Chapter 11

Romantic nature always stays young; those without warmth do not get hurt.

Recently, the selection process at Ounce had loosened up a bit. Gu Yi had gone several times, but Liang Daiwen had not appeared. After drinking too much one night, she replied to the HR email the next morning, saying the fine could be deducted directly from her 13th-month salary and that there was no need for installments.

Better to deal with the pain quickly than to drag it out. Recently, after work, Gu Yi would go to Ounce to eat peanuts as a snack while watching others perform at the open mic. The deeper reason, however, was to see Yu Dule. He had always been regarded as a god in the comedy scene, but his popular segment, “Tonight’s 80s Show,” had been canceled, and since then, he had no place to submit his work. Open mics were held three times a week, and Yu Dule practiced his routines just to have an official platform to prove his skills; now, it was just for his own entertainment.

In 2017, two comedians, relying on each other, sighed together at Ounce. Both were in the late-night comedy scene—overseas programs could send performers to the theater or studio, while in China, it would likely take three to five years to get an actor from a bar to the backstage. Aside from posting short videos online, most actors had to hide in the wild bar culture—casual and slightly tipsy, an atmosphere that could not be replaced.

Gu Yi wasn’t really that upset, as long as she could perform, she was happy. She threw her arm around Yu Dule’s shoulder and said, “Don’t be sad, worst case, you can go back to your old job. You’re one of the best in post-production in Shanghai. And now, there are other comedy variety shows, so if you want to submit work, there’s still a chance.”

“Stop comforting me.”

“Oh my god, we’ve been friends for so many years, who else would I care about if I don’t care about you?”

After Yu Dule finished setting the table, he turned around and said, “Gu Yi, you’re just radiating love recently. How sweet it must be at Liang Daiwen’s place, your oxytocin levels are through the roof.”

Oxytocin, aka the love hormone, had always been Yu Dule’s favorite way to tease Gu Yi. It was when Gu Yi had first been criticized by an audience member for using that term during an interactive segment, as a male viewer found it offensive. Since then, whenever someone was down, Yu Dule would pull out the word and humorously repeat it. Gu Yi understood that Yu Dule was comforting himself, reminding him not to worry too much about the salary deduction.

But right now, Gu Yi couldn’t smile. It was the end of the year, and she hadn’t saved a penny. She was getting further away from the idea of moving out of Liang Daiwen’s place. After sneezing, Yu Dule threw his coat over her head and said, “Do you remember the dorm when we went to Suzhou TV to work on the joint project? You were showering, and I had to stand guard for you.”

Gu Yi laughed and said, “Of course, I remember. That kids’ program, listening to Suzhou dialect for a month, staying in a hotel worse than a rural guesthouse in the old town. The door outside had a lock, but inside, we could only use a bolt. You stayed on the third floor, and I stayed on the fourth. We could only take showers with a basin, and every day we counted down the days until we finished that miserable project.”

“Back then, we survived on a 1,400-yuan internship salary. Now, what’s the problem? If you’re really broke, I’ll lend you some money.”

“Forget it, the bank keeps offering me flash loans, I’m not going to ruin our friendship over that.”

Although Gu Yi and Yu Dule had been friends for a long time, Gu Yi knew he wasn’t someone she could rely on in times of hardship. He hated any situation that required him to take responsibility, whether it was friendship or love. Having traveled around the country with his parents and attended school everywhere, he never longed for stable relationships. In fact, he was extremely afraid of being tied down. Only relationships with no strings attached could remain stable. He would occasionally offer concern, but Gu Yi would always respond politely and return his support with light-hearted thanks. But Gu Yi also took small advantages from him, like demanding a meal after a breakup or tagging along with him to see a hip-hop show, or asking him out for drinks when she was stuck on writing a joke. They weren’t flirting, but she liked having some things that made her appear vulnerable around him. That way, their friendship would last.

A measured dependency had allowed them to be friends for five years.

“Then, if you’re in a bad mood, how about going to see Uncle Lu’s play? He’s having another reading session this Friday night,” Yu Dule glanced at the calendar. “There aren’t many sessions left before the New Year.”

Gu Yi raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Uncle Lu isn’t coming back from teaching people to ski to hold a reading session?”

“He said he pulled a muscle. After taking a batch of students out, he flew back early.”

“What’s the theme for this reading session?”

“‘The Laughter Seeker.’”

This topic made Gu Yi pause.

Uncle Lu rented a small 50-square-meter house in the Wuyuan Road residential area, with a small yard covered in white gravel, called “Fuzzy Corner” (Fur Theater). It was used for reading sessions for office workers who loved drama and wanted to experience performance. All the plays were written by him. He had once owned a larger space next door, but he sold it to pay off debts. Now, he only kept the current space for personal interest. He had once had many expensive hobbies, like diving and skiing, but now they had turned into his livelihood. However, his income from acting and stand-up comedy wasn’t high, and aside from relieving life’s frustrations, his main purpose was probably to make friends. Gu Yi first saw the reading session of The Unseemly Words on the Fuzzy Corner WeChat account, and she came over because of her interest. She had a great time and later learned that Uncle Lu sold these scripts to theaters or turned them into “script murder” games, the latter of which was more profitable. There were ten high and low stools set up in the room and yard as seats, and there was a cat food bowl, with wild cats occasionally coming in.

Gu Yi had also invited Liang Daiwen, but for some reason, they had not crossed paths lately. Yu Dule looked at Lu Ming, who was binding scripts in the yard: “Did you notice, Uncle Lu seems to be paying off his debts, but everything he’s doing is just for fun.”

“After paying off the debts, is it wrong for me to do something fun?” Lu Ming laughed innocently. There were six copies of The Laughter Seeker script on the table, and Lu Ming said with a smile, “Three men, three women. First come, first served.”

Gu Yi said she had invited a stand-up comedy fan along, and asked if that would be okay.

Yu Dule winked. “It’s his ambiguous companion, that guy who doesn’t smile.”

Lu Ming smiled knowingly. “I remember.”

“Don’t overthink it. Under the same roof, we’ve only met less than five times,” Gu Yi’s face turned red as she said this, quickly changing the topic. “If someone has trouble reading the script today, don’t worry, I’ll help you break the ice.”

Just as she finished speaking, Liang Daiwen pushed open the gate to the yard and greeted Gu Yi. Her heartbeat quickened for a moment, but then a girl followed him in. She had thick hair, wearing a long skirt and a large coat, with delicate, retro features, like a beauty from the Showa era. Lu Ming and Yu Dule both turned to look at Gu Yi. This woman, the companion of the male audience member Gu Yi had brought, seemed to be much closer to Liang Daiwen than she was.

Gu Yi froze, the blood drained from her head to her feet—who was this person?

It was Lu Ming who spoke first. “Do you have a reservation?”

“I left a message backstage, hoping Uncle Lu would write something about laughter, ‘Guan Xingxin.’”

Lu Ming stood up. “Oh, the inspiration provider for this script. Welcome.”

Yu Dule also changed his tone to greet and introduce himself. Liang Daiwen sat next to Gu Yi without further explanation, casually picking up a script. Gu Yi’s mind was filled with questions—wasn’t anyone going to explain what was going on? Liang Daiwen had such a beautiful ambiguous companion, so why did he bring her home? If he really had a girlfriend, wouldn’t it be better to explain it so she wouldn’t misunderstand for so long?

She certainly couldn’t stay calm, but out of her natural inclination for humor, she laughed loudly and waved, trying to comfort herself while feeling heartbroken inside. She had to remind herself not to panic. Even if everything from the past half month with Liang Daiwen was a misinterpretation, she had to act like it didn’t matter. In moments of ambiguity, the first thing an adult needed to maintain was face.

After a while, a female student from Shanghai Theatre Academy joined, and the six people were finally ready for the script reading. The Laughter Seeker was a script with three men and three women, telling the story of a girl named Peng Lai, who regained her sight after a corneal transplant. Raised with the love of two families, she grew weary of life and lost her smile. She hid in a foreign city, wanting to disappear. The girl had been blind until the age of five when a corneal donation allowed her to see the world. The donor family’s daughter died in a car accident, leaving only heartbroken parents and a brother. She came to Shanghai alone and fell in love with the brother of the donor, experiencing new circumstances in her life. The six characters included lovers, friends, and infidelity. During the reading, Gu Yi wasn’t really paying attention, unsure which parts were real or fake, or which character Liang Daiwen was playing.

Interruptions were not allowed during the reading, so while holding her friend’s script, Gu Yi outwardly performed her lines comforting Peng Lai but was seriously analyzing the roles. Was Liang Daiwen the brother of the girl who had lost her life? Or was he her superior at work? Surely he wasn’t the man having an affair... Watching Guan Xingxin’s bright eyes full of affection and laughter, it was like the moon in fullness and decline—she had once lost her sight for five years, but now, with her beauty, she could have a magnificent life.

Gu Yi kept glancing at Liang Daiwen, who, apart from not showing any emotion, seemed unaware of what “expression” even meant. His voice, though pleasant, was devoid of any emotion, making his role in the affair seem mechanical, like a text-to-speech machine.

Gu Yi had never found a script reading so unbearable. The six characters finished by 11 PM, and the theater student left first. The remaining five gathered around, drinking hot cocoa, marveling at how Uncle Lu’s script could easily bring people closer. Gu Yi couldn’t hold back any longer and asked Guan Xingxin, “Are these your real-life stories?”

Guan Xingxin smiled and replied, “I was blind until I was five, that’s true. The rest, the real and the fictional, were adapted from my memories, though a lot of it may have been self-glorified.”

Before Gu Yi could ask her main question, Liang Daiwen seemed to have guessed what she was curious about. “There’s no part for me in the script, don’t look for me.”

Gu Yi felt deflated, like a punctured balloon. “Then, what about you two... coming in together...”

Yu Dule leaned back in his chair, watching with interest, waiting for the answer. Liang Daiwen looked at the script and said, “She and I share the same psychologist; we’ve known each other for a while.”

“Just ordinary friends?” Gu Yi stared at Liang Daiwen’s lips.

“Not exactly. Sometimes I pretend to be her boyfriend to fend off unwanted suitors.”

Gu Yi felt like she was on a 4D rollercoaster, not only going up and down but spinning around as well. Lu Ming added more cocoa to his cup. “I’m not surprised at all. Guan Xingxin is a virtual streamer, so it’s normal that some people are curious about the person behind the screen. If it weren’t for the inspiration, I wouldn’t even know there’s such a thing as a ‘middleman’ job.”

After listening for a while, it finally dawned on her that the new virtual anime characters introduced by the live-streaming platform were actually called “chu zhi ren” (the “person behind the avatar”). Guan Xingxin’s daily job was to hide behind a virtual persona named “Leila” for live-streaming. Leila, like Hatsune Miku, has twin tails, blue hair, and manga-like proportions, and she has over 10,000 fans on Bilibili. Virtual streamers were still a new type of live-streaming, but flirting in the stream had already become routine. Occasionally, some fans who had tipped her would go to great lengths to find Guan Xingxin’s private address, wanting to befriend her. Liang Daiwen would step in as a shield, pretending to be her boyfriend or even her older brother to block unwanted attention.

Thinking of the phrase “for emergencies,” Gu Yi felt a chill run down her spine.

“I really get tired of dealing with people. I thought I could separate myself completely from these fake roles, but I still underestimated the fans’ enthusiasm. But I really—” Guan Xingxin shook her head, “I’m not good at interacting with people, and I don’t like it.”

Lu Ming smiled while holding the script: “So the lines you gave me as material, I really liked them when I finished writing them. You told me on the phone that after the surgery, with the bandage over your eyes, you could only remove one layer each day. The journey from darkness to light involved so many things to face, so you could only feel the light first. But the day you truly saw the world, all you felt was fear and dread, because you realized your mother was real, there were so many people watching you, and you had to receive all the love that poured in, while before, you could just nod in acknowledgment.”

Lost in thought, Gu Yi didn’t realize it had already passed midnight, but no one seemed ready to leave. Liang Daiwen extended a finger and moved the strands of hair that had fallen into Gu Yi’s cocoa cup. It had started raining outside. Gu Yi glanced at Liang Daiwen, who reached out and pinched the tip of her nose, it was warm, and he slowly lowered his hand.

Guan Xingxin, sitting across from them, observed the scene with a flicker in her eyes. Liang Daiwen moved his lips and exchanged a glance with Guan Xingxin, but showed no reaction. For the first time, Gu Yi saw such a stark contrast: sensitivity and emotionality versus indifference. The only emotion Liang Daiwen seemed to show was perhaps embarrassment.

Yu Dule asked Lu Ming, “Lu uncle, so will this be turned into a stage play or a murder mystery?”

“Of course, it’s a stage play. The character design is so unique, I definitely want to see it performed on stage.”

The rain grew heavier. In the small living room, there was only one umbrella. The group kept passing it around, so they all decided to stay in the small living room and continue reading the script. Lu Ming took on two roles and read even more seriously. With the guard down around Guan Xingxin, Gu Yi finally pieced together her character. She appeared to be weary of people but often found herself caught in unclear romantic situations. Because of her live-streaming job, she was very aware of the greedy side of human nature. The way she handled emotions in the script was something Lu Ming, a man abandoned by his wife, couldn’t have written.

It was clear that someone like Liang Daiwen, who acted as a shield, was needed to ward off the swarm of admirers around her.

By the time it was 2:45 AM, both Yu Dule and Liang Daiwen had fallen asleep. Lu Ming carefully put the script into a protective cover and placed it neatly on the bookshelf. Gu Yi stepped outside to listen to the rain. A strange metaphor popped into her mind, comparing her feelings for Liang Daiwen to wet clothes hanging on a clothesline, swaying with the wind. She couldn’t explain it clearly, but that’s just what came to her.

As she opened the door, it was Guan Xingxin. Gu Yi hadn’t fully relaxed her vigilance, but when she saw her standing under the eaves, her clean and perfect side profile, she couldn’t help but feel a flutter in her chest for the beauty of the Showa era. Guan Xingxin took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, “Liang Daiwen and I are old friends. Recently, he’s been mentioning you a lot.”

“Mm?”

“He said there’s an interesting new guest at his place, and it feels fresh to have someone to talk to when he gets home.”

“That evaluation is so awkward, exactly something Liang Daiwen would say.”

“Do you know he keeps bugs at home?”

“Of course, I saw the silkworms he’s raising the other day. It was quite a shock.”

“He used to raise crickets, but they were so noisy that the neighbors complained.”

Gu Yi laughed until tears came out. “What a weirdo.”

But Guan Xingxin didn’t laugh. “He’s not someone you can entrust your life to.”

“What do you mean?”

“He has emotional disorders. He’s been sentenced to death by love. You didn’t feel it while living with him? He doesn’t have emotions. Becoming friends with someone like him can be reliable, his thoughts are all based on analysis, but love—can you imagine spending a lifetime with someone who can’t feel love? Just from tonight, I can tell you like him, but I still feel the need to remind you. He’s been seeing a psychologist for three years, and in the past year, he’s been working hard to heal himself. But the feelings he can perceive might only be about 10% of what others feel. This subtle sensation isn’t something you should embrace.”

Gu Yi simply looked at her silently. Guan Xingxin didn’t say anything more, just opened the door and walked inside. Liang Daiwen was stretching lazily, leaning on the high-low stools, and the only difference from earlier was that his eyes were open and closed. The answer had been right in front of her all along, yet she had been deceived for so long. The sensation of his finger on the tip of her nose hadn’t dissipated, and her feelings of grievance and anger were awkwardly exposed. Thankfully, she was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, only the rain and night could expose her vulnerability.

Her phone vibrated—Yu Dule had messaged her: “Are you sure Guan Xingxin isn’t Liang Daiwen’s girlfriend?”

“Mm. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”

“I’m not worried about you,” Yu Dule typed for a long time, as if half-awake. “I’m going to chase her.”

The tired urbanite’s passion and energy for life seemed to be entirely fueled by love. Earlier, she had slipped some personal thoughts into a piece she wrote for the editor’s notes: “What transforms humans is their desires.” The strange clarity in her nostrils suddenly woke Gu Yi up. In a twisted way, she thought, trembling in sorrow but still excited—perhaps she had gone crazy. How bad could life get? Let’s face it all together.