A session about to begin, he felt he should still go have a smoke.

“Into the Role” global premiere, what a grand name. He lit a cigarette, loosened his bow tie, his sweaty palm rubbing against the expensive suit pants. Slowly, he exhaled the first puff of smoke. This was practically a dream. Industry peers from across the strait and three regions, densely packed camera positions. When he first arrived at the venue, standing in the crowd of people, he couldn’t believe he was one of the leads. Until someone patted his shoulder, and he came back to his senses, calling out in pleasant surprise: “Senior brother.”

Wu Rong smiled affectionately, putting his arm around him and walking him into the crowd. Chen Zhengsen, Zhou Zheng, Qin Xun, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries one by one. Over a year not seen, everyone had changed to some degree. Chen Zhengsen had lost weight. Zhou Zheng’s hairline had receded a large chunk. Qin Xun was still the same, tirelessly changing her look. Zhang Zhun chatted and laughed with them. Inadvertently, in the depths of the crowd he saw Zhen Xin in full formal dress.

Zhen Xin also saw him. First staring blankly, as if unable to recognize him for a moment, as if there were a thousand threads of thought, eyes flickering not daring to recognize. Wu Rong called out to him loudly, and he reluctantly came over, politely extending his hand: “Teacher Zhang, long time no see.”

This was almost exactly that dream. Zhang Zhun’s brows trembled, lightly returning his handshake, trying his best to act like an old friend reunited after a long separation: “Long time no see.”

Zhen Xin seemed to have nothing to say, dryly responding: “Yeah, it’s been a while.”

After that was awkward blankness. Zhang Zhun sheepishly withdrew his hand. Zhen Xin turned his head away on his own. One year, merely one year, and they had become strangers.

Zhang Zhun took a deep drag. The cigarette tip immediately burned bright red. Letting nicotine fill his lung lobes, only then could he numb his fragile nerves. The premiere would end, and publicity and road shows would immediately follow. Secretly, he was somewhat expectant, expecting to be “lovers” with Zhen Xin once more. Maybe seven days, perhaps ten days. Even if brief, but occasionally putting an arm around his shoulder, accidentally touching fingers, and he would be content.

Pinching out the cigarette in the ashtray, he retied his bow tie. Just about to go out, a familiar song came from the corridor: Goodbye my almost lover, goodbye my hopeless dream…

Zhang Zhun’s hand trembled violently. One year, and he still couldn’t listen to this song. Every time he heard it, he remembered that quiet noon at the art museum, running down that long narrow corridor, crazily chasing Zhen Xin’s footsteps, ending up pathetically coming up empty, only catching a chest full of chilly spring wind.

The song drew closer and closer. Probably some audience member who had gotten into the film. This kind of thing was impossible to guard against. Once the film officially released, he might hear fragments of this song everywhere. Zhang Zhun thought bleakly, then how would he get through his days?

“Hey,” the song cut off. It was a ringtone. The voice answering the phone was very familiar. Shouldn’t say familiar, should say etched into his bones: “Yeah, not going back to Taipei recently… after the publicity period ends…”

He was about to turn in here. Zhang Zhun panicked and turned his back, at a loss, clenching his fist tight.

“How many times have I said it, I don’t need a girlfri…” Zhen Xin’s voice abruptly stopped. The other end was still speaking, he could hear intermittent complaints. Amid the noisy complaints, neither of them moved.

The film could end at any moment. They didn’t have much time. The more urgent, the more Zhang Zhun didn’t dare turn around. All the blood in his body seemed to flow backward, scorching, gurgling and pounding against his eye sockets and eardrums. He didn’t turn his head, and Zhen Xin didn’t leave either. He couldn’t bear to leave. If he left, it seemed like dust returning to dust and earth returning to earth. But Zhen Xin didn’t want a clean break, didn’t want things to settle: “Mom,” he continued the conversation from just now: “Don’t bother. I have someone I like.”

The other end probably asked “where.” He didn’t hesitate, saying with absolute certainty: “In my heart.”

“In my heart.” Zhang Zhun trembled. He still had him in his heart. He hadn’t even changed his ringtone. They were the same. Both fools. Neither had changed!

He turned around. The first thing he saw wasn’t Zhen Xin’s long missed face, wasn’t his melancholy and sour eyes, but rather the metal ring hanging down from his phone. Such a small one. Zhang Zhun recognized it. Engraved on the inside of the ring was a line of small text: tiger in my love.

This love had never been one person’s momentary confusion, not two people drifting with the current while acting.

He stepped forward, about to speak, when thunderous applause rang out from the venue. The film had ended. Their “dream” should also come to a close here. Zhen Xin smiled bitterly, turning to leave.

“Don’t go…” Zhang Zhun suddenly said: “Don’t go!”

Zhen Xin turned back somewhat surprised. That look in his eyes was still that look. Attraction, adoration. Zhang Zhun strode toward him. His limbs were numb, his head was hot, only his heart was restless wanting to burst out of his chest. It was like a tightly wound string, an arrow ready to be shot, secretly trembling wanting to rush toward its destination. At this moment the corridor grew noisy. Some people were loudly praising, some were heatedly discussing the plot. It was the intermission. The audience was coming out.

Three to five people entered one after another, cameras hanging from their chests. They were reporters. Unexpectedly seeing these two leads, they didn’t even have time to light cigarettes, quickly adjusting their apertures and entering shooting mode. After that more people came gradually, among them several quite well known film critics. Familiarly shaking hands and chatting with Zhen Xin. Zhang Zhun couldn’t have imagined that compared to the film emperor, they seemed more interested in him, proactively greeting him one after another, not sparing their praise: “Teacher Zhang, too beautiful, you are the biggest surprise for us, making Chinese cinema this year!”

Zhang Zhun was still dazed, blankly surrounded by them. Across shoulders of varying heights, across those moving lips, he saw Zhen Xin smiling faintly, turning his back and putting away his cigarette, about to leave.

“Don’t go!” Zhang Zhun shouted rashly. The smoking room went quiet at once.

Zhen Xin turned back, looking at him puzzled. With so many people around, he had to pretend to be distant: “You go ahead and get busy, we’ll talk when we’re back in our seats.”

He still wanted to leave. Zhang Zhun pushed aside those so called “experts” surrounding him, trembling as he called: “Zhen Xin!” He ripped off his bow tie, suddenly pulling something from his neck, holding it high, choking as he asked: “Is it too late?”

It was a platinum chain, swinging like a pendulum. The pendant was tiny, silver light brilliant. Zhen Xin recognized it. He had personally picked it out. Engraved on the inside of the ring was a line of cursive script: tiger in my love.

“‘Is it too late…'” Zhang Zhun pressed on, asking desperately. Zhen Xin stared at him in shock, watching tears slide from those timid large eyes. So vivid, so moving. This was practically suicide! Zhen Xin anxiously scanned the crowd. He should be ambiguous, should talk about something else. But swallowing a mouthful of saliva, he actually said: “Not too late,” with a excitement of finally getting what he wished for: “Not too late at all!”

Zhang Zhun immediately walked toward him, grabbing his bow tie and pulling the person over. Very rough. Lips collided. It hurt. After the hurt came a sweet and astringent wet stickiness. Zhen Xin couldn’t believe the treasure in his embrace, like a blind man, like a deaf man. Besides his lover’s voice and appearance, he couldn’t hear or see anything. Only flashbulbs flashed like daylight. The world was spinning. The universe was spinning. They embraced each other standing firm and unmoving. From the screening hall came the orchestral band playing the end credits, elegant and restrained chords.

On the screen rolling credits appeared. Production company, acknowledgments, film processing. Finally two rather silent film style large words: The End.

Fang Chi set down the book. The corners of his eyes were slightly moist. He didn’t know if he was moved, or in pain. He looked down. The Latino tattoo artist was skillfully operating the electric pen, carefully carving near his lower body close to his pubic hair.

“Finished reading?” Gao Zhun was lying on the tattoo bed next to him, holding the same book, pants pulled down to the high point of his buttocks. Near the upper end of his butt crack, a white tattoo artist was steadily moving the needle pen.

Fang Chi nodded: “Where did you get to?”

“Almost finished,” Gao Zhun frowned. The flesh at his tailbone stung. Blood beads seeped along the gorgeous wound. The tattoo pen buzzed. He could smell a faint burning scent: “Zhang Zhun is too cowardly.”

“You won’t say that after you finish reading,” Fang Chi moved his eyes along his waistline. He liked Gao Zhun’s posture the most, lazily lying prone, waist softly collapsed, buttocks slightly raised: “I really like him.”

“I think Zhen Xin is better,” Gao Zhun noticed his gaze, glancing at the two tattoo artists: “What are you looking at… all lecherous.”

“Am I lecherous?” Fang Chi curved the corner of his mouth, asking in a low voice.

Gao Zhun let him make him embarrassed: “Tell your friend, she wrote you completely unrealistically.”

“Because she used all her ink on you,” Fang Chi looked over tenderly: “I told her our story. She cried many times in the middle, all for you.”

Gao Zhun lightly blinked his eyes. Some things were too heavy, he couldn’t touch them: “Taiwan is still better, this kind of book can be published,” he rustled flipping through the pages: “These details… you told her all of them?”

Fang Chi was clearly guilty, smiling ingratiatingly: “No, it’s her artistic license.”

His butt suddenly hurt. Gao Zhun let out a low “hmph,” his eyes wet. Turning back he glared fiercely at the tattoo artist. That look was like a broken lotus, also like scattered fine snow. Fang Chi watched with stirred emotions.

“Hey man!” The Latino stopped his machine, helplessly raising both arms toward him, standing up from his small round stool: “Cool down, ok?”

He had an erection. The white disinfection towel at his crotch was tented up.

The Latino temporarily couldn’t continue, going to the long table in the corner to pour himself a cup of coffee, leaning against the table edge and slowly sipping.

Fang Chi’s face was completely red, embarrassedly looking at Gao Zhun. Gao Zhun was also awkward, biting his lip holding back laughter.

The atmosphere was somewhat awkward for a moment. The white man concentrating on his work didn’t raise his head, laughing out loud twice: “This is a open world, my friends, don’t be shy!”

Don’t be shy. Fang Chi and Gao Zhun exchanged a glance. Couldn’t say who gave who the signal. The two leaned toward each other in unison. A distance of over a meter, they propped themselves on the tattoo beds and reached over. Lips met. Kissing lingeringly and sentimentally.

The bleeding pattern on his lower body stretched with the twisting of his limbs. Although not finished, the color draft was clearly laid out. Fang Chi’s tattoo was the character “Zhun.” Gao Zhun’s was the character “Chi.”

The book slid down along the bed edge, thud, falling on the floor. The simple and unadorned cover faced upward. A breeze came through the window, gently fluttering the title page. On the pink blue coated paper, vertically printed was the novel’s title.

“Into the Role.”

The End.