Deep in the Act: Chapter 59

The remaining scenes were all reshoots. The production team brought everyone to a private art museum, mainly modern works, very large, with three or four floors. Still split into two groups. Zhen Xin and Qin Xun were one group. Zhang Zhun was his own group. All fragmented scenes. The locations were set. Both groups were filming on the third floor. Zhen Xin in the east wing. Zhang Zhun in the west wing.

Group B started filming first. From an understated empty shot pushing in to Zhang Zhun’s face. Professional, sensitive, refined. The background was modern style traditional Chinese painting and large freehand calligraphy hanging scrolls. Several extras were around him, playing subordinate type roles.

Zhang Zhun didn’t look good. Early this morning, Zhen Xin’s “new scandal” hit the papers. The headline was “Top Actor and Top Actress Secret Meeting at Shanghai Hotel.” The photos were exceptionally good. Lighting, angle, lens all just right. Clearly prepared in advance. He and Qin Xun were shoulder to shoulder coming out of the Shangri La, looking somewhat drunk.

Zhang Zhun sighed, delivering his line: “Who handled this order?”

Extra A stepped forward. Zhang Zhun pointed at the entire wall: “The mounting paper is stealing the spotlight. Replace all of it.”

“Cut!” Zhou Zheng called out.

Zhang Zhun loosened his tie, looking toward the central courtyard. Group A was still filming. Zhen Xin and Qin Xun were standing shoulder to shoulder, facing a cubist nude oil painting, chatting back and forth. It was as if an awl was pricking at the tip of his heart. Zhang Zhun turned his gaze back, forcing himself to breathe deeply. To distract himself, he pulled out his phone. Over twenty WeChat messages, all from Zhen Xin: “I was set up by Li Lingli.”

“I thought it was going to discuss work, and it really was work. She was among the collaborating actors. Because it was her I didn’t stay alert.”

Messages like these, sent ten some minutes ago. How could Zhang Zhun not know? He knew everything. Knowing still hurt. In comparison, he felt the photo was what needed more explanation. The final image from this morning flashed through his mind. His spine shook uncontrollably. He closed WeChat, opened Weibo. Sure enough the film emperor and film empress scandal was flooding the screen. He thought he should be the one fading out. He didn’t expect his name seemed tied together with Zhen Xin’s, unable to separate: “Zhang Zhun getting slapped in the face!”

“Subtle timing, where is Zhang Zhun?”

“Uh… I didn’t believe the ‘Shadow Martial’ rumors before, but with this set of photos I kinda believe it now. Such obvious passing the buck and whitewashing, I’m a bit shook…”

Time to film the next shot. Little Deng called Zhang Zhun to position. Still roughly the same shot. Catching Group A finishing a take in the distance. From afar, Zhen Xin walked over, smoking as he stood at the periphery, quietly looking toward the filming area. The staff tactfully moved aside. Zhang Zhun appeared in view. Beige suit unbuttoned, standing before a two meter plus long wild cursive calligraphy piece, timeless as a work of art.

Zhou Zheng called “Cut.” Zhen Xin immediately walked forward. Zhang Zhun knew he was there, turned his head, waiting with some fear and some anticipation. At this moment Little Wang ran to the central courtyard and waved this way: “Teacher Zhen, next shot!”

Zhen Xin was only one step from Zhang Zhun. Just this one step, he couldn’t cross it. He stubbed out his cigarette, walking back in frustration.

The two groups filmed on and off. By noon, Zhen Xin finally had a chance to lead Zhang Zhun to a remote restroom at the edge of the venue. Went in and closed the door. He urgently fished in his suit pocket, fished around and around, pulling out a ring. Only then did Zhang Zhun notice, his left ring finger was proudly wearing the other one.

Zhen Xin reverently held the ring up before him. Zhang Zhun looked at that small circle of precious metal, not reaching out: “Don’t you think you should say something,” he just wanted an explanation. With an explanation, he would have an excuse to forgive: “That photo?”

Zhen Xin was somewhat embarrassed, and very annoyed: “What’s there to say…”

Zhang Zhun was angered by this casual attitude. Eyes wide, watching him cautiously push open stall doors one by one to check, saying rather carelessly: “If you like someone you like them, who cares how it started?”

“I do care!” Zhang Zhun roared, startling Zhen Xin, who stared at him in shock.

“Do you know what it feels like to be plugged in the ass by a man,” Zhang Zhun came up, shoving him with both hands: “Do you know what it feels like to be pressed into bed and fucked like a woman by you!”

Zhen Xin was stunned by his roar, shouting back indignantly: “If you feel it’s a loss, fine, I’ll let you top me once!”

“This isn’t about who’s top or bottom!” Zhang Zhun was so angry his head hurt, instead his voice choked up: “My girlfriend, that pitiful dignity, my mom, I gave up everything, just wanting to be with you properly, and then you fucking lied to me!”

Zhen Xin looked at him with an incomprehensible expression: “Is it that serious, that photo…” he thought and thought, saying as if it were obvious: “A little fun between men, don’t tell me you don’t understand!”

Zhang Zhun stared at his moving lips, listening in disbelief: “We’ve done everything we should and shouldn’t do, and now you’re hung up on these things…” Zhen Xin seemed to have misunderstood something: “You’re not serious, acting like a woman!” He irritably scratched his hair: “I already explained it all in my WeChat messages to you. She and I each went to discuss work. It was supposed to end early. The reason I came back at three or four was because the production company insisted on going singing…”

“Stop talking!” Zhang Zhun felt this person was someone he didn’t know, strange through and through. He clasped his hands together to stop them from shaking: “I’m making a mountain out of a molehill.”

Zhen Xin showed an expression of “that’s right for you to think that way,” seeming quite satisfied, slightly smiling, with that kind of perfunctory attitude men commonly show women, lightly coaxing: “It’s not that either, as long as you stop throwing tantrums.”

He smiled ingratiatingly, reaching for Zhang Zhun’s hand, wanting to put the ring on him. But Zhang Zhun waved his hand and pushed him away. The ring slipped and fell to the ground. Zhen Xin hurried to pick it up. While picking it up, he heard Zhang Zhun say: “Let’s break up.”

The voice was very calm, so calm it felt real. Zhen Xin squatted there looking up. Zhang Zhun’s face was backlit. He only heard his tone was faint: “If I had known that night was real… I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you.”

Zhen Xin was clearly suppressing his anger: “What have you been fussing about all along!”

“I think I might not love you,” the noon sun was warm and cozy, but Zhang Zhun was ice cold, stubborn as bedrock: “All of this is a bubble we imagined. That love with no turning back, it’s just the aftershock of Fang Chi and Gao Zhun’s feelings.”

Zhen Xin secretly exerted force, his fingers being painfully pressed by the ring’s hard edge: “That photo is nothing!” He stood up, this time with some restraint, controlling his voice: “When there was no photo, the moment I touched you your whole body went soft. When I called your name in your ear, you burned up wanting to press against me…”

Zhang Zhun slapped him. In the empty restroom, you could hear the clear echo. Zhen Xin glared at him angrily. He had reached his limit. He had no patience to endure anymore: “You do like me, no less than I like you. You remember that!”

“You like me?” Zhang Zhun quietly refuted. This was how they were, a relationship where even arguing they dared not make a sound: “Then when you later knew I thought that night was a dream, why didn’t you say anything!”

Zhen Xin had nothing to say. He indeed hadn’t said anything. Indeed had hidden it: “Fine, you’re right, everything you said is right,” he shook his hand indifferently: “I’ve had enough. Break up then break up!”

He turned and walked, simultaneously flinging his hand hard. The ring hit the ground with a clink and bounced. Zhang Zhun didn’t even have time to react before the restroom door was already vibrating shut.

Standing blankly for a while, loneliness welled up. The bubble burst. The rebellious hot dream finally ended. His breathing grew more and more rapid. Tears began spilling out. Zhang Zhun panicked and covered his face, turning in place a few times, staggering as he burst out the door. The long corridor had left and right ends. He blindly ran toward one end. Reaching the end was a concrete stairway. He flew down it. Zhen Xin’s name was stuck in his throat. He didn’t dare shout it. He was so timid, so humble, like a lost slave.

Reaching the first floor, it was a semi open rest area. Spring breeze gently blew. Clusters of flower branches were budding with new shoots. Just as he looked around with nowhere to turn, from afar he could hear ethereal music: goodbye my almost lover, goodbye my hopeless dream…

It was Zhen Xin’s ringtone. He immediately chased after it. That wild joy was simply beyond words, as if his heart would burst apart, his bones would all be shattered and thrown to the ends of the earth… I’m trying not to think about you, can’t you just let me be? Closer, closer still. The last corner separating indoors from outdoors. He couldn’t wait to cross over…

It wasn’t Zhen Xin. On a mottled wooden bench, a young couple sat. The girl leisurely pillowed on the boy’s arm, listening to him share music he liked from his phone. They looked up and saw Zhang Zhun. Just one instant, and this poor soul with tears streaming down turned and fled.

Running far away, the cruel music still chased from behind: so long my luckless romance, my back is turned on you, should’ve known you’d bring me heartache, almost lovers always do…

After wrapping for the day, they returned to the hotel in two groups. In the car Qin Xun half jokingly casually invited him out. Zhen Xin actually agreed for the first time ever. The KTV across from the hotel. Small private room. Just the two of them. Sitting tightly side by side on the sofa. The server brought two baskets of beer. Bottle by bottle quickly opened, neatly arranged in three rows.

Qin Xun very naturally hooked her arm around Zhen Xin’s arm, leaning against him to ask: “What are you singing?”

“You sing.” Zhen Xin grabbed a bottle and drank straight from it. Clearly he had no interest in her, but also didn’t mind her intimacy. So Qin Xun sang by herself. She had good singing skills. In her early years she had even released an album. Her singing style was very distinctive. She sang “Young and Beautiful” with hidden meaning, raising her bottle to Zhen Xin: “Almost wrapped, looking forward to working together on the next project.”

Zhen Xin clinked with her, also not speaking, just drinking with a determination to drink himself to death. Qin Xun sensed something was off with his state, pressing her soft chest against his arm, grasping for conversation: “That Chen is no good, cut so many of my scenes,” she provocatively rubbed back and forth. Zhen Xin only woodenly made an “mm” sound. She got unhappy: “What do you mean by this, if you don’t want to come out then don’t come out, who are you putting on a stink face for!”

Zhen Xin glanced at her sideways, looking at the golden liquid in the long neck bottle: “Got dumped, okay.”

“You, dumped?” Qin Xun couldn’t stand him, snickering: “That trick is so outdated. Besides…” she suggestively licked her lips: “I don’t need you to go through all this trouble either…” Her hand went down, sliding along Zhen Xin’s thigh toward his crotch. Zhen Xin had no reaction, staring blankly at the screen. Seven or eight empty bottles, neatly stacked by his feet.

“I think I might not love you…”

Zhang Zhun’s voice was like it was carved into his brain. The more he wanted to forget it, the more stubbornly it drilled out.

“All of this is a bubble we imagined…”

“That love with no turning back, it’s just the aftershock of Fang Chi and Gao Zhun’s feelings…”

Tears flowed down. Zhen Xin wiped them with his sleeve in grievance. Qin Xun watched him in shock, watching him like a pure foolish young man, watching him with snot and tears, watching him fiercely pour alcohol down his throat.

“Stop drinking!” She went to grab his bottle. Zhen Xin sniveled while pulling against her. The bottle tipped over. Most of the alcohol spilled on the ground. Qin Xun leaned sideways to dodge. Zhen Xin suddenly grabbed her, hugging her so tight, with a force that makes a woman’s heart flutter.

She immediately went still, waiting quietly. In this cramped private room something might happen. But Zhen Xin was just like an innocent child, shamelessly nestling in her embrace, howling and sobbing on his own.

Really howling. A grown man, disheveled to the point of being worthless. Qin Xun impatiently pushed him twice, couldn’t push him away. Perhaps every woman has some maternal instinct to some degree. Slowly, she tried patting his head. Fuzzy. Because of the alcohol, his scalp was noticeably warm. She held him with both arms, like hugging a hard to manage big dog, bending down to listen. He was mumbling: “Don’t end… I want to film with you for a lifetime!”

The show, in the end, had to end. The last scene on the shooting schedule, at Fang Chi’s home, that beautiful blue house. Zhen Xin and Zhang Zhun stood side by side at the kitchen counter. A medium shot from behind. The camera was rolling. Chen Zhengsen was concentrating intently on the viewfinder.

In hand was a knife, facing a ripe tomato. Zhang Zhun cut down. The pulp flowed out, thick like blood. Zhen Xin drew close, saying mushy words by his ear. Zhang Zhun laughed, that kind of somewhat annoyed laugh, pushing him with his wet hand. Zhen Xin clung on and pressed closer, leaning by his ear, with a lewd expression. Zhang Zhun blushed and dodged.

“Cut!”

Chen Zhengsen hadn’t washed his hair for several days, greasy hair, scratching nonstop: “Why film a medium shot from the back? Because both my male leads’ eyes are swollen and rotten! But even with a back medium shot, you both can’t pass. Like zombies, so ugly!”

The moment the camera stopped, Zhen Xin and Zhang Zhun subtly pulled apart. Zhang Zhun held the knife without moving. Zhen Xin turned around, leaning against the sink listening to the director explain the scene. The knife back tilted thirty degrees. From the narrow blade of the vegetable knife, a blurry figure could be seen. Listening listening, Zhen Xin suddenly turned around. Zhang Zhun hurriedly slapped the knife onto the cutting board in fright, a loud clap.

Zhen Xin of course noticed, standing blankly. Zhang Zhun didn’t dare raise his head. At this moment just one whisper, like a tease or a joke, even a sarcastic remark, and they could go back. Zhang Zhun privately waited, waiting for “his Zhen Xin” to cross that step, like every time before. But this time Zhen Xin retreated: “Director,” his eyes reddened, almost biting his teeth as he rushed out: “Give me five minutes.”

“Huh? Hey!” Chen Zhengsen was baffled. The lead actor took a break, the staff relaxed along with him. No one noticed Zhang Zhun. He alone faced away from everyone, urgently twisting open the faucet, letting cheap tears be carried away by the rushing water.