Ruan Qiuji sometimes asks me, "Are you sleepwalking?"
He says this when I’m staring blankly at something, so immersed in my own world that I can’t be called back. I tell him I’m not, but he just gives me that look.
It’s a look I saw on Zheng Kunyu’s face, and I see it on his as well. Years ago, on the night after I had my wisdom teeth pulled, I was in too much pain to sleep. Zheng Kunyu wasn't there; I didn't know where he’d gone. I figured he’d left because my tossing and turning disturbed his sleep. I dragged his pillow over to use as a bolster, but then he returned, bringing me a banana split. I was so miserable from the fever that I couldn't eat. He sat by the bed, watching me in silence, and took the small spoon from my hand. It was that look.
I hated them. I hated how they would hurt me and then put on an air of pity. I hated how their small acts of kindness became whips lashed at me, pulling me back from the edge of a cliff only to strike again. Besides, on their faces, pity was always fleeting; soon enough, the flogging would resume. Did I not see through to their core? It was always that look.
But what I hated most were the people surrounding them—those who didn't even possess pity. When I used the word "pity," Yuewei burst out laughing, then her expression darkened. I went to her studio to see her; she was packing for Paris. Disheartened, she had accepted a friend's invitation to work on a film abroad, planning to return in six months. She asked if I wanted to go with her. I wanted to, but I couldn't. So I embraced her and told her I’d wait for her return.
I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned it to anyone, but there was an interlude back in Tahiti. After Zheng Kunyu proposed to me, we had a conversation under the scorching sun on the beach. We had just finished kissing; the sun made my skin and cheeks burn. His powerful palm supported my bare back, my damp hair was matted with sand, and the distant sea shimmered. He stood up, his tall frame blocking the sun.
Ruan Qiuji and the others hadn't returned yet. Zheng Kunyu pulled me up, and we walked along the shore. Before long, we saw a Chinese couple in the distance taking wedding photos. Passing tourists cleared a space for them. The sea breeze sent the bride’s veil fluttering; she held a bouquet, and though I couldn't see her face clearly, I knew she was smiling. I turned back the way we came. Zheng Kunyu glanced at my face.
I didn't look at him. In fact, I didn't dare to. I was afraid of seeing a look of triumph on his face, afraid he was waiting for me to fall into a trap. Perhaps he thought I only accepted his proposal because I had given up on myself. Was I really that kind of person? Regardless of what he thought, Ruan Qiuji certainly believed so. When we went to buy coconuts, I saw the contempt in Ruan Qiuji’s eyes.
That morning, Zheng Kunyu asked me, "You’ve agreed?" I shook my head. He cupped my head, forcing me to look up into his eyes. His grip was so strong I felt a sense of despair. Sometimes I wished Ruan Qiuji would take me away so I could leave Zheng Kunyu forever and never return, but he didn't love me. Sometimes I wished Zheng Kunyu would fall in love with me; I had waited for that moment for so long. If he ever said he loved me, I would lift my chin and tell him he disgusted me, then throw that love back at his feet. I wanted to mock him savagely, to punish him. But when that moment finally arrived, I found myself weeping before him.
Zheng Kunyu called my name. "Bailu," he commanded me to answer. *Bailu, Bailu, Bailu.* I called to myself in my heart as well. When my mother gave me this name, she must have hoped I would be a person of integrity and light, as pure and clear as the morning dew. How could I be tied to a villain? This man, whose eyes flashed with jealousy and a terrifying sort of focus. If I didn't agree, would he kill me? Perhaps with that sharp razor behind him, currently resting beneath the mirror.
He would. He would kill me. In that moment, I realized our fate. Even earlier, the very first time we met, the way he looked at me had shaken me. Even then, I concluded that falling in love with a man like him was both dangerous and impossible.
Suddenly, I couldn't help but laugh out loud. He let go of me. I laughed until I was out of breath, leaning against his chest, staring straight into his eyes. He looked displeased; he thought I was mocking him. And I was. Just as his face began to darken with rage, I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him.
By the sea, I asked what he would do if I regretted it. He asked why. I said he would regret it even sooner than I would. He asked, "In your heart, what kind of person am I?"
"Utterly heartless, conceited, and shameless," I said. I walked a few steps forward, then turned back to add, "Even if I say this, you lack the spirit for self-reflection."
He stood straight, holding my backpack in one hand, his face expressionless. I wanted to laugh again.
And what about you? In your heart, what kind of person am I? I once asked Ruan Qiuji this. He said, "You are the most lovely." I told him he was being perfunctory. He said, "You are sincere, gentle, pure, and unique." Sometimes he really is a romantic, saying things that make me blush. We lay side by side on the bed as he looked at my face.
"I'm not that good," I said.
"Then was I talking about someone else?" he teased. "My first love, perhaps?"
"You have a first love?"
"Don't you?"
Fine, we were even. Ruan Qiuji asked, "Then what about me? In your heart, what am I like?"
"You're an orange," I said.
"An orange?" His tone rose.
"Then a kiwi, a durian—any fruit hidden inside a shell will do." I slid my two cold hands under his pajamas, resting them against his firm, warm back, and nudged him with my chin.
He asked, "Are you going to peel me?"
I only smiled and didn't speak. He came over to kiss me, unbuttoning my pajamas, grasping my hand to lead it toward warmer places. He peeled me clean, and I became the sincere, gentle, pure, and unique version of myself.
But we weren't always this sweet. We had our cold wars and our quarrels. He always kept secrets from me, maintaining a castle that no one was allowed to enter, while he stood at the window watching me. Later, when he saw the ring I’d left behind, he asked, "Do you think Zheng Kunyu’s death was for you? Some noble sacrifice? Did you think he’d suddenly have an epiphany and repent, begging for your forgiveness? Why aren't you saying anything?"
I didn't leave him because of that. I left him because of the volatility of my own character. We didn't break up; I just couldn't stand being by his side. Even if he hadn't offended me, I would suddenly say, "I’m leaving you." Why did I hurt him like that? Was it to announce to others that I had power over him? I wanted everyone to see clearly that *he* was the one who couldn't leave *me*. His friends didn't like me, his parents didn't like me—no one favored our relationship. When those people talked about me, their faces wore ambiguous, knowing smiles. I was the sick one, the pretty one, the one who had sold his body, the star who had caused Zheng Kunyu’s death—the one who could be bought if you had enough money.
You can see my nudes for free, pay twenty yuan for a platform membership to watch my sex scenes, use a fifty-thousand-yuan salary to buy the first kiss of my life, or use a sixty-million-yuan contract to entice me into selling myself. Thirty million could build me a cage I couldn't escape. They said Ruan Qiuji invested millions to build a cinema for me, yet I named it "Springfield Flower." Cheng Wenhui asked me what Springfield Flower meant. I asked him, "Haven't you ever seen *McDull*?"
Even Zheng Kunyu had seen it. He brought me a limited-edition McDull plushie back from a business trip to Hong Kong. Back then, I used to throw away the gifts he gave me, but I couldn't bring myself to throw away that McDull. He had only caught a glimpse of the screen while passing by as I watched the movie.
On the way back from the Springfield Flower Cinema, Ruan Qiuji held my hand the whole time. He smelled of rain. Back at his house, I started packing my things. He asked what I was doing. I said I was leaving him. He snatched the things from my hands; I told him to go away. He wouldn't let go, so I shoved him.
He hadn't done anything wrong. I was lashing out at him unreasonably. I couldn't take it anymore; I hated the life I had with him. I knew Ruan Qiuji had spent the previous week maneuvering for me, hosting dinners for this director and that secretary. He called some "Uncle" while others called him "Qiuji." Yuewei had been there too; halfway through the dinner, she sent me a vomiting emoji. In the end, nothing came of it. That night, Ruan Qiuji had drunk a lot, and he smelled of women's perfume. I understood everything from his expression. He told me to endure.
I said, "Get lost!"
He had never heard me speak to him in that tone. I grabbed my things back, and he pinned my arms. His rationality was still there, but I couldn't hear a word. He pressed me against the walk-in closet wall, trying to calm me down, but his grip was painful. How did we go from arguing about a movie to Zheng Kunyu, and then to having sex in that narrow closet? We collapsed into the pile of clothes on the floor like two hyenas tearing at each other, desperately torturing each other’s wounded pride.
I didn't love him so much that I couldn't leave him. It wasn't that I couldn't survive without him, but I was miserable—especially when I saw his eyes. He stood there behind me with that look: exhausted, gloomy. I had destroyed his high spirits, his confidence, and carved a hole in his pride. For a moment, I thought I was looking at Zheng Kunyu. What had I done?
I wanted so badly to kiss him, to tell him I didn't mean it, to tell him I really liked him—more than anyone else. He indulged me, pampered me; how could I treat him like this? But I still opened the door and walked away without a word. I went to Paris. Yuewei came to see me at the hotel. It was summer now, and the walls were covered in lush green ivy, contrasting with the red terrace. The last time I’d been here, it was winter, and such beautiful scenery was nowhere to be found.
She asked how Ruan Qiuji could let me come. I said I’d left him. She said, "Bailu, you’re truly insane." She was right. I said I didn't want to make movies anymore; I was so tired. If all images could be erased out of thin air, what was the point of acting? What had ever truly existed? Once, during an interview, a reporter asked me how I viewed acting. I held Lana and said it was no better than a cat’s meow. Later, she told others behind my back that she couldn't see any passion for the industry in me, that I lacked reverence. I laughed. Don't you know? A cat’s meow is the most vivid, high-level performance there is.
We passed the Pont Neuf. The river shimmered in the summer night. Ruan Qiuji called me then. He asked where I was. I handed the phone to Yuewei. She looked at me with a bewildered expression, and then, right in front of her, I jumped off the Pont Neuf. Her hand didn't reach me in time. I heard her scream my name in terror from the bridge.
The river was cold. Was the water Ophelia fell into this cold? I sank toward the bottom. I couldn't grasp anything, couldn't catch my breath. But I could swim; of course I could—Zheng Kunyu had taught me. Through the ripples, I seemed to see the swaying moonlight and city lights. After a moment in the water, I used the buoyancy to swim to the surface and toward the bank. I climbed out and sat there, soaked to the bone. Yuewei ran down to the shore to meet me. She was laughing and crying at the same time, throwing her arms around my neck and saying, "You’re truly insane."
I wasn't insane. I had wanted to do that for a long time.
After Ruan Qiuji knew I was safe, he didn't look for me again. A month later, I suddenly appeared before him as if nothing had happened. He opened the door to see my suitcase and then me. He tossed the suit jacket in his hand over the back of a chair and sat down to watch me eat. He rarely tortured me during sex, but that day he nearly broke my neck. He treated me like a doll that could be dismantled, humiliating me in every way possible. He roughly yanked the leather belt tied around my neck, pulling me up as I lay prone on the bed, asking if I just liked being abused. I wasn't very lucid then, and my throat was injured, so my voice must have been very quiet. It took a while before he heard that I was repeatedly saying, "No."
As if waking from a dream, he stopped. He kissed my face, my mouth, and wiped my body clean with a towel. We lay on the clean sheets, and he kissed me over and over. I was still repeating, "No." We held each other. He didn't speak for a long time. I kissed his left cheek, then his right, and said hoarsely, "I will never leave you."
He buried his face in the crook of my neck and held me tighter. After a long time, he said, "I'm sorry," and only then did I realize he was crying.
I went back to work and took medication for a long time. When spring arrived, Ruan Qiuji took me to Switzerland. We sat on the grass for entire afternoons. Below the grassy slope was a tennis court. Sometimes children would accidentally hit a ball up, and Ruan Qiuji would pick it up and throw it back. Once, a ball flew toward us, and he reached out a long arm to catch it instantly. The sunlight was perfect; his collar smelled of the sun. I loved being kissed by him. He would prop himself up with one hand on the grass and tilt his head to kiss me. As long as we weren't in our home country, we didn't fight or have friction.
A few years later, I left him once more because of Guan Chengzhu’s birthday party. Her party was held at the same villa as before. White camellias still grew in the conservatory, but the table and chairs where I once sat had been moved. I sat by the glass, watching the sunlight outside. Ruan Qiuji walked over, pressed his palm to my face, and told me to go eat.
Guan Chengzhu had only invited about twenty people, setting up a long table on the garden lawn. I saw her husband, Ruan Qiuji’s cousin. He glanced my way a few times. Ruan Qiuji’s face showed no displeasure, but there was no smile in his eyes. After dinner, those who loved excitement gathered outside to dance. We went to the drawing room for tea. When Ruan Qiuji and I entered, the conversation inside stopped abruptly. Everyone turned to look. An ivory-framed mirror hung on the wall; as I walked past, it reflected me in my white suit and bowtie.
A female guest stood up, clutching her skirt. Ruan Qiuji’s cousin set down his wine glass. Guan Chengzhu, leaning against the sofa, turned to look at us, her lace-gloved hands clasped together. She was the first to break the silence and greet Ruan Qiuji. I sat in a chair, and someone nearby brought me a glass of champagne. Most people stole glances at me. One male actor turned away without a word after seeing me clearly. Only a few dared to stare openly.
I lit a cigarette for myself and looked up to see a man diagonally across from me watching me. Ruan Qiuji stood beside Guan Chengzhu, talking. They continued discussing movies and industry news. I also saw Pan Xiaoyan; he had become even more successful over the years. They mentioned a script. A director sitting among the crowd, quite famous domestically, was discussing details with a middle-aged actor. Everyone listened intently, with people chiming in occasionally. It sounded like he wanted to film a localized version of *Once Upon a Time in Hollywood*, with many details alluding to reality.
He was so boring. They all were. After listening for a bit, I wanted to leave. But when I realized a segment he was mentioning alluded to Zheng Kunyu and Chen Xiangfeng, I stopped at the door. No one mentioned Zheng Kunyu’s name, but everyone knew who they were talking about. The director had written the segment to be frivolous and absurd. I looked back at them; except for Ruan Qiuji, who was looking at me through the crowd, they all had smiles of varying degrees on their faces.
Pan Xiaoyan noticed I was about to leave and called out, "Director Jiang, aren't you short an actor? There’s one right here—Bailu." I looked at him coldly. He said cordially that I would surely play the role of a drug addict well, praising me with faint damns. I still didn't smile or speak.
"How about it? If you’re willing to grace us with your performance, I’ll pay your sixty-million-yuan fee." Pan Xiaoyan stared at me.
Sixty million—that was no small sum. The people in the room followed the mention of sixty million and turned their gazes toward me, filled with surprise, envy, or disdain. In the eyes of others, Pan Xiaoyan was courting me, throwing away a fortune for a smile. But in my eyes, he was using that sixty million to buy me, humiliate me, and belittle me.
Ruan Qiuji took two steps toward me, seemingly wanting to intervene. I ignored his movement, lifted my chin, and said to Pan Xiaoyan, "Only sixty million?"
"Then seventy million... eighty million..." Pan Xiaoyan leaned forward, watching me with great interest. "One hundred million... one hundred and twenty million! Or do you want more? Bailu, I bet President Ruan wouldn't be willing to pay you such a high price."
A sky-high fee of one hundred and twenty million. I finally smiled, and so did he. I glanced at Ruan Qiuji and the people around us. The others were wearing ambiguous smiles—no one could remain indifferent to one hundred and twenty million. Ruan Qiuji, however, watched me without moving. It was that look: silent, waiting. The more he looked at me like that, the more I smiled. Under everyone’s gaze, I walked up to Pan Xiaoyan. He grabbed a glass of champagne to hand to me, and the moment he stood up, I slapped him.
I put all my strength into that blow, aiming straight for his face. He was caught off guard and fell back into the sofa amidst the gasps of the crowd. The wine glass in his hand flew out and shattered. Two people nearby scrambled to help him, but they couldn't get him up immediately. The rest were dumbfounded and aghast; no one expected something so unseemly and disgraceful to happen.
Not a single person spoke. I declared, word by word, "You aren't worthy."
It took Pan Xiaoyan two seconds to react after standing up. Shamed into a rage, he lunged forward to hit me. Ruan Qiuji stepped quickly to my side, caught Pan Xiaoyan’s hand, and threw him back. I stepped forward, wanting to give him another slap, but Ruan Qiuji held me firmly in his arms. Their terrified, confused gazes intertwined on me, as if they were looking at a frantic animal in a zoo. Someone called out "President Ruan," but Ruan Qiuji didn't offer a single word of explanation as he led me out of the room.
Before leaving, I heard someone ask in realization, "Is he really insane?"
I wasn't insane. I had wanted to do that for a long time. Years ago, I didn't have the ability or the courage, but now I could make him lose face and expose his ugliness. Back when I was eighteen, before I met Zheng Kunyu, a third-rate director took nude photos of me and sold a copy to Pan Xiaoyan. To get the photos back, I had to brace myself and go see him alone. He stripped me, telling me how he fantasized about my photos, saying that if I let him sleep with me, he would make me the brightest star. I pulled out a fruit knife I’d bought for three yuan at the convenience store by the school gate and held it to his throat, demanding the photos back.
He was stronger than me. I barely escaped that room. I ran out of the hotel clutching the stolen photos. Winter in Beijing was too cold, and it was snowing outside. I looked up at the sky, unable to tell north from south in this city. My scarf, down jacket, and both shoes were still in the hotel, along with the money in my coat pocket. I didn't dare look back; I just kept running.
That day, I walked for a full hour and a half in the heavy snow back to the Film Academy. My roommates had all gone to a lecture by Hou Hsiao-hsien. I cried for a long time in the dorm. My socks hung by the radiator, dripping as the snow melted into water. The following winter, Zheng Kunyu held my feet, frowning because he saw I had chilblains. He applied ointment for me and asked why I was so delicate. He bought me many beautiful boots. In Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tales, little Gerda searches for little Kay in the ice and snow; she needs a pair of beautiful, warm boots.
The second time I saw Pan Xiaoyan was at a gala. He saw me standing next to Zheng Kunyu and stared at me in disbelief. Zheng Kunyu sensed his ill intent. He asked me what Pan Xiaoyan had done. I looked at him like a mute. He said, "If you won't tell me, I’ll go ask him." I said, "Then go ask." Zheng Kunyu walked away without a word. I don't know what method he used to make Pan Xiaoyan talk, but his face was grim for that entire week. A week later, one of the cash cows of Pan Xiaoyan’s company announced their retirement due to a drug scandal, and another female artist slit her wrists after being exposed for interfering in someone else’s marriage. Although she was saved, she vanished from the public eye. I never asked Zheng Kunyu if he was the one behind it. That was when they became enemies.
Ruan Qiuji didn't make me apologize to anyone, nor did he tell me about the rumors outside. I knew that if I told him what Pan Xiaoyan had done to me, he would use the same strength he used against Zheng Kunyu to deal with him. But forget it; Pan Xiaoyan didn't deserve to die. Besides, do we really have the right to judge someone’s life or death?
I must have made things very difficult for him, made him lose face. I could tell from his eyes that day. Even if I lived a hundred times over, I would never fit into that glamorous world. Zheng Kunyu had realized this long ago. He said he’d never seen anyone as foolish as me, said I was dumb as a post, and called me "chee cheong fun" and "char siu."
We continued walking along the beach. He wore a floral Hawaiian shirt. I asked him if he knew what marriage meant, if he knew what he would lose. He looked at me with that look. I once thought our best ending would be when he finally reached the age to marry and have children; he would give me a sum of money and cast me aside, and he would once again be the glamorous Zheng Kunyu. I said, "It’s hard for me to fall in love with you."
"I know."
The waves lapped at our feet. Zheng Kunyu said, "I know."
*Bailu.* Ruan Qiuji asks me, "Are you sleepwalking?" We are standing on the streets of Cannes. I turn to look at him. Heaven knows how we got lost and almost ran late. So I grab his hand and sprint through the streets of France. We race against the cars, against every pedestrian and every tree, and even against the clouds in the sky and the leisurely wind. Fortunately, we didn't miss the red carpet. Cheng Wenhui was frantic, urging me to go up immediately. Ruan Qiuji looked down at the hand I was using to pull him, only letting go when we reached the red carpet. The moment he released me, I stood on a step higher than him and remembered him once saying, "Even if you leave me one day, don't break yourself."
He stood there watching me with that look. I walked down, always for the sake of a look like that.
That night, we went to an open-air drive-in cinema to watch a movie. The two of us huddled in the car eating burgers, watching an art film. I laughed one moment and cried the next, nearly choking and patting my chest as I knelt on the seat looking for a Coke. The Coke was in the back seat. When I turned back with the cup, Ruan Qiuji caught my thigh and pulled me onto his lap. I asked, "What are you doing?" He said, "Your jeans are hard to take off."
The summer night was dark and quiet; only the screen hanging in front of us shimmered. I placed my hand on his face. Just then, the male and female leads in the movie finally kissed and embraced. A chorus of boos and whistles erupted in the drive-in theater. When they fell onto the bed together, their palms urgently stroking each other’s bodies, the world suddenly went silent again. Naked stars, naked love.
The wet sounds of kissing were enough to make one’s heart race. We only shifted positions, but the car rocked violently. I wrapped my arms around Ruan Qiuji’s neck, my eyes fixed on the erotic scenes on the screen, my throat tightening. Ruan Qiuji asked if I was hot, if I wanted to roll down the window. I couldn't speak, so I bit his ear. I could hear someone passing by outside; it was too tense, too stimulating. Ruan Qiuji folded my legs back. I pressed my hands against the car window, begging him to be gentle. His eyes stared at me in the darkness, commanding, "Cry out."
I wouldn't. I covered my mouth.
A few minutes later, my hands were tied. I bit my lip as hard as I could, but I couldn't control my gasps and cries. Whenever footsteps approached, Ruan Qiuji pushed deeper. Finally, I lost control of myself. After the first time, I stole a glance at the movie. The passive party in the film had become the active one, so Ruan Qiuji enticed me to sit on him and let me take the lead.
...
After a while, his voice said hoarsely, "Bailu, you’re raping me."
...
Well, I couldn't be the only one making noise. But in the end, I seemed to be the more pathetic one. I gripped his neck, my whole body slumping weakly against him. We grew quiet, hearing the sound of the car next to us bumping. My face was flushed; Ruan Qiuji laughed softly.
Many things should be kept in the heart tonight.
That movie ended, followed by a Spanish film. I leaned against him, and he lowered his head to kiss me. I peeled him clean, and I became the sincere, gentle, pure, and unique version of myself. In a dream, in Cannes, in his arms.
***
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Countless Blossoms: The Actor's Gamble | Chapter 99 | Visions of Cannes | Novela.app | Novela.app
