TOW 1

For Xu Fei, life before 27 felt like a ball of yarn clawed to shit by a cat. Sometimes, when he got too high on weed, he’d even forget who he was. Just lay there on the floor, all skin and bones, thinking he was floating on clouds writing poetry. When he sobered up, the self-loathing hit hard. He wished he could reach through the mirror and tear off that pale, scruffy face of his. But right after the high came the crash, and in that weak-ass state, he didn’t have the strength or balls to do anything drastic.

Sometimes he wondered how the hell he ended up like this. Maybe he’d been drifting through life since he was a kid, never really knowing what the fuck he wanted. After getting into university, he tried photography for a bit, then took small roles in shitty web dramas. By sophomore year, he started a band with some friends. They called it “Color Lust,” lugging a beat-up guitar from bar to bar in Pinghai, pretending they were hot shit.

By the end of his junior year, the band broke up and he started smoking weed. When he was high, he felt fucking amazing. His head buzzed with wild ideas—writing poems, composing songs, sketching weird art. “I’m an artist,” Xu Fei kept telling himself. “I’m not like everyone else.”

Later, Xu Fei would admit that he really wasn’t like everyone else. He was worse. More fucked up, more delusional, thinking he was some kind of genius while actually achieving jack shit. A total dumbass.

When he hit 26, something finally happened that slapped him awake. The band he had formed a couple of years back, called “Mad Dash,” had a drummer named Big Head. Just like him, Big Head couldn’t live without weed. One day, while high out of his skull, the idiot got behind the wheel, drove onto the highway, and bam—just like that, he was gone. When the news hit, Xu Fei had just finished a joint, slumped on the couch, hugging his guitar. His agent barged in, shouting, “Big Head’s dead!”

Xu Fei blinked and said, “Dead? Big Head? Where could he go? Shit, who’s gonna play drums now?”

“Are you fucking stupid?” The agent was in tears. “Big Head died in a car crash!”

Big Head had no family in Pinghai. Xu Fei and his agent went to the coroner to identify the body. The guy used to be six-foot-one and built like a tank, but after the crash, he was wrecked beyond recognition. Xu Fei ran into the bathroom and threw up into a trash can for fifteen minutes, crying, snot and tears running down his face, curling up like a damn shrimp.

That was when he realized this shit wasn’t his life. He wasn’t supposed to live like this.

He tossed out every bit of weed he had. Gave up his apartment and moved back in with his parents for over half a year. When the cravings hit, he felt like his entire body was collapsing. Limp, hollow, like he was turning to ash. His limbs would go numb in bed, and even though he had no energy, it felt like fire was raging through his veins, burning him from the inside, making him thrash and cry nonstop.

But somehow, he made it through. He turned 27.

In March of that year, Director Li Shanyi called him. They’d worked together a few years back when Xu Fei played a side character in Li’s TV drama The Informant. Li Shanyi was one hell of a director. Sharp, talented, and smooth when dealing with people. Xu Fei had no idea what the guy saw in him.

“This is a war drama I filmed for the Xinjing Cable Channel,” Li Shanyi said. “It’s called Southbound. It’s about when the Alliance sent troops south to Ceylon a few years ago. It’s adapted from a novel. You can find the book in stores. Go buy a copy and read it. I want you to play a character named Peng Hui. Study it carefully.”

Xu Fei was stunned. Being handpicked by a director had never happened to him. He didn’t get it, but still went out and bought the book. He barely made it past two pages before his agent dragged him to the airport. That same night, he was flying to Ceylon. By the time he reached the hotel, everything felt like a blur.

Li Shanyi met him for a chat. “I know you’ve been through a lot lately.” Xu Fei opened his mouth to argue, but Li Shanyi waved it off. “You’re a good actor. Got grit.” He said, “I believe you can nail Peng Hui.”

What was Xu Fei supposed to say?

He stayed up all night and read the whole book. The next day, he joined the main cast and headed to a mountainous area on the outskirts. They’d set up a temporary base there to train the actors. Everyone had to go through at least a month and a half of military training, so they could pass for real soldiers.

Xu Fei broke down inside. He had just quit weed, still felt like a goddamn balloon and skinny as hell. The drill instructor could probably lift him with two fingers and toss him around like a toy. “Sir, sir,” Xu Fei tried sucking up to him, “I think I—”

“Can run three more laps?” the instructor cut in, pleased. “Great attitude. That’s what I like to see.”

Xu Fei wanted to cry on the spot.

He trained at the base for a week. When the weekend came and he finally got to take a shower, he ran a hand over his stomach and realized he had abs. Real abs. In 27 years, he’d never had any. Xu Fei nearly fainted from happiness.

“Sir, sir.” Xu Fei burst out of his suite, fired up to brag to the instructor. He barely made it a few steps before crashing into something. Solid but strangely soft. He clutched his nose, took two steps back to steady himself, and looked up.

A young man stood in front of him.

“Sorry.” The guy gave a polite nod. Courteous, but distant. Xu Fei lowered his hand from his face.

“Who are you?” Xu Fei asked, puzzled. The production had booked two floors of the hotel in Jaffna, filled with actors and instructors in training. He was certain he had never seen this guy before.

And damn, he looked good. Sharp features, thick brows, eyes like polished onyx. Still had a hint of youth on his face, but already the type that made people start fantasizing. And the height… Xu Fei was short, barely 170 centimeters, basically a third-tier disability. This guy had to be at least 190.

“I’m Liang Xuan,” the man said. “Is Director Li Shanyi staying on this floor?”

Xu Fei took another step back. Standing close meant having to look up just to talk, and that felt ridiculous. “No, he’s on the floor above. Room 715.”

Liang Xuan gave a nod. “Thanks.” Then he turned and walked toward the elevator. Xu Fei stood there, staring at the way his shirt hugged that slim waist and those absurdly long legs. He couldn’t help but think—

Maybe Li Shanyi was using the casting couch?

He snorted to himself, glanced at Liang Xuan one more time, and headed off to find the instructor.

The next day at training, Director Li showed up and personally brought Liang Xuan to the base. He introduced him to the group. “This is Liang Xuan. He’s playing Bai Lishan.”

There was a stir among the cast. Bai Lishan was the lead in Southbound. No one had seen him until now, and rumors were flying that a major celebrity had been cast. Instead, it was this young guy.

“Must’ve just graduated,” Cai Jiajun muttered. “Probably had some connections.”

Cai Jiajun was playing a sergeant, a sidekick to Bai Lishan. Like Xu Fei, he had started acting young, grinding his way through the industry. Still stuck doing supporting roles in mini cable dramas. Most of the cast came from the same background, so they tended to stick together. They were all cut from the same cloth.

Liang Xuan wasn’t.

It didn’t take long for the gossip to surface. Born in Xinjing. Parents worked in a performance troupe. Graduated from New Jing Film Academy. Already acted in high-profile projects while still in school. Got this lead role in Southbound right out of college. He was the picture-perfect example of someone born lucky. Compared to guys like Xu Fei, who had scraped their way up, he was from a completely different world.

The cast quickly split into two groups. One group looked down on him with envy, refusing to include him. Petty and childish, really. The other group went out of their way to buddy up to him. Offering him cigarettes, water, anything to get on his good side.

But Liang Xuan stayed distant. Not cold exactly, just excessively polite. When someone offered him a cigarette, he said, “No thank you, I don’t smoke.” During breaks, if someone brought him water or a towel, he would take it and say, “Sorry to trouble you, but you don’t have to do that next time.” His manners made everyone feel awkward. Behind his back, people started talking.

Cai Jiajun scoffed. “He clearly thinks he’s better than us.”

Yet when it was time to train with firearms, he went over to Liang Xuan like an eager puppy. Having arrived earlier, he figured he could play the experienced one, giving tips on how to aim and shoot.

Later he told Xu Fei, “These high-class guys are something else. He keeps thanking me, and I have no idea what to say back.”

Xu Fei couldn’t be bothered to respond.

Back at the hotel, Xu Fei found out Liang Xuan was staying next door. The guy was standing in front of his door, hands behind his back, posture perfectly straight. In that moment, Xu Fei understood why they made him the lead. He really did give off that soldier vibe.

“Why aren’t you going in?” Xu Fei asked as he swiped his card and opened his door.

Liang Xuan glanced over. “My keycard stopped working. I called the front desk, but I’ve been waiting fifteen minutes. No one’s shown up.”

“You’ll need to be patient,” Xu Fei said. “People here move like sloths.”

He pushed the door open, one foot already across the threshold, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Liang Xuan’s straight back and furrowed brows. Something in him softened for no reason. After a second’s hesitation, he said awkwardly, “Why don’t you come sit in my room? No point just standing around like that.”

Liang Xuan looked at him again. His shoulders shifted a little, like he was unsure. “I’d be bothering you.”

“It’s fine,” Xu Fei said. “I’m just trying to suck up to you. Can’t you tell?”

Liang Xuan glanced at him again. After a pause, the corners of his lips lifted. He actually smiled.

They went inside. Xu Fei poured him a glass of water, then headed into the bathroom for a quick, military-style shower. When he came back out, Liang Xuan was still sitting there, flipping through Xu Fei’s script. As soon as he noticed Xu Fei, he hurriedly set it down and apologized.

“I wasn’t trying to snoop.”

Xu Fei waved it off. “I’m playing Peng Hui, your radio tech guy. Did Director Li talk to you about that?”

Liang Xuan nodded. “He introduced all the key roles to me.” He paused again, seeming hesitant, then slowly added, “I’ve seen your work before.”

“Oh?” That piqued Xu Fei’s interest.

“It was The Informant, the one Director Li filmed. You played Lu Fusheng in the second season.”

Xu Fei laughed. “Damn, you even remember the name? That’s some ancient history right there.” He turned to grab some clothes, not bothering to hide anything. He untied the towel and casually flashed his pale ass at Liang Xuan. As he bent over, he heard a soft cough from behind. When he looked back, the younger man had turned his face away, and his ears had gone a little red. Xu Fei felt something stir inside him but quickly pushed it down.

He pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of loose shorts, poured himself a glass of water, then sat cross-legged on the bed. “Director Li taught me a lot,” he said. “I didn’t come from an acting background. I just fumbled my way through it. He’s the one who recommended me a proper training class.”

“I think you act really well,” Liang Xuan said.

Xu Fei froze, caught off guard. His face flushed slightly. He was actually pretty full of himself. Back in the day, when he got high, he used to call himself an artist. He had worked in indie films, short films, TV dramas. Deep down, he did think he was good at acting. But aside from Director Li, no one had ever looked him in the eye and said it seriously. Liang Xuan said it like Xu Fei was actually someone worth admiring.

“Thanks.” Xu Fei scratched his head, awkward as hell. He mumbled a couple of words, then looked for something to do, fumbling around the nightstand until he grabbed a cigarette. He stuck it between his lips, but when he saw Liang Xuan watching him with those shiny, pitch-black eyes, he remembered what people said at the base. He quickly took the cigarette out and gave a sheepish smile. “Right. You don’t smoke.” Couldn’t hit him with secondhand smoke either.

Suddenly, there was a commotion outside. A few hotel staff peeked in and asked in broken Mandarin, “Is Mr. Liang here?”

Liang Xuan stood up. “Finally. I’ll get going then.”

“Alright.” Xu Fei waved the cigarette in his fingers as Liang Xuan walked out and closed the door. He sat there for a while, spacing out, then let out a vague sigh, stuck the cigarette back between his lips, and flopped backward onto the bed with a thud.