NMBJ2 - 15

As soon as she got off the plane, she felt like she had entered a gas chamber. The entire month of March in Beijing had seen more than twenty days of smog.

Xi Tang came to Beijing to meet director Tang Yasun, participate in script discussions, and prepare for the filming.

On the last day of March, Xi Tang finally met Qin Guohui.

It was in the office of Hua Ying’s Tang Yasun. As part of her usual daily routine, Xi Tang went to attend a class with the scriptwriter. That day, she pushed open the door and saw a man sitting in the center of the sofa, wearing a white shirt and gray trousers. His hair was unstyled, slightly longer, falling onto his forehead. When he heard the door open, he slightly raised his head. The handsome face, with perfectly symmetrical features, was the same as she had seen countless times on screen, though his skin looked a bit older in person, with a few faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

It was the face that Xi Tang had gazed at countless times on the screen.

Though she knew he would eventually come, in that moment, she was still stunned.

The actor beside him smiled and said, “Brother Huai, Fangfei’s here.”

Fangfei was the name of Xi Tang’s character in the script.

Xi Tang took a few steps forward and stopped in front of the sofa, calling out, “Teacher Qin.”

Her throat tightened, and her voice sounded a little strange. Her heart was racing.

In that moment, too many memories rushed through her mind—her youth, with posters of him on the wall, watching his movies, later studying his acting, imagining herself performing scenes with him. And now, here she was, facing that very same face. Xi Tang’s face flushed slightly.

Qin Guohui was very kind and calm. He stood up and shook her hand: “Miss Huang.”

That morning, during the script discussion meeting, Qin Guohui was present. Xi Tang was very focused, a little shy, and didn’t say much. Luckily, no one noticed. After the meeting, when A Kuan came to pick her up, she felt dizzy and couldn’t get enough air. A Kuan thought she was hungry and low on blood sugar, so he quickly gave her some candy. The assistant scriptwriter from the crew, Xiao He, asked her, “Xi Tang, are you still going to Bei Da Street this afternoon?”

Xi Tang nodded.

“Then I’ll see you this afternoon.”

When the first preparation meeting for the “Spring Delay” crew was held in Beijing, director Tang Yasun gave each actor a library card. The address on the card led to a private library located deep in a lane on Bei Da Street in Beijing. The library housed a large collection of precious family letters, photos, and documents from the founding era to the present, particularly from the turbulent decade of the Cultural Revolution.

During her more than ten days in Beijing, Xi Tang went to the library every day after her training.

That afternoon, Xi Tang was browsing through documents on the shelves when she saw an elderly gentleman with gray-white hair entering the library, supported by two young people, with several staff members following him.

Xi Tang saw a familiar face.

As soon as Shen Min saw her, she bent down and said a few words to the elderly gentleman, then walked over to Xi Tang.

Shen Min smiled gently as she saw her: “You’ve permed your hair.”

Xi Tang touched her black shoulder-length curly hair: “Yes, for my new role.”

The script for Spring Delay was so good that Xi Tang had cried several times while reading it. In the play, the main female character, Ding Fangfei, is 34 years old, a white-collar worker at a design company, married with a five-year-old daughter. Her husband, played by Qin Guohui, is Zuo Hou. The couple has been married for many years, but their relationship has grown increasingly dull. They argue over trivial matters and eventually reach the point of divorce. Just then, Fangfei’s mother suddenly passes away, leaving a last wish for Fangfei to find her older brother in Xining, Qinghai Province.

Fangfei has never heard of this place, Ge’ermu Farm in Xining, Qinghai.

She remembers that her parents married late but were always in love. Her father, much older than her mother, passed away some years ago. Her mother continued to cherish her father. Fangfei never imagined that, when her mother passed away, she longed for another man.

In 1978, her mother, from an intellectual family, left her Qinghai husband and their two-year-old son to return to the city. In the harsh times, her personal desires became her greatest guilt. While alive, she had a husband and daughter, and couldn’t face this guilt. However, upon her death, she left almost all her inheritance, a house in the city, and several hundred thousand yuan in savings to the son abandoned by her at the shores of Qinghai Lake.

Fangfei didn’t know she had a half-brother.

Her mother’s death brought immense changes to Fangfei’s life. She was filled with grief, but also a quiet sense of dissatisfaction—dissatisfied that this brother had taken away her mother’s love. She, the only daughter her mother had, was still obligated to fulfill her mother’s last wish. Since she was separated from her husband, she had no choice but to take her five-year-old daughter and travel west, from the prosperous and wealthy eastern China to search for the brother she had never met in a far-off place.

Xi Tang shyly said, “It makes me look older, doesn’t it?”

Shen Min smiled warmly: “It looks good.”

Shen Min then took her into the restricted section of the library.

Inside, there were some highly private collections that the donors had requested not to be made available to the public and only for academic research. Among these was part of Shen Min’s parents’ letters and diaries.

Shen Min said, “These are my donations—my parents’ letters written back to Beijing, and my father’s work notes written in Qinghai. The total is about 300,000 words. I kept a copy for myself, and the originals were donated to Mr. Tian’s library.”

Xi Tang, who had been studying materials on this topic lately, was deeply moved.

Seeing her eyes well up with tears, Shen Min quickly changed the subject: “The man you just saw was Mr. Tian. Did you meet him? He’s Zhou Zhou’s calligraphy teacher.”

Xi Tang nodded. Tian Jiqing, a renowned calligrapher, collector, and library curator.

Shen Min smiled and said, “Zhou Zhou has been learning from him since childhood. Later, the old gentleman also sent me. I write fairly average, but Zhou Zhou formally became his student.”

Shen Min led her to tour the library’s collection. They reached a small reading room with a large brown-red desk and long benches. Shen Min explained that this reading room wasn’t open to the public. It was usually reserved for graduate students from the history and Chinese departments of several universities in Beijing. Since it was Monday, the room was empty. Shen Min pushed open the door and Xi Tang, curious, looked around. Shen Min, however, stood still in the middle of the large desk, pointing to a calligraphy piece on the wall and smiling, “Can you guess who wrote this?”

On the white wall hung a calligraphy scroll, with flowing black ink resembling clouds. The wooden scroll was mounted with brocade, and Xi Tang squinted, tilting her head to look at the three lines of clerical script. She realized it was a copy of The Far-Reaching Scroll, written by a master and his disciple, their difficult journey; from Ji and Baoshe, lucky to be unharmed.

Later, from the time she started working with the scriptwriter in Beijing until June, when she left for the Qinghai filming location, Xi Tang maintained this habit. Every day after her training, she would come to the reading room to rehearse the script. Several bamboo plants were planted outside the window, and it was incredibly quiet.

Sometimes, when she became tired from reading the script, Xi Tang would look up and rub her eyes. That calligraphy would catch her attention—its delicate strokes, flowing beauty, yet completed in a single, continuous motion. It seemed like the wind and snow had merged, the characters unmarked except for a small red stamp at the bottom of the scroll.

Such elegant writing must have been crafted by someone with an unruly and proud nature.

One day, during a meeting at Hua Ying, a colleague from the director’s team called her, “Fangfei, Fangfei,” and she instinctively turned around.

It was in that moment that Xi Tang realized she had fully entered the role.

On Thursday afternoon, after Zhao Pingjin finished a meeting, he returned to his office, and shortly after, Shen Min followed him in.

Shen Min greeted him and spread some documents across his desk: “These are the development plans for two new projects that need your approval. This is an urgent document, and here’s the promotion list for the reserve cadres.”

Zhao Pingjin sat in his chair, took his water cup, but it was half-empty and cold. He frowned slightly.

Shen Min pressed the internal phone and asked the secretary to bring in his usual water.

Zhao Pingjin massaged his brow and focused on the documents in front of him. After a while, he suddenly looked up and glanced at Shen Min: “In a hurry to leave work?”

Since entering his office, Shen Min had looked at her watch twice.

Shen Min said, “No.”

Zhao Pingjin checked the time—it was just past five in the afternoon, still early. He often worked overtime and had social engagements after work, so Shen Min, who accompanied him, rarely left before eight.

Shen Min suddenly spoke: “I have an appointment with Xi Tang today.”

Zhao Pingjin’s hand, which had been resting on the desk, froze.

Shen Min explained: “I had planned to leave briefly during work, but your meeting took longer than expected. I have another reception later... She needs some materials from the library that aren’t allowed to be photocopied. I promised to bring her a copy.”

Zhao Pingjin didn’t lift his head as he spoke, “You can deliver it to her tomorrow.”

Shen Min replied, “She’s leaving Beijing tomorrow to shoot in Qinghai.”

Zhao Pingjin remained silent for a while, still flipping through the documents in his hands. Shen Min stood motionless in front of his desk.

Without his command, no one dared to move.

After finishing the stack of documents, Zhao Pingjin set down his pen, stood up, and looked at Shen Min, saying, “Give it to me.”

Shen Min was taken aback.

Furrowing his brows, Zhao Pingjin, not sure whom he was angry with, added, “The thing you’re giving her, give it to me.”

Shen Min said, “You have other things to do this afternoon, don’t you?”

Zhao Pingjin had already buttoned up his shirt cuffs and took his suit jacket. “Check Secretary He’s schedule, if there’s something, call me.”

The driver saw him coming down the stairs. “Mr. Zhao, do you need a car?”

Zhao Pingjin replied, “I’ll drive myself.”