Past midnight, a heavy drowsiness settled over Qi Bailu, and he finally drifted off. The nurse softened her footsteps as she drew the curtains. The sounds in the hallway faded to a near-silent hum. He thought he heard the door open again and someone step inside, but he lacked the strength to open his eyes. He heard the rhythmic click of leather shoes on the floor approaching the bedside, followed by the sensation of a hand resting against his face.
Perhaps it was the nurse, Qi Bailu thought. To distract him earlier, she had brought a book of fairy tales and read to him. She said it was a book her child read and the only thing she could find. She told him he could ask her to stop if it annoyed him, but noted that most patients preferred having someone to talk to.
Qi Bailu hadn't processed a single word, yet the constant drone of a voice was indeed grounding. Life seemed to flow on like that, a river of words and phrases. Eventually, the nurse had tucked him in and changed his IV drip. Then she spoke to someone else, and the hand moved away from his face. Their voices were light, drifting through his dreams like willow catkins.
He dreamed of Lantian County. It was hard to say if it wasn't an omen. He dreamed of that day he had walked for a long time with Zheng Kunyu, remembering the many things they had said. Zheng Kunyu finished one cigarette and lit another. He asked if Qi Bailu had a girlfriend. Qi Bailu said no. Zheng Kunyu asked if there was anyone he liked, noting that the Film Academy was full of beautiful girls. Qi Bailu replied that he had no one; loving someone was a difficult thing.
Hearing this, Zheng Kunyu gave a faint, noncommittal grunt. Qi Bailu wanted to ask him the same, but felt that discussing such topics with someone he had just met was too strange, too solemn. Chinese people always found it difficult to talk of love. They were silent for a while before Zheng Kunyu said, "Soon, many people will love you." Qi Bailu asked, "Do you mean the love of an audience? Generally speaking, that’s a good thing... maybe I’ll find it novel, but I don't want to be worshipped."
Zheng Kunyu seemed to chuckle. "Is that the truth?"
Qi Bailu said, "I don't know. To me, acting is first an interest and a job. They love the characters I play, not me. Perhaps one day many people truly will love me, and I’ll feel a sense of vanity, but that’s in the future. I don't like the idea of being at the mercy of a bystander's affection. What I want is actually more."
*Respect, recognition, understanding. A love that is good and whole,* Qi Bailu thought to himself.
"Someone will give it to you."
Qi Bailu added, "But—"
They stopped at a red light. A speeding car roared past, nearly brushing against Qi Bailu. Zheng Kunyu grabbed his arm and yanked him back. "But what?"
"My luck has never been very good."
Zheng Kunyu looked down at him, his grip not loosening. "You never know."
"You never know."
When the light turned green, Zheng Kunyu finally let go. They continued forward. Qi Bailu realized Zheng Kunyu hadn't mentioned anything about himself. Qi Bailu suddenly asked, "Teacher Zheng, you've been in this industry for so many years. Do you enjoy being worshipped?"
The question was sharp, yet naive. Zheng Kunyu didn't answer directly. Instead, he said coolly, "I want more, too."
Qi Bailu didn't press further. Trying to understand a man like Zheng Kunyu was exhausting. He nodded and kept walking. Zheng Kunyu put the cigarette back in his mouth and gave him an ambiguous glance.
A sliver of sunlight squeezed through the gap in the curtains, resting on his eyelids. When Qi Bailu opened his eyes and saw that thread of light, it felt like seeing a golden line of fate hanging from the heavens. His physical sensations hadn't fully returned, but his sight and smell preceded the rest of his body. Qi Bailu turned his head toward the nightstand, following the rich fragrance of roses in the air until he saw a vibrant bouquet of red roses.
It was a massive bouquet. The thorns on the stems hadn't been trimmed, nor had the flowers been arranged with any particular care; they were simply thrust into an ordinary glass vase. The scent was overwhelming, and the blooms were so full of life that they felt like a fierce beauty, forcibly drowning out every other presence in the room. They became the only thing in that white space.
Qi Bailu watched the flowers for a moment, then slowly shifted his gaze to Zheng Kunyu, who was asleep on the sofa. He had likely gone home the previous night to change. Zheng Kunyu hadn't taken off his glasses; his suit jacket was draped over him as he leaned awkwardly against the cushions. He was sleeping deeply, his brow furrowed even in rest. Looking at him like this, he seemed like a complete stranger, a far cry from the beast in human clothing he usually was.
Qi Bailu watched him for a while. The door was closed, but he could hear people walking in the hallway outside. The window was cracked open, and the wind made the curtains flutter slightly. The beam of light shifted and warped, as if suddenly tearing a hole in the darkness. A great wash of brilliant sunlight poured in, spilling onto the sofa and bringing Zheng Kunyu's features into sharp relief.
Seeing this, Qi Bailu turned his head back and closed his eyes with cold indifference. Drowsiness still clung to him, and he fell back asleep shortly after. This time, there were no dreams or stray thoughts, only the heavy sleep of exhaustion. When he woke again and looked toward the sofa, Zheng Kunyu was gone. The nurse from yesterday came to administer his injection. Seeing him look at the roses, she said softly, "Mr. Zheng bought those flowers."
He wanted to say "take them away," but his lips were too dry and parched to move. The nurse drew the curtains, gave him the shot, and then used a cotton swab dipped in water to moisten his lips. "Do you feel unwell anywhere? You can't have water or food for twenty-four hours, so you won't be able to eat until tonight."
"No," Qi Bailu answered with some effort.
Seeing how compliant he was, the nurse said, "Don't do something so painful again. If you feel bad in your heart, you can see a doctor."
Qi Bailu watched the nurse organize the medicine bottles and gave a nearly imperceptible nod, then another. The nurse’s eldest daughter was about the same age as Qi Bailu; looking at him, she felt a pang of pity, but she didn't know what else to say. She smiled and walked out with her tray.
Just as she reached the door, Zheng Kunyu pushed it open from the outside. The nurse said, "He's awake."
Hearing the voice, Qi Bailu immediately turned to look out the window. But Zheng Kunyu had already closed the door and walked over. He pulled up a chair and sat down, watching Qi Bailu’s profile for a moment. "You slept for a long time."
There was no response. Zheng Kunyu looked down at Qi Bailu's hand resting on the quilt, his arm wrapped in bandages. Zheng Kunyu didn't mention the flowers; he just sat there watching him. The sound of their breathing rose and fell in the silence, clear and audible. To Qi Bailu, this silence was unbearable. Zheng Kunyu’s mere presence was unbearable.
"I don't want to see you," Qi Bailu said.
"You aren't looking at me."
Qi Bailu turned his head to glare at Zheng Kunyu, saying slowly, "You can leave now."
Zheng Kunyu maintained the same expression, observing him impassively. "Your business is my business."
"Who gave you the right to control me?"
Zheng Kunyu was tired of these arguments. He frowned. "If it makes you feel better, I apologize for what I said yesterday." He paused for a moment. "Bailu, I'm sorry."
Three weightless words. Strangely, coming from his mouth, they seemed to lose all their intended gravity. He didn't truly feel remorse; he was merely coaxing him, trying to wipe away the suffering he had inflicted as if using an eraser on a smudge.
Qi Bailu looked at the ceiling with total apathy, refusing to look at him. Zheng Kunyu took his hand and lowered his head to press it against his lips. Qi Bailu tried to pull away, but Zheng Kunyu gripped it tightly. His voice sounded earnest as he said, "I was wrong before. I'll be good to you from now on. That day you told me you wanted many things—you know I'll give you anything within my power. I just want you to be a willful child, not someone who works hard for no reward. I only have one condition for all of this—"
Qi Bailu continued to stare at the ceiling, but Zheng Kunyu caught the flicker in his eyes. He leaned down to look at his face, cupping his neck to force him to turn. Qi Bailu stubbornly stared elsewhere. Zheng Kunyu said, "Bailu, I want you to look at me."
Zheng Kunyu watched his face. That dark, inscrutable gaze held an unusual heat; it seemed that as long as Qi Bailu didn't look at him, he would keep watching forever. Qi Bailu shook his head, but Zheng Kunyu held his face, turning it a bit more. "That day you were drunk, you said I was yours. Was there not a single word of truth in that?"
Qi Bailu finally spared him a glance, but his gaze remained frozen. Zheng Kunyu stared into his eyes, seemingly wanting to use this eye contact to tether him, to ensure he would never look at anyone else again. He saw the wavering and the struggle in Qi Bailu's eyes clearly. He only wanted him to keep looking like this—even if it was with hate. Without love, there could be no hate.
He saw that Qi Bailu was about to look away, so Zheng Kunyu tilted his chin and suddenly kissed his eyelid. The kiss rested on Qi Bailu's eye like a dragonfly, leaving a faint trace of moisture. The kiss was strange; it seemed even Zheng Kunyu hadn't expected himself to do it. They both fell into a momentary silence.
Zheng Kunyu locked Qi Bailu's eyes in darkness, and unable to see his gaze, his heart settled on a decision. Letting go was impossible. But this time, he could take it slow. What was his should remain his. In the future, even if Qi Bailu were to die, he would die here with him.
By evening, Qi Bailu was allowed to eat. Zheng Kunyu bought porridge, but Qi Bailu didn't want him to feed him. Taking advantage of a moment when Zheng Kunyu wasn't looking, he rang the bell for the nurse. Zheng Kunyu didn't bother arguing over such a small matter and tossed the spoon back into the bowl as Qi wished. The next day, Qi Bailu could have been discharged, but he insisted on staying in the hospital, giving Zheng Kunyu the cold shoulder. Zheng Kunyu knew he didn't want to go back with him, so their interaction turned unpleasant, and Zheng Kunyu left shortly after.
Once he was gone, Qi Bailu’s mood improved. Wearing his hospital gown, he got out of bed to walk around, eventually sitting in a chair by the window to soak in the sun. He nearly drifted off again until the sound of the door behind him alerted him. Qi Bailu didn't turn around, assuming Zheng Kunyu had returned, but he didn't expect to hear a voice call out, "Xiao Qi."
Qi Bailu gripped the armrest and turned. He saw Xue Fang entering with a fruit basket, looking at him with concern. Zheng Kunyu followed quietly behind him.
Qi Bailu froze, looking at Zheng Kunyu’s face. Xue Fang said, "I called you, but I didn't expect President Zheng to pick up. He said the two of you were together. I was wondering what was going on, and President Zheng said that while you were eating, you had a sudden bout of acute gastritis, so he brought you to the hospital. How are you? Everything okay?"
*Of course, he would never let the truth of what I did get out,* Qi Bailu sneered inwardly. Xue Fang looked him up and down. Aside from looking haggard and thin, there were no obvious issues. Moreover, the weather had turned cold, and today Qi Bailu had changed into a long-sleeved hospital gown, covering the wounds on his arms so Xue Fang wouldn't see them.
"I'm fine."
Xue Fang turned to Zheng Kunyu, who had familiarly taken a seat by the bed. "President Zheng, I still have to thank you for taking care of Xiao Qi."
Zheng Kunyu looked at Qi Bailu and said tonelessly, "He has already thanked me."
As for exactly *how* he had thanked him...
Qi Bailu kept a stiff face and only spoke to Xue Fang, ignoring Zheng Kunyu's sarcasm. Xue Fang smiled. "I have some good news for you. I should have told you earlier, but I couldn't get through to your phone. I wanted to tell you in person."
"What is it?"
"Our film has been selected for the Pingyao International Film Festival. It’ll premiere there, and it’ll be released nationwide shortly after."
Qi Bailu was stunned. He hadn't expected the schedule to be so fast.
Xue Fang seemed to be restraining himself, but he couldn't hide the smile on his face. He glanced back at Zheng Kunyu and said politely, "If it weren't for President Zheng's connections in distribution, I couldn't have handled this alone. I wanted to tell you a month ago, but I wanted to wait until things were settled so we wouldn't be disappointed for nothing."
"What's the date today?" Qi Bailu asked suddenly.
"The twenty-sixth. But we have to fly out on the twenty-eighth. The film premieres on November 1st, and the theatrical release is in late November. You absolutely have to go to Shanxi! The organizers have invited us to the opening ceremony red carpet."
Qi Bailu was still in a daze. Xue Fang said, "Xiao Qi, audiences across the country are going to see you on the big screen."
Qi Bailu lowered his head to look at his hands. Xue Fang thought he was simply too happy to speak. He turned to ask Zheng Kunyu if he had time to attend the premiere, and Zheng Kunyu nodded. Qi Bailu knew he would nod without even looking. They began discussing distribution and promotion. This would be Qi Bailu's first time attending a film festival, unlike Xue Fang, who had been to countless ones since graduation. Zheng Kunyu said, "I'll arrange an experienced temporary manager for him."
When Zheng Kunyu saw Xue Fang out, Qi Bailu was still a bit stunned. *His. Movie.* These two terms suddenly linked together, catching him off guard. This was entirely different from the excitement and wonder of filming. A movie only became a real movie when it was seen by the public in a theater. Qi Bailu was so lost in thought that he didn't notice Zheng Kunyu walking back to his side. After a moment, Qi Bailu looked up and gazed at Zheng Kunyu as if in a trance. "Is this real? I can go to Pingyao the day after tomorrow?"
"It's real, Bailu. We're going to Pingyao."
In Pingyao, Shanxi, Qi Bailu met Cheng Wenhui and Lydia for the first time. Lydia was in charge of hair and makeup while also serving as his assistant. Back in Beijing, Zheng Kunyu had taken him to a shop to be measured for clothes. Although the suit fit perfectly, Qi Bailu wasn't used to wearing them. He was young, and a black suit looked a bit too mature, so Zheng Kunyu ordered a white suit for him with a bowtie. Lydia joked that he looked like a Prince Charming. Cheng Wenhui, on the other hand, was strictly professional and serious, not much for small talk. He ignored Lydia’s banter and focused on instructing Qi Bailu on the red carpet protocol.
Keep the body relaxed, walk tall, don't go too fast or too slow, look at the cameras. When reporters called out to him, he had to remember to look their way. Sign the backdrop, be polite when handing the pen back to the hostess—be polite everywhere. Be humble and respectful toward seniors. Since he wasn't famous yet, there would be no red carpet interviews, so he could just leave the carpet directly.
On the day of the opening ceremony, walking the outdoor red carpet didn't feel like much to Qi Bailu. It was just a long red rug and a backdrop. He just had to walk across. The only things that startled him were the sudden bursts of flashing lights and the somewhat crude shouting of the reporters. The scale of the Pingyao festival wasn't massive; it hadn't yet developed a huge reputation domestically, so it naturally lacked the grand splendor of some other major festivals.
Perhaps out of concern for his state before the media, Zheng Kunyu didn't touch him much during those few days at the Pingyao hotel. Cheng Wenhui easily sensed that something was off between them. Anyone who could make Zheng Kunyu take time out of his schedule to accompany them to a premiere was someone who couldn't be offended for now. So, despite his own status, Cheng Wenhui was exceptionally polite to Qi Bailu.
When Qi Bailu saw the photos released by the media, he only felt that his face had become a stranger's. But when he saw the giant poster of himself at the cinema entrance, he was struck with shock and disbelief. Zheng Kunyu was accompanying him inside. He looked up and suddenly saw his own face. In the poster, he was lying by a riverbank overgrown with wild grass, resting. Tall poplar trees blocked the scorching sun, and he lay in the shade for an afternoon nap, an unfinished letter to a girlfriend resting beside him.
Behind him, the golden wheat fields in the shot seemed to have a honey-like filter, the yellow grain contrasting with the azure sky to create a dreamlike pastoral scene. Under a gentle breeze, poplar fluff danced across the river.
Qi Bailu could still remember filming that scene. It was June, and the cicadas had just begun their chorus. The leaves rustled overhead. He had stared up at the lush canopy of the poplars; from that angle, the trunks rising from the earth seemed to tilt, planting a green marker in his past. Dappled sunlight fell on his face. He was tired and sleepy, so he closed his eyes and fell into a long, lingering dream.
Looking up at the poster like this was staggering. The lines on Qi Bailu's face and the mole on his neck were clearly visible. Even Zheng Kunyu, staring at the poster, was momentarily dazed. While the real Qi Bailu was more vivid, the one in the movie had been captured in a state of eternal, unchanging beauty.
Media members and moviegoers passed by, stopping to look up at the poster. Qi Bailu’s gaze dropped, seeing his own name clearly written under the lead actors.
They sat in seats toward the back. Once the movie started, the entire theater fell silent. Qi Bailu’s primary sensation was one of trance. Sitting in the darkness, watching from beginning to end, it felt like watching someone else's life. Perhaps the person in the mirror wasn't that face at all.
The movie wasn't the type Qi Bailu usually liked. After all, it was a debut work; many parts were expressed with a certain greenness, and the exploration of some issues wasn't deep enough. But he felt the audience might like it. The romantic troubles of young boys and girls, family turmoil, the feeling of being adrift in the education system, and the beautifully filmed northern landscape—rather than a love story, it was more like the director’s "replica" of his hometown memories. The beauty within was completely romanticized. Though there were traces of imitation from Japanese family films, the audience could feel the director's sincerity.
He and Zheng Kunyu, sitting beside him, had no communication throughout the film. But he could feel a strange silence emanating from Zheng Kunyu. The movie was indeed better than any of them had expected, but the greatest surprise was that the two new actors had delivered more than enough.
In truth, Qi Bailu could still bear seeing his own crying scenes and arguments. Judging by the audience's reaction, they seemed to like those parts; some were even dabbing their eyes with tissues. But when the end of the film arrived, accompanied by the rhythmic sound of a harmonica, and he saw the high schooler he played pedaling a bicycle toward the distance, Qi Bailu’s breathing suddenly quickened.
"When you grip the brakes and rush down the road's slope, that joy makes you want to scream. The bicycle almost becomes one with you, as if you yourself are gliding through the wind, so free and unconstrained. There aren't many cars on the road, leaving only the deep blue of the autumn sky.
The sun shines brightly, yet shadows still exist everywhere. The slope is about to end. You pass through the tunnel under the overpass. The moment you burst from the darkness into the sunlight, the wind rushes at you. A shiver runs through your body, your hair is blown back all at once, but you still pedal with all your might. Goodbye! To the bright red hawthorn trees laden with fruit. You only want to escape from here, you want to shout. You don't want to look back; you want to scream goodbye.
But those things that make you linger—perhaps it's the hawthorn trees—you still look back at the very last second, just as you once looked back at her."
To deepen the actor's immersion and understanding of the character, the screenwriter had specifically added this overly poetic passage. But Qi Bailu’s interpretation was even better than the written description. The joy, the melancholy, the confusion on his face, and the bright yet lost look in his eyes the moment he turned back were things words could not capture.
Qi Bailu locked eyes with that version of himself, magnified several times over. The screen showed a close-up of his face. He looked directly into the lens, his gaze powerful, staring straight into the eyes and hearts of everyone present—and straight at the actor who had created him.
The lights in the cinema suddenly flared to life. The boy on the bicycle also turned his head back and continued pedaling forward, fading into the distance to the sound of the harmonica. The audience seemed stunned by that final look back; for a moment, no one spoke. Neither did Zheng Kunyu.
Zheng Kunyu turned to look at the person beside him. He saw that Qi Bailu’s eyes were brimming with tears. Qi Bailu was staring straight at that distant version of himself as if looking into a mirror, his back held perfectly straight.
***
