CH 3.3

Out in the hallway, Xie Bin, who was still holding the garment, narrowly escaped getting his fingers crushed by the door that had banged shut.

Scared by this, he took two steps back. With a glance at Tong Fei, whose head was still lowered as she continuously chatted away on WeChat using three different mobile phones, he asked quietly, “Do those two have a chance?”

Tong Fei pondered for a moment, then whispered back, “That friend of mine really does view that one of yours as family. But that can also be the foundation for a relationship—he’s got the advantage of proximity to her[1]. But that one of yours is just too overbearing. All he knows is to force her to not have a boyfriend, force her to eat, force her to see him. It’s not like that friend of mine is naturally a maso and likes being abused… Go and accept some more projects for him that are romance movies. Maybe he will be a little better after that.”

“He hates doing kissing scenes. You tell me, how am I supposed to accept romance movie projects for him? Even if I get him one that’s a human-ghost romance, there’ll still be kissing scenes.”

“……”

Xie Bin continued murmuring, “Think I can pay her so that last-minute she’ll decide to stay here and be with Jian Bianlin?”

Tong Fei snapped, “Get lost, you. That’s crossing the line.”

Xie Bin clarified, “It’s just to keep Jian Bianlin company, to help him get past this hurdle. But that friend of yours, her heart is too callous. She doesn’t leave even the tiniest bit of wiggle room in this. This is a very critical period, eh.”

By his ear, Tong Fei murmured, “I express my deepest sympathies, but every person is an independent individual. It just depends on how and whether fate brings them together.”

After Tong Fei finished saying this, she felt that something was wrong. By what right did he have to say that Chu Jian was in the wrong?

She leaned over to his ear again and whispered, “That friend of mine, her heart is not callous at all. I cried for one night, and then she went and sold her apartment and gave me two million to start up my production company. She’s the textbook example of someone who gives in to soft approaches but resists coercion, you know?”

With a wry smile, Xie Bin shook his head. “But with the type of person that Jian Bianlin is, making him plead with someone or ask for help is even harder than making him go die.”

“So that’s what you call ‘two people who are absolutely not made to be a match.’”

“Bin Ge[2]!” That person who had come earlier looking for Xie Bin had circled back again. “Hurry! The organizers are asking you, is it okay if Ying Chen and Jian Bianlin walk the red carpet together?”

Xie Bin answered rather impatiently, “That’ll be just too weird. Two men walking the red carpet together? I’ll call them in a bit to discuss.”

Chu Jian retracted her hand. So Xie Bin was actually just outside the door.

Through the door, she had vaguely heard a male and a female voice speaking outside, but she had not been able to distinguish them. With that person’s shout, though, she now knew. Likely, the man and woman talking outside were Xie Bin and Tong Fei. Turning her head back, she wanted to instruct, “Don’t say anything. Just go stand further back in the room.” There were people just on the other side of the door, and it would be awkward if those people heard anything.

As if obliging her way of thinking, someone outside the door gave another cry of “Bin Ge.”

His whereabouts once more exposed, Xie Bin was a little irate. “Just stop shouting. I’m going now.”

……

“Chu Jian.” Jian Bianlin called her name.

It was rare—especially rare—for Jian Bianlin to address her by name. She had forgotten when was the last time he had done so.

Her hand was still holding the metal knob. Warm air fanned out from the heat vents with sounds of whirr, whirr. Despite that she was quite some distance away from the vents, the air blew into her neckline, the openings at her sleeve cuffs, and every other place that allowed air in, seemingly changing from warm to cold in the process and causing her entire body to feel chilly.

“It’s okay. No matter what you say right now, I won’t take any of it to heart.”

She was scared of him, scared that his emotions would be too volatile, and then they would quarrel again.

“I did indeed lie to you.”

“… It’s no big deal.”

Sensing her emotional strain, he did not dare touch her.

“There are a lot of things in our past where I was the one at fault.” His right palm was pressed against the door, and as he leaned his forehead against the back of that hand, his voice carried a never-before-heard dejectedness. “This time, I am in the wrong, too. I’m sorry. I had wanted to just continue refusing surgery and allow my condition to turn more serious—to make you feel guilty, to make your heart soften and give in, to make it so that you would stay by my side. I know I promised you long ago that if you gave me some time, I would be able adjust myself to the reality. But I tried! I honestly can’t do it. Since I was five, we’ve been together. You and my dad—I only have the two of you who are closest to me. If either one of you were to leave me, I wouldn’t be able to take it…”

Her heart felt as if something was clenching it.

It was to the point that she dared not even breathe and merely looked dazedly at him.

Was this really him? She had known him for twenty-two years now, but never before had he been like this. Words like “I can’t take it” or “I’m sorry” had never been spoken from him before. Even when he had gotten into that huge trouble, even in his most depressed times, he had never said them. He was someone who never conceded, never admitted his mistake.

“I can’t take it, Chu Jian. I’m sorry…”

With his own hand, Jian Bianlin opened the door for her.

In the short period from when the door had been pulled open by just a crack to when it was open wide, her heart had softened unbearably.

But after holding herself back for a long time, she still ended up not saying a single word.

Jian Bianlin could not escort her back. He could not even see her out the door.

Although no one could go upstairs in this hotel without a room key card, there was still a risk at all times of being photographed by outsiders.

Chu Jian left alone. Standing in the elevator lobby, she saw several hotel employees, talking and laughing amongst themselves, discussing in low tones how many celebrities had come here today and for what fashion event. They even conversed quietly about things like who looked good in real life, what was different about them between real life and onscreen, and were they wearing shoe lifts? …

Only when she was down in the main lobby of the hotel did Chu Jian remember that she had left without telling Tong Fei.

In the lobby, there were many people completing check-in and check-out procedures, while outside, some people who looked to be students could be seen standing guard, undoubtedly waiting for the actors and celebrities who were upstairs. The glass door was pushed open. Wind suddenly gusted in, carrying a penetrating chilliness. With her hand against that thick glass, she also pushed the door open and stepped outside.

Her mobile phone vibrated in her pocket, and she pulled it out. It was Jian Bianlin.

She paused blankly.

Two people outside were trying to go into the hotel, but she was blocking their way, so they quietly said, “Miss, excuse us.” With a “sorry” in answer, Chu Jian dazedly moved out of the way, taking two steps sideways to stand in front of the hotel’s outer glass wall. She pressed the answer button.

From her mobile phone, the sound of running water was heard. It seemed he was in the washroom or the shower area. He was quiet, not speaking at all.

Worried that the gusting wind was too fierce and would obscure her words, she turned to face the glass wall. Softly, she soothed him, “Why don’t you go and get some rest first? You still have an event this evening…”

“Let me try, just one last time.” The running water sounds disappeared. The sound of his breathing could clearly be heard. That sound—somewhat unsteady and very much deliberately restrained—was even a little louder than his voice as it traveled, breath by breath, out from her phone. “If it doesn’t work out, I will let my heart give up.”

She forgot that she needed to shield her phone. The wind whipped into the receiver. On the other end, he was also waiting.

Here, in this moment, she felt as if she had once again returned to that dimly lit stairwell of that day when she was still in middle school. Her feet on two stair steps, she had mustered up her courage to tell Jian Bianlin, who had still been locking up the bicycles, “I actually honestly don’t like you in that way…” All her guilt had begun with that day. From when he had stared wordlessly at her, not refuting her in any way, she had felt that she owed him something.

All these years, she had tried every method—refusing him, avoiding him, fading out of his life, distancing herself from him, giving him time to calm down, refusing him again—all to no avail.

It was as he had said—if he did not try, it would forever be like a knot in his heart that could not be undone.

“If it doesn’t work out—”

“If it doesn’t work out, I’ll let my heart give up.” His breathing was growing increasingly shallow, like he was repressing something beneath it, to the point that Chu Jian felt as if she was going to suffocate, too.

Chu Jian paused in silence for a long while. “I… will think about it.”

The call was hung up. She had originally planned on hailing a taxi, but her mind was in too much of a jumble right then.

So, she walked from the Expo Park to the riverside of Huangpu River and then all the way to Binjiang Avenue[3].

Walking distance from the Shanghai World Expo Park to the start of Binjiang Avenue that runs along the Huangpu River is approximately 6 km or more, depending on where along the avenue Chu Jian walked to, and the walk takes an hour or more. (The map is showing the starting point of the avenue.) (Image credit left. Image credit right is Google Maps)

Midway through, she even called her mother. When the phone was answered, on that end, her mom was scolding her dad for buying some green vegetables that had been picked too late in harvest and were not fresh and tender.

After listening for a full three minutes to how to differentiate chrysanthemum greens, Chu Jian put on a casual tone and asked, “How did you end up marrying dad? He’s so slow. You were relying on true love?”

“True love? Who had true love with him? I’d only seen him three times, and every time, he’d brought his nephew along on the dates, too. The whole time, I was the one who talked. Your dad only gave me one compliment: ‘Your eyes are so pretty, like a cow’s eyes.’ He even said he’d been on seven different matchmaking dates that had all ended in failure, and if I didn’t want him either, he would just not get married.” Her mom’s laughter was cheery. “At that time, I thought, ‘Oh no, if I don’t take him, he’s going to commit suicide.’ So, I grit my teeth and agreed.”

Her mom harped on, “You young people just don’t understand. People’s way of thinking back then was very simple.”

Chu Jian exchanged a few more vague sentences with her and then hung up.

Her feet were so sore from all the walking. Flagging down a taxi, she went back and got out at the gate of the community compound that she lived in. The seafood shop that she frequented was closed today. She knocked on the door. When the female shop owner saw that it was her, she let her in.

The auntie-like shopkeeper immediately prepared for her a smorgasbord of foods that Chu Jian normally ate—all sorts of conch, shellfish, and oyster.

“Where’s your big brother?” That shopkeeper auntie set down by Chu Jian’s hand a half-glass of plum wine with greengages in it.

She answered, “He’s in Pudong district right now for an event.”

The shopkeeper went off and carried on with her busy work.

Last year, Jian Bianlin had come to visit her here in Shanghai. She had actually been in Beijing scouting shop locations for her business, though, so he had ordered her some seafood takeout from this shop. When she returned late at night, the female shopkeeper had pulled them into the shop, and they had devoured a huge meal. At the time, he had said that he was Chu Jian’s older brother, presumably because he had been worried someone might leak the scoop to the media.

Chu Jian continued devouring away that mound of strawberry conch.

Shell after empty conch shell was spread out on the ginger-coloured wood table. She did not speak, sparing no effort as she ate. She was forcing herself, telling herself silently that after eating all of this stuff here, she had to make a decision.

……

During this time, Jian Bianlin was still walking the red carpet.

Nothing had really changed.

Jian Bianlin’s expressions tonight looked normal as he strode down that red carpet. As usual, the actress who walked it with him was not able to hold onto his arm. He still very dutifully accepted interview questions, still spoke so few words that it was woeful, and, when he stepped into the event venue, still worked cooperatively with the media and their cameras but still did not really like smiling…

Anyway, there was no real significant change.

It was just that, as he sat in his seat in the middle of the second row, conversing casually with an actor he had collaborated with in his previous film, he absentmindedly was taking apart slowly that dark blue pen he had brought with him, and his hand was laden with the pen’s cap, tip, chamber, barrel, and hood cap.

After he was done taking it apart, he weighed the parts in his hand for a bit, then reassembled them again…

Amongst the people attending this event tonight, there were quite a few who had made their starts as singers, but very few were like him, someone who had started as a lead singer in a band but later switched to become a movie actor. And because the event was being live-broadcasted, it was, of course, not unusual for the currently popular male celebrities to be called on to help liven things up.

The event organizer and Xie Bin had already discussed ahead of time that there would be a slot in the program for Jian Bianlin. The video clip of it would be uploaded to the live, online feed as well as used for promotional purposes.

His original song selection had been a Mandarin one, the theme song of a movie he had acted in, but when Jian Bianlin finished walking the red carpet, he had decided to switch to sing the Cantonese version of Half-Moon Serenade.

A microphone was handed up to him in front of his face. The pen in Jian Bianlin’s hand had been dismantled for the thirty-seventh time into little separate bits. Standing backstage, he took advantage of the moment when a staff member was helping him put on his in-ear monitor to slip that pile of bits and pieces into the pocket of his dress pants.

With a strange look at him, the staff member nodded, indicating that everything was ready.

The spotlights on the stage did not follow him, focusing instead on his band and the piano accompanist, and this allowed him to feel less uncomfortable. Slowly, he sang in a low voice. It was only when the song approached its chorus that the lyrics gradually became clear.

[0:58] “Never had I thought that we would break up…

[1:08] But each second, each moment, she still possesses my heart.

……

[1:30] The one whom I always think of, the one whom I hope for, until forever.”

In that seafood shop that was not open for business…

Chu Jian sat on the tatami with her head down, still using a toothpick to solemnly, a little at a time, deal with the strawberry conch that was in the white, porcelain dish.

The very last one.

The meat was stuck too tightly. She had tried many times but was still unable to poke it out.

Her motions were too forceful, and catching her completely off guard, the toothpick snapped in two in her hand.

She froze in surprise. In that instant, many things were called up in her mind: Xie Bin telling her in a grave voice about his complicated illness; the apologies Jian Bianlin had confessed to her as his hand held the door shut; and, at the end, his almost pleading request of “Let me try, just one last time. If it doesn’t work out, I will let my heart give up” …

Chu Jian set down the last conch shell.

Feeling for the box of napkins at the corner of the table, she pulled out several napkins and wiped each one of her fingers clean.

In her mobile phone, on her WeChat chat history screen with him, the last message was still the one word of “sorry” that he had sent to her in Hangzhou.

Holding her breath, she typed out many words. Delete, delete, revise, revise. Revise, revise, delete, delete.

Her heart was pounding furiously. Her throat was so tight it felt dry. She had to summon up her courage several times, until, finally, she sent him a single word:

Okay.