Chapter 3

Chapter 3 A Startling Dream in the Pear Garden (2): When Guan Zhi Calmed Down, … After that, Guan Zhi and Bai Qi visibly grew much closer. Guan Zhi had been calling in sick for quite a long time, and the Troupe Master's expression gradually grew unpleasant. He kept dropping hints, saying that if Guan Zhi continued working for three days and taking two days off, he might as well leave the troupe altogether and make room for someone else. There were plenty of young people with clear, powerful voices waiting to take the stage. Guan Zhi leaned against the makeup table, cracking a few melon seeds at his leisure. At that, he did not even raise his eyes. “Do you think I want to be sick? It’s this voice of mine that’s being unreasonable, throwing a tantrum at me. What can I do?” His shameless, utterly unyielding manner made the Troupe Master’s temper flare. In the end, he flung down the words “Out of sight, out of mind” and ordered Guan Zhi to stop hanging around the troupe if he was not going to open his mouth and sing. “Besides,” Guan Zhi said, brushing nonexistent dust from his lapel with a laugh that was more than a little roguish, “my patron has poured plenty of real gold and silver into this place. Why shouldn’t I come here?” He pointed casually around them. “Just look. This mirror, this room—what part of this place doesn’t have my share in it?” With Guan Zhi making such a brazen scene and throwing his weight around, no one in the troupe could get the better of him for the moment. After he had argued until everyone lost their tempers and dispersed, the spacious backstage was left with only him and Bai Qi. Bai Qi quietly gathered up the costumes. After a long while, he finally asked softly, “…Is there really something wrong with your voice?” The smile faded somewhat from Guan Zhi’s face. He casually tossed the remaining melon seeds back into the dish, the crisp clatter ringing out. “Ah, don’t mention it. I don’t know what’s going on. I just can’t get the pitch up, and the moment I put any force into it, it feels like I’ve swallowed sandpaper.” There was irritation pressed into his voice as he spoke. His hand was long and slender, with distinct knuckles and cool, pale skin. At that moment, it rested casually against his throat, his fingertips unconsciously stroking over his Adam’s apple. His overly exquisite face briefly tightened with a frown. But the gloom dispersed in the very next instant. Bai Qi lifted his eyes, his gaze clear and cool as it settled on Guan Zhi’s face. “So you came up with this method—finding someone to sing for you?” Guan Zhi raised an eyebrow, surprise at being exposed showing in his expression. “How did you know?” Bai Qi lowered his eyes and continued arranging the water sleeves. His voice remained light. “I’ve seen him before. He was always sneaking around, acting suspiciously… I thought he had come to do something improper.” Guan Zhi immediately leaned closer, piling on an ingratiating smile. He lowered his voice, making his plea soft and coaxing. “Good Little Senior Brother Bai, you absolutely have to help me keep this secret. Let it be a secret between the two of us, all right? If you tell anyone, I’ll have nowhere to put this face of mine. I really won’t be able to survive in the opera business anymore.” Bai Qi sighed softly, a trace of worry drawing together his brows. “But keeping it hidden like this isn’t a long-term solution. Given enough time, people will eventually notice the flaws.” Guan Zhi waved a hand, unconcerned. A glint of sharp calculation flashed through his eyes. “Then I’ll think of another way. At worst, I’ll find some rich and powerful backer to cling to. I can’t let the thing that puts food on the table become useless and starve myself to death, can I?” After saying that, he snickered first. His gaze shifted to Bai Qi, carrying something that was difficult to identify as envy or something else. “But speaking of which, you really do have a good life. Just look at you: Young Master Di, Young Master Song—aren’t they both important, well-connected figures? Every one of them is willing to support you.” Bai Qi was facing the mirror and removing his head ornaments. His hands paused at those words, but his tone remained flat and emotionless. “They attend my performances, and I perform. The money and goods change hands, and that’s all.” Guan Zhi clicked his tongue, as though annoyed by Bai Qi’s failure to understand. “Young Master Song is so attentive to you. Anyone with eyes can see it. Don’t be so ungrateful. I’ve heard that the Song family is in industry and runs several major textile mills. They’ve got a very substantial fortune. If you went with him, would you ever have to worry about food or clothing for the rest of your life?” Bai Qi lowered his lashes, looking at his reflection in the mirror, where traces of makeup had yet to be completely wiped away. His voice was as light as a murmur. “…I am a man, after all.” “What does being a man have to do with it?” Guan Zhi sounded as though he had heard a joke. He raised an eyebrow, his tone carrying the careless nonchalance of someone speaking from experience, along with the coldness of someone who had seen through the ways of the world. “In this world, if you can enjoy yourself for one day, then enjoy yourself for one day. Why think so far ahead? Who can say what will happen in the future?” Bai Qi lowered his lashes and carefully wiped the hairpins he had removed with a soft cloth. He did not answer, and it was impossible to tell how much of Guan Zhi’s words he had taken to heart. “From now on, don’t find that person to sing for you anymore.” Disapproval showed in Bai Qi’s eyes, and his expression turned solemn. “If someone from the troupe notices, perhaps it can still be covered up, and the situation may remain under control.” “But what if…” Bai Qi’s gaze swept across the backstage of this not particularly spacious theater, a place that had borne witness to countless joys and sorrows. His voice grew heavier. “What if one of the sharp-eared guests below recognizes something is wrong and exposes you on the spot?” “At that point, it won’t be only you who gets dragged into it. The reputation of the entire opera garden will be ruined as well, and everyone will have to starve.” His final words carried the chill of knowing that when one’s lips are gone, one’s teeth will be exposed to the cold. “I understand,” Guan Zhi said. The weather in the north changed in an instant. Just two days earlier, there had been only a slight chill, but before long, the cold had seeped into his bones. Guan Zhi put on a padded cotton jacket over his thin clothes, yet still felt the icy wind worming its way down his collar. With nothing else to do, he wandered back to the residence at Little Western Garden. In this era, there was no internet or television, and even the available forms of entertainment were scarce and primitive. He walked two laps around the empty room, finding himself unbearably bored. In the end, he could not resist sending someone to summon Di Gui. Di Gui was, after all, a young master of status and much busier than Guan Zhi. When he arrived, the biting chill of the outdoors still clung to him. “You really are busy,” Guan Zhi said. “You don’t even have time to come see me.” He had been drinking, and almost instinctively, just as he had done so many times in the past, he lazily sank into the sofa and rested his head on Di Gui’s thigh. Di Gui’s body stiffened noticeably, but he did not push him away. When Guan Zhi fell quiet, he truly did resemble a sleek, spotted cat. All his claws and fangs seemed to retract, leaving his body soft and almost weightless as it floated over someone’s knees. His usually overly lively eyes were half closed, the outer corners naturally drooping into a lazy, innocent curve, as though silently urging someone to reach out and smooth his dark hair. Di Gui lowered his eyes to look at the unusually docile profile resting on his lap, unconsciously lightening even his breathing. Only while Guan Zhi’s consciousness was clouded, suspended in that vague space between sleep and wakefulness, did he dare reach out. With the faintest trace of hesitation, his fingertips lightly brushed over the soft crown of Guan Zhi’s head and followed the warm skin down the back of his neck. Once, then again—the movements restrained and secretive. He knew that once Guan Zhi was fully awake and returned to his sharp-tongued, prickly self, it would be impossible to speak of touching him like this. Perhaps even looking at him one time too many would bring a bout of “cat scratches”—not enough to cause any real harm, but more than enough to leave a person flustered and unsettled. Two days later, when Guan Zhi returned to the opera garden, he heard that Bai Qi had fallen ill. Guan Zhi truly had not been coming around much lately. Di Gui was efficient in his dealings and had somehow obtained a small box of rare Western tablets. Guan Zhi tucked the medicine away and wandered over to Bai Qi’s residence. The courtyard was in a somewhat remote area, but its greatest advantage was its quiet. The person caring for Bai Qi was a teenage boy named Guan Zhen, who looked to be only a little over ten years old. The moment Guan Zhi stepped through the courtyard gate, he smelled the strong, bitter scent of traditional medicine. It had been simmering for so long that even the air had taken on its somber, heavy odor. Guan Zhi tossed the small glass medicine bottle in his hand to Guan Zhen and raised his chin. “Take this to your gentleman and have him follow the instructions. Western medicine works fast.” Bai Qi’s suppressed cough came from the inner room, weak with illness, followed by a question asking who had come. Guan Zhen hurriedly replied, “It’s Mr. Guan.” Guan Zhi remained standing in the courtyard and did not go inside. Instead, he raised his voice slightly toward the door curtain. “I won’t go in and disturb your rest. Young Master Song specifically asked me to bring you this medicine. It’s more effective than that bitter broth, so make sure you take it properly.” There was a brief silence inside before Bai Qi’s hoarse voice came through. “Thank you for going to the trouble.” Bai Qi added from behind the door that it was better that Guan Zhi not come in, lest he catch the illness. The Western tablets were indeed much more effective than the bitter medicine. Within just a few days, Bai Qi had mostly recovered from his cold. Guan Zhi then invited him out of the city to offer incense at a temple in the mountains, claiming that they could disperse the stagnant illness and take in some incense smoke. The carriage rolled along, and the scenery outside was full of life. Guan Zhi lifted the curtain and watched the streets and people of this era stream past like water. The hawkers calling out their wares along the roadside, the laborers hurrying along with sacks over their shoulders, the farmers with darkened faces driving ox carts—all of them formed a vivid, noisy portrait of life among the common people. The mountain temple was said to have flourishing incense offerings and to be remarkably efficacious. Bai Qi requested incense and knelt before the Buddha. With his brows and eyes lowered, his posture was extraordinarily devout, as though he were entrusting all the troubles in his heart to the curling green smoke. Guan Zhi waited nearby. When Bai Qi rose, he moved closer and asked with some curiosity, “What wish did you make?” Bai Qi gently patted the incense ash from his sleeve and shook his head. “How could I say that aloud? Didn’t you pray?” Guan Zhi shrugged, his tone casual. “I lit a stick while your eyes were closed and offered it. I’m done.” His movements had been so quick that it seemed as though he were merely completing an unavoidable formality. In truth, Guan Zhi did not believe in these clay and gilded gods. If he had not still been bound inside his mind to that inescapable System—a system that proved the existence of supernatural powers—he would not even have bothered with this superficial performance. The incense he offered burned perfunctorily, and his wish drifted without any clear destination. Guan Zhi looked at the solemn, dignified golden statue of the bodhisattva and tugged at the corner of his mouth. His voice was neither loud nor soft, just clear enough for Bai Qi to hear. “If praying to gods and worshiping Buddha could resolve everything in one’s heart and fulfill every wish, I wonder how crowded this bodhisattva hall would become. I’m afraid there wouldn’t even be room to put your feet down.” Bai Qi glanced sideways at him, finding this man truly strange. He had been the one to suggest coming to the temple to offer incense, yet he was also the one making such irreverent, disbelieving remarks now. A few days later, Bai Qi took the stage as usual. He had only just waved his water sleeves halfway through the performance, his singing graceful and melodious, when a commotion broke out below the stage, forcibly interrupting the performance. Song Qing was seated among the audience that day, and his brows immediately drew together. A group of ruffians dressed in a disreputable fashion, their faces covered in brutish flesh, barged in. They were aggressive, and clearly had not come with good intentions. The Troupe Master hurriedly came forward with a smile, cupping his hands in greeting. “Gentlemen, let’s talk this over. What brings you here? There’s no need to lose your tempers. Sit down, and we can discuss it slowly.” The leader, who looked ferocious enough to frighten away evil spirits, shoved the Troupe Master aside. His voice was rough and hoarse. “What brings us here? This garden isn’t clean! We’re here today on someone else’s orders to smash the place up!” The Troupe Master’s mind raced, and cold sweat broke out on his forehead. Yet no matter how hard he tried, he could not remember whom he might recently have offended. Normally, because of Bai Qi, this opera garden enjoyed the protection of several influential figures. Ordinary people would never dare come here looking for trouble. He genuinely could not imagine who could possess the courage and backing to cause a scene here. Bai Qi stood onstage, still in his costume. Behind him, the younger performers and the attendants below the stage held their breaths, their expressions tense. The air seemed frozen solid, leaving only the ruffians’ malicious grins and coarse voices. Song Qing rose from his seat and took several steps toward them. Slender and dressed in a well-tailored, light-colored changshan, with a refined face, he seemed completely out of place amid the surrounding chaos. “Where did you come from? In broad daylight, you dare bring people here to cause trouble?” The ruffian leader looked him up and down. Seeing a frail-looking scholar, he let out a scornful laugh, his tone full of contempt. “What’s it to you? With that skinny frame of yours, you’d better get out of here while you can. Once we start throwing punches, don’t come crying for your mother and father after we beat you until you’re rolling in your own filth.” The followers behind him immediately burst into loud laughter, their voices vulgar and grating. Song Qing showed no expression. He simply watched the leader in silence. When the laughter had subsided somewhat, he spoke in an unhurried voice. “I am Song Qing of the Song family. My cousin’s husband currently holds a position at the police station. Shall I ask him to come over right now and take a good look at which immortals you are, and what gang or faction you belong to, that you dare bully law-abiding citizens in broad daylight?” The flesh on the man’s face twitched, just as Song Qing had expected. His arrogance deflated like a balloon pricked by a needle, and most of it vanished in an instant. A flicker of barely concealed surprise and apprehension crossed his eyes. The Song family’s name naturally carried considerable weight in these parts. However, Song Qing had spent several years studying overseas and had only recently returned. There truly were not many people who recognized his face. Song Qing had been among the earlier wave of people to cross the seas and study abroad. Those years overseas had not been particularly comfortable. He had always felt that the foreign people’s gazes carried an indistinct scrutiny, leaving him ill at ease. Di Gui, on the other hand, seemed born to blend into that unfamiliar soil. In his Western suits and polished manner, he conducted himself with unmistakably Western affectations and moved through that world as naturally as a fish in water. After returning home, Song Qing looked at the old rules and old businesses his family had carried on for who knew how many generations. He began to harbor certain thoughts, wanting to introduce some new Western methods and try to remedy the accumulated ills of the past. But he had barely brought it up before his father interrupted him with a frown, saying that he was worrying about things that were none of his concern and neglecting his proper duties. The most important matter now was for him to marry a suitably matched wife as soon as possible, so that the Song family could flourish and continue its ancestral line. The small flame that had only just ignited in Song Qing’s heart was thoroughly doused by that basin of cold water. He also wished to escape his family’s relentless urging, so he often hid away in the small world of the opera garden, seeking some peace and quiet. Today, he had happened to run into this farce. Whether for personal feeling or simple reason, it was impossible for him to stand by and do nothing.