2013

“Xiaoman.”

In 2013, Chen Yue was still called Chen Tong, and she never once imagined that she would one day become an actress.

At the time, she had just quit her job and was staying on a crew introduced by a junior from school, planning to spend a long, sweltering summer that probably wouldn’t be very interesting.

She couldn’t remember when it started, but before long she realized she heard this name more often than she heard the crew’s lead actor being late to work at least five times a week.

—Xiaoman! Hey, I’ve got a job tomorrow, you coming? Why did I think of you? Well, the pay’s too low, so no one else wants to do it.

—Xiaoman, here’s your day labor pay. Keep it safe; if you lose it, we won’t make it up for you.

—You can’t ride an e-scooter? Then why are you here for an interview? Fine, call that—what’s her name, the one with “man” in it—over here. An exam? Don’t worry about it. Call her. She can definitely come.

—Chi Xiaoman! Chi Xiaoman! Where are you?

“I’m here!”

Call her once, and she would always show up.

Call her once, and there would always be a raised hand in the crowd, forcing its way up like an anchor point.

She paid no mind to the looks around her, whether amused or disapproving. With that wild, untamed hair and a face slick with sweat but still bright with a grin, she would shout back at anyone who called her,

“I can do it! Chi Xiaoman can do anything!”

Later, whenever Chen Tong thought back on those moments when Chi Xiaoman pushed her way out of a crowd,

it always felt as if she had burst forth with earth-shaking force.

And she also always felt that the reason she remembered this name, remembered this face, was not because she had a good memory.

Back then, film and television were booming; the new world after the turn of the millennium was still brimming with life, and huge numbers of young people came to Beijing with dreams of becoming stars.

In that tiny, designated film-and-television base, there were many crews full of drive and very little experience, daring to start filming anyway.

Chen Tong never thought that one day she would belong among them.

But clearly.

The girl named Xiaoman would.

Aside from dealing with that difficult lead actor, Chen Tong’s work on the crew was fairly light, so whenever she stopped to rest, she always seemed to catch sight of “Xiaoman” shuttling between the nearby sets.

Xiaoman, who had just finished a scene today and couldn’t even straighten her back, sat by the roadside with a deathly pale face, gasping hard and refusing to go to the hospital even though she still had to help out in the next scene.

Xiaoman, who had been paid in a hurry by a production runner and accidentally had the money tossed onto the ground, but didn’t make a fuss and only picked it up with a smile; tomorrow, she would still come back.

Xiaoman, who after standing in for a scene was hurriedly dragged away by a few stagehands, with bruises at the corners of her eyes and mouth, then later stood in front of the single reflective mirror on her scooter, carefully studying herself as if she might cry, lips pressed tight and eyes red-rimmed; but if anyone looked over, she would put on her helmet and greet them with a grin, becoming indestructible, and tomorrow, she would still come back.

She was like a clump of wild grass: stepped on today, trampled today, burned to the ground today, and tomorrow it would rise again on its own.

In truth, Chen Tong had seen many people like that before; people who refused to give up, who could endure hardship, who were like wild grass. In Beijing, there were definitely plenty of them. But that was the first time she had seen someone do it to Chi Xiaoman’s degree.

And that day, standing at the mouth of a narrow alley where the sunlight couldn’t quite reach, in front of that battered scooter lying on the ground, not even sure whether it could ever run again, it was also the first time she truly and clearly called out this name,

“Xiaoman.”

She spoke gently to the girl standing before her, her face flushed red from the sun.

“Your name is very nice.”

Chi Xiaoman froze. It seemed that from their very first meeting, she often stared at her absentmindedly.

“Is it not okay for me to call you that?” Chen Tong still hadn’t realized it at the time and thought Chi Xiaoman simply found her too familiar.

“No, no.”

The girl named Chi Xiaoman seemed to like saying things twice.

Hearing Chen Tong’s question, she looked as if she were facing a great enemy, lowered her head slightly, and her voice dropped.

“It’s just that other people call me that too.”

“But when you suddenly said it, I don’t know why…”

She was still wearing her helmet. Her skin was a little red, she was sweating a lot, and she kept avoiding Chen Tong’s gaze, but her eyes caught the sunlight beautifully with a transparent amber sheen. “It feels like… kind of cheesy?”

Her tone was a little uncertain.

“Cheesy?”

Chen Tong laughed so hard she couldn’t stop. “This is the first time in my life someone’s ever said that to me.”

“No, no.”

Chi Xiaoman repeated herself, urgently. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Mm, I know.” Chen Tong’s voice softened.

Then she paused politely for a few seconds.

She blinked at Chi Xiaoman, who had suddenly started spacing out again. “Maybe it’s because you still haven’t let go of my hand.”

As soon as she said it,

Chi Xiaoman’s expression changed dramatically. It was the kind of face a cat might make when puzzled.

Then.

Her eyes widened.

Only then did she seem to realize she was still holding Chen Tong’s hand in her palm and hadn’t let go.

The next second, she was like a startled bird.

With the fastest speed of her life, she released Chen Tong’s hand.

Before Chen Tong could even react, her hand was suddenly empty, and she blinked in confusion.

Chi Xiaoman also seemed to think she had let go too quickly and that it wasn’t quite appropriate, worried she might have hurt her. A little embarrassed, she pressed her lips together, stared at Chen Tong’s hand hanging in midair for a second, then came over again and solemnly took it with both hands.

“Hello, Chen Tong. My name is Chi Xiaoman.”

She introduced herself again.

This time, after pausing for two seconds, she let go at just the right moment.

Then she put both hands behind her back.

Like a cat very pleased with its own performance.

Chen Tong laughed helplessly and was about to draw her hand back.

But Chi Xiaoman seemed to suddenly remember something and quickly reached out again, once more taking her hand solemnly with both hands.

Only after actually holding it did she visibly relax, smiling especially happily at Chen Tong before saying,

“Chen Tong, Chen Tong, can I treat you to mala tang?”

That day, the weather was hot, and Chi Xiaoman’s palm was hot too. Somehow, that heat spread to Chen Tong’s palm as well. Actually, requests like this came to her fairly often, and under normal circumstances she would find an appropriate reason that wouldn’t make the other person uncomfortable and refuse.

That day, too, many suitable excuses sprang up in her mind like a reflex. For example, I’m actually from Guangdong, so I might not be able to handle mala tang; for example, I might not have time, because I’m planning to look for housing after work…

But then she froze for a few seconds.

For some reason, she suddenly noticed the milky-white helmet on top of Chi Xiaoman’s head.

There was a small orange pinwheel on it, turning lazily in the alley breeze.

So she smiled and said gently,

“Sure, Xiaoman.”

-

Later that evening, after work, seated on the back of Chi Xiaoman’s still-running scooter, blown by hot wind for a long time and wearing the pinwheel helmet Chi Xiaoman had insisted on giving her, Chen Tong only realized at the mala tang shop, after they had taken their seats, that she had misunderstood.

Because there was another girl besides Chi Xiaoman.

The girl had the explosive golden-yellow cornrow curls that were especially popular in those years, wore black-rimmed glasses, looked like she rarely went outside in the sun, and had very pale skin and a terrible complexion. She propped one elbow on the table and waved lazily at them.

“Xiaoman! Over here.”

Their eyes met. Chi Xiaoman waved back enthusiastically, then seemed to remember something and suddenly stopped, hesitating before saying to Chen Tong,

“I said I’d treat you to mala tang, but I brought someone else. Will you think I’m being super stingy?”

“No.” Chen Tong smiled.

“Really not?” Chi Xiaoman asked again, her expression serious.

As if if Chen Tong were unhappy, she could immediately take her and leave.

“No.” Chen Tong answered patiently. She really wouldn’t be angry; she had never minded social settings and wouldn’t feel upset just because she met a stranger. Nor had she actually come for this bowl of mala tang.

She only thought the self-conscious thought she had just had was a little funny.

“That’s good.”

Chi Xiaoman confirmed she hadn’t lied, let out a breath, but after taking a few steps she suddenly stopped again and turned back.

Outside the mala tang shop, where plastic tables, chairs, and benches were all packed together, she deliberately turned to look at Chen Tong and sincerely apologized. “Sorry. I originally wanted to treat just you alone, but she had a really bad day today, and I was afraid if she didn’t eat, her stomach would start hurting from hunger, so I brought her along.”

What’s your relationship?

For a moment, Chen Tong almost wanted to ask that question. But she quickly realized it wasn’t appropriate, so she only smiled and said, “It’s fine.”

Luckily, Chi Xiaoman led her to the table.

First she diligently wiped down the tabletop and bench seat, then smiled and made a please-sit gesture.

Once Chen Tong sat down,

Chi Xiaoman, without the slightest hesitation, chose the seat beside her, between the two long benches at the table.

Then Chi Xiaoman enthusiastically introduced the golden-curled girl across from them.

“Lang Lang, the greatest screenwriter in the whole world.”

“She gave me notes when I was in college, lent me textbooks, even lent me tuition when I was struggling, helped cover my part-time shifts, and introduced me to a lot of crews… anyway, she’s my senior from school and has helped me a lot.”

She thoughtfully poured Chen Tong a cup of hot water to let it cool, then introduced Chen Tong to the other girl.

“This is…”

It seemed like she wanted to say her name directly.

But then she felt it wasn’t proper to call someone by both surname and given name, so after starting to speak she very carefully changed it to,

“Chen Tong jiejie.”

Then she added, “A stagehand sister I met on the crew.”

Chen Tong didn’t mind Chi Xiaoman’s somewhat sudden way of addressing her. She smiled at Lang Lang.

“Just call me Chen Tong.”

Lang Lang also seemed not to have expected Chi Xiaoman to bring someone along. She first adjusted her glasses, then reached out and gave the girl sitting beside Chen Tong, who was busy scalding their bowls and chopsticks, a similarly simple introduction.

“This is Chi Xiaoman, the most promising actress in the whole world.”

Hearing that, Chi Xiaoman paused in the middle of her actions, seemingly embarrassed. She glanced at Chen Tong, then at Lang Lang, and said with her lips pressed together, “Don’t talk nonsense.”

Lang Lang let out an “eh.” “Chi Xiaoman, why are you being so restrained today?”

As if she found her strange.

“If it were usual, you’d already have agreed and performed a three-second crying scene on the spot.”

“I would never!” Chi Xiaoman shot back.

Maybe the mala tang shop was too cramped, and the light and shadows were too cramped as well. From Chen Tong’s angle, Chi Xiaoman’s profile puffed up at that sentence, like a little goldfish swimming back and forth in a fish tank.

“As if!”

Lang Lang argued with her once more, then seemed to realize she had perhaps neglected Chen Tong, and turned back with an apologetic expression. “Sorry, we’re just too noisy.”

“It’s fine.” Chen Tong showed understanding.

And then Lang Lang, looking at the smiling, silent Chen Tong under the lights, suddenly said nothing.

For a long while, until Chen Tong felt it was a little strange,

Lang Lang finally pushed up her crooked-legged glasses, which were always sliding down, and suddenly blurted out,

“Chen Tong, have you ever thought about acting in films someday?”

[Author’s Note]

On time for the eighteenth day of Little Neon [sunglasses]

At first, Yue wasn’t an actress, hehe. I saw some babies asking about it yesterday, so I’m saying it first: Yue is three years older than Xiaoman.

And then the day after tomorrow at 9 p.m., it’ll go VIP, hehe, and there’ll be a ten-thousand-character chapter then! (There’ll also be an update tomorrow on time!)