Letter from Hong Kong Chapter 70

I don’t know whether Shang Shao or Ke Yu is the lucky charm, but after their visit, the overcast skies of the northwest finally cleared after days of gloom. The sunlight was so intense it made everyone sweat profusely. With such favor from the heavens, the crew worked non-stop around the clock, determined to make up for the lost time as quickly as possible.

As the executive producer of this film, Li Shan stayed with the crew for a few extra days. After wrapping up one day’s work, he had a long talk with Ying Yin.

“Over the past couple of days, I’ve been sounding out Xiao Dao to get a better sense of your fiancé’s character, but from what he says, it seems he doesn’t know him all that well either.”

Ke Yu was cautious by nature. Knowing that Li Shan wouldn’t poke into an actress’s private life without reason, he chose his words carefully, mentioning only a couple of things: first, that Shang Shao rarely watches movies – the only time he goes to the cinema all year is to support his younger brother Shang Lu’s releases; and second, that he is steady and composed, meticulous in everything he does, and by no means a playboy with a head full of frivolous schemes.

Li Shan’s sudden mention of Shang Shao put Ying Yin on edge. Her first thought was to clarify. “He’s not my fiancé, just my boyfriend. That day was…”

She gave a small smile, and Li Shan understood. He nodded and pondered for a moment. “Boyfriend or fiancé – the Shang family isn’t just any ordinary wealthy household. Now that you’re his girlfriend, does he interfere with your career or your films?”

In the past, Li Shan would have asked directly without all this roundabout maneuvering – why else would he have gone to Ke Yu first for intel? It showed how much he valued When Snow Melts It Turns Green, and how much he valued Ying Yin as its lead actress. He had even reined in his usual authoritarian style, becoming gentler and more deliberative.

“He…” Ying Yin paused, then chose her words conservatively. “I think he’ll respect my choices.”

They walked further away, and the sounds of the set faded, blending into the wind rustling through the reeds – becoming a distant, lively echo.

Li Shan stopped, hands clasped behind his back. “You and Ke Yu are both method actors – you dive deep into your roles. Those who understand know that it’s ‘no madness, no mastery’; those who don’t see that solitude, that devotion as ‘not to be shared with outsiders.’ But Ke Yu has Shang Lu. What about you?”

He narrowed his eyes slightly; his aged pupils held no cloudiness, only a piercing clarity that saw through everything. “Shang Lu is a filmmaker. He understands what Ke Yu has given up – or sacrificed – for cinema. In a way, he appreciates it, and is even more devoutly dedicated to it than Ke Yu himself. A meeting of true minds. I haven’t been blessed with such fortune. What about you – do you think you have it?”

Li Shan is a good director and a good teacher, but he was never a good husband. When his wife was giving birth to their first and second children, he was on set, working from dawn till dusk. In his younger days, he was hot-tempered and arrogant. When his wife called him from the delivery room, he thought she was being unreasonable. To draw out the best performances, he often stepped in to demonstrate scenes himself. When behind-the-scenes photos leaked, his wife grew suspicious, convinced that he had crossed the line with his actresses, that he had developed real feelings and genuine emotions. When she left him, she said, “I’m just a mundane woman. I cannot play this concerto with you.”

Li Shan has lived alone since turning forty. While other directors took on students, kept mistresses, remarried three or four times, he remained reclusive and untouched by scandal. In his spare time, he would fly abroad to visit the two children he had with his ex-wife. She once said to him with a bitter smile, “You give your whole heart to cinema. Compared to those directors who keep three-tenths of their minds on family and three-tenths on women – who really brings more pain?”

The whole industry knew about Li Shan’s marital fallout. That he could joke about it himself showed both his acceptance and his self-deprecation. Ying Yin, however, was left momentarily speechless.

“To be honest, I’m pessimistic about whether he can understand this film – understand the emotions you’ll face and the state of mind you’ll have to give.” Li Shan delivered his verdict lightly.

At four in the afternoon, the moon had already risen over the northwest, a faint outline traced against the azure sky above the mountain peaks.

Li Shan squinted at the ghostly moon in the distance. “Ying Yin, I’ll give you three more days to think it over. You can choose to withdraw. But once we start shooting, no one can intervene or interfere with my production – I don’t care who he is, what his relationship is to you, or what he uses to threaten you. Do you understand? And I don’t care if you’re marrying into high society – whether these scenes will be beneath you or seen as improper. If you come to me midway and say, ‘I’m out,’ fine – but don’t expect to work in Asian cinema ever again. Do you understand?”

Ying Yin knew that this director never wasted words. She took in every single one, then said to Li Shan, “No need to think it over. I can give you my answer right now – I’m in.”

On the return trip from the set, the Gulfstream G550 didn’t land in Ning City but stopped instead at Hong Kong International Airport.

As soon as he entered the FBO terminal, Shang Shao saw Shang Qingye in a double-breasted black suit, looking as stern and aloof as ever. Ke Yu braced himself and greeted him. “Hello, Uncle.”

A faint hint of a smile appeared on Shang Qingye’s face. “You’ve barely been back and you’re already in cahoots with him? Lulu and Youyi are waiting for you at home.”

Ke Yu awkwardly touched his forehead. “Shang Lu, he…”

“They don’t know anything yet.” Shang Qingye raised an eyebrow. “You seem rather disappointed that he still doesn’t know.”

Of course Ke Yu was disappointed – every extra day he kept it from Shang Lu was another day of torment, and another day of punishment awaiting him down the road! But what could he do? He had kept his relationship with Shang Lu a secret from Ying Yin for years, and she only found out thanks to her own sharp eyes. How the tables had turned – the suffering he was enduring now, he could only blame on himself.

“I’ll have Uncle Sheng take you back. Have a good chat with Youyi – she misses you very much,” Shang Qingye prompted. Turning to Shang Shao, his expression grew even more severe. “You’re coming with me.”

It was four in the afternoon. Shang Shao thought nothing of it, assuming Shang Qingye had some social engagement that required his presence. But when they reached the parking lot, he realized his father had driven himself in an understated Mercedes S-Class, without even a chauffeur.

Shang Shao walked around to the front of the car and opened the driver’s door. “I’ll drive.”

Arguments aside, discord aside – he was still instinctively considerate and meticulous.

Shang Qingye felt secretly gratified. He got into the passenger seat and watched as Shang Shao unhurriedly took off his jacket, tossed it into the back, and rolled up his shirt sleeves. With half-lidded eyes, Shang Shao asked, “Where to?”

Shang Qingye’s temper suddenly flared back up. “You’re always so lackadaisical! Look at the state of you now!”

Shang Shao: “?”

Impatience laced with bewilderment, he said with concern, “Dad, if you’re going through andropause, you really should follow the doctor’s orders.”

Shang Qingye coughed a few times, crossed his arms, and coldly ignored his son. It wasn’t until Shang Shao drove out of the underground garage that he coolly gave an address in Sai Kung.

Sai Kung was far – they rarely went there – so Shang Shao turned on the navigation.

The executive car had excellent soundproofing and ran in near silence, which only made the silence inside the cabin feel more unbearable. Shang Qingye coughed again, unscrewed his water bottle to moisten his throat, and then asked in a seemingly casual tone. “Where is she filming this time?”

He was making an effort to ease the tension. Shang Shao, giving his father face, replied coolly with a location name and added, “In the northwest, by the Yellow River.”

Unlike his son, who maintained a polished but distant air toward the mainland, Shang Qingye was intimately familiar with the customs, economy, and politics of the interior. As soon as Shang Shao mentioned it, he had a clear picture. “Such a harsh place – can she handle it?”

“It’s indeed tough, but she’s like Xiao Dao – she has a strong sense of conviction and professionalism.”

Shang Qingye had seen too many fame-seekers in his lifetime and only respected young people with conviction, ideals, and drive. Hearing this from Shang Shao – even suspecting that some of it might be intended to please him – he still nodded with genuine appreciation.

“How come you’re the one making the long trip to see her? When will she come to see you?”

Shang Shao’s hands rested on the steering wheel. He let out a quiet laugh at that. “When you were pursuing Xiao Wen back then, did you make her chase after you?”

In his youth, Shang Qingye had been arrogant and looked down on everyone. With his elder brother shouldering the family pressures, he had grown into something of a playboy. When his father Shang Boying arranged for him to marry the eldest daughter of the Wen family, he was utterly unwilling. First, Wen Youyi wasn’t beautiful enough – among Hong Kong’s elite families, she was merely average-looking, though she had impeccable poise. But what would a young man in his early twenties appreciate about poise? Second, he had heard that Wen Youyi was dull, boring, and lacking in romance, with old-fashioned manners in every gesture – all of which made Shang Qingye even more reluctant to go near her.

The first time Shang Qingye met her, he made his exit right on the dot. After dinner, he stayed out carousing until late into the night. When he got home, he told Shang Boying that he would rather die than marry a woman like that.

As it turned out, he didn’t die – and he did marry her, willingly, after much effort and trouble, and even had five children with her.

Now that he was the one being teased, Shang Qingye felt embarrassed. “You’re not the same as me. And she can’t compare to Youyi.”

“Yes, she really can’t compare,” Shang Shao said with a slight curl of his lips. “She would fly all the way to Tanzania just to see me. But your Youyi – after all the heartbreak you caused her – would only tell you to get lost.”

The veins on Shang Qingye’s temples bulged. His fingers, crossed over his arms, tapped restlessly, barely containing his irritation. He used to think his rebellious genes had run their course with Shang Lu – once he’d tamed his youngest son, the rest of his life would be smooth sailing. Who knew that Shang Shao’s defiance would come so late and so fiercely?

“If,” he paused for a moment, “if I handled her the same way I handled you and Yu Shasha – what would you do?”

“None of my business.”

“What?”

Shang Shao repeated himself, in an impeccably courteous tone. “How you handle it is none of my business. If you give your blessing, I welcome it. If you try to break us apart – you’re dreaming.”

Shang Qingye was silent for a long while, then let out a deep, heavy sigh. “You really love her that much.”

“I really love her that much.”

“What do you love about her?”

In that moment, Shang Qingye thought of many possible answers for him – that he loved her beauty, her radiance, her sweet and agreeable nature, her ability to please… But Shang Shao didn’t give him a direct reply.

“In front of me, she’s like a little girl. At first she was afraid of me, but somehow she looked up to me, revered me, yearned for me. I can’t bear to see that side of her bloom for anyone else.”

Shang Qingye understood that possessiveness.

Because he, too, had deeply possessed something like that in his lifetime – and had suffered greatly for it.

An hour or so later, the Mercedes finally arrived at its destination.

It was a secluded seaside village house – a stacked duplex nestled against the mountain, facing the sea, with pleasant scenery, but clearly seldom visited. The car could only stop at the foot of the hill, and the two men made their way up the stone steps. The water-washed grey brick steps were covered in moss, worn smooth by years of sea wind and rain, making the climb quite strenuous.

Shang Shao reached out a hand to help Shang Qingye up the slope.

“Who are we visiting?” he asked.

“An auntie – a great-aunt.”

The Shang family had accumulated wealth for five generations, with descendants branching out in all directions, so the clan had grown enormously. Many relatives’ names Shang Shao had only ever seen in the family genealogy. Shang Qingye’s vague reply of “a great-aunt” told him little more than that they were visiting an elderly female relative.

Halfway up the hillside, they stopped at the gate of the duplex. The doorbell rang several times before a Filipina maid came to answer.

Once inside the courtyard, the garden was actually well-maintained – a far cry from the desolate, rundown appearance outside. Aquatic plants thrived in the stone troughs, water lilies lay quietly on the clear surface, not yet in bloom, and even the clumps of emerald moss looked charming.

They crossed the courtyard, ascended three steps, and entered the main hall, where Shang Shao finally met this great-aunt he had never seen before.

She was hard to age – her skin was smooth, making her look only about fifty, but her hair was nearly silver-white, suggesting she was well over seventy. When she saw Shang Qingye, it took her a few seconds to recognize him. “You’ve come,” she said.

She brought out two long wooden benches for them to sit on.

“You’ve come, which means another year has passed. How time flies.”

Every year at the end of the year, Shang Qingye came to visit her, staying for just a short while before leaving – rarely more than half an hour. Neither of them was particularly talkative, so they would often simply sit in silence, facing the main hall’s open door.

The view outside was lovely – salmon-colored hibiscus, rose-red wild roses, like a carved picture frame encircling the endless blue sea. The breeze passed through the front of the hall, warm and clear.

This time, the great-aunt merely sat with Shang Qingye for a while, not even asking who the man beside him was.

The Filipina maid brought over tea and asked Shang Shao if he would like some pastries to go with it. After a moment, a tin of Jenny Bakery cookies was opened, revealing neatly arranged crispy Danish butter cookies inside.

“These are good,” she said warmly, treating him like a young nephew.

Shang Shao nodded in thanks and actually picked one to go with his tea.

It wasn’t until they were about to take their leave that the great-aunt finally took a good look at him. “You’ve grown this big already?”

“Thirty-six – turning thirty-seven in a few months,” Shang Shao replied respectfully.

“Oh, I really couldn’t tell,” said the great-aunt, fumbling in her apron pocket. “Wait a moment.”

She turned and went into the bedroom, returning after a while with a lucky money envelope. It was a gesture of affection from an elder, not to be refused. Shang Shao accepted it with both hands, bowing his upper body slightly. “Wishing you prosperity.”

The Cantonese words, spoken in his own distinctive way, made the great-aunt smile for the first time. “You must have many young ladies fond of you, yes?”

Shang Shao pressed his lips together, his voice steady and gentle. “Not at all.”

“Aye’s child has grown so big…” the great-aunt murmured, turning around. Her bones were stiff; she trembled slightly as she turned.

The walk down the mountain was silent.

It wasn’t until they reached the foot of the hill that Shang Qingye finally spoke, “That great-aunt of yours – even I can’t remember how old she is.”

All he knew was that although she was a generation above him, the two were actually close in age – practically contemporaries.

“There are no calendars in her house, and no clocks either.”

Shang Qingye knew he couldn’t hide it from his son. “After her husband died, she stopped paying attention to time. She barely sees anyone all year round – she uses me as her calendar. When she sees me, she knows another lunar year has passed.”

“Her husband…”

“In the year she turned forty-something, her husband suddenly committed suicide.”

Shang Shao was stunned. He hadn’t expected the story to take this turn, nor did he know why Shang Qingye was telling him all this.

“They were very much in love. Her husband was always gentle in his daily life -concerned about national affairs, about whether the finger citrons at the flower market were fragrant enough that year. One day she came home and found him lying in a pool of blood. The police said it was suicide.”

“Was it… depression?”

“Perhaps. He did see a psychiatrist, but it didn’t seem to be that severe. To this day, no one knows whether he gave up on treatment, or whether modern medicine simply failed to detect his condition in time. After he died, your great-aunt kept searching for the reason he took that path – but there was no logic to it. He had a harmonious, loving marriage, a family that lived well, and a career – he was a teacher with an impeccable reputation.”

Shang Shao was quiet for a moment, then said gently, in consolation, “People are lonely. When the heart is falling, worldly completeness is not enough to serve as the counterweight that anchors it.”

“You can be so philosophical about it because you’re not the one involved.” Shang Qingye curled his lips in a slightly sardonic smile. “Do you know what your great-aunt went through? She also attempted suicide. She was in despair – despair that she had failed to notice her loved one’s unraveling. She hated herself, loathed herself, punished herself. In the eyes of outsiders, she was a negligent wife. In the gossip, her husband must have been deeply tormented by her – her inhuman possessiveness, her jealousy, her lack of virtue and consideration.”

Shang Shao let out a deep breath, his gaze clear, unflinching, and devoid of emotion as he fixed it on Shang Qingye. “What are you trying to say? I don’t see what today’s little excursion has to do with me.”

“Your girlfriend has a history of suicide. And you’re telling me this has nothing to do with you?” Shang Qingye met his gaze with one even sharper, even colder. “Do you want to become someone who refuses to face time as well?”

“Who are you talking about…” Shang Shao’s voice abruptly died. His Adam’s apple bobbed; he seemed to have suddenly lost the ability to speak.

“So you didn’t know.”

For a moment, Shang Qingye found it almost absurd. He let out a cold, derisive laugh: “You’ve been dating her – setting off fireworks over Victoria Harbour, visiting her on set, giving her the horse you loved most as a child. Within months, you were ready to introduce her to the family. And yet, in the end, she hid her illness from you – didn’t even dare to tell you she’d attempted suicide.”

By five o’clock, the seaside had already cooled, the dusk settling in along with the drop in temperature. The orange sunset was on the other side of the mountain; there was nothing romantic here – only the rapidly falling temperature and the fading light.

In this dim, half-lit twilight, Shang Qingye narrowed his eyes and asked Shang Shao, “She didn’t tell you – was it because she was afraid you wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t accept it, and would leave her? Or was it because she never intended to go the distance with you in the first place? You pride yourself on knowing her – ask yourself honestly.”

“I don’t believe it.”

After a long pause, amid the surging sea wind, Shang Shao’s voice came through calm, steady, and utterly flat.

He wanted a cigarette, but he knew that at this very moment, the moment he reached for the pack, the numbness in his wrists, the tremble in his fingers, the way he couldn’t strike the flint of his lighter – all of it would betray him instantly.

He could not show even the slightest hint of weakness in front of Shang Qingye.

The Mercedes’ headlights flashed once, unlocking automatically as its owner approached. Shang Shao held the door handle but didn’t get in right away.

“I don’t believe what you said. You have no credibility.”

He said it again, as if repeating “I don’t believe it” a few more times would make it untrue.

“You can look into it yourself. Or I can have the documents placed directly on your desk – or sent to your email.”

“So what?” Shang Shao’s gaze drifted past the car.

In the twilight, his expression struck Shang Qingye as unfamiliar.

It was a strangeness that told him he could no longer grasp his son. And that strangeness made Shang Qingye feel out of control.

“Are you planning to start with courtesy before force, or are you going straight to the point?” Shang Shao sneered, looking at his father’s expressionless face.

“I don’t plan to do anything at all.” Shang Qingye spoke slowly. “The future mistress of the Shang family cannot be a woman with suicidal tendencies. Starting today, all your positions in the group are suspended. You want the beauty, not the empire – this time, I’ll give you what you want.”