Quiet, Peaceful Years

Dusk. It was dinner time, and the tongzilou bustled with activity. Oily smoke billowed along the long corridor, carrying a rich medley of aromas. Sizzle! Wearing an apron, Gong Xue was cooking here for the very first time. She was preparing a simple dish of stir-fried greens. Heating the wok before pouring in the oil, she tossed the vegetables continuously until the leaves began to wilt. First she tossed in a pinch of salt, then picked up a small jar and scooped in a third of a spoonful of sugar. "Xiao Gong! You put sugar in stir-fried greens?!" A neighbor happened to catch sight of this and raised a fuss, as if Gong Xue had committed some heinous crime. The neighbor was one of the studio's costume designers. Gong Xue smiled and said, "Teacher Zhang, I like things a little sweet." "You've been in the north for so many years and still haven't gotten used to it?" "Oh, I'm quite used to it. I enjoy them without sugar too, but sometimes I still like to add a pinch." "Tsk, tsk. I really don't know what that tastes like. Greens with sugar..." Teacher Zhang shook her head and walked back into her room. Gong Xue finished stir-frying the greens and whipped up an egg drop soup. Scooping a bowl of rice, she carried it into her room and set it on her newly bought small table, savoring the very first meal she had cooked for herself since moving in. Her maternal grandfather was originally from Changzhou before moving to Shanghai, and his eating habits had heavily influenced her mother. Changzhou cuisine favored seasonings like fermented distillers' grains, sweet and sour sauces, and light soy sauce, excelling in poultry and freshwater produce—rich, savory flavors undercut by a pronounced sweetness. That was why her mother added sugar with such wild abandon. Having lived in the north for so long, Gong Xue's palate had mellowed; she was comfortable with both sweet and savory. The room was just over a dozen square meters. Facing the entrance was a window, beneath which sat a bed—a little larger than a single bed, yet smaller than a double—draped with a classic peony-patterned bedsheet. Next to it stood an old sofa given to her by Zhang Jinling, accompanied by a small tea table. Behind the door was a washbasin stand. Against the wall by the entrance sat a desk and chair, stacked high with books and the four treasures of the study. A few large bags were piled on the floor, all stuffed with clothes. "Just missing a big wardrobe and a cabinet for sundries, and then it'll be complete..." After eating and washing her bowls and chopsticks, Gong Xue paced around the room with her hands clasped behind her back. Suddenly, she broke into a bright smile. "This is my home!" The studio had called this a single dormitory allocated to her, but with her current fame, there was no chance of anyone picking the lock, breaking in while she was away filming, and seizing the place as their bridal chamber. So this was indeed her home. In this era, a "home" was almost always housing allocated by one's work unit, rented for a mere few yuan a month. After so many years away from home, Gong Xue finally had a place of her own. In her delight, she could not resist walking over to the desk, mixing ink, and deftly painting a traditional Chinese painting of a magpie perched on a flowering plum branch. In the corner, she inscribed in elegant clerical script: *Early spring of the Xinyou year, painted by Gong Xue in the capital.* In the blink of an eye, night fell. She washed her feet, climbed into bed, and lay down on her very own mattress with a fresh, joyful thrill. Under the bed sat an enamel spittoon—which was, in truth, a chamber pot for middle-of-the-night needs. The tongzilou only had communal latrines. Fortunately, she had grown up in the Shanghai lilongs, where every household emptied nightstools every morning, so she was long accustomed to it. Screen modern transmigrators? Easy enough in this era: just send them to empty a chamber pot, or make them wipe their backsides with a clod of dirt! "Ah... ah..." At some unknown hour, just as Gong Xue was drifting into a daze, a faint murmur of groans reached her ears. She tilted her head and listened closely. There was definitely a sound, seemingly drifting in from all directions. A woman was letting out stifled cries—part ecstatic, part tearful. *Heavens above!* Gong Xue's eyes snapped open. Her first thought went to Teacher Zhang, but she immediately dismissed it; Teacher Zhang was already in her fifties. It had to be the other young couple next door, both ordinary workers at the studio. She assumed it would end shortly, but the woman's cries grew increasingly sultry—no, increasingly loud. Those bone-melting, flirtatious moans seemed to seep right through the walls. For reasons she could not explain, Gong Xue felt a sudden wave of heat wash over her. She curled up tight beneath the blanket, clutching its corners. Her mind wandered to who-knew-what, her body curling even tighter as an inexplicable, restless impulse welled up inside her. That impulse was swiftly shattered by a sharp pounding on a door, accompanied by Teacher Zhang's voice: "What time do you think it is?! If you two aren't going to sleep, us older folks still need our rest! If you can't help it, nail a quilt to the wall for insulation!" The surroundings fell dead silent. *Nailing a quilt to the wall... can that really block sound?* Gong Xue had acquired a rather peculiar piece of knowledge. A wave of embarrassment suddenly hit her. *Good heavens, will I have to be like that in the future too? That would be mortifying!* Of course, she had no idea that in history, after winning both top Best Actress awards for *Under the Bridge*, Shanghai Film Studio would specially allocate her an apartment—one in Shangying New Village, complete with a modern flush toilet. *** Chen Qi continued to rest while cooperating with official publicity efforts and giving presentation reports. Knowing the higher-ups were certainly deliberating over his situation, he was in no hurry. On this day, Director Yang Jie came to see him, bringing good news. "*Justice Bao* is about to begin shooting!" "Really? Has the cast and crew all assembled?" "All here, all here! They're staying at the guesthouse. I've put them through intensive training, even brought in Song dynasty history experts to give lectures—we can't afford to be sloppy. Filming officially starts in ten days. I've come to ask you a favor: could you help us borrow a soundstage from the studio?" "You should speak to the leadership in charge. My word doesn't carry that kind of weight." "Oh, come on! Everyone knows you're the golden boy right now, and you wrote the script!" Yang Jie was acting a bit cheeky, but she had no alternative. Television drama production was still in its infancy, and resources were practically nonexistent. *Yearnings*, for instance, had to rent two basketball courts to build its own makeshift sets, while *Journey to the West* was even bolder, constructing sets right onto the stage of CCTV's broadcast studio. "Alright, I'll put in a word, but I can't guarantee anything!" Doing her a favor along the way, Chen Qi asked, "By the way, who did you cast as Bao Zheng?" "Li Po from August First Film Studio. He served in the Eighth Route Army back in the day and acted in *Hui Detachment*, *Red Sun*, and *Tracks in the Snowy Forest*. Extremely experienced. Plus, he has that imposing broad face and large ears—commanding respect without even looking angry. The costume test looked spectacular." *Pfft!* Chen Qi burst out laughing on the spot. Li Po was the voice actor for Zhu Bajie in *Journey to the West* and played Dong Zhuo in *Romance of the Three Kingdoms*. By the time he filmed *Romance of the Three Kingdoms*, he was already old, his face full of wrinkles, but right now he still had plenty of flesh on his bones. The mere thought of Lord Bao delivering impassioned, righteous speeches in the foreground while Zhang Guangbei glared menacingly behind him... Truly, this had become art. Yang Jie had the final say on *Justice Bao*, so he did not bother meddling too much; keeping Li Jianqun around when the time came would be plenty. *** Two days later arrived March 8th, International Women's Day. Gong Xue received an assortment of tea mugs, towels, shampoo, and similar welfare items. *Tai Chi* had not yet premiered domestically, but thanks to its contribution in earning foreign exchange, the studio awarded her a certificate of merit along with a hundred-yuan bonus. That was right—a hundred yuan. A massive sum for the era! Chen Qi accompanied her to order a large wardrobe from an educated youth cooperative that specialized in furniture making. The lumber came from the materials Chen Qi had gathered for building his house and furniture, and Gong Xue paid the forty-five-yuan processing fee out of her own pocket. "I heard the workers there can make over ninety yuan a month at most," she remarked. "They're quite famous among the cooperatives, and their orders are booked solid through the end of the year." "Yeah. If not for Auntie Wang, we wouldn't have gotten a slot either. But the wardrobe you asked for is enormous. Once it's inside your room, there won't be space for anything else. Why not get a smaller one?" "No way, I like big wardrobes! I'm getting more and more clothes—how could I manage without one?" Gong Xue indulged in a bit of stubbornness. Without anyone prompting her, ever since becoming a film actress, she had paid close attention to dressing well and had even learned to do her own makeup. These simple, everyday routines brought her immense joy, giving her a comforting sense of quiet, peaceful years. Unfortunately, tranquil days were always fleeting. Just as they finished ordering the wardrobe and returned to Beijing Film Studio, Chen Qi was summoned once more. "What took you so long? We've been waiting for half a day! Liao Gong wants to see you!" "Right now?" "Yes, we have to go immediately!" "Head back first..." Chen Qi waved to Gong Xue and hurried off with the messenger. Watching his retreating back, Gong Xue felt that familiar sense of being unable to catch up surface once again. She truly did not know where this young man's limits lay, nor how far he would eventually go.