Even from this distance, the faint strains of the performance music could still be heard. Standing in the corridor, Qi Bailu habitually felt his pockets, only to remember his cigarettes were with his manager. He turned toward the VIP lounges. The rooms all looked identical, and he had always been poor with directions; pushing a door open at random, he realized immediately he had entered the wrong place, as the lounge was empty.
Qi Bailu glanced around. Just as he was about to pull the door shut, his gaze fell upon the coffee table. A pack of cigarettes and a lighter lay there, left behind by someone unknown. After a few seconds of hesitation, he closed the door, shutting out the music, and walked to the table to pick up the pack.
It was a brand he had never smoked before, featuring blue filters. Qi Bailu studied it for a moment, drew out a cigarette, and lit it. The room was well-insulated; once the door was closed, nothing remained but silence. The dark green velvet curtains were drawn back to either side. Qi Bailu walked to the window, watching his own reflection surface on the glass.
Outside, the light snow fluttered down. Qi Bailu leaned relaxedly against the wall, his face settled into a mask of indifference, stripped of all artifice. He stayed there for a while, and before he had even finished the cigarette, the sound of the door opening erupted behind him.
Another figure appeared in the reflection on the glass. Caught off guard, Qi Bailu turned his head to see a man pushing the door open, hand still on the handle. The man clearly hadn't expected anyone to be in the lounge, as a look of surprise crossed his face.
Qi Bailu straightened up and took the cigarette from his mouth. The uninvited guest closed the door, looked at the cigarette pack on the coffee table, then at Qi Bailu, and smiled. "I thought I’d walked into the wrong room."
Seeing the man’s handsome features, Qi Bailu assumed he was an obscure celebrity invited to the event, hiding away for a smoke. Qi Bailu gestured with his smoking hand and asked, "Yours?"
The stranger gave a slight nod. Between his fingers, he held a finished cigarette butt with a blue filter. He leaned over to drop the butt into the ashtray and picked up his pack. He was a man in his early thirties, tall and built, wearing a crisp double-breasted suit. His hair was neatly styled, and a cold smile played on his lips. He carried a habitual air of arrogance, yet there was no reproach in his gaze.
Qi Bailu walked to the sofa and handed him the lighter. The man took a cigarette between his teeth but didn't reach out to take the lighter; instead, his eyes unceremoniously swept over Qi Bailu’s face. Realizing the man expected him to provide the light, Qi Bailu held the flame out to him.
As the two leaned in close, the flame hissed to life with a *click*, their faces flickering between light and shadow in the glow.
The man lowered his head, his eyes remaining fixed on Qi Bailu’s face the moment the tip caught fire. Qi Bailu’s gaze had originally been resting on the man’s rose brooch, but sensing the scrutiny, he looked up to meet the man's eyes. Their gazes brushed briefly before Qi Bailu looked down again.
They pulled apart slightly. The man exhaled a cloud of smoke, appearing to weigh his words, before saying, "You smoke these too?" He likely assumed Qi Bailu smoked the same brand and had simply picked up the wrong pack.
"Sorry."
Qi Bailu allowed a look of apology to surface, though it appeared somewhat perfunctory.
"I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before?"
Though the pick-up line was cliché, in their industry, "having seen someone" was a common occurrence. Qi Bailu replied, "Perhaps in an advertisement." Last month, he had filmed a fast-food commercial that was being broadcast across all major streaming platforms.
The man shook his head, studying Qi Bailu’s features with a certain earnestness. He focused on his memory, and after a moment, said with certainty, "You’re the student from *Dewy Night Run*."
Qi Bailu’s hand paused mid-smoke. *Dewy Night Run* was the second film he had acted in; it had premiered last year in the *Un Certain Regard* section at Cannes. The film eventually won an award—Best Director in that category. The debut director, Lin Yuewei, was only thirty at the time, which had caused quite a stir. Due to a large number of taboo scenes, the film was highly controversial and had never been publicly screened domestically.
"You’ve seen that movie?"
"I was vacationing in Cannes last year. I had the pleasure of attending the premiere."
Qi Bailu thought back to his trip to Cannes. Had he encountered an East Asian face, he naturally would have taken notice; it seemed they hadn't crossed paths there.
The cigarette was finished. Qi Bailu sat on the sofa and crushed the butt into the ashtray. The man sat opposite him, leaning lazily against the backrest. Watching his movements, he asked politely, "Another?"
Qi Bailu shook his head. The man studied him for a long time before suddenly remarking, "You don’t look much like you did in the film."
"Is that so?"
"You had long hair in the movie, and you were... more uninhibited."
"A movie is just a movie," Qi Bailu said.
"True enough."
The man smiled, his gaze dropping to Qi Bailu’s lips. His look was heavy, his posture carrying a hint of underlying aggression; from the moment he entered, he had clearly taken a great interest in Qi Bailu. What the man left unsaid was that in *Dewy Night Run*, Qi Bailu was both pure and dissolute—the director had intentionally molded the protagonist into an erotic symbol. In reality, Qi Bailu was colder, more aloof, but whether on screen or off, he possessed an unforgettable beauty.
The two looked at each other across the glass coffee table, communicating and testing one another only with their eyes. Amidst the swirling smoke, an ambiguous atmosphere began to flow. Qi Bailu knew the man was staring at his flickering eyelashes. This was another "kindred spirit"—hardly surprising, as the atmosphere in this circle had always been open.
A sharp ringtone soon shattered the room's mood. Qi Bailu pulled out his phone; the man gestured gracefully for him to go ahead and answer. Zheng Kunyu’s name flashed on the screen. Knowing this was a summons, Qi Bailu hung up the call and stood. "Sorry, I have to go." The man gave a slight nod, and Qi Bailu walked past him, heading straight for the door.
The lounge door clicked shut, and the room returned to its island-like silence. The man tilted his head back, listening to the footsteps receding down the corridor. As the cigarette smoke drifted away like a dream, he merely offered a silent smile.
The auction had already begun, and the hall was brightly lit by incandescent lamps. Qi Bailu returned to his seat. Zheng Kunyu caught the scent of smoke on him and, guessing he had simply gone to a lounge to smoke, said nothing. Throughout the auction, Zheng Kunyu was busy discussing business with the person beside him. Qi Bailu drank alone, distracted, showing little interest in the items on stage.
After a while, an exquisite music box was brought out. The starting bid was ten thousand yuan. A ballerina in silver-plated slippers stood gracefully inside the green box, her dark curls cascading over her shoulders, her raised hand adorned with a tiny lace glove. Zheng Kunyu assumed he wouldn't be interested in such a trinket, but Qi Bailu set down his glass and raised his paddle.
"You like this?"
Qi Bailu gave a soft "Mm."
Only a few people were competing. When the price reached sixty thousand, Qi Bailu seemed determined to win.
"Sixty thousand from Guest Number 23... sixty thousand twice... sixty thousand three—"
The auctioneer’s enthusiastic shouting echoed through the hall, his gavel raised high, nearly ready to strike. Just as the word "sold" was about to leave his lips, a slow, deliberate voice called out clearly: "One hundred thousand."
The bid caused a massive stir. The crowd turned to find the source of the voice, their gazes converging on the table directly behind Qi Bailu. Qi Bailu frowned and looked back. As if God had made a welcoming gesture toward the crowd, the sea of heads turned in unison toward one direction. There, a man in a double-breasted suit sat leisurely, holding up his paddle.
Sitting under the lights, he found his competitor and raised an eyebrow at Qi Bailu with a smile.
"One hundred thousand! Guest Number 47 bids one hundred thousand! Do I hear one hundred and ten?" the auctioneer shouted excitedly into the microphone. "One hundred thousand once..."
The auction reached its first climax of the night, with the audience whispering among themselves. Qi Bailu recognized him as the stranger from the lounge and realized the man was likely teasing him on purpose. Without changing his expression, Qi Bailu turned back and raised his paddle, immediately adding another ten thousand.
"One hundred and ten thousand, Number 23—" The auctioneer looked over, but before he could finish, his attention was snatched away again. He shouted excitedly, "One hundred and twenty thousand! Guest Number 47 bids one hundred and twenty thousand!"
At this, even Zheng Kunyu turned to see who this person was. Upon seeing the man’s face, Zheng Kunyu didn't look particularly surprised. He glanced back at Qi Bailu, his expression neutral.
Qi Bailu didn't look back. He didn't need to; he knew it was that man again. He sat with his back straight and raised his paddle once more, adding another ten thousand.
Without fail, the other paddle in the crowd was raised immediately after, also adding ten thousand.
They had become the center of attention for every guest in the room. The paddles were shaped like pink hearts, and only the two of them tirelessly raised them over and over, each time adding exactly ten thousand yuan. Every time a paddle went up, it was met with the auctioneer’s provocative shouting and the tide-like laughter of the audience. The guests were marveling that a small, ordinary music box could fetch so much money—it wasn't as if it were made of gold.
When the price reached one hundred and eighty thousand, Qi Bailu raised his paddle for the last time, bidding one hundred and ninety thousand. He only had that two-hundred-thousand-yuan check on him. If the other party was truly determined to have the music box, he was willing to let him have it.
The auctioneer pointed toward the table, shouting theatrically, "One hundred and ninety thousand! Guest Number 23 bids one hundred and ninety thousand—and our Guest Number 47—two hundred thousand! Guest Number 47 bids two hundred thousand! Two hundred thousand once! Two hundred thousand twice!..."
He had indeed raised his paddle again. Qi Bailu didn't look back at the victor. Amidst the auctioneer’s frantic shouting, he casually tossed his paddle onto the table. Seeing how serious he had been, Zheng Kunyu reached for his own paddle to join the bidding, but Qi Bailu pressed his hand down.
When the auctioneer shouted "Sold!", the crowd broke into polite applause and congratulations. Some cast their eyes toward Qi Bailu, seeing that there would be no further reversal, while more people focused their gaze on Guest Number 47.
The auction had finally settled. Qi Bailu wasn't angry, but he wasn't happy either. Amidst the thunderous applause, he realized his heart was pounding fiercely.
Zheng Kunyu leaned in slightly, looking at him. "Did you really want it that badly?"
Qi Bailu turned his head. His lips were extremely close to Zheng Kunyu’s cheek. From the corner of his eye, he sensed the gaze of Guest Number 47 fixed upon him.
"No," he heard himself say.
***
| Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation |
| :--- | :--- | :--- |
| 47号客人 | Guest Number 47 | Refers to the bidder's number at the auction. |
| 露水夜奔 | Dewy Night Run | The title of the indie film Qi Bailu starred in. |
| 一种关注 | Un Certain Regard | A category of the Cannes Film Festival. |
| 林悦微 | Lin Yuewei | The name of the director of *Dewy Night Run*. |
| 八音盒 | Music box | The item being auctioned. |
| 23号客人 | Guest Number 23 | Qi Bailu's bidder number. |
