Chapter 14: Sun Juanjuan (1)

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A sharp pang gripped Xing Chi’s chest, her entire face flushed hot with shame. Yet she took a deep breath, drawing in the slightly cold, smoke-laden air, and strangely calmed herself.

There was nothing to fear or be nervous about.

Since she had decided to deceive, she should have known that this day would eventually come. She had been chosen, and being abandoned was only natural. There were countless actresses ready to replace her in the industry—yet she immediately recalled Lin Shuchuan’s words: Pei Yuan and the others believed she was the most suitable.

“...Could you give me a chance to explain?” Xing Chi stepped down from the stage and faced Pei Yuan directly. She tried her best to be sincere and honest, hoping to make Pei Yuan believe that the woman before her was truly struggling and constrained.

Pei Yuan laughed coldly. “So you know about my relationship with Chen Luoyang.”

Mai Zi had stopped smoking, scratched his bare scalp, and like a heckling audience member said, “Go on, explain.”

Pei Yuan said, “I’ve seen plenty of people like her. I won an award in Berlin, and ‘The Great Earthquake’ was written by you—a juicy piece of meat, ready-made. Who wouldn’t want it?”

Standing before Xing Chi, Pei Yuan didn’t even look at her, referring to her as “she.” Xing Chi knew Pei Yuan was genuinely angry. Just as she was about to speak, Mai Zi chimed in again.

“I want to hear the explanation,” he said with a grin. “Xing Chi’s sharp-tongued and fierce; I want to hear how she justifies herself.”

Xing Chi seized the opportunity Mai Zi gave her, quickly speaking before Pei Yuan could refuse again: “I really wanted to film this movie, but before agreeing, I didn’t know you were the director, nor that Mai Zi was the screenwriter.”

Mai Zi interrupted: “I can vouch for that. If she had known I was the screenwriter, she definitely wouldn’t have called me… internet nonsense.” He slapped his knee and laughed heartily.

“When I first encountered ‘The Great Earthquake,’ all I saw was a script outline of over ten thousand words. Even the outline differed significantly from the final draft,” Xing Chi continued. “Director, I wanted to make this film because I wanted to play Zhao Yingmei.”

“Who doesn’t want to play Zhao Yingmei?” Pei Yuan sneered coldly. “Anyone who plays that role shines. The character is so well-designed that only a fool wouldn’t see her value.”

Mai Zi laughed again.

Xing Chi said, “She reminds me of my mother. She and Zhao Yingmei are very similar—ordinary housewives who suddenly take up ballroom dancing.”

When she spoke the next sentence, Xing Chi hesitated for a moment. At that moment, she instinctively looked toward the theater’s only person connected to her, the one she subconsciously believed would protect her.

Zhou Mang was watching her, focused and passionate.

Xing Chi calmed down.

“She fell in love with the man who taught her to dance.”

Before marrying Chi Rong, Sun Juanjuan was already well-known in the county.

She worked developing photos at a photography studio. The small studio’s window displayed many of Sun Juanjuan’s photos—beautifully made-up and wearing lovely dresses.

Once, someone smashed the window at night and stole Sun Juanjuan’s photos. This wasn’t disgraceful—it was an honor: as a man, briefly possessing photos of the most beautiful woman in the county was enough to boast about for years at banquets.

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At that time, Chi Rong was already a notorious thug, constantly involved in petty theft and prowling the streets, harassing pretty girls by lifting their skirts. He was ruthless and vicious—no one wanted to provoke him.

That year, Sun Juanjuan was in her twenties, dating a math teacher from the county high school. She always sat behind the teacher on his bicycle, smiling in the sunlight, her smooth arms wrapped tightly around his waist, her skirt fluttering in the spring breeze.

No one knew what happened, but six months later Sun Juanjuan and the math teacher broke up. Rumor had it the man got drunk, crying and wailing: “I’m useless. I couldn’t keep her.”

Soon after, Sun Juanjuan married Chi Rong. She sat on the wedding bed like a corpse as the matchmaker showered her with cheap candies, peanuts, and sunflower seeds.

Her belly was already slightly rounded.

Sun Juanjuan named Xing Chi. According to the Chi family genealogy, girls had no official names; she should have been called Chi Pandi.

Sun Juanjuan was beaten several times by Chi Rong over insisting on the name “Xing.” No matter what, she wouldn’t relent, finally forcing Chi Rong to accept the character meaning “fortune.”

Xing Chi didn’t understand what happiness was as a child—she just wished her parents wouldn’t fight. Sun Juanjuan wasn’t the type to be bullied but was small and frail; Chi Rong’s blows were unbearable. Sometimes she brandished knives and sticks, and the whole street could hear Sun Juanjuan’s cries and Xing Chi’s screams.

Xing Chi rarely saw her mother smile. Smiling was too heavy a burden for her pale face to bear.

Everything began on Xing Chi’s sixth birthday when she received a dress from a stranger.

Xing Chi especially loved that white tulle dress. She often wore it to play, and everyone would praise her, saying whoever married her when she grew up would be lucky. Xing Chi didn’t know what luck was; she imitated the little girls on TV, holding out her dress and bowing, “Thank you.”

Once, she saw a girl her age on the street wearing the same white tulle dress, only the waistband was a different color: Xing Chi’s was blue with fake diamonds, the other’s was pink with fake diamonds. The girl was holding hands with a couple.

Xing Chi followed them quietly, carrying her preschool backpack, watching the trio enter a building.

She went home and told Sun Juanjuan about it, mentioning the identical dress. Sun Juanjuan, however, took it to heart.

There were only two white tulle dresses for children in the department store. The clerk said the other had been quietly purchased by a mysterious buyer.

The next day, Sun Juanjuan went to pick up Xing Chi from school and carried her into that building.

The guard immediately recognized whom Xing Chi described and pointed down the corridor on the first floor, “At the end, that’s Teacher Zhong’s classroom—he specializes in teaching dance.”

Later, Xing Chi often recalled that short, narrow corridor, the half-window at the end, with loud music spilling out.

Would Sun Juanjuan have known that behind that classroom door lay her only act of self-sacrifice and abandon?

If she had known, would she still have walked forward? Would she have still thrown herself into that bright, spacious dance studio to stand before Zhong Ying?

Xing Chi had no answer.

Her pale, haggard mother held her hand and pushed open the door to the dance studio. The wooden floor creaked crisply beneath their feet. Mirrors surrounded them on all sides. Pretty little girls with rosy cheeks wore white ballet dresses, placing their sock-covered legs on the barre, bending over with all their might.

Zhong Ying had just drawn aside the curtains; the evening’s red glow flooded the room. He wore a white shirt loosely tucked into his waistband. Tall and slender, his shoulders and arms were firm. Only thugs in the county kept long hair, but he did too—yet he was completely unlike those shabby street men: his black wavy hair was loosely tied at the nape, decorated with a messy flower-shaped hairpin meant for little girls—a remnant of a prank.

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The dancing girls giggled, covering their mouths, pointing at the flower hairpin on his head, teasing him for embarrassing himself in front of strangers.

He turned to Sun Juanjuan and Xing Chi with a relaxed smile, as if he had never encountered any heaviness in life.

“Hello?”

His voice was pleasant, with a slightly soft Mandarin accent. Xing Chi felt shy, clinging to Sun Juanjuan, pressing the back of her head toward Zhong Ying.

“Here to learn to dance?” The man casually patted Xing Chi’s head. He was already so close; his voice was clear, as if right beside her ear. “So shy.”

She heard her mother speak in a tone Xing Chi had never heard before: “Hello, Teacher Zhong. I have something to ask you.”

The six-year-old Xing Chi was gently set down. Looking up at her mother, she seemed like a stranger.

Her mother’s voice was gentle, her posture graceful, as if bewitched by a fairy or sorceress.

Xing Chi kept a secret for her mother.

Sun Juanjuan wore her treasured dress. She still had the figure of a young girl; the waistband tied, high-heeled shoes on, she looked fresh and radiant.

When Chi Rong came home and saw her, he beat her again—harder than ever before. Xing Chi covered her ears and curled up in a corner cabinet, crying loudly. She heard hateful curses she couldn’t repeat, not understanding what “slut” or “whore” meant. Her father tore the floral dress off her mother and dragged her into the bedroom. Xing Chi dared not move. She cried louder and louder, trying desperately to drown out the muffled slaps, painful moans, and gasps from the bedroom.

Sun Juanjuan packed all her pretty clothes and shoes into a backpack. She told Chi Rong she was going to throw them away.

Only Xing Chi knew she didn’t.

She stored the clothes and shoes at a sister’s fashion shop in town. Every day after finishing work at the photo studio, she would pick up Xing Chi, bring her to the shop, then change in front of the mirror into the dress and high heels.

Her wounds on her back, chest, abdomen, and thighs took a long time to heal. She was obedient like a doll before Chi Rong, pleading for permission to help at the sister’s shop after work to earn a little money. Chi Rong agreed eagerly; he needed money for cigarettes, gambling, and visiting women in neighboring counties—all dependent on Sun Juanjuan.

Later, Xing Chi thought that little clothing shop was a magic house. Inside it, a fairy tale was hidden. Whenever her mother entered, she transformed into the elegant, upright Sun Juanjuan. After dancing, she would return as the ordinary, silent woman.

Zhong Ying never took money from Sun Juanjuan. Every evening after class, he gave her a free, private half-hour lesson.

Xing Chi was the witness to this secret meeting. She shared this dark, joyful secret with her mother.

She saw Zhong Ying’s hand—that beautiful, well-defined hand pressed tightly against her mother’s back, as if they were fused inseparably.

She saw her mother being led by Zhong Ying, spinning and laughing in the middle of the dance studio. Her slender legs tapped out heart-stirring footsteps on the floor—ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta.

Xing Chi saw the smile in the mirror on Sun Juanjuan’s face. She had never seen her mother smile like this before. A woman unknown to Xing Chi seemed to inhabit Sun Juanjuan’s body, joined with Zhong Ying’s hand, reborn into this world.

Only much later did Xing Chi understand it was a kind of blossoming. Her mother, in Zhong Ying’s arms, flourished brilliantly and fiercely, stepping resolutely into a doomed dream of heartbreak.