For the afternoon filming, Jin Yiken didn’t go. Having witnessed the power of four women with five hundred mouths, he preferred to stay at the inn sleeping and recuperating.
Wu’er followed the team up the mountain but didn’t join the filming—she went to scout locations and explore the mountain forest. Meanwhile, Wu Jiakui and Fang Xuan each had a lounge chair, holding umbrellas, wearing sunglasses, legs crossed. When filming began, the two sat there silently beside them like presiding bodhisattvas, making Long Qi recall the spectacle when this pair of sister-flowers had torn into Gao Ningning back in the day. Wu Jiakui loved watching drama, especially quiet when watching, naturally emanating an aura of an academy graduate. Perhaps influenced by this aura, Wu Yishan and the others no longer joked around while filming like they had in the morning—as if being proctored, they suddenly became serious. Nalin was even more tight-lipped, keeping an extremely low profile, because Fang Xuan’s eyes were practically glued to her the entire time.
The male student responsible for directing was also quite interesting. After each take, he would look at Wu Jiakui as if seeking her opinion. Wu Jiakui, this “supervising teacher,” felt no shame in the role—whenever it was Long Qi’s scene, she’d say “pass,” and whenever it was Nalin’s scene, she’d laugh softly.
With a very light “heh” sound.
During break time, she tilted her head, sunglasses covering her eyes, speaking leisurely. “I thought you were already acting badly enough. I really didn’t expect there to be mountains beyond mountains.”
Long Qi had just lit up a cigarette that Fang Xuan had given her a light for. She said that was hard to say—Nalin’s best performance was playing herself, Oscar-worthy.
Then she kicked Wu Jiakui’s lounge chair, making the large earrings by Wu Jiakui’s hair tips sway. “I’m giving you three seconds to reorganize that first half of your sentence.”
“You should at least accept your true self.”
“Then how come nationwide audiences rated me higher than you in ‘Cold Cicada’?”
“That’s impossible.”
“When’s the last time you went online?”
“Cold Cicada” had been showing for three days. After all that commotion, Long Qi hadn’t even attended the premiere, but Lao Ping had been monitoring audience reviews for her. She won because her character had enough tension, the character design was outstanding. She’d carried such a ruthless role with measured control, full of spirit. From early viewing reactions, she’d delivered a report card full of pleasant surprises. While Wu Jiakui’s acting was good, she lost out because her role was ordinary. Although her crying scene in the rain was quite spectacular, subsequent discussion still focused on Long Qi’s performance.
Wu Jiakui didn’t respond.
Given her inherent pride, she fundamentally didn’t believe it. Slowly, she glanced at Fang Xuan, but Fang Xuan didn’t speak up for her good friend, her gaze even slightly evasive. Wu Jiakui understood then, rising one step, instantly getting close to Long Qi, their cigarette ends almost touching her arm. Long Qi tapped her cigarette ash as Wu Jiakui stared straight at her without looking away.
Stared for three seconds.
“Is there a movie theater in town?”
“Yes!” The male director student, who had been receiving instruction, immediately raised his hand to answer when Wu Jiakui asked. “There’s one at the foot of the mountain, but it’s quite old.”
“Good. Tonight we’re watching ‘Cold Cicada.’ My treat.”
…
“Everyone.” Finally, Wu Jiakui added.
Wu Yishan changing costumes over there, the girl revising the script, Ge Yinling and Nalin touching up makeup, the male student carrying props, and Fu Yu’ao selecting photography equipment—hearing this, they gradually looked up toward this explosive atmosphere, looking over.
She’d originally planned to tear into Nalin.
…
After the afternoon filming wrapped, Wu Jiakui had probably gone online to check reviews, because her whole face never cleared up. As soon as they returned to the inn, she thump-thump-thumped upstairs to her room. Long Qi felt she’d finally found Wu Jiakui’s Achilles’ heel. In all their dealings, she’d always been the clever-minded, smooth-talking, smiling little tigress. She’d never lost her temper losing verbal sparring matches, never lost her temper losing in romance—but tell her her acting wasn’t as good, and she lost her temper.
Yet she stubbornly insisted on going to the theater to “take a beating.”
Jin Yiken learned about this matter quite quickly too.
He woke at five in the evening. The tickets were booked for seven. After sleeping, his cough had improved somewhat. He showered and changed clothes. Long Qi sat on the balcony sofa chair eating an apple, messaging Fang Xuan. The room Fang Xuan and Wu Jiakui were staying in happened to be the one she’d vacated earlier. She was considering whether to tell them about the mouse situation.
Jin Yiken brought out a pot of tea. From waking up to showering, he hadn’t said a word, as if he hadn’t fully emerged from that sleep. She asked what was wrong. He said he’d had a dream.
“What dream?”
He didn’t say, rubbing his face, lowering his head to look at his phone for a while.
“Go ahead and tell me.”
“You got together with Si Bolin. Then I stole you away. We secretly escaped to Japan, and I slept with you for a week.”
The apple peel shot at him like a bullet. He dodged with a fold of his body. Long Qi said, “I’ve noticed you keep thinking there’s something between Si Bolin and me. It was like that before too. I just wonder why I’d like that glutton—he never shares good food or drinks with me.”
“Facts prove that even if you two had something, I could ruin it.”
“Is that the point?”
“But I feel like that woman in the dream wasn’t even you.”
“Just because I fell for Si Bolin?”
“Because that woman could have normal conversations with me, and the conversations were pretty good.”
The apple peel was about to fly again. His body reflexively moved back a bit. Long Qi ultimately didn’t shoot it out, holding it back. Changing the subject: “Don’t go see the movie tonight. It’s not that interesting anyway.”
“I’m going.”
“Then don’t react to certain scenes.”
He knew which “certain scenes” she meant, shooting her a glance. He grabbed an apple from the fruit plate, bit into it, and went inside to watch TV. Meanwhile, Long Qi continued bickering with Fang Xuan about crawfish matters. Wu Yishan was posting video material from the past few days of filming in the large group chat. Here, Fang Xuan had also created a group with Long Qi, Wu Jiakui, and Wu’er, frantically posting links about crawfish preparation methods. The WeChat notification sounds were like machine gun fire. Halfway through, she also pulled Jin Yiken into the group, but his phone only rang twice before going silent. She checked the group members—Jin Yiken had instantly left the group.
Fang Xuan posted a question mark emoji.
Wu Jiakui: Xuan.
These two were in the same room yet chatting via WeChat—quite amusing. Fang Xuan replied with a question mark. Wu Jiakui: Quiet down, it’s too noisy.
So WeChat fell silent as a chicken. In its place came a commotion of playful fighting sounds from Fang Xuan and Wu Jiakui’s room downstairs.
…
Six-fifty. Ten minutes before the movie started. Long Qi was already sitting in the theater with Wu Jiakui.
Both women had their hat brims pulled low. Jin Yiken sat on her right, legs crossed, propping up his face. Fang Xuan sat on Wu Jiakui’s left, playing games with Wu’er, the screen light illuminating both their faces as they played intensely.
Ge Yinling and her group arrived slightly later. Though they hadn’t coordinated the same journey, they ultimately came. Wu Jiakui had bought them seats in the front rows, separated from the back row group by two or three rows, making it seem like the two groups had no connection. They took their seats, and other audience members gradually entered the theater. Perhaps because the back row group was too eye-catching, people finding their seats would occasionally glance back, though they didn’t think it was actually likely to be who they thought, so they just looked a few more times without causing too much commotion.
After a rustling commotion of people taking seats, the movie began.
It opened with Hong Kong’s Kowlongnight market. A charming female restaurant owner was struck dead with a blunt object in the back alley of her shop. The police ruled it an accidental death. Middle-aged detective Zang Xipu, commissioned by the owner’s younger brother, took on the case. From traces at the scene, the prime suspect was a woman who had been loitering there begging for food—Long Qi.
Her first shot appeared in the flashback memory of the owner’s younger brother. Hair messily tied up, wearing ill-fitting, oversized clothes, standing stiffly at the shop entrance, staring at the food under diners’ chopsticks. The chubby, bald owner invited her into the shop, giving her a plate of roast pork while touching her leg. She only focused on shoving meat into her mouth, not even using chopsticks, eating until her mouth and hands were greasy. When discovered by the owner’s wife, who shoved her out with a ladle, she clutched the bowl, managing to stuff down the entire plate of roast pork during the scuffle. Her mouth full, she circled back into the shop to viciously kick the owner, then was dragged out by her hair by the owner’s wife, fleeing in disarray. As she fled, a backward glance showed eyes like a well-fed wolf cub—vengeful to the last penny, full of malice.
Reviews said this was a goosebump-inducing shot.
After this shot, Fang Xuan stopped playing on her phone, watching quite seriously. The screen light illuminated every face in the theater. Long Qi’s fingers lightly stirred the popcorn in the paper box. Jin Yiken also propped up his face, watching quietly, his elbow touching her arm.
The subsequent plot unfolded mysteriously, layer upon layer. She transformed from initially suspected violent killer to sole witness, from scavenger to fugitive. She burrowed into dirty, chaotic environments, alert and trembling at any sound. Playing riddles with the detective, playing hide-and-seek with the real murderer. In tattered clothes, she jumped into the sea, ran through traffic desperately, fought dogs for food on ferries. From a night market owner’s murder case, it connected to serial murders of high officials’ mistresses, then to scheming power struggles and buried secrets at the highest levels. The deeper the investigation, the more shocking the case. Her identity grew more complex. The seemingly reckless and violent police officer Zhou Yicong became a lifeline. The seemingly upright and loyal detective Zang Xipu who stayed by her side became a death warrant. The seemingly innocently involved, dirty illegal immigrant Long Qi—through multiple reversals of being suspected, trusted, then suspected again—finally revealed her last layer.
The film’s final shot, an open ending, abruptly stopped background music. At a winter dock, she stood alone with her back to the turbulent sea. An extreme close-up from face to eyes, each breath reeking of blood. The entire theater was immersed in her eyes where the fog had yet to clear.
The wolf survives, vengeful to the last penny.
How good was it? When the passionate scene between Zang Xipu and her appeared, it was the tension of reaching a climax point—nothing to do with eroticism, nothing to do with personal feelings. She’d already forgotten this character was played by her. When the end credits rolled with behind-the-scenes staff names, Wu Jiakui, though unwilling, but based on respect for the profession, lightly clapped once.
Then the entire theater was stirred, applause gradually rising. Even the front row group looked around at their surroundings, at a loss, then followed with a few claps.
At that moment, she gained some awareness.
Why, after always having a terrible reputation and receiving no favor from public opinion, did she instead receive substantial understanding and tolerance after revealing her HIV status? It wasn’t entirely because of Lian Shaozi’s public relations work, not entirely out of pity. It was because she happened to have work during this period. She’d delivered a passing report card to the public, proving she wasn’t an empty shell. Her misfortune intertwined with the flood of successful praise, giving her the confidence to stand up again, giving her the right to accept self-forgiveness while in a vulnerable position. A loser’s misfortune pierces the heart with ten thousand arrows. A winner’s misfortune is just a “small bump” in life’s road.
Cruel, yet practical.
She understood clearly.
And she also saw through Wu Jiakui’s move of inviting everyone to watch “Cold Cicada”—she hadn’t come to take a beating. The afternoon’s tearing, as light as an itch, wasn’t satisfying enough. This was the Wu Jiakui style—true spiritual tearing. Not convinced? Think you’re so amazing? Heart higher than the sky? Fine. All of you come watch this film, analyze every frame. Don’t really treat the senior as someone who just dropped from the sky. Haven’t even entered the circle, haven’t even joined society, and you’re already using group bullying tactics? A group of arrogant young people who think they’re hot stuff—there are people sitting right behind you who’ve weathered storms and killed their way through. Do they care about your little romances and affections? Little brats, weigh yourselves and see what you’re worth.
Maximum crushing of opponents in their area of expertise, achieving spiritual torture—this move, when Wu Jiakui had pursued Jin Yiken, she’d used to grind Long Qi into the ground like this. Now she skillfully applied it to Ge Yinling’s group, executed flawlessly. If she hadn’t specifically assigned that group homework to “do a frame-by-frame analysis of this film” afterward, Long Qi really wouldn’t have noticed. After it was over, Fang Xuan seemingly casually added to Nalin, “Hey Nalin, you really don’t remember me, your high school classmate? I remember you very well.”
Nalin, behind Ge Yinling and another girl, froze.
“Seeing you’re doing well now—do you still remember Zhang Yang? Your ex-boyfriend. He has a girlfriend now too. Ah, he finally moved on. Back when you cheated, you cheated with Zhang Yang’s own younger sister, your best friend’s boyfriend. Those two siblings had it rough. Now they’ve both found new paths. Don’t worry, now that I’ve seen you today, I’ll report back to them both about you, let them be at ease too.”
Unstoppable. Despite Nalin’s face turning green then pale, Fang Xuan, like a smiling Buddha, machine-gunned it all out. She’d improved—her language organization was much more civilized than when dealing with Long Qi back in the day. Hearing this, the other girls beside them also exchanged glances.
Ge Yinling said nothing.
Just like that, one strict and one lenient, Wu Jiakui and Fang Xuan working in harmony, extinguished every spark of fire inside and out.
…
Nine at night, fine rain threads drifted in the air. Jin Yiken went to get the car. Wu’er, still unsatisfied, scrolled through “Cold Cicada” reviews. She was very confident about “Small Town’s” prospects, chattering non-stop to Fang Xuan, who was also enthusiastically wanting to invest—her family would cover the costume sponsorship portion. Meanwhile, Long Qi and Wu Jiakui leaned against opposite sides of the theater’s side door. Wu Jiakui offered her a cigarette, she gave Wu Jiakui a light. The parking lot light outlined their silhouettes, smoke drifting around sharp chins. The two chatted. Wu Jiakui said don’t worry—next year when “Border” releases, Long Qi would be number one on the crushing press list.
Long Qi said you’re so adorable.
“What use is it for you to think I’m adorable? Your boyfriend doesn’t think so.”
Smoke drifted in waves. Long Qi asked, “That script Xi Jing has her eye on—how much do you want it?”
“Originally just moderately wanted it, but after she pulled those little tricks, I really want it.”
“Dual female lead suspense drama?”
“Mm.”
“What kind of character design roughly?”
“Don’t want to tell you. You’d definitely be interested if you heard.”
But three seconds later, Wu Jiakui used her fingers to brush through her hair strands, still saying, “One is a survivor of a family massacre case, a ballet dancer, rational, pessimistic. The other is an underage girl who grew up in juvenile detention, violent, pathological.”
“You and Xi Jing are competing for the ballet role?”
“Mm.”
“The one left for me really is quite suitable.”
“Actually Xi Jing has better odds than me.” Wu Jiakui said. “The dancer is older, a single mother. My face doesn’t look like an adult’s. But this mortal enemy of mine won’t die, so whatever Xi Jing does won’t be that easy.”
“I have an idea. Want to hear it?”
Wu Jiakui looked at her.
Flicking her cigarette once, Long Qi said, “Give me the juvenile detention role, give me the ballet. You need to transform your acting range. I don’t want to be typecast. You competing with Xi Jing for ballet might not win, but you competing with others for juvenile detention definitely can. Xi Jing has schemed against me too many times, still thinking I’ll help her count the money. I’m not happy about it. You two have plenty of opportunities to slowly cross swords. This time I’ll pave the way for you. I’ll go first, you follow behind.”