That night, Xi Tang also finished shooting after two in the morning. After work, crew members invited each other out for late-night snacks. Xi Tang walked out with her colleagues and saw Zhao Ping Jin waiting outside.
The bluestone path reflected the yellowish street lamps. He wore a gray short-sleeve polo shirt, hands in his casual trousers pockets, his expression relaxed, yet his figure resembled a silent blade’s shadow.
This time, the actress playing her master in the drama, Sister Hong, teased her in her Taiwanese accent: “Aiyou, don’t call her Xi Ye anymore, her boyfriend is waiting.”
Media reporters working with the company were waiting outside for the lead actors. When they saw her, everyone was already familiar. The entertainment reporter had sharp eyes: “Xi Tang, when did you get such a handsome boyfriend? Aiyou, look at your head, this must be true love.”
Xi Tang smiled good-naturedly all the way but didn’t answer a single word.
The two walked side by side toward town, with Xi Tang making phone calls the whole way.
She didn’t have an assistant, and couldn’t answer calls during filming. Generally, missed calls were from people offering work. Xi Tang returned them one by one while Zhao Ping Jin listened beside her. Initially, they were all discussing timing and scripts, mostly one-scene roles from what he could tell. There was one with a substantial role, but when it came to discussing payment, Xi Tang hesitated.
This group leader had hired her twice before, and once she even filled in at the last minute for a role with two or three pages of dialogue. The collaborating director had been very satisfied. She knew roughly what the crew would pay, but this person was taking too large a cut.
After listening for a while, Zhao Ping Jin couldn’t bear it anymore and took the phone: “Ten thousand.”
The person on the other end had a coarse, duck-like voice: “What ten thousand?”
“For Huang Xi Tang’s role.”
“Who are you?”
Zhao Ping Jin frowned disapprovingly: “I’m her agent.”
The person on the other end snickered: “You must be a rookie agent. Don’t quote sky-high prices. I’m taking pity on her because she’s desperately looking for roles. Tell her to come quickly for five thousand, otherwise, plenty of people are lining up.”
Zhao Ping Jin said coldly: “Ten thousand, and cut the nonsense.”
The person suddenly roared: “Ten thousand? Keep dreaming! Does she think she’s some kind of star? What agent? She doesn’t have an agent. Just some random man, I bet. A worthless whore who’ll never make it big, still trying to bargain. Let me tell you, it’s five thousand. I have ten people lined up for me to choose from. Ten thousand? Keep it to fuck your mother!”
Zhao Ping Jin’s expression didn’t change at all.
He ended the call, gripped her phone, and stared at her face slowly asking: “Do all those men curse at you like this?”
Xi Tang still had that nonchalant look and even managed a laugh: “Ah, this person curses with absolutely no logic.”
Zhao Ping Jin didn’t know where the anger in his heart came from at that moment. He just looked at her coldly and said: “Huang Xi Tang, do you have any sense of shame left?”
Xi Tang’s smile suddenly paused, and then she didn’t speak, just gently turned her head away.
Wansheng Street in Hengdian was a city that never slept.
In the hot summer night, restaurants set up canopies outside their doors. Various restaurants, bars, fruit stands, barbecue stalls, and three-wheeled carts filled the streets. Palace maids with their ornate hairstyles and palace costumes bought vegetables on the street, and soldiers with rifles bought cigarettes by the roadside. At a Hong Kong-style tea restaurant on the street, directors often discussed scenes overnight, some debated scripts, and unknown small actors waited for their luck to change.
A magical realist town bursting with vanity and material desires.
Occasionally black sedans could be seen on the street, with bespectacled men peering through window cracks toward the roadside—paparazzi who had long been staking out film sets, obsessed with the entertainment world.
They wanted to catch celebrities having one-night stands or cheating with various people from the same crew. In a place like Hengdian, that was too easy. Once they caught major news, PR teams would frantically throw money around, and they could turn their fortunes around overnight.
Xi Tang sat composed, wearing a white shirt and blue work pants, smoking at an oily outdoor table at Old Song’s BBQ.
At least one thing hadn’t changed about her—she still liked to wear white clothes.
Xi Tang showed no emotion at all, and even had a hint of a smile: “What would you like to eat? The roast lamb leg here is good.”
Zhao Ping Jin replied flatly: “Choose whatever you like.”
It was remarkable that the two could sit calmly at the same table chatting. In the past, how arrogant and eccentric was the young Zhao Ping Jin, whose harsh words could hurt people. Sometimes during arguments, Xi Tang couldn’t win against him at all. When young, everyone has a tender, fragile heart. Once they started arguing, Xi Tang would feel extremely wronged. She would either cry and make a scene in the room or slam the door and leave. Zhao Ping Jin would drive out to chase after her, and then she would probably cry in his arms while telling him how he had bullied her. Hearing such words, Zhao Ping Jin would be at a loss and could only bow his head and apologize. After a few comforting words, Xi Tang would forget about crying, and the two would return to their honeyed state.
But later, she no longer cried in his arms, and he no longer bowed his head to apologize. At that time, he truly felt that their feelings had run their course.
She was a person with such strong self-esteem that even his mother, as tough as she was, couldn’t handle her. Now, after hearing his harsh words, she just pretended not to hear and turned her head with a smile.
Perhaps in her eyes, he was no different from any regular patron.
What did he still care about? She had long stopped caring about everything.
Zhao Ping Jin recalled how she had been sweating profusely in the theater earlier, handling all the trivial matters herself: “Doesn’t your company arrange an assistant for you?”
Xi Tang extinguished her cigarette and began looking at the menu: “I’m fine, don’t need one.”
Zhao Ping Jin couldn’t help asking: “After so many films, you still don’t have a chance to play better roles?”
Xi Tang suddenly flashed a deliberate smile at him: “Do you think I’m beautiful?”
Zhao Ping Jin looked at her smiling, pretty face and coldly replied: “Just average.”
Xi Tang wasn’t bothered at all. While efficiently ordering late-night snacks, she lowered her voice and said: “Look to the left.”
Zhao Ping Jin glanced over and saw several men and women sitting drinking beer.
“Look to the right.”
Zhao Ping Jin looked again and saw several girls sitting by the roadside, posing flirtatiously.
Xi Tang said cheerfully: “Girls waiting for roles in Hengdian, which one isn’t beautiful? Trained or untrained, doesn’t matter. Thousands of girls enter this industry every year, so many seventeen or eighteen-year-old girls come to play—”
She lit another cigarette and smiled discreetly: “The lead roles are determined by investors, Mr. Zhao, you understand the industry rules.”
Before she could finish, her phone rang. Brother Diao’s voice came through loudly: “Xi Tang, there’s a night scene now, from four until dawn. An extra two hundred per hour, are you coming?”
Xi Tang glanced at Zhao Ping Jin across the table: “I’m not free tonight.”
Brother Diao bellowed generously on the other end: “I come to you first for such good opportunities!”
Xi Tang understood: “Alright, I’ve always known you look after me, Brother. Tonight I really can’t. Next time remember to call me. Which crew are you with? I’m at Old Song’s place. Should I pack some late-night snacks and have them sent over to you?”
In an instant, she was full of that worldly air.
Zhao Ping Jin watched as she dispassionately discussed some of the dirtiest aspects of the industry. He knew she was telling the truth, but hearing these words from Huang Xi Tang’s mouth made him feel uncomfortable.
He remembered that she used to be an idealist. Her performance class grades topped the list year after year. As a Southern girl, her dialogue skills weren’t the best initially, so she practiced repeatedly. What others could master in eight or ten repetitions, she would practice dozens or hundreds of times alone. Sometimes Zhao Ping Jin would run lines with her, correcting her erhua sounds and nasal finals. By senior year, her professional foundation was so solid that even Director Lin Yong Chuan praised her. She was very picky about scripts. Because she didn’t want to leave him, she wouldn’t accept roles shooting outside Beijing. She also wouldn’t accept roles with extensive bed scenes. Her first film was as the lead and received quite good reviews. He had always thought she had a good starting point.
Xi Tang smoked and drank a little light beer: “You’re all the same. You enjoy the glamour of female celebrities but look down on us.”
Zhao Ping Jin picked up a honey-glazed chicken wing: “Exactly. Shameless, heartless. What’s there to respect about you all?”
Xi Tang held her cigarette, gently tapping off some ash. Her expression remained calm: “Mr. Zhao, you are the proud son of the clouds. We are just people trying to make a living down below.”
Zhao Ping Jin used his chopsticks to pierce a quail egg. Suddenly looking up, he said: “Come back to Beijing with me.”
Xi Tang remained as quick-witted as ever but just smiled and said: “Not possible. My zodiac doesn’t align with the capital. I’m prone to calamities there.”
Zhao Ping Jin’s eyes darkened for a second. Then he leaned back in his chair, resting his hand on the armrest, resuming his nonchalant expression: “I’ll pay you more.”
Xi Tang seemed intrigued. She blinked her eyes: “How much more?”
Zhao Ping Jin thought seriously: “An extra hundred thousand per month?”
Xi Tang slightly narrowed her eyes, her tone teasing: “Even for an extra million per month, I wouldn’t go.”
Zhao Ping Jin wanted to flip the table.
When they returned home, Xi Tang had drunk some alcohol and was noticeably relaxed.
She swayed as she climbed the stairs, softly humming an unidentifiable tune.
Zhao Ping Jin followed closely behind her. Sure enough, on the last step, she missed her footing and almost fell.
Zhao Ping Jin grabbed her shoulder, opened the door, and threw her onto the sofa. Xi Tang still had that intoxicated expression. She sniffed, using both hands and feet to climb onto the sofa, snuggling comfortably into it.
Zhao Ping Jin sat upright nearby, watching for a while. Suddenly he reached out, roughly turned her face, and kissed her cheek forcefully.
The soft, delicate skin with its warm touch still made him nostalgic. Zhao Ping Jin’s heart trembled, and he slowly released her.
Tears suddenly seeped from Xi Tang’s eyes. In a daze, she called out: “Zhao Ping Jin.”
Her face showed a hint of tearful grievance: “I often dream of you, but they’re never good dreams.”
Zhao Ping Jin’s thin, pale face bore a hint of a smile: “First time I’ve seen you drunk, and so civilized.”
Xi Tang’s eyes froze, bright and clear. She sat up inconspicuously as if out of habit, immediately maintaining an elegantly straight posture. She said lightly: “I’m not drunk. Sit for a while. You go shower first.”
Zhao Ping Jin regretted his words so much he wanted to slap himself.
That hard, rigid shell of hers had closed again.
Zhao Ping Jin was stunned for a moment, then silently got up and went to the bathroom to shower. Halfway through, the water suddenly turned cold.
He shouted from the bathroom: “Huang Xi Tang!”
Xi Tang went over and asked: “What’s wrong?”
Zhao Ping Jin yanked the door open and stuck half his body out: “The water suddenly turned cold. What kind of broken water heater do you have—”
Xi Tang looked over and suddenly let out a shrill “Wa!” and then raised her hand to cover her eyes.
Zhao Ping Jin froze for a second, then slammed the door shut again.
Xi Tang peeked through her fingers: “Can you put some clothes on first?”
Zhao Ping Jin grabbed her towel and reopened the door. Xi Tang saw him wrapped in her powder-blue towel, his upper body exposed, his wet hair slicked back, and his handsome, thin face with water droplets flowing down his Adam’s apple.
Boundless beauty that stirred the heart and soul.
Xi Tang secretly took a breath, steadying her weakening limbs, and went in to check the water heater: “There’s no gas.”
Zhao Ping Jin helplessly looked at it, confirming this was indeed the case: “Why didn’t you pay the bill?”
Xi Tang made a face at him: “It’s so hot, just wash with cold water.”
Zhao Ping Jin glared at her and pushed her out of the bathroom.
A moment later, he came out, and Xi Tang hugged her pajamas and went in to shower.
Zhao Ping Jin was standing in the living room drying his hair. He reached out and stopped her: “Wait.”
He found a new pot from the kitchen, washed it twice, then filled it with water and put it on the induction cooker, turning on the heat.
While heating water for her on the induction cooker, Zhao Ping Jin gave her a disdainful look: “Is it often like this?”
“What?”
“Water cuts, power cuts, gas cuts?”
Xi Tang smiled sheepishly: “Too busy, sometimes I can’t keep up with it.”
Zhao Ping Jin suddenly raised his hand and touched her bare head: “Don’t wash your hair with cold water anymore. It can cause headaches when you get older.”