TOW 14

On the last day of 2013, Xu Fei got completely wasted. He had no idea how he got home. Maybe Fu Zichuan carried him back. When he woke up, it was still dark outside, but the roar of cars beyond the window made his head feel like it was about to explode like a supernova. And this time he couldn’t even blame Fu Zichuan. He was the one who kept drinking, one glass after another, like he was trying to turn his stomach into a distillery.

He threw up twice in the bathroom. Then downed a full cup of strong tea, so bitter it made him want to eat a whole can of sugar. But the headache stayed. It came in waves, relentless and endless.

In the evening, Fu Zichuan called.
“You’re up?” he asked.

Xu Fei put his phone on speaker and tossed it beside the pillow.
“You brought me home last night?”

“It wasn’t that bad, really. You don’t go crazy when you’re drunk,” Fu Zichuan said. “Aside from having to help you walk, it was a smooth journey.”

“Thanks,” Xu Fei replied. He turned his head. The sunset was spreading outside the window. Layer after layer, from pale gold to burnt orange, then deep red, until the clouds flushed purple like something from a Shishkin painting.

“But when I dropped you on the bed, you said something weird,” Fu Zichuan said. “You know the kind of guy I am. So I have to ask.”

‘You said, we shouldn’t keep going like this.’ His voice over the line sounded unfamiliar. “What did you mean by that?”

Xu Fei raised a hand to cover his eyes. He breathed steadily, wrapping himself in the blanket without moving. Fu Zichuan let out a sigh.

“At least tell me you didn’t do something that would make us worry?”

Xu Fei laughed out loud.

“No,” he said. “And who’s ‘us’?”

In mid-January, the theater troupe started rehearsals for a new play. Xu Fei played the lead, an expert in honey traps. He recruited a group of beautiful women and schemed to drain a rich young heir dry. But just when he thought he had it all, the women turned the tables on him, set him up, took all the cash, and vanished without a trace.

“Why do I always get these tragic roles?” he asked Fu Zichuan. “Do I look that pitiful?”

Fu Zichuan laughed and threw an arm around his shoulder. “You’ve got me, brother.”

By April, Full Counterattack was officially on stage. Thanks to the buzz from earlier rehearsals, ticket sales went smoothly. The opening night was a full house, packing the small theater wall to wall. At the end, the entire audience stood and applauded. Some even rushed to the stage to give Xu Fei flowers and take photos with him. A few overly enthusiastic female fans shouted from the crowd, “I love you, Xu Fei!”

Xu Fei had no idea he even had fans.

Fu Zichuan told him, “You’re like a caveman.”

They were crammed into the backstage dressing room. Fu Zichuan sat scrolling through Weibo, searching Xu Fei’s name while Xu Fei leaned over to look. There weren’t that many results, but still, dozens of pages came up. Most were photos and gifs from Southbound, along with some of Xu Fei’s earlier roles. As they scrolled further, Xu Fei even saw old pictures from his band days, looking thin, dazed, clutching a guitar and screaming into the mic.
“Where the hell did they dig all this up?” he was stunned.

Fu Zichuan was grinning ear to ear. “Google. Never heard of it?”

It was already late at night when Xu Fei got home. After washing up, he sat on his bed, unable to sleep. He picked up his phone again, logged into Fu Zichuan’s account, and searched his own name on Weibo. The top post was a still from Southbound. He was sitting cross-legged on a car hood, while Liang Xuan leaned beside him with a gun in his arms.

One of the comments read, “They really look like a perfect match.”

Xu Fei almost choked on his own spit.

“Bai Lishan doted on Peng Hui so much. They’re meant to be forever.” Another comment read.

Xu Fei’s eyes widened, but the corners of his mouth couldn’t help but curl up. He kept scrolling through the comments. Most of them talked about Bai Lishan and Peng Hui. Some mentioned him. Others brought up Liang Xuan.

“Liang Xuan is turning into the nation’s sweetheart,” someone said. “Xu Fei is such a good actor, what’s he even doing right now? Doesn’t even have a Weibo account.”

“He’s doing theater.” Someone posted a photo of Xu Fei from ‘The Bench in the Park.’

“Ah, lucky you. I want to see his plays too.”

“Looks like he’s planning to stay stuck at the bottom of the D-list forever.”

“Look at Liang Xuan though…”

Xu Fei closed the comments. His fingers hovered over the search bar for a moment, then he typed in “Liang Xuan.”

At the top was Liang Xuan’s official account, with a dimly lit profile photo that didn’t show his face clearly. The follower count was already over ten million. He tapped in. The latest post was from a few days ago, promoting a film. The poster showed him covered in mud, looking exhausted, half-kneeling on a barren scorched battlefield.

Xu Fei stared at that image for a long while. Then he tossed his phone aside, fell back onto the bed, and lay there staring at the pitch-black ceiling without blinking, until his eyes began to sting.

In June, Li Shanyi called and invited Xu Fei to audition for his new film Onion.

Old Pang was thrilled, repeating how great Director Li was, as if Xu Fei had already secured the role. “Here’s the script,” he stuffed it into Xu Fei’s bag, “I’ve marked all your parts. Study them well.”

Sometimes Xu Fei felt like he owed Old Pang an apology. The man really was a dedicated agent, just had the bad luck of getting stuck with someone like him, a lazy bastard who was beyond saving.
“Don’t worry, Old Pang.” He threw an arm around his neck and gave his chest a light punch. “I’ll give it my best.”

Onion was a suspense story. Xu Fei played a young cop assigned to investigate a murder in a small town. He had just started the job, still full of passion and ambition, hoping to make a name for himself. But instead, he ended up sinking deeper and deeper into the town’s muddy secrets.

Li Shanyi was especially pleased to see him again. The audition felt more like a formality. He went in once in the morning, and by the afternoon, he and Old Pang were called back to sign the contract. They also had him try on costumes.

“Not bad at all,” Li Shanyi said, watching him in uniform, then asked him to change into casual clothes and pose for some photos. “Been working out these past years? You look even more solid than in Southbound. I saw Liang Xuan the other day. He’s looking a bit thinner now.”

Xu Fei turned his head away to let the props team help him change. He said nothing.

In September, Xu Fei officially joined the cast and began filming. One weekend, some of the crew invited him to see a movie. “Liang Xuan’s new release,” they said. “People say it’s aimed for the awards. Let’s see how it holds up.”

Xu Fei initially wanted to decline, but after thinking it over and failing to come up with a decent excuse, he ended up going along with them.

When they arrived at the theater, there weren’t many people. It was a small inland town with a sparse population to begin with. They picked some seats and sat down. As the screen lit up, the speakers rumbled with the sound of helicopter blades cutting through the air.

Xu Fei watched attentively. It really was an awards-aimed film. Liang Xuan played a pilot, ordered into a dangerous mission to rescue a group of high school students trapped in a mountain valley. Because of the plot, he didn’t have any glamorous shots. From beginning to end, his face and body were covered in dirt and mud. When he gripped the rope, the veins on his neck bulged in a harsh, ugly line.

Still, every now and then, a soft gasp came from the girls in the theater.
“So handsome,” they murmured to each other. “How can Liang Xuan look this good when he’s all tense like that?”

Xu Fei couldn’t help but laugh. He slouched in his seat, watching Liang Xuan’s furrowed brow on the big screen. His voice came low, like he was whispering right next to Xu Fei’s ear.

“Don’t worry. I won’t leave you.”

When the movie ended, people slowly started heading out. A colleague said the editing was impressive. Another commented that the buildup to the final struggle was a little weak. But everyone agreed Liang Xuan’s performance was excellent. Someone nudged Xu Fei’s shoulder and asked, “What was it like working with Liang Xuan?”

“Huh?” Xu Fei blinked. He had just stepped out of the theater when a gust of hot wind, laced with fine sand, hit his face with a slight sting. He scratched his hair before replying.

“He’s nice. A good guy.”

“I heard Liang Xuan’s kind of aloof,” the person said. “Doesn’t mix much with the crew.”

Xu Fei shrugged. “He’s just polite. Talk to him more, and he opens up.”

“So are you still in touch?” another person asked. “Ask him to hook you up with a film role.”

Xu Fei laughed and nudged him with his elbow. “It’s not that easy.”

No one asked further after that.

In November, during the National Day holiday of the Union, Li Shanyi gave the crew a week off. Xu Fei, as usual, didn’t go home. He rented a motorcycle and wandered around the towns nearby. He had grown up in the south and had never been to an inland city like this before. So even though he ate a fair share of dust during the ride, he was in high spirits.

That night, he stopped to rest in another small town. As he rode past a row of residential houses, he suddenly caught sight of a standalone cinema. The walls were worn and weathered with age, but the place was bustling with people, unusually lively for such a quiet place.

On the blank section of the wall, a massive poster for Aerial Rescue was plastered up. Under the dim streetlights, Liang Xuan’s face looked strikingly handsome, almost unreal.

Xu Fei sat straddling the motorcycle, staring blankly at the poster. He didn’t snap out of it until a while later. Just as he twisted the throttle to leave, someone called out to him.
“Xu Fei?”

He turned and saw that it was Wang Mian.

Wang Mian was on a business trip to the provincial capital next door. Like Xu Fei, he had some free time and decided to wander around. The two of them ended up having dinner at a roadside restaurant. Xu Fei paid the bill, saying, “I’m really glad to see you.” Wang Mian didn’t refuse.

That night, they stayed in the same hotel. After showering, Xu Fei sat cross-legged on the bed and meditated for fifteen minutes with his arms folded over his chest. Then he got up, slipped into his slippers, and shuffled down the hall to knock on Wang Mian’s door.

Wang Mian opened the door and let him in. Xu Fei walked in like he was heading into battle, brows furrowed, lips pressed tight, and sat down on the chair with a serious look on his face. “We’ve never slept together,” he said.

Wang Mian cleared his throat.
“No, we haven’t.”

Xu Fei nodded. “That’s really strange. We’ve known each other for more than half a year.”

He stood up, shuffled over to Wang Mian, and held his face as he kissed him. Wang Mian instinctively wrapped his arms around him and kissed him back, gently biting Xu Fei’s lower lip with a tenderness like a summer breeze.

Before Xu Fei could make sense of it, Wang Mian had already stepped back and let go.

“I don’t want to be anyone’s replacement,” he said.

Xu Fei stared at him. His face turned red, and for a moment he felt so ashamed he wanted to jump off the twelfth floor. Wang Mian sighed, walked over, and pulled him into a tight hug.

They returned to the set together. Xu Fei introduced Wang Mian to Li Shanyi as “my friend” and showed him around the filming site. Before leaving, Wang Mian asked, “Can I still keep in touch with you?”

Xu Fei froze for a moment. It reminded him of the time when Liang Xuan left. They would say, Let’s stay in touch. But they never actually did.

“Of course,” Xu Fei said.

That night, Wang Mian texted him. “Got home safe,” he wrote. “I bought a copy of the film you were in.” Attached was a photo of the ‘Verdant Green’ DVD.

Xu Fei thought for a long time before replying, “Thanks for the support.”

At the end of December, Cai Jiajun and Fu Zichuan came to visit the set. The two had never met before, but in less than five minutes, they were already acting like brothers who shared the same pair of pants. After shooting wrapped up, the group went drinking together. The bar had a TV hanging on the wall playing a soccer match from Imperial Europe. Cai Jiajun said, “Change the channel. Let’s watch the Huatou Awards broadcast.” Then he turned to Xu Fei and added, “Liang Xuan’s in it this year.”

Xu Fei remembered the movie he saw in September. “Aerial Rescue got nominated?”

Fu Zichuan, sitting nearby, shook his head in exasperation. “Sometimes I really wonder if you live in the 21st century.” He pulled out his phone and showed him the trending news. “Aerial Rescue was nominated for Best Picture and Best Screenplay in the Drama category. Liang Xuan was nominated for Best Actor in a Drama. Experts say he’s got a strong chance of winning.”

Cai Jiajun waved them over. “It’s starting.”

The three of them looked up at the screen. Liang Xuan walked down the red carpet in an iron-grey suit, his expression cool and detached. It wasn’t until he reached the middle section, when reporters started shouting, “Look this way!” that he slightly tilted his head and gave a faint, stingy smile. But his gaze was sharp, almost as if it could pierce through the television screen.

Xu Fei turned his head away and asked the bartender for another large glass of beer.