Chapter 15 – You’re Different

Shen Fubai rose at the cue, not bothering to brush off the dust on his pants. The grubbier his performance, the better – he was aiming to capture the hardships of Yu Tang’s youth, and filth was essential to depict misfortune.

The scene Jiang Heng enacted depicted Chu Yu’s return to China at the ripe age of nineteen, about to meet the sixteen-year-old Yu Tang for the first time. By then, Yu Tang had already performed on a few stages, earning some recognition, but not quite reaching the status of a top billing actor.

But the current timeline rolled back three years prior. As Chu Yu embarked on his studies abroad, the thirteen-year-old Yu Tang suffered through three years of torment in the courtyard.

This particular scene was set in a makeshift studio, the scene setup was rudimentary. A few wooden planks and an assortment of straw – to the uninformed, it looked more like a jail cell.

For Yu Tang, it wasn’t far from one. There was no escape from the pain and suffering.

Director Xu, situated before the camera, gave his command. “Action!”

Yu Tang lay on the wooden bed, struggling to reach for the teapot on the table. His slender wrists, painfully thin, poked through tattered sleeves, revealing red marks crisscrossing his arms. Each line was a testament to his mistakes – a punishment for not singing well enough.

He didn’t have a passion for opera, not even with undeniable talent. Still, he refused to be a puppet on strings, to be nothing more than a slave to other people’s whims. However, no one here cared about his pride, his dignity was an illusory bubble waiting to be popped.

Yesterday, another apprentice, Red Lotus, had stolen five coins from the master. Accusing Yu Tang of the theft, he wove a web of deceit around him, leaving Yu Tang with a mountain of injustice he couldn’t climb. Searing anger and unyielding spirit couldn’t protect him from the bitter reality of human nature and the world’s cruelty. The Master doubted his innocence, beaten him to within an inch of his life, and the consequences left him bedridden.

Overnight, thoughts raced through Yu Tang’s mind, everything reevaluated and rearranged. The Master, a seasoned veteran in this BUSINESS, could see through the deceit of Red Lotus’s petty machinations. True, he might not have been oblivious to Red Lotus’s theft, but he chose to shield him instead.

Or rather, it was a veiled warning to him.

Yu Tang possessed a radiance that Red Lotus couldn’t match, his singing skills superior, but his stubbornness and lack of compliance didn’t lead to favor with the Master. The Master often found himself infuriated by Yu Tang’s every action.

If not for Yu Tang’s remarkable beauty and extraordinary talent, the Master would have cast him aside long ago to bury his fate in oblivion.

However, it was clear to him that the Master perceived Yu Tang as a valuable asset, a golden egg that shouldn’t be easily given up. Even when lashing out with his whip, he took care to spare his face, meticulously delivering medicine at nighttime to prevent any scarring.

But that generosity was conditional.

As an opera singer, his face and appearance were his currency of wealth.

If Yu Tang possessed the heartlessness to shatter his jade-like face with a stone, he’d surely depart from the Pear Orchard Troupe with the certainty of his intent. However, his exit would be one weighted with controversy and a fate to die in anonymity.

But, over the years, the stark reality of life slowly dawned on him.

Death was not a means to be shrouded in insignificance.

No matter the situation, no matter the mud that people stomped him into, he would strive to rise, to be the most precious gem amid the debris. The respect that others denied him, he would reclaim. He aspired to the reach of a great opera actor, to command the grandest stages, to enthrall and delight audiences until they could neither help their adoration nor neglect their appreciation. In turn, the tides would turn, and no one could dare mistreat him ever again.

But above all, he had to survive.

His throat was parched, Yu Tang was desperate for the tea on the table. For his future, he needed to safeguard his voice.

Just as his fingertips touched the teapot, the door burst open. The Master thundered, “You kid is lounging quite comfortably, huh? If you’re not singing, get up and do something. My Pear Orchard Troupe doesn’t feed loafers!”

The Master didn’t hesitate to shatter the teapot in a tempestuous display, the shards scattering at his feet. Spilled tea pooled in a puddle, a flood of disappointment from his eyes. Yu Tang’s lips were pale, his vocal cords strained, more parched than ever.

The Master disdained Yu Tang’s sickly appearance. His patience had nearly expired. Snatching a broom, he launched it at Yu Tang, his voice a growl. “Get up! Are you going to sing or not?”

The sting ran from Yu Tang’s hands to his back, leaving painful violet streaks in their wake.

Jiang Heng, watching from the sidelines, found himself clutching his brow, on the precipice of shouting “Cut!” He wasn’t sure if Shen Fubai was ready to break out of character yet, so he held his breath.

Gritting his teeth, Yu Tang, lips sealed tight, finally spoke after a moment, his voice barely above a wisp of breath. “…I’ll sing.”

A whisper in the cruelest storm.

“What did you say?” The Master paused, his ears unwilling to believe what they heard.

Yu Tang’s voice ragged and hoarse, spoke of a melancholy song that, if listened to closely, still whispered a hint of melody. “I will… sing well from now on. No more trouble. I… was unsensible back then.”

Upon hearing this, the Master, a changed man, threw down the broom in glee. “My dear, you finally get it. If you had acted like this earlier, why suffer such a fate? A talent like yours deserves to be nurtured, not crushed by stubbornness. Is it painful?”

Shen Fubai: Unbearable pain!

Brother, you missed the cotton cushion!

To ensure safety and a realistic performance, the actors involved in this scene were given multiple layers of cotton cushions to cushion blows. However, Shen Fubai’s costume was frayed and threadbare – cosmetic layers would only hamper the authenticity of the film, thus his cushions were thinner than usual, the barest minimum lining the back, and the limbs waiting for icy reality.

The actor portraying the Master overeager, his strength exceeding his judgment, his hits landing true on Shen Fubai.

Truth be told, Shen Fubai desperately wanted to leap up, screaming, “Brother, wake up! Pay attention to where you’re hitting! You’re blessed with the uncanny ability to evade the cushion completely, driving my life on the edge!”

But he couldn’t.

He was a professional.

In a hushed tone, Yu Tang admitted, “I need some water, to sooth my voice.”

“Ah, indeed, lubricate your vocal cords! Yes, you must. Your voice is a treasure we hold dear,” The Master’s temperament performed a complete reversal, an anxious kindness evident in his expression. “I shall fetch it for you.”

The Master, upon discovering the broken shards, realized his gaffe and hastily explained, “Don’t concern yourself, I’ll fetch it for you! I will procure a sturdier teapot. Hm, why not move into my place – is this place even fit for human habitation?”

He had always felt a lingering promise in Yu Tang, a potential too precious to abandon easily. For others, he would have less restraint, less tolerance. Yet, with Yu Tang, it was different.

The Master, with an unwavering smile, left the chamber, his joy echoing through the corridors. Yu Tang, on the other hand, lowered his eyes, a bitter smile playing on his lips.

If this place wasn’t suitable for people, then his years spent here were an enigma. Barely human, barely existing.

The brief display of submission was met with magnanimity by the Master.

Beauty was a sin, a weapon that cut him deep and gouged him to this low point. It could also serve him, a sharp, exquisite weapon allowing him to flourish as a dazzling poison enemies couldn’t ignore.

“Yu Tang,” he chuckled softly, “it’s not too late to figure this out.”

“Cut.” With a fervent clap of hands, Director Xu proclaimed. “Absolutely perfect.”

Shen Fubai disentangled himself from the wooden pallet, withdrawing the cushion from his back with a hiss. The actor who was to play the Master feared his misstep, alarmed. “Are you alright?”

As a mere background actor, securing a handful of lines and a notable role was a dream come true. However, one slip of the tongue from a mega idol could render him irrelevant.

Shen Fubai: “…I’m okay.”

A sigh of relief escaped the Master actor’s lips. Bowing hastily, he retreated from the scene, joining the line of actors for their meals.

The morning filming was all concluded. The crew was focusing on the logistics of distributing lunch boxes. Shen Fubai, solitary as ever, sat cross-legged on the wooden pallet, lamenting the isolation of his existence.

His gaze lingered on his wrist, and a sigh escaped his lips. He adjusted his sleeve, an action laden with unspoken sorrow.

What could he say? He was just somewhat bruised. He was well aware the guy had worked hard to achieve this role and wasn’t purposeful in his actions. If he voiced any complaint, he could be subjected to public shunning, his life shattered.

As Shen Fubai made to stand, his wrist was suddenly caught in a gentle yet firm hold. He responded with surprise, only to see Jiang Heng’s gaze focused intently on his arm, littered with traces of green marks, his expression darkening.

A shiver ran through Shen Fubai’s body as he attempted to take his hand back. Jiang Heng, however, retained his grasp, holding fast.

The crew had all dispersed for their meals, leaving the two relatively alone. Shen Fubai, lost in the depths of Jiang Heng’s eyes, blinked, whispering, “I’m alright, no need to alert anyone.”

The youth, wrapped amidst torn clothing, sat comfortably on the wooden board, the backdrop a patchwork of old scenery. His slender, scarred wrists clasped within Jiang Heng’s grip drew attention as he tilted his head, eyes clear and bright, his face adorned with beauty despite the surrounding filth.

Jiang Heng lifted those eyes. “I have ointment in my dressing room. We have more scenes this afternoon, you need to heal these markings as quickly as possible.”

To Shen Fubai’s bewilderment, he found himself being led by Jiang Heng into his dressing room, then firmly seated on the makeup chair, arm stretched out in submission as Jiang Heng gently applied the balm.

Jiang Heng dipped the cotton swab into the medicine, lowering his head to meticulously treat Shen Fubai’s skin. While Shen Fubai’s injuries weren’t severe – no actor truly gets walloped for a mere acting scene – the marks stood out vividly on his fair skin.

Jiang Heng’s handling was tender and gentle, Shen Fubai’s demeanor compliant and quiet.

There was a question he longed to ask: Why did you need to draw nine little heart shapes when applying the medicine on?

But he didn’t dare whisper his curiosity. The last thing he wanted was to come across as presumptuous. Maybe drawing hearts is simply Jiang Heng’s eccentric method of applying medicine?

In the midst of his deep thoughts, Jiang Heng unexpectedly spoke. “In the future, if a situation like this occurs again, you can call out ‘Cut.'”

He realized the actor had veered off his target, nearly losing control. But the sight of Shen Fubai soldiering through didn’t merit his intervention.

Shen Fubai, slightly speechless, murmured, “What an insignificant hardship… an actor often endures, you’ve faced numerous physically demanding scenes personally as well.”

Jiang Heng’s dedication to his profession was well-known in the industry. So much so that Shen Fubai found himself desperately desiring to shake Jiang Heng and plead with him to take care of himself!

Yet, he couldn’t. He was merely an obscurity, a mere fan in the grand scheme. Alas, the bitter reality.

Jiang Heng replied solemnly. “It’s different with you.”

In my heart, there’s a place filled with care.

Shen Fubai: “…Huh?”

Jiang Heng stared at him for three seconds, before discarding the cotton swab. “It’s nothing.”

A fan’s heartache, a sorrow immeasurable, a grief indescribable.

Inside Jiang Heng’s dressing room.

Xiao Zhang, upon entering, found Xiao Lin turning to look at him with seasoned eyes. “I’m betting they’re having their meals together again?”

Xiao Zhang: “Incredible.” To spend both breakfast and lunch with each other, it presented complications for them as assistants.

Xiao Lin nodded in agreement, as though it was routine. “After all, I’m your formaldehyde.”

Xiao Zhang: “? ? ?”

“Or, how about we join them for dinner? I think they’ll be spending their evenings together as well.” Xiao Zhang settled into a comfortable seat. “Have you got some food? Jiang-dage gave the lunchbox to Shen-dage.”

Xiao Lin motioned behind him, pointedly. “Then you can have Shen-dage’s.”

Xiao Zhang stared at the pile of turnips and greens, his admiration deep. “Shen-dage’s self-discipline is commendable, a complete control over his physique.” Unlike the one in his charge, completely devoid of self-restraint.

“Hey.” Xiao Lin twisted around to face Xiao Zhang. “Oh, got it wrong. That’s mine. The other one is actually Shen-dage’s.”

French fries, fried chicken, hamburgers, cola, and ice cream lay obediently in a bag. Xiao Zhang hastily revised his former notion. “Never mind then.”