Deep in the Act: Chapter 35

Click, the door closed. Only the two of them remained in the room. Zhang Zhun felt embarrassed instead. He shook his hand, wanting to pull it free from Zhen Xin’s grip. Zhen Xin didn’t let him go. Instead, he pulled him toward himself, right to the edge of the bed. “I feel awful…”

Zhang Zhun didn’t say anything, but he stopped moving. He let Zhen Xin hold him quietly, watching him close his eyes peacefully, as if he were about to fall asleep just like that. He was willing to sleep with him, to enjoy this ordinary time together. Zhen Xin held his hand, slowly dragging it under the covers. At first Zhang Zhun didn’t think anything of it, but the further it went, the more wrong it felt. Zhen Xin was only wearing a pair of underwear. His hand was placed squarely on his crotch, and Zhen Xin even rubbed against it openly.

Zhang Zhun’s face flushed red. He cursed in shame and anger. “Zhen Xin, what the hell is wrong with you!”

Maybe it was because he was sick, but Zhen Xin looked soft and limp, gazing at him with affection in his brows and eyes. “This is what’s wrong. Hurry, rub it for me.”

Zhang Zhun tried to pull his hand back, but Zhen Xin gripped it tight. Back and forth they went. The flesh beneath the underwear grew hot and hard, standing tall and pressing against Zhang Zhun’s hand, swaying slightly left and right. “Hurry, hurry…” It was clear Zhen Xin was already very excited.

Zhang Zhun didn’t move. So Zhen Xin had to grip his hand and press down hard himself, thrusting his hips up with effort.

“How can you be so lewd…” Zhang Zhun meant to scold him, but once the words left his mouth, they sounded a bit like flirting. Zhen Xin said pitifully, “I’ve been holding it in for so long. Even the best equipment can’t be held in like this.”

Zhang Zhun didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He glared at him with reddened eye corners. With just that one look, Zhen Xin became possessed and started acting spoiled. “It’s already like this. Rubbing it once won’t kill you!”

Zhang Zhun turned his face away and ignored him, but his hand lightly rubbed against his thing. Then through the underwear, he slowly gripped him.

Zhen Xin let out a long breath of comfort, urging him on with a lewd hum. Zhang Zhun seemed to want to die of embarrassment, head lowered as he worked him. He was so shy that even his dry lips were completely red.

Zhen Xin swallowed his saliva, admiring him. “What, you never messed around with your buddies when you were little?”

After a moment of silence, Zhang Zhun said, “Yeah, we did this a lot in the team.”

Zhen Xin furrowed his brows. “What team?”

“Martial arts team,” Zhang Zhun laughed, as if telling an old joke. “Back then, whoever was shorter, or a bit fairer and prettier, would get pinned down and treated like a girl by a lot of people.”

Zhen Xin thought he was very pretty himself. His Adam’s apple slid up and down nervously, but he didn’t ask. Zhang Zhun spoke frankly, “I got messed with, but I didn’t always get messed with. It was fine.”

Zhen Xin suddenly felt a surge of energy, a sour surge of jealousy. He sat up and hugged Zhang Zhun, pressing against his ear. “Don’t tell me about this kind of thing from now on. I can’t take it!”

Zhang Zhun leaned against him docilely. At his temple and the hollow of his neck was a faint scent of soap. Zhen Xin looked at his red earlobe. Today he wasn’t wearing earrings. A transparent plastic stud was inserted there. Very simple, very clean.

“Why did you get your ears pierced?” Zhen Xin used his tongue to curl around his earlobe, biting one end of the plastic stud with his teeth and slowly pulling it out, spitting it onto the floor. “Aren’t you martial arts guys supposed to be very manly?”

Zhang Zhun had never been treated like this before. He went so soft he was almost trembling. “Just… it was pretty.”

“You went to get it done yourself?” Zhen Xin clearly cared, but couldn’t stop asking.

“A friend took me…” His earlobe was suddenly sucked in by Zhen Xin. The pinprick sized ear hole was pushed back and forth by the tip of his tongue in an ambiguous way. Zhang Zhun felt half his face and his shoulder go numb. The hand under the covers involuntarily reached into his soaked underwear, skin against skin, working him.

He was really good at it, Zhen Xin thought jealously. The more he thought about it, the harder he got below. He felt like he was about to melt, like a piece of ice, like a wisp of fog, about to dissolve in dazzling sunlight. His own secret sunlight.

That beam of light hung overhead, coming closer, even closer. He called Zhang Zhun’s name, about to release. At that mood killing moment, the electronic lock sounded. Feng Yun Ting returned with a cup of milk.

For a cup of milk, this took a rather long time. But for an immoral affair, it was obviously too short. Zhang Zhun quickly withdrew his hand and stood up guiltily. Zhen Xin hadn’t come yet, panting heavily as he fell back onto the pillow, pressing his forehead in frustration.

“Honey, drink some milk. It’s good for your body.” Feng Yun Ting smiled beautifully, with quite a bit of mocking meaning.

Zhang Zhun awkwardly made room for her, covering his swollen ear as he walked toward the door.

A day with no filming scheduled. Zhang Zhun first went to work out. When he came back, he felt he had nothing to do. The reporters still hadn’t left. He holed up in his room, holding his pad and watching movies. Upon searching, he discovered that Zhen Xin had never acted in a TV drama. From the day he debuted, he had been the darling of the big screen, invincible, a true A list superstar.

In his teens he played gang students. In his twenties he played small time characters and vagrants. In his thirties, drug dealers, madmen, gay men, he excelled at them all. On his brilliant star path, there were no years of starving and waiting by the phone. He never took childish, vulgar, slobbery roles. Only characters with sorrowful, turbulent lives and stories that cut to the bone. So lucky it was annoying.

Zhang Zhun didn’t want to think about it, but he still remembered. When filming “Galloping Horse,” there was a mountain scene. Zhen Xin was the male lead. He was the female lead’s stunt double. After hanging from wires all day, exhausted, he came down the mountain and ran into rain. Zhen Xin held the female lead walking ahead. The cold mountain wind blew the umbrella all crooked. The assistant director following the crew turned back and saw him, shouting, “Zhang Zhun, hand over your umbrella!”

He ran up. The umbrella left his hand and was held over Zhen Xin’s head. The big star turned back and casually glanced. The little stunt double covered in rain definitely didn’t leave any impression on him. So much so that when they met again for “North High Peak,” that proud gaze swept directly past his slightly flushed cheek, landing on the executive producer in the distance. At that time, Zhen Xin held that very charming smile, greeting in a soft Taiwanese accent, “Mr. Qin, long time no see. Last time was ‘Galloping Horse,’ right? Five or six years ago.”

His heart ached. Zhang Zhun’s eyes rimmed slightly wet. He moved his gaze away from the monitor. On the computer, “Galloping Horse” was playing. Zhen Xin with his hair loose, carrying a blade, dressed as a mountain bandit, flipping the terrified and destitute female lead onto the bed.

The bold bed scene from back then, looking at it now, was nothing much. Just a pair of lovey dovey foolish lovers. The camera quickly switched. One night of absurdity, the woman and the mountain bandit drew blades against each other. The two of them weaved through mountains and waters with ethereal steps. That was himself, Zhang Zhun knew at a glance. Thin, his blade holding hand slightly extended outward. His habitual movement.

He and Zhen Xin had once been so close, in days when they had nothing to do with each other. Back then he still didn’t know Xie Dan Yi. The entertainment circle also didn’t have the name Feng Yun Ting. When there were a lot of fight scenes, they pretty much got up together every day, went to bed one after another at night, wrists intertwined with wrists, chest pressed against chest, naturally and effortlessly.

The landline rang. It was Xiao Deng. “Hello,” Zhang Zhun answered. “I’m not eating. You go.” The other side was about to hang up, but he asked one more thing. “You have the cracked PR version, right?” Xiao Deng said yes. He immediately said, “Send it to my email.”

Dozing off, he slept for a day and a night. Zhen Xin was much better. In the morning he ate two mouthfuls of porridge. He heard a text message notification sound. It was from Zhang Zhun. Inside was a web link. He clicked it puzzled, entering a video site. In the center of the screen was a little TV shaking back and forth. “What is this…” he muttered to himself. The buffering ended without warning. His own face appeared on the screen.

He searched for a while before finding the play button. He clicked it with some inexplicable anticipation. That face moved. It was the little mountain bandit from “Galloping Horse.” An unintentional, shining glance back. Music started. It was Lowell Lo’s “Love in a Lifetime.”

“Once, now, gone and never to return. Red red fallen leaves, long buried in dust. Beginnings, endings, never changed. You on the horizon, drifting beyond white clouds…”

The three minute video distilled half a lifetime of Zhen Xin’s trajectory. From his first tentative steps, every year, every awards ceremony, every look, every character was captured in a glance back. Sometimes frivolous, sometimes decadent, sometimes gorgeous, sometimes rugged. On the screen, little red and yellow characters kept scrolling past. He knew those were called bullet comments. Amid a flood of “Hubby take me from the front,” “Lord Zhen is so handsome he splits the sky,” there was one line of small white text that read: Damn! The uploader is absolutely true love!

Zhen Xin’s heart stirred. He hurried to look at the video title. It was just “Zhen Xin Film Character Montage.” The uploader was a username that revealed nothing. The upload time was eleven last night. The approval time was three in the morning. He remembered that day at the KTV, Zhang Zhun singing drunkenly, so invested, so emotional. “Sea of bitterness, love and hate arise, in this world, hard to escape fate. Drawn together, yet cannot draw near, or perhaps I should believe it is destiny!”

The text message notification sounded again. He grabbed his phone. Zhang Zhun only sent one line: Too tired, going to sleep. Will visit you later.

Zhen Xin stared at that line for a long time, so long he thought of “Galloping Horse,” thought of “North High Peak” in the gaps of his memory. Feng Yun Ting was doing her hair in the restroom. He thought about it, and thought about it again, finally saying loudly, “I don’t want to endure it anymore!”

The clinking of bottles and jars stopped. Feng Yun Ting came out from the restroom, smoothing her long hair, somewhat surprised, yet also carrying a hint of victorious satisfaction. “Me neither.”

Zhen Xin cast her a weary look. “Name your price. What are your conditions.”

In their line of work, how could you break up without paying some price? Feng Yun Ting had long thought it through. She admired her freshly painted red nails. “Twenty million. One movie and two TV dramas. Big production teams. At least second female lead.”

“Twenty million?” Zhen Xin hadn’t expected this level. “You’re worth that much?”

“Whether I’m worth it, I don’t know. But he is,” she tossed her long hair behind her back, somewhat all business. “We’re all in this industry. I don’t want to ruin you either.” She was referring to the gay scandal. This price was still fair. “Or do you want to endure a bit longer?”

Since Zhen Xin said he didn’t want to endure, he wouldn’t endure anymore. “Fine. I’ll transfer it to your account in installments.”

Only then did Feng Yun Ting say, “We can’t go public yet. Need to wait a few days.”

Zhen Xin raised an eyebrow, immediately understanding. “New job?”

“Luxury car endorsement,” she smiled sweetly. “Opportunities like this are too rare for a female star. Thanks, Honey!”

Zhen Xin knew this was the dividend from going public with their relationship. “How many days exactly?”

“The investors haven’t notified yet. You know me. I won’t mess up your business.”

Zhen Xin propped his head on his arm, thinking. Twenty million. A clean and neat breakup. It was still worth it. He did know Feng Yun Ting well. She had very good business sense. “The sooner the better.”

Feng Yun Ting was afraid his arm would go numb from propping it, so she put a pillow under him. “Seriously though, why so impatient?” As she spoke, she leaned over him, like a real girlfriend, playing with his curls now and then. “Playing around in the drama is one thing. You’re really taking it seriously?”

Zhen Xin didn’t speak. She continued, “When the drama ends, you move in together and play house?”

“Why so much talking,” Zhen Xin was annoyed by her words. “Get off, get off.”

“I’m being serious,” she leaned in close, her mouth against the tip of his nose. “That person’s not bad. Don’t play him to pieces.”

Zhen Xin changed the subject. “What luxury car wants you to endorse? One sold to mistresses?”

Feng Yun Ting reached into the covers and pinched his butt hard. After pinching, her hand didn’t come back out. “Yesterday, did you two… hmm?” She touched his crotch. “Still in good spirits. About to break up, one last time?”

Zhen Xin was amused by her. He pushed her face aside and flipped her to the side, giving her one word. “Scram!”

When the phone was turned on again, it was that evening. To catch up on progress, Chen Zheng Sen decided to shoot night scenes first. When Zhang Zhun received the notification, he was still in bed. Xiao Deng knocked on his door carrying a full set of suits. He opened the door and saw the costume. His first words were, “Is he better?”

Xiao Deng knew who he was asking about. Unhurriedly, he said, “Don’t know.” Entering the room, he couldn’t help complaining. “Because of him alone, the whole crew lost two days and a night. And he won’t pay compensation.”

Zhang Zhun knew he was speaking out of anger. As he took off his clothes, he said, “You’re young. Don’t be so mean.”

He stripped down to just his underwear, not avoiding Xiao Deng at all. This made Xiao Deng somewhat embarrassed. He couldn’t say why, but ever since noticing his excessive ambiguity with Zhen Xin, he felt embarrassed looking at his brother. “Bro… that thing…”

Zhang Zhun pinched his shirt collar, looking at him. “What?”

“Just… that thing… you…”

Zhang Zhun pulled up his pants, sitting down next to him as he buttoned them, dangerously close. “What’s wrong?”

Xiao Deng jumped up like his butt was on fire, running to open the door. “That thing, there’s no time, let’s get dressed on the way.”

Zhang Zhun followed him out puzzled. That kid walked fast, from getting in the elevator to getting in the car, until the car drove off, he had a strange look the whole time. Half an hour later they arrived at the filming location. A high end apartment complex. Zhang Zhun’s blocking position was under a street lamp beside a French plane tree. The lighting had been specially adjusted, warm yellow with a hazy purple.

The director explained the scene to him. After a heart eating night road, Gao Zhun waited alone in the darkness for Fang Chi. He was terrified, yet also full of hope. He needed to express this contradiction. Zhang Zhun was ready. He imagined himself as Gao Zhun, a fragile patient tormented by fear beyond recognition.

Gradually he heard the sound of an engine. Rumbling, from far to near. That was his love, his savior. The director’s call of “action” seemed very far away, far like an illusion. The Volvo that suddenly slid into view was real. A sudden brake, stopping crookedly by the side of the road.

“Fang Chi” got out of the car. A tall figure, curly hair blown messy by the wind. He walked toward him urgently, carrying a kind of love that only the two of them knew. Trembling, Zhang Zhun was almost crying with joy.