Duan Pingting didn't even have the strength to open her eyes slightly. Everything went black before her eyes, and she plummeted into an abyss, falling rhythmically, with utter despair. Whoever it was, in this helpless moment, truly, this man was the one she loved most, the one she needed. He was her lifelong support; she clung to him like a silken dream, pressing her body against him, so that she could be firmly rooted to him.
The woman had no more self-respect, no more debts. In giving, didn't she also receive? No one owed anyone anything. She began to groan.
Like the groans of Shanghai.
Shanghai is a place devoid of self-respect and prone to defaulting on debts. In China, nowhere is it more lawless and morally bankrupt. Not only lawless, but utterly devoid of reason. —A giant hand seems to have descended from the heavens, covering the sky above Shanghai.
For women in Shanghai, moral decay has become a painful reality.
The whole of Shanghai, especially the French Concession. This French Concession south of Rue Edward was even more chaotic than the International Settlement; all the evils were concentrated here: opium dens, casinos, brothels, cinemas, theaters, entertainment venues, and the Golden Mansion. She suddenly screamed uncontrollably.
In the bustling night of Shanghai, no one can hear anyone else's screams.
Even the city that never sleeps will eventually fall into darkness.
In broad daylight, Zhu Shengli led Huaiyu on a tour of the photography studio:
"I built the set for the film 'Old Hatred' that we've been shooting these past few days."
As soon as the long bell rang for filming, the director appeared—a stiff, chubby face, like a chilled block of lard rice cake. He swaggered into a canvas chair and shouted:
"Turn on the camera!"
The camera started, filming only the pitiful reaction of an old woman. After filming for a while, he grew impatient and shouted, "Cough, cough! Cough!"
The photographers, production assistants, prop masters, stagehands, and general staff—all exchanged bewildered glances. The assistant director gave the script supervisor a look, who then gestured to the director's trusted assistant. A moment later, the assistant brought over a small teapot, which the director drank to quench his thirst. —It turned out that opium had been secretly added to the food, and smoothly, he developed an opium tumor. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. If it flared up again and he couldn't leave the set, he might have picked up a piece of bread, smeared some opium paste on it with a knife, and eaten it as a snack. The director's voice rose a little: "Damn it! How come you've missed two days of filming? You bastard!"
After a brief commotion, someone came to report:
"Director, Miss Duan is here, she's getting her makeup done."
Spring of the 20th year of the Republic of China, Shanghai. 2
Now that they were there, the director's arrogance subsided. After all, it was reality: a large sign fell onto the street, injuring three passersby, two of whom were the director. And the star—really, the only star—was her!
Mr. Jin "banned" Duan Pingting from smoking for two days.
Looking in the mirror, oh my god, her bright eyes were clouded with a layer of mist, and there was a dark shadow beneath them—a sign of extreme "sleep deprivation." A visible, sinful mark—before love had faded, her beauty had already withered. It was true.
The photoshoot was filled with whispers and gossip, and no one dared to defy her. They simply applied powder and perfume to her face, dabbing it off and shaking it off, barely getting it on.
"Forget it, we're going to film it anyway, let's just film the suicide scene first!"
She pushed him to stop, saying it was more suitable for suicide. Everyone had no choice but to listen to her. So they changed his clothes again.
In the past, movie theaters were filled with films about gods, monsters, martial arts, and romance, and there were hardly any stars. Later, the content of the films gradually "progressed" and began to involve reality and anti-feudal themes, making them much more entertaining, and the star system was also established.
On September 18th and January 28th, the Japanese wreaked havoc. Although the nation was in peril, the film industry experienced a distorted development. No one had a tomorrow; all that remained was refuge, and movie theaters became those refuges. People hid in dark spaces, weeping in sorrow.
In "Old Hatred," Duan, a maidservant, rehearses a show for a fallen noble family. Her father dies, her mother falls ill, and she is forced to sell herself at the dance hall, enduring immense suffering. The money she receives from prostitution is then swindled by a man, who takes her in for a life of debauchery. She becomes pregnant, but he runs away. Today, she commits suicide.
Duan Pingting arrived with a bottle of sleeping pills, initially feeling somewhat apologetic: because she hadn't shown up for two days, the entire film set had been waiting for her, having already filmed her mother's reaction in jump cuts, but there were no more jump cuts left. As soon as she saw the director, he hurriedly tried to appease her: "Ms. Duan, take your time, it's alright. Would you like to build up some emotion first?"
Since he had already won her over, he let the matter drop. He slightly raised his chin, indicating that he needed some peace and quiet. But in a fleeting glance, he saw Tang Huaiyu, whom she hated to the core, standing beside the set.
He was going to watch her performance. —What did he see? Was his contemptuous sneer a mockery of his own lewdness?
She's really a despicable woman.
Duan Pingting handed a page of dialogue back to the assistant director, then fell silent.
Everyone was waiting for her to get into character. Casually, she poured her emotions into the woman. At the slightest signal, the machine started up, her eyes changed, tears welling but refusing to fall. She feared death, but had no desire for life. She recited her lines almost in a whisper:
"Mom, I'm so sorry, I can't take care of you until the end. How I wish I could see you get better, go back to the old days, when we were poor but our family was happy. But it's all too late. I'm a disgraceful woman now, selling my body and soul in the dance hall every day. I don't ask for love, I only ask for a loving and considerate lover, that would be enough, just the bare minimum, but so hard to come by! When I opened the drawer, I found nothing inside. Mom, I really have nothing. The only thing I have is the child in my womb, but I don't want him to come into this ugly world to suffer, to be tormented, to be manipulated, to be swept away by the tide of this era, to lose himself. Mom, I'm going now—..." In movies, dying people often have to strain to recite a long dialogue to explain their past, their entire life. —Although it had already been filmed, it was repeated to remind the audience how much she was suffering! The audience couldn't hear it, but they could see it. Duan Bipin's tears finally flowed. She derives endless pleasure from performing, which fills the void in her spirit.
The entire film set was filled with people listening to her monologue. Whether it was her acting skills or the fabricated, clichéd story, she deceived everyone.
She picked up the sleeping pills and swallowed them one by one. Many faces appeared before her eyes. Men's faces—some she loved most, some she hated most. —The first man was her father. In the salt warehouse, she was fifteen. Her father had raped her, and before and after, she was covered in the salty smell that she still couldn't wash off. Ah. Perhaps because of this, she particularly loved bathing—with milk, with shower gel, with perfume. Strangely, it was always unbearably salty.
Fortunately, the May 30th Incident occurred on Nanjing Road in 1925. She remembered it vividly; workers and students were protesting the Japanese-controlled cotton mill's killing of their leader, so they held a demonstration and gave speeches. Shooting occurred in front of the Laozha police station, resulting in nine deaths and fifteen injuries. One passerby was hit by a stray bullet—he wasn't innocent; he was paying the price.
Duan Pingting believed it was fate, and the police officer fired a shot for her. Having dealt with their father, the two boys and one girl, who had long since lost their mother, began to fend for themselves. The two older brothers had gone astray, drifting through the crowds, their true nature hard to discern. She, the younger sister, had also gone astray, but she had gained a certain status.
status?
She simply couldn't stand being a maid introduced by the matchmaking agency, so she resolutely took the acting exam, passed five rounds of auditions, and slept with six men...
She knew that no one really respected her. Although it was a modern era, it seemed that who she had slept with would be exposed immediately.
They fawned over her with a mixture of pity and contempt. A woman who is cheap is cheap, no matter how exquisitely beautiful she is.
She swallowed the sleeping pills one by one.
He suddenly roared:
"Stop, stop, stop! She's serious!"
Then a bystander lunged forward, frantically snatching the bottle from her hand, and chaos erupted. He dug his fingers into her throat, trying to force her to return everything. The director, engrossed in the plot, only realized she was actually taking it for real and hurriedly gathered his group to help Huaiyu. People whispered among themselves:
"Here we go again? Are they really getting addicted to suicide?"
Huaiyu shouted:
"Quick, give her water, force it down her throat!"
He forced her to drink a meal, then made her vomit, leaving him a complete mess. He supported her, held her close. She was so weak, all her spirit extinguished, like a baby.