Chapter 27 - A Scripted Performance
Pei Cangyu stared blankly at the screen, watching as the male protagonist finished his confession. The heroine, overcome with emotion, dissolved into a fit of weeping as the two shared a desperate embrace beneath the torrential night rain. As the swelling orchestral score reached its crescendo, they melted into a kiss that seemed intended to last until the end of time.
He reached for the remote, hit rewind, and returned to the start of the confession. He listened to the speech again—the specific cadence, the translated nuances of the dialogue, the meticulously timed pauses. Even the expression and the profound sense of atmosphere were a ninety-nine percent match for the performance Bai Shi had given him. As for that final one percent...
Pei Cangyu watched it once more. Then again. He lost track of how many times the scene looped.
Finally, he surrendered to the reality of it. He tossed the remote aside and clicked the screen into darkness.
It was a difficult sensation to articulate. One would imagine a sense of relief upon discovering that a persistent, pestering individual was merely faking their affection. Yet, in that fleeting moment of the confession, the quickening of his pulse had been real. The ache in his chest had been real. He wondered if others felt the same—that even if there was no reciprocal love, being the object of such a grand confession would inevitably stir something within. After all, wasn't being loved supposed to be a source of joy?
Pei Cangyu let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh. He picked up the empty disc case from the floor and flipped it over. Perhaps it wasn't even about Bai Shi. Maybe he was just easily moved because he had always been fond of this particular film.
He pushed the clutter aside and sprawled out on the floor, limbs outstretched, staring up at the ceiling. How could he describe this? He felt he ought to be happy, yet he wasn't. He wasn't entirely sad, either. It was just...
He scratched his head, frustrated by his inability to summon a fitting four-character idiom to describe his state of mind. Was his grasp of literature so poor that he was at risk of failing his exams again this year? His reflection shifted toward academic anxiety, and by the time he retreated to his room, he was still racking his brain for the right phrase, the weight of other concerns fading into the background.
"Perhaps 'heart-wrenching'?" he muttered, shaking his head as he closed his door and stepped back out. "No, it hasn't come to that."
"Then... 'heart like still water'?" He gripped the banister as he descended the stairs. "No, that implies a total lack of feeling. I definitely feel *something*. No one likes being played for a fool."
"How about 'heart like dead ashes'?" he grumbled. "No, that's too dramatic."
He finally reached his own door and paused, a realization hitting him. "Dammit, why does it have to have the word 'heart' in it?"
"Fine. How about 'a kaleidoscope of emotions'?" He gripped the door handle.
Just as he was about to turn it, a sudden noise echoed from downstairs.
Was there anyone else home at this hour?
A prickle of gooseflesh rose along his arms. He clicked off his flashlight, slipped out of his slippers, and crept along the wall. From a wooden display rack at the corner, he gingerly withdrew a golf club. Barefoot and silent, he made his way down.
Following the sound, he reached the first floor and scanned the shadows. He judged the noise to have originated from the left—the direction of the basement.
Pei Cangyu tightened his grip on the club and readied his flashlight, prepared to blind and strike simultaneously. The noise came again.
Before he could swing, a heavy weight slammed into him. Madara pounced, pinning him to the floor and enthusiastically licking his face.
"Huh? Just the dog." Pei Cangyu shoved Madara aside and scrambled to his feet. "You again."
He held the dog down. Madara squirmed and flailed for a few moments before finally settling into a panting heap.
"Was that you?" Pei Cangyu gave the dog’s ear a playful tug. Madara merely huffed, offering no defense.
Pei Cangyu hoisted the dog up, checking him over and gently squeezing his injured leg. "You're healing well..."
Madara tried to lick his chin again, but Pei Cangyu pushed him away and stood up, his gaze drifting back toward the basement.
Come to think of it, what exactly was down there?
He swept the flashlight beam across the darkness. The basement was sealed by a set of double doors. The ancient bronze was engraved with delicate sparrows, and the handles were unlike any others in the house—elaborate, flamboyant curved grips that felt utterly out of place. The doors were tucked away behind the staircase at the very rear of the house, making them easy to overlook.
Had Bai Shi ever forbidden him from entering the basement? Pei Cangyu searched his memory. He was certain Bai Shi had never mentioned it, which, in his mind, served as a tacit invitation.
With a mischievous grin, he rubbed his hands together and approached the doors. He tucked the golf club under his arm, raised his flashlight, and gripped the handle to push.
To his surprise, the doors—which appeared to have no visible lock—refused to budge.
It made no sense. He inspected the bronze surface closely; there wasn't a single keyhole. He tried again, putting his weight into it, but the doors remained as immovable as a mountain.
He turned to Madara. "Did you just come out of there?"
Madara limped over and let out a few barks, as if in agreement.
"Strange..." Pei Cangyu murmured. "No lock on the outside, you came out from within, yet I can't open it..." He chuckled. "Is it locked from the inside, then?"
As he was contemplating the door, his phone vibrated. It was Bai Shi.
Without hesitation, he answered. Hearing Bai Shi’s voice, which sounded uncharacteristically cheerful, brought an involuntary spark of warmth to his chest.
"Asleep yet?" Bai Shi asked.
Pei Cangyu tucked the club and flashlight away and began heading back upstairs. "Not yet. You're still up?"
"Ah... yeah." Bai Shi sounded as though he were slumped over a desk, his voice muffled. "So much work. It’s exhausting."
He sounded like he was pouting. Pei Cangyu smiled. "Making money was never supposed to be easy."
"..."
Pei Cangyu continued up the stairs. "Why'd you call?"
Bai Shi let out a soft laugh. "I miss you."
Pei Cangyu froze. The movie confession flashed through his mind. He began to wonder if there was a scene in the film where the protagonist said those exact words.
When he didn't respond, Bai Shi asked, "What's wrong? Did I say something I shouldn't have?"
In that moment, the idiom he had been searching for finally surfaced in his mind.
*Feng chang zuo xi.* Acting for the occasion. Playing a part.
Once the thought took root, he couldn't shake it.
Bai Shi’s voice dropped an octave, his mood clearly dampened by the silence. "Fine, then I'll—"
"Bai Shi," Pei Cangyu interrupted.
"Yes?"
"Say it again."
Bai Shi seemed taken aback. "Say what again?"
Pei Cangyu stood motionless, swallowing hard. "The thing you said before..."
"You want to hear it?" Bai Shi chuckled. "I thought you hated hearing that sort of thing."
Pei Cangyu gripped the phone tighter. "Just say it."
"Alright." Bai Shi leaned closer to his microphone, his raspy voice turning low and intimate. "Be with me, Pei Cangyu."
Pei Cangyu stood in a daze for several seconds. "Right. That's that, then. Bye."
He hung up before Bai Shi could react.
He sank slowly onto the floor. The pounding of his heart wasn't fake. If the words were just lines from a script, was his reaction due to the quality of Bai Shi’s voice? Or was he simply such a shallow "face-con" that he had no bottom line?
His phone buzzed again. He declined the call and sent a text saying he was going to sleep.
He waited for the frantic rhythm in his chest to subside before returning to his room. He wasn't particularly disappointed. As he pulled the covers over himself, he told himself that Bai Shi would never know what he was thinking anyway. Every play has its final curtain. Just like the movie, even the most chaotic heartbeat eventually fades.
It was all just an impulse.
Having reached this conclusion, he closed his eyes.
*But that's Bai Shi...*
His logic failed him, and his eyes snapped open again. Bai Shi wasn't the type of person to toy with people's hearts like that.
*Forget it. It's been years. We're practically strangers now.*
He closed his eyes again.
*But that's Bai Shi...*
He couldn't make sense of it. Even if they weren't each other's "best" friends, he was certainly the only friend Bai Shi had in middle school. At the very least, he had been sincere in his desire to befriend him back then, even if things had turned... complicated.
Pei Cangyu didn't get much sleep that night.
***
"Ah, the fog is in."
Pei Cangyu rolled out of bed and pulled open the window.
Though it had been misty for the past few days, a fog this dense was a first. He extended his arm and found he couldn't even see his own fingertips. He checked the clock—only five in the morning. Perhaps it would clear by noon.
He washed up, dressed, and headed to the convenience store.
Feifei was away today to handle her visa application, so she wasn't there. When he arrived, he ran into Gao Qian’s younger brother, Gao Tang. Gao Tang was a figure who rarely showed his face. Based on his occasional dealings with Skinny and the others, Pei Cangyu suspected that Gao Tang was actually the more dangerous of the two—the brains and the bookkeeper of the operation.
Though he noticed the van parked at the curb, Pei ignored it and walked in. He caught sight of Gao Tang taking a thick stack of bills bound with white bands from Skinny. Pei caught a glimpse; it looked like ten or twenty thousand.
It wasn't his business, so he looked away, acting as though he had seen nothing as he went to fetch his work uniform.
Unlike Gao Qian’s overt thuggery, Gao Tang didn't radiate an immediate aura of menace. He was a slinking, shadowy man with slicked-back hair and fashionable clothes. He wore heavy cologne and had an oily smile that made him unpopular with women; he was known to be both jealous and fickle. Pei Cangyu’s ex-girlfriend had once warned him to stay far away from Gao Tang.
Pei Cangyu trusted her judgment on such matters. He changed into his uniform, went to the Oden station to change the broth, and turned on the heat without so much as a glance at Gao Tang.
Skinny looked like he wanted to pick a fight, opening his mouth to ask why Pei was late again, but Gao Tang raised a hand to stop him. Gao Tang adjusted the suit jacket draped over his shoulders and strolled over.
Pei Cangyu stirred the broth. Skinny and the others hovered by the door. Gao Tang stopped across from Pei, leaning down slightly to try and meet his eyes.
Gao Tang smiled. "Long time no see, Little Pei."
Pei Cangyu gave a curt nod.
"My brother mentioned you again recently."
Pei didn't take the bait.
Gao Tang continued regardless. "So, still unwilling?"
Pei Cangyu fished out a ladle and looked up, frowning. "You guys aren't exactly short on hands."
Gao Tang’s smile vanished. "Following us doesn't pay better than selling Oden?" He reached over the glass guard, grabbed a bottle of sauce, and squeezed it into the broth, splattering it everywhere.
Pei Cangyu lunged forward, grabbing Gao Tang’s wrist and forcing his hand down. He glared at him with bared teeth. "Watch what the fuck you're doing."
Gao Tang tossed the sauce aside and laughed without a hint of apology. "Now *that* look is much better. It's just one venue that needs extra hands. I'm just asking for a favor. Is it really worth the attitude?"
There was a fundamental difference between a common thug and a member of a syndicate, at least in this district. Pei Cangyu just fought; these people ran businesses that were far darker.
Pei remembered accompanying his ex-girlfriend to an interview at one of Gao Qian’s bars. They had gone at night during a major soccer match. Three massive screens dominated the walls. In the innermost circular booth sat Gao Qian and his brother. The place was more suffocating than a typical bar, filled with the raw, lewd stares of men. While his girlfriend was on stage, Pei sat below, ordering a B52 and drinking it while it was still flaming. The people around him were smoking hookahs, and a hot glass base had just scalded a passing waitress.
It had been so loud, the air thick with shouts of "Goal!" and "Motherfucker!" No one was actually listening to the music. Gao Qian was clearly beyond drunk. He held a salt shaker and, not recognizing Pei, asked, "Want to play?"
Pei shook his head.
Gao Qian, looking dazed, ignored him. He pulled a woman close, pressed his thumb into the salt, and smeared it across her neck. The woman tilted her head back, fully compliant. Gao Qian licked the salt off her skin, his tongue coated in white, before slamming back a drink and letting out a guttural, satisfied howl. The woman laughed and collapsed into his arms.
Pei Cangyu had looked away.
When his girlfriend came off stage, Gao Tang beckoned her over. He took her hand, asking when she could start, his touch sliding suggestively toward her thighs. She had smiled and said, "Whenever is convenient for you."
In that moment, Pei Cangyu had stood up, yanked his girlfriend away, and delivered a kick straight to Gao Tang’s face. Gao Tang had been so stunned to be struck in his own territory that he had forgotten to hit back.
The others hadn't forgotten, however. They had swarmed in with stun batons. Pei grabbed his girlfriend and bolted. She had laughed, kicking off her high heels to keep up, and even kissed him on the cheek, saying, "We're like fugitives on the run."
Pei had cursed, shouting, "We *are* fucking fugitives!"
They had shoved through the dancing crowds, knocked over a few junkies in the corners, and burst out the door. Outside, a drunk woman was squatting to relieve herself while her friend screamed into a phone at an ex-boyfriend.
The bar. Gao Qian’s bar.
They were eventually caught, but only by three men. The fight ended in a draw until his girlfriend called another boyfriend, who brought reinforcements to secure a temporary victory. The cost was high—one of Gao Qian’s men was stabbed to death. The twenty-six-year-old who did it was sentenced to over thirty years. No one appealed for him.
The catalyst for all of it, it seemed, had been Pei Cangyu’s kick.
That was when Pei had his epiphany. He realized that getting entangled in that chaotic life would be a betrayal of his grandmother’s hopes. So, he kept one eye open and the other shut, avoiding trouble whenever possible. To the kids at school, he was a street tough; to the street toughs, he was just a student.
Gao Qian had tried to recruit him several times. Skinny was his man, after all, and news traveled fast. Pei had expected a brawl or a knife fight, but instead, he received invitations to join the fold. Pei always claimed he had no ambition and just wanted to stay in school.
But as the saying goes, one doesn't fear the thief, but the thief's persistence. Over the course of their long acquaintance, Pei’s wariness of Gao Tang had surpassed his fear of Gao Qian. He suspected that the idea to recruit him hadn't come from the elder brother.
Refusing people like them always came with a price.
Thus, Pei Cangyu navigated his life with a mix of defiance and caution, keeping his head down.
Gao Tang seemed to be offering him an out for now. Pei said nothing and went back to stirring the soup. Gao Tang circled around and patted his shoulder. "Just a small favor, Pei Cangyu."
Pei stiffened. Joining a gang always started with a "small favor." He already had his refusal prepared.
But Gao Tang said nothing more. He walked toward the exit, waving a hand with a smirk. "I'll let you know when the time comes. I suggest you be ready."
Pei Cangyu’s brow furrowed in deep disgust.
