"When are you coming?" she immediately replied.
Duan Pingting looked at Huaiyu; she was waiting for him. He realized once again that her eyes were indeed brownish-red—unrelated to the lamplight that night.
Like a flame that has gone awry. She was once so proud, yet she fell into his hands. What lingered in her heart was no longer just a desire for a man; she didn't actually want a man. She knew in her heart that she needed an otherworldly being, someone who knew neither her past nor cared about her past, to lead her soul to safety. Perhaps one day she would relinquish the splendor of this life, but it wouldn't be the right time. She needed him to acknowledge the worth of her life's splendor before her relinquishment would have been worthwhile.
Could it be that he also fell for her?
He wasn't without arrogance—Duan Bipin, Shanghai's top female star, was like a cup of hot coffee in his hand, both bitter and sweet. When they stood side by side, he wasn't humble at all; he was the leading martial arts performer on the Lingxiao Grand Stage, practically stepping towards his vanity.
Before she could finish a couple of bites of bayberry jam, three female fans suddenly appeared, nervously stealing glances at Duan Pingting, pushing and shoving each other, too afraid to approach. Finally, one of them mustered the courage to ask her for an autograph. Her hand was trembling. Miss Duan was a little annoyed and said, "I'll only sign one!"
She dismissed the three of them, letting them fight over an autograph. She glanced at Huaiyu; yes, another fan had timely stepped in to elevate her position.
“How could you not have seen my movie?” she asked.
"Is there anything to watch today?" he asked.
She put on her sunglasses and led him to the Guanghua Grand Theatre on Edward Road. The sunglasses weren't meant to conceal anything, but rather to subtly remind him. Amidst the surprised and admiring gazes of the crowd, she invited Huaiyu to see her movie.
The theater lobby also displayed promotional plaques: "Magnificent, novel, gentle, and tragic. Adorned like pearls, enhancing each other's brilliance." Beneath her stage photos, the plaques sang praises: "She is the pride of the film industry! She is the darling of the art world!"
Tonight's performance is "The Lantern." She plays a prostitute forced into prostitution by a bully, who, for the sake of her child's future, leans against a pillar as the streetlights come on, waiting for passing men. Every now and then, the credits roll: "How rugged is the road of life! How painful is a mother's heart!"
Movies are silent.
The audience was also silent.
In the balcony seats of the Guanghua Grand Theater, Huaiyu had never imagined that he was sitting next to a beautiful woman, and that another story of hers was unfolding before his eyes. —Could it be, or perhaps, there was another story? He sat up straight, somewhat awkwardly.
Just over half a year ago, he was probably only holding a photograph of her. Life is truly unpredictable.
After the performance of "The Lanterns" ended, Duan Pingting said:
"Where should we eat?" Huaiyu emphasized:
"You decide where to go, but I'm definitely paying for this meal. — somewhere I can afford it."
"Then let's not go to the Red House for the fancy food." Duan Pingting immediately changed her mind: "Originally, it was supposed to be cheese, chicken eye, and onion soup... Yan, I've got it!"
The result was that I became a vegetarian.
It's not vegetarian, it's vegetarian dishes cooked like meat. This shop sells dishes like mandarin duck fish strips, braised fish with bamboo shoots, and eight-treasure golden chicken... but they're all "fake," just vegetables and dough balls disguised as meat.
Huaiyu laughed: "Shanghainese people are really cunning; they can't even be serious about eating vegetarian food. These shrimp are clearly fake, but they insist they're real."
"Just eat it like a shrimp, and the fake becomes real. Eat it, right?"
"—Yes, it really does taste like shrimp."
While eating, they chatted about the scenes they would be filming later. Duan Bihao said impatiently, "I don't know. It'll probably be some love scenes with the male lead. That guy, don't even mention him. He once tried to take advantage of me, and as soon as we finished filming, I pushed him upside down in public. Humph, I even tried to commit suicide! That's how the scenes are. First you hate him, then a few days later, you film a scene where you love him. The emotions are filmed out of order, it's just not normal!"
After venting their frustrations, the two were leaving the vegetarian restaurant and about to get into their car when they noticed a car across the street suddenly pause. The person inside glanced at them from afar, a hint of surprise in the quiet night, but then sped away without a trace. Duan Pingting recognized him; he vaguely resembled Shi Zhongming.
She asked Huaiyu:
What will you be performing next?
"Lu Wenlong. Double-shot Lu Wenlong."
Huaiyu returned to his place on Wuma Road after 11 PM. Li Shengtian was still awake and asked him:
"Where did you go today? You ran off as soon as you finished practicing."
Huaiyu quickly took out the fountain pen: "I went and bought a good pen to write letters to my father and Zhigao."
Li Shengtian said, "What kind of pen can't write a letter? You didn't get back until midnight."
Huaiyu felt that even though she was so grown up, she still couldn't move freely. That Miss Duan, a young woman, roaming the world, left to fend for herself—how carefree she seemed! Then a warm sound rang out:
"Anyway, I won't get lost."
The master was always a sensible man. He couldn't help but interfere in matters of the art, but his disciple was away, so how could he be left to deal with such muffled thunder? So he ordered Huaiyu: "Tomorrow you must practice double-wielding guns until you're fully proficient!"
Huaiyu had no choice but to agree and returned to her room. Behind her, she could still hear her master speaking worriedly to a musician:
"That Jinbao too, I don't know what friends he's made, he's wearing a few new clothes in a fancy way, and he's going out socializing. He didn't even realize the Shanghai players had ripped him off, he'd become a 'little devil,' and then—…·"
Huaiyu picked up her pen and began writing a letter home. She reported that everything was alright and that everyone was seated, all with great joy and happiness. She continued writing until the play was over and she received red envelopes and gifts, at which point she stopped.
Holding the pen is like holding his hand. — He didn't know if it was the pen that held his hand. Excited and guilty, he concealed it. She is truly everywhere, and she is here now.
Huaiyu couldn't sleep. If she didn't sleep, the day wouldn't be over.
Oh, it was all because of that cup of coffee I'd never had before—bitter, sweet, a chaotic mix. Seriously, this stuff was awful. —So Huaiyu confessed to herself that very night, clearing her name and blaming everything on the coffee, appearing utterly innocent.
At this moment, Jin Xiaofeng was also wide awake.
The bathhouse was supposed to close at eleven o'clock, but because Mr. Jin was there, the third floor was still brightly lit. He arrived late, and spent a long time in the large white bathtub, feeling even more refreshed in the steamy atmosphere.
Today he dealt with an old doorstep, and even his accomplice was implicated. That so-called maritime intellectual mocked Mr. Jin's title of "Member of the Anti-Smoking Committee" in the newspaper. Mr. Jin invited him to a spring restaurant for a meal. After they finished eating, two detectives from the police station arrested him at the door.
A body search revealed a large roll of banknotes, each stamped with Jin Xiaofeng's personal seal. Mr. Jin also stepped forward to testify, claiming it was extortion and the money was paid on the spot. With the evidence in hand, the police took him to the station.
Scholar?
Jin Xiaofeng thought to himself, how could these "literati" at sea not know this? It's all because of the arrogant and domineering "Wenren" (a derogatory term for a person of high status). Having fallen into such a trap, wouldn't they be punished as they deserve? And he himself would still be a "member of the Anti-Smoking Committee."
He certainly "banned smoking," and he often sent his men to "ban" other people's smoking. When he encountered private individuals who didn't have much power, who only smuggled goods, and who hadn't pulled any strings, he would take action.