Chapter 36

The level of social death: The peach blossoms this comedian planted tonight can go straight to the crematorium to compete for a flower wreath.

Gu Yi remembered the sales pitch from the gym: Every man must go through 180 days of controlling sugar, cutting carbs, aerobic and anaerobic exercises before he can win the favor of a girl.

What qualifications does she, a woman who loves to eat sugar and is too lazy to exercise, have to experience such a feeling? It’s like someone who has been lying lazily in bed, not moving for a long time, thinking they deserve to eat a duck that has been placed on the treadmill every day and turned into braised duck racks.

So, looking at Liang Daiwen on the left and Xu Guanrui on the right, Gu Yi instinctively took a step back. She didn’t want to walk into an abyss easily. But halfway through her retreat, she realized that she had the brain of a comedian and a kind soul. At this moment, she was like a nouveau riche on the other side of love, who accidentally became a love millionaire and tried her best to avoid showing that she didn’t really understand love. Such a plot would even make Gatsby say “well done.”

She stepped back a little, then moved forward again, walking stiffly and straightly. Liang Daiwen coldly said, “What are you doing, coming in and out like that? Is this military training?”

Fear was exactly what she had. She had seen Liang Daiwen speak before—he could be eloquent when he was clueless about romance and sharp as a sword when competing for love. Now, she sniffed her shoulder, where Liang Daiwen’s usual fragrance lingered. His habit of using perfume was simply to avoid the smell of sweat after a full day’s wear. The amount wasn’t enough to make him smell like a pickled vegetable, was it? Could he be marking his territory like a little dog at a telephone pole?

Xu Guanrui’s fingers fluttered like butterfly wings in front of Gu Yi’s eyes: “Aren’t you going to introduce your friends?”

As long as Xu Guanrui wanted, he could probably always chat with strangers effortlessly. Within minutes, he was chatting with Guan Xingxin—he knew some voice actor friends in Japan, often worked as a virtual streamer, and had even released an album. As for Guan Xingxin’s previous video, Xu Guanrui didn’t bring it up. The conversation centered on her remarkable appearance and how she stood out in the “middleman” industry. Such friends were to be treasured. People who were good at speaking made every word feel like playing piano on a girl’s heart.

Yu Dule whispered in Gu Yi’s ear: “Should I be on alert?”

Not necessary. Many people are fickle, but Xu Guanrui definitely wasn’t one of them. Yu Dule, however, was doing his best to cut ties between Xu Guanrui and Gu Yi, subtly indicating that there was no possibility between Xu Guanrui and Guan Xingxin—how malicious.

Lu Ming was in the yard, collecting umbrellas and candles and sweeping away the wilting cherry blossoms. The world was covered with fallen cherry blossoms, and the jasmine vines on the wall would soon bloom. The group exchanged some casual greetings, and the topic shifted to telling jokes. Lu Ming said his parents had been pressuring him to go on blind dates, which was a bit overwhelming. Just saying that made Guan Xingxin’s expression freeze for a second, and Gu Yi noticed it.

Xu Guanrui casually asked, “Has Gu Yi ever been on a blind date?”

“I have. Jacqueline forced me to go do an assignment once, and I spent a while at People’s Park. But mainly, I was in a war of words with old uncles and aunts from Shanghai. I didn’t go on many blind dates,” Gu Yi replied.

Everyone showed curiosity, except Xu Guanrui, whose expression changed. Gu Yi, lost in her own thoughts, continued talking: “The area around the blind date square seems to have a higher average temperature and carbon dioxide concentration than other places. Old uncles and aunts, with their little umbrellas, speak with such a superior Shanghai accent, and their disdainful expressions made me... uncomfortable. So when they asked me how much I earn per month, I told them fifty thousand. They were shocked and asked me how I made it. I said I get run over by cars every month and get compensation.”

“You’re really fond of debating, aren’t you?”

“I also play poor sometimes. The poorest time was when I lived in a bedroom converted from a balcony, with great lighting. The sun was so strong, it even made my eyelashes melt. I used disposable products more than once, and when I was in a rush to leave, I poured hot water into a plastic bottle and made different art pieces—nothing compared to the Dragon Museum or the Bund No.1. My aunt asked me if drinking that water would make me sick, and I said it’s fine, it’ll make my chest grow bigger and my face whiter. They stopped talking after that.”

This caused the five people present to hesitate. Gu Yi suddenly realized that two of them were stand-up comedians, and there were people she might have romantic feelings for here—why was she telling jokes in front of people who could potentially be her partners?

Everyone’s gaze slowly shifted downward.

Fortunately, Liang Daiwen kept his usual composure, unmoving like in the first row of Ounce, with a calm expression. Xu Guanrui leaned in close to Gu Yi: “Is he a robot? He hasn’t smiled since I entered.”

The trash cat instinctively shielded her, not allowing Xu Guanrui to laugh at her: “He has a very high laugh threshold. I rarely see him smile.”

Liang Daiwen overheard and said, “What’s so funny about this? Living such a hard life and still trying to make it into a joke. Rather than laughing, it’d be better to take her home and let her live healthily.”

This statement was heavy with meaning, and Xu Guanrui seemed to understand it. Guan Xingxin asked, “So, Xu Guanrui, how did you meet Gu Yi?”

Xu Guanrui seemed to want to provoke Liang Daiwen: “At the convenience store opposite Ounce. I heard there was stand-up comedy, so I came to ask about the selection rules. I happened to see Gu Yi standing by the roadside, her eyes filled with tears.”

Liang Daiwen reached for the back of Gu Yi’s neck. He didn’t touch her skin, but he grabbed the collar of her shirt and moved her away from Xu Guanrui’s view. Gu Yi was forced to take two steps back, then ended up almost suspended in the air, feeling suffocated—what was this? A cat being picked up?

The atmosphere grew more tense. Lu Ming quickly pulled out six scripts: “Read the script, read the script.”

The romance script was for three men and three women, three couples. The story was about a couple who met online in the early days of the millennium, when dial-up internet was still in use, and couldn’t be used simultaneously with the landline. Gu Yi and Guan Xingxin drew roles as two sisters from the same family. The older sister used the phone to chat with her local boyfriend, while the younger sister chatted with an unknown person online using dial-up. The older sister, finding out that her boyfriend preferred the explosion-headed girl he met at a bar, broke up with him and demanded an explanation; the younger sister rushed to an internet café to meet her online date, but was late and sent a photo of herself, only for it to be rejected due to her unattractiveness. The explosion-headed girl in the bar, who was dumped by her fiancé, wore a wig to ease her heartbreak. She was abandoned because she was stereotypical, boring, and lacked femininity…

A typical love story from the early 21st century. Lu Ming was very familiar with that era, with lines referencing Xu Huaiyu, white fluorescent eyeshadow, and platform shoes, which brought a few people back to their memories. Gu Yi was curious where Lu Ming found the time to write these things. Lu Ming only answered, “I once played a gangster boss in a theater. After the performance, an old man with a cane came up and asked me about the character’s background. He asked a few questions that stumped me, and later I found out he was a descendant of Du Yuesheng. I broke into a cold sweat. After that, I felt a bit guilty, so whenever I had free time, I’d write something, whether it’s jokes or scripts. Although my talent is not worth much scrutiny, a small talent can still deceive people.”

It seemed that Lu Ming and his ex-wife had met in an elective literature class. Whether their connection from back then ran deeper, no one knew. He calmly distributed the scripts, not giving any special attention to Guan Xingxin, as if he was only focused on the play, trying to find any flaws in the script.

The spring fragrance always grew stronger at night. During the script draw, Gu Yi and Liang Daiwen drew a pair of lovers. Gu Yi sighed in relief—if Xu Guanrui had drawn this, it would have been more awkward since she would be paired with her superior’s boyfriend in a scene that involved confrontation, which was a bit too subtle.

Gu Yi and Liang Daiwen drew a “dead on arrival” online couple. Since it was only dialogue through online messages, all they needed to do was check if the lines were smooth. After watching the other two pairs perform their scenes with interaction, Gu Yi and Liang Daiwen felt extremely dry—after all, their dialogue was just two people separated by a computer screen, spanning thousands of miles.

“Why did you suddenly stop talking?”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“I probably only have five minutes before I have to log off. My pocket money’s running low this week, and I can only stay at the internet cafe for two hours. If I stay too long, my parents will come looking for me.”

“It’s okay, log off first. I was going to study for exams, I’ll leave now.”

“Brother, you’re acting strange these two hours. After I sent the photo, you said you were going to study, but you’re still online. I specially came out to meet you and didn’t even use the chat window just so I could see your avatar flashing in the corner of the computer screen.”

“There’s no reason. You’re just not pretty enough. Sorry, it’s easier to just say what’s on my mind directly, so I said it. I thought you’d be a girl like Akagi Haruko—lively, with shoulder-length hair, a neighbor girl. But your photo… I had to squint for a long time to recognize that you were a girl.”

“Does it matter if I’m pretty?”

“Yes, just like how girls care whether we’re soulful, us boys care more about whether the person behind the computer screen is an ugly monster.”

After finishing the last line, Liang Daiwen looked up, showing the advantage of having no expression—detached, cold, with a hint of the natural chill of machines. The desktop computers of the 2000s were clunky and thick. Gu Yi had also been to small city internet cafes with smoke and chaos. The script felt like something that could happen to her—a girl whose lonely life was supported by online dating, abandoned because her pixelated photo revealed her looks. The person on the other side of the computer was rational, direct, not wasting any time, like something Liang Daiwen could have done. After reading it, Gu Yi shyly asked, “Liang Daiwen, would you be so direct?”

Liang Daiwen caught her by the nose and gently pinched it, “I don’t chat online.”

The people around them shuddered. Gu Yi stared at Liang Daiwen’s face, calm, her ears still showing a normal blood color. The way he read the script in slow motion replayed in her mind, making her feel wronged. This discomfort felt like lying on a cold floor after a whole day of exhaustion, with every detail feeling painful. What she was afraid of wasn’t the truth in the script, but that Liang Daiwen might really feel human emotions, that the sensory distortion in real life—being inadequate, often awkward, holding onto unrealistic fantasies about distant people—made her wonder if she still deserved to be this nervous.

The three others watching Gu Yi were taken aback. Yu Dule nudged him with his hand, “Why are you getting teary over this? Your script is the driest, try reading the one that Guan Xingxin got.”

“This kind of love story you wouldn’t understand. I’ve spent time in small city internet cafes. I can feel it.”

“Then how about this—” Xu Guanrui politely grabbed Guan Xingxin’s script and took Gu Yi’s hand. “That last part was too dry, let’s try the bar scene with the guy chasing the girl.”

Gu Yi glanced at the script and then at the silent Liang Daiwen. Lu Ming played a Cantonese song through the speaker. It was fatal—the expression on Xu Guanrui’s face changed in a second, the first line of the song making her heart jump.

“I love you.”

“Can you think of something proper for once?”

“No, my heart is always full of love for you, missing you, afraid of losing you. I like bad women, the promiscuous, the careless, the heartless, those who don’t care about justice, only about the eternal promises…”

“Isn’t your fiancée good enough?”

“She’s too reasonable. That’s why we can only get married, turning a romantic relationship into a familial one.”

“Is being family bad? No blood relation, but still tightly connected. I’m just a woman who happened to walk into the bar. Maybe my craziness is just a disguise…”

“It’s not good—family sounds like a dirty word. Once you get married, you’re family. Why? Because you wouldn’t treat family that well. You take everything for granted. My lover needs to fight on the battlefield with me… The way you appeared in front of me, full of passion and scars, even your shivering is charming…”

Xu Guanrui’s fingers lightly traced around Gu Yi, touching her hair, pulling at her collar. It was even more intimate than what Liang Daiwen, her former roommate, had done, always subtle, always ambiguous. Gu Yi’s sensitive skin felt the light breeze from his finger. This scene was cliché, but with the background music of Leslie Cheung and Xu Guanrui’s sad smile, her heart beat loudly. Xu Guanrui continued saying the lines, “I love you, I really love you…”

The next line was one of a woman wavering, and Gu Yi could only think of Jacqueline. She couldn’t continue reading. She pretended to break the mood and stopped the performance. The three people in the audience sighed, “Xu Guanrui looked at you so lovingly, and you didn’t break character!”

“I can’t stand a man being so affectionate towards me, it’s really hard to bear...”

Lu Ming tilted his head, confused: “Does Gu Yi not really like role-playing?”

“Yes, even though I can read the script here, I always feel like laughing, like when Xu Guanrui is being so affectionate with me, I just want to crack jokes. It’s like those role-playing murder mystery games that are popular now; when I think about it, it’s all just people acting, and I can’t get into it, it all feels fake...”

Xu Guanrui laughed softly, somewhat dejected.

You could already predict how this statement would affect Liang Daiwen, and knew that Liang Daiwen could definitely handle it calmly. But at this moment, Gu Yi realized how cruel “empathy” was for someone like Liang Daiwen. No need to compare it so directly; this wasn’t a competition of who was better. When Xu Guanrui encountered this situation, he would certainly win. On the other hand, Liang Daiwen was like someone running alone in the desert, with mirages appearing in every direction, surrounded by nothing but emptiness. There was very little she could do at this point, and for whatever reason, she didn’t want to see Liang Daiwen sad.

Meanwhile, Liang Daiwen sat calmly in the audience, holding his script as if watching a stand-up comedy show, like cold water had been poured over him from head to toe, wrapping his discomfort so thoroughly that there was no crack to expose. If it was their first meeting, Gu Yi would have been furious, upset that there could be an audience member who didn’t even react with laughter. But now, she understood. Her intense thoughts hadn’t fully processed this emotion, and the first thing he did was—pretend to be a robot. His usual calmness was his way of surviving, confident that he could live without doubting himself.

Liang Daiwen merely raised an eyebrow, and his pouting expression looked straight out of a Korean drama: “Xu Guanrui did a great job, why did you laugh first? Not professional.”

“Sounds like you’re really into it.”

“I am. I’m playing the heartless online stranger, aren’t I?”

All of his subtle expressions were directed at Xu Guanrui. He continued playing along with Gu Yi’s laugh, pretending, cleverly shifting his tone, completely confident and seemingly without jealousy, more familiar than Xu Guanrui, magnanimous, and considering his acting skills superior. Especially when sitting upright on the sofa, expressionless, looking as if he controlled the entire world. Guan Xingxin, seeing through it without mentioning it, was busy passing Xu Guanrui a bottle of water: “I was really moved watching this, the dialogue with Xu Guanrui made it feel like a real stage play. Uncle Lu, where did you get the inspiration for these lines?”

“You—guys...”

The courtyard was filled with the gentle sound of the breeze.

For a moment, no one seemed ready to leave. Xu Guanrui went out to buy a few bottles of alcohol, and they sat around the sofa talking about work and the industry, but never mentioned relationships. The group drank to the point of being sloshed, and when Liang Daiwen went to the bathroom, Xu Guanrui leaned in, his voice a little nasal: “I think I understand why you like him.”

“You can tell that?”

“Of course. Melting the ice-cold, silent mountain, there’s a certain sense of moving determination in that, like the myth of the phoenix reborn or the perseverance of the foolish old man. But—” Xu Guanrui paused, “It has sparked my fighting spirit.”

“Fighting spirit?”

“Like... to win you over.”

Gu Yi’s heart skipped a beat. Liang Daiwen suddenly sat next to the sofa with a thud, as if making his presence known. Xu Guanrui quickly ended the conversation, intentionally making it ambiguous so that Liang Daiwen could hear: “That last sentence wasn’t necessarily a joke. You can take it to heart.”