After hearing him speak, Qi Bailu suddenly let out a short, soft laugh, though it was unclear what had crossed his mind. Startled by the laugh, Ruan Qiuji looked at him with slight surprise and asked, "What is it?"
Qi Bailu seemed to hesitate for a moment before saying, "The first time I saw that movie was several years ago."
"You must have been in middle school then?"
"That’s right."
"I remember that film was never officially imported to the mainland. Did you watch it on disc?"
Seeing the interest in Ruan Qiuji’s expression, Qi Bailu nodded. After a moment of consideration, he said, "Back then, I walked to and from school every day. I knew every path from my house to the school by heart. There was a street near the commercial district called Meizha Road; I used to eat breakfast at a stall there every morning. A little further down, there was a pirated DVD shop on the second floor. Below it was a bookstore run by the owner's wife. The owner would play all sorts of movies, so I’d head there to hang out every day after school."
"Is that why you decided to become an actor?"
Qi Bailu’s eyes flickered. "Maybe. Or maybe not."
Seeing that he didn't wish to dwell on the subject, Ruan Qiuji asked, "Is the shop still there?"
"It closed after I graduated high school. It was renovated along with the bookstore on the first floor. Now, I expect they sell *Five Years of Gaokao, Three Years of Mock Exams*."
As he spoke, Qi Bailu picked up the glass of juice. There was a somnambulistic quality to his speech, as if he were talking to himself; even when he looked at someone, he seemed to be wandering elsewhere, possessed by a harmless sort of nervousness. He didn't particularly care about Ruan Qiuji’s reaction, nor did he care if the other man understood his experiences. It was as if his story were a mirage a thousand miles away.
"When I was in middle school," Ruan Qiuji said, "I spent an entire week’s worth of pocket money because I wanted to buy a new DVD player, even though I already had two. When my father found out, he confiscated it, saying I was sapping my ambition with idle pursuits."
Qi Bailu bit his straw and glanced at him. Perhaps because it was difficult to imagine Ruan Qiuji’s youth, his face wore an expression of not knowing how to respond. Eventually, he released the straw and said, "You don't seem like the type to lose your ambition to trifles."
"Oh? Then in your eyes, what kind of person am I?"
Qi Bailu gave a lukewarm smile. "A man of golden brilliance."
The words didn't quite sound like sarcasm, yet they didn't sound like a compliment either; it was as if he were being biting. But Ruan Qiuji merely smiled, his expression unchanged. "I’ll take that as flattery, then."
In Qi Bailu’s eyes, people like Ruan Qiuji and Zheng Kunyu were more like meticulous statues gilded in gold leaf, standing with unerring precision in a field of time and space. Even if their emotions and desires were a churning sea, they were, in the end, cold bodies with cold hearts—they would never crumble for the sake of a mere plaything. He had witnessed this when he first met Zheng Kunyu, and so, faced with Ruan Qiuji’s elegant poise, his heart remained almost entirely unmoved.
"And then?"
"And then what?"
"You and this movie."
"I... I bought several of that director's discs." Qi Bailu seemed to be reminiscing. He frowned slightly and continued, "Once, while no one was home, I used the DVD player to watch it. Then he came back..." Qi Bailu suddenly stopped.
Ruan Qiuji keenly noticed that Qi Bailu had said "he" rather than a specific title like "my parents." However, Ruan Qiuji had an intuition that the "he" was likely Qi Bailu’s father; the expression on the younger man's face allowed him to scent a trace of fear and resentment toward that authoritative "he."
"Anyway, I didn't finish the ending that day. After I went to drama school, I downloaded the source file on my computer, but I only realized after watching it that I’d downloaded the censored version."
"Sounds like a series of twists and turns."
"Perhaps people just have a rebellious streak. After watching the uncut version, I realized my favorite scene was the part that had been deleted."
"The scene where Paula has an affair in the theater?"
In the movie, the wealthy and beautiful protagonist, Paula, meets a taxi driver and confides in him about her marital woes. Paula quickly falls for the young, considerate driver; they fall in love and begin meeting frequently. Paula’s husband is a rigid, boorish theater owner. The driver believes Paula’s marriage is a tragedy that ought to end, so he decides to murder her husband. At the same time, Paula also decides to kill her husband and run away with the driver. Neither tells their lover of their plan.
The driver kills Paula’s husband, but after the police intervene, he suddenly regrets it. To escape suspicion, he watches as Paula—who believes she killed her husband—is sent to prison. Later, Paula learns of her own innocence, but she is still willing to serve the sentence for her lover. Before her execution, she lives in a trance of guilt and eventually breaks down in prison.
"In that scene, which was supposed to be romantic and passionate, Paula is the only one who is obsessed. That is the most tragic part of the whole story," Qi Bailu said.
On the stage in front of them, a performance of Corneille’s *Le Cid* is underway; the Spanish princess finally submits to her lover. Behind the stage, Paula, in a frenzy of erotic desire, grips her lover’s arms and casts a look of infatuation at him. Meanwhile, he looks away in another direction, watching the silhouettes passing behind the deep red curtains.
"Obsessed."
Ruan Qiuji whispered the word softly, looking at Qi Bailu’s profile.
The plot mentioned above was merely the surface of the film. Within the evidence the director deliberately omitted, the audience might see that the lover and the husband are perhaps the same person; that the husband was perhaps the one who cheated; that Paula was perhaps truly the one who murdered her husband; and that the entire story is a hallucination born of Paula’s schizophrenia—a fragment of tender delusion against reality. In the real world, she is merely a forty-two-year-old ordinary woman with two children, trapped in her home, who has never cheated at all. She is obsessed with a delusion woven of pain and pleasure, obsessed with the story she has spun for herself, where she is at an age as beautiful as flowers and jade—young, beautiful, pure—experiencing a passionate love.
The twenty-two-year-old Paula sits leaning against the wall of her prison cell, murmuring to herself. Next door lives a forty-two-year-old murderer. That woman rarely speaks, as if she doesn't exist at all. Paula cannot see her face, but she knows she is listening. Amidst the festive shrieks of rats and the dead silence of the darkness, she must have given her a response, even if all she answered Paula with was the clinking of her shackles.
A portion of the audience always hopes to use psychoanalysis to dissect a film until it is crystal clear, but the director’s cunning lies in the fact that this film has no boundary between truth and falsehood. The truth is not in the mirror. The two Paulas are like the sky and the sea; they might both be real, or they might both be fake. They are both Paula.
"When the false is taken for true, the true becomes false." Qi Bailu set down his juice glass and gave Ruan Qiuji a casual smile.
After they chatted for a while, Qi Bailu put on his headphones to resume the movie. He didn't remember at which point he had fallen asleep. By the time Ruan Qiuji woke him, the movie had finished. His head was tilted against the back of the seat, and his tablet lay there, powered off, its screen dark.
Being suddenly awakened from a nightmare, Qi Bailu remained in a daze for a moment. Passengers in the aisle were preparing to disembark. Seeing his wooden expression, Ruan Qiuji reached out to take off his headphones and said, "I was the one who turned it off for you."
Unexpectedly, before the headphones were even removed, Qi Bailu suddenly grabbed Ruan Qiuji’s reaching wrist. He stared at Ruan Qiuji with a mix of vigilance and confusion for several seconds before slowly relaxing. "It’s you?" he muttered.
It was a very strange thing to say. Ruan Qiuji didn't pry, but paused and asked, "Are you feeling unwell?"
"It’s nothing. Just a dream."
Qi Bailu’s face was cold. He turned his head to the side, waiting for the discomfort to pass. Outside the window was the gloomy sky of Hangzhou. In truth, he had a bit of a headache, likely because he hadn't slept well the night before and had taken those pills without restraint. After he fell asleep, the movie's soundtrack had drifted into his dreams—the bright, sorrowful strains of violin strings circling endlessly. Perhaps because of this, he had dreamed of a man’s necktie tightening around his throat, strangling his soul like a violin string. He had quickly ejaculated from the sudden surge of lust, but those hands felt as though they would not let go until he died.
It wasn't until the people in front had exited the cabin that Ruan Qiuji stood up to help Qi Bailu with his down coat and backpack. Qi Bailu turned to look at him and said, "Thank you."
Then he stood up, his expression returning to normal as he took the backpack to pack his things. Ruan Qiuji stood in the aisle watching him, seemingly uneasy about his state, waiting to walk out with him.
"Are you really alright?"
"My manager should be waiting for me outside. Mr. Ruan, you can go ahead," Qi Bailu answered, avoiding the question.
Ruan Qiuji caught the subtext immediately, knowing that Qi Bailu didn't want to be seen with him by his manager or assistant. He smiled and said, "You go first."
A flight attendant approached from a distance, checking the seats one by one. Only the two of them remained on the entire plane. Ruan Qiuji stood there slowly putting on his gloves, a hint of well-meaning mockery in his smile. Qi Bailu knew the man had seen through his little scheme. As he passed in front of him with his backpack, he paused and extended a hand. "Goodbye. It was a pleasure meeting you yesterday."
When Qi Bailu said "you," his tone was ambiguous, sounding like the informal *ni* but carrying the weight of the formal *nin*—a social politeness that was distant and insincere.
Ruan Qiuji took his hand. Qi Bailu’s hand was very cold, while Ruan Qiuji’s hand, encased in leather, felt lifeless. The aisle was narrow, and they stood very close; thus, to look into each other's eyes, one had to look down and the other up. Ruan Qiuji deliberately gripped his hand firmly, not letting go for a long time. He looked at Qi Bailu’s lips and said softly, "I believe we will meet again very soon."
After he finished speaking, Qi Bailu finally pulled his hand back. He glanced at the flight attendant nearby, then turned toward the cabin door. He could feel that gaze fixed steadily on his back. At the exit, the crisp, fresh air rushed into his lungs, so cold it was almost choking. A dull, lusterless white sun hung in the sky. Qi Bailu looked down at his manager waiting below and slowly descended the stairs.
***
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