Letter from Hong Kong Chapter 91

Holy shit.

That was the only thing running through Shang Lu’s head.

His admired, respected, deeply revered, closest confidant of an elder brother – the man he measured himself against every day, the very model of a gentleman, steady and unshakable, had just wrapped an arm around Ying Yin.

Right in front of him.

What the fuck?

Beneath Shang Lu’s expressionless, icy face, his mind was spinning at sixteen thousand RPM, his thoughts racing at over three hundred kilometres an hour:

Why? When did they meet? Where did they get together? What catastrophic shift had occurred in his brother’s standards? What fundamental rewiring of his worldview had taken place?

When? Where? Why?

…How?!?!

How was this even possible?

Who was Ying Yin?

Yes, fine – she was beautiful, adorable, innocent yet alluring, graceful and poised, professional, gifted, fearless, hardworking… and, for Ke Yu’s sake, he’d grudgingly stamped her with the label of good person.

But she was… this kind of person. And Shang Shao was… that kind of person. They simply did not belong in the same universe.

Shang Lu scrubbed a hand viciously over his face.

Fuck.

He felt like an illiterate man staring at an advanced physics textbook.

In a lightning flash, as his overloaded brain teetered on the edge of crashing, a rapid-fire montage replayed itself in his head.

His father, Shang Qingye said, “What kind of girlfriend did you introduce to him?!”

Shang Mingbao said, “Wire me a million and I’ll tell you the right answer!”

The way Ke Yu looked at him every single time he confidently presented one of his elaborate theories – as though he were watching an idiot make a fool of himself.

Goddammit.

And then there was that time Ke Yu visited the Ningxia film set. A truckload of absurdly expensive imported fruit had arrived, and once the CP fans posted photos of it, the fandom had celebrated like it was New Year’s for nearly a month.

So that had been arranged by his big brother!

Ke Yu had been the bloody smokescreen all along!

They’d teamed up and stabbed him in the back!

Shang Lu raised one hand, barely managing to keep himself composed under the landslide crashing through his brain.

“…Don’t say a word,” he ordered. “Nobody says a word.”

He forced himself to cool down, from head to toe, for several agonising seconds.

It wasn’t enough.

Still unable to believe it, he slowly lifted his head and looked at Shang Shao with a mixture of utter shock and wounded betrayal.

“…Why?”

The expression on his face was exactly like that of a fan watching their idol’s image collapse overnight.

Ying Yin’s gaze drifted to the snowy ground a short distance away. At a loss for what to do, she shifted slightly, as though trying to slip out of Shang Shao’s embrace.

“Um…”

Maybe… maybe you could let me go first…?

But Shang Shao tightened his hold, his hand pressing firmly against her so she couldn’t move an inch. As if nothing were out of the ordinary, he asked Shang Lu, “Why what?”

Please don’t ask anymore!

Ying Yin clutched the collar of her down jacket tightly. Her bare hands, without gloves, were so cold that her knuckles had turned bright red.

She felt terribly guilty.

The moment she’d walked into the room, Shang Shao had pulled her onto his lap and kissed her. Her lipstick was definitely smudged by now.

Could he tell?

He was definitely going to notice!

Sure enough, Shang Lu’s eyes lingered on her lips for several seconds.

Then, for perhaps the first time in his life, the man who could remain calm even if Mount Tai collapsed before him – the man whose convictions were as unwavering as a god’s and whose will was solid as bedrock – showed the faintest flicker of awkwardness on his face.

The montage in his head broke all over again.

He… had just seen his own elder brother holding Ying Yin.

“…It’s nothing,” Shang Lu said, his face completely blank, his voice flat and mechanical. “Mirages happen in polar regions too. I’ve stared at the snow for too long. I’ll… head off now. Bye.”

He turned and walked away.

Ying Yin instinctively started to call after him, but Shang Shao stopped her. “He’s fine. Just give him some time.”

“Is he really okay?” Ying Yin frowned, visibly anxious. “Did I make him unhappy?”

…

Uh.

Why did that sound… strangely suggestive?

“He seems like he really can’t accept me,” she said softly, her voice so delicate it sounded as though it might shatter.

…

Uh.

That somehow sounded even more questionable.

“Are you two going to end up arguing?” she asked at last, her face full of worry and hesitation. “I don’t want to come between you or affect your relationship.”

The more she tried to reassure him, the more her choice of words unintentionally made it sound as though she were speaking as the new lover who had driven a wedge between two brothers – making the whole situation even more hilariously awkward.

Shang Shao didn’t answer immediately. His gaze lingered on her face, thoughtful, carrying an unreadable meaning.

Ying Yin’s mouth went dry. Without thinking, she began to explain. “I… I didn’t mean to say those things…”

Help.

Stop talking.

Why does everything I say make me sound more and more like a scheming little green-tea girl? [1]

She lowered her head and pressed a hand to her forehead. “I’ll… I’ll head to the set first.”

Li Shan, who had been watching the entire spectacle unfold, gave a dry cough. Casually crushing out his cigarette against the wall outside, he asked, “Need me to give you another half hour?”

Ying Yin shook her head so vigorously it was almost frantic. “No, no… I’m fine.”

“I’ll walk you over.” Shang Shao gestured lightly. “Director, after you.”

Li Shan came up with an excuse on the spot. “I need to find Tennessee about something. You two go ahead.”

With a nod, he stepped around them and ambled off toward the art department’s prop warehouse with his usual unhurried, steady stride.

Only after he’d gone some distance away did Shang Shao let out a quiet laugh. “What exactly happened between you and Lulu?”

How could Ying Yin possibly tell him?

The day she’d learned that Ke Yu and Shang Lu were close friends, she and Ke Yu had gotten gloriously drunk beside a rural road in the countryside after filming. In that drunken haze, she’d probably said all sorts of outrageous nonsense –

“I like Xiao Dao the most!”

“Mr. Ke is the best! His abs are amazing, and his pecs too…”

“I’m going to stay with Xiao Dao forever!”

…and countless other embarrassing declarations.

No way.

She’d only crossed paths with Chen Youhan once, and Shang Shao had remembered it for ages.

As for Ke Yu…

They were one of the entertainment industry’s biggest real-person CPs. Their “shipping moments” could be measured by the tonne. Fans could feast on their interactions for three days and three nights without running out of material.

If Shang Shao ever found out… Would she even survive?

Ying Yin answered vaguely, “We worked together on a drama. He was really fierce – he scolded me until I cried. Then I deliberately got back at him and annoyed him so badly he ended up with mouth ulcers.”

Shang Shao: “…”

Well. At least she hadn’t been the one at a disadvantage.

“And then there was the Qili commercial, where Mr. Ke and I played a couple…”

Shang Shao nodded. “I’ve seen it.”

That commercial had been directed by Shang Lu himself. Every intimate storyboard had been drawn by his own hand.

On set he’d maintained his usual cold, composed façade, but anyone with eyes could see he was practically breathing fire through all seven orifices. He’d been mercilessly teased by his siblings for quite some time afterward.

By the time they reached the set, the cameras and lighting were still being adjusted.

Ying Yin said goodbye to Shang Shao and walked naturally into the frame. “Mr. Fu, Mr. Cai – come on, let’s walk through it.”

Bai Lan, who wasn’t needed for the moment, had been explaining the acting methodology taught in formal drama schools to Jiang Te. Hearing Ying Yin’s voice, she turned and watched her for a while.

Though Ying Yin was wrapped in a thick down jacket and still clutching a hot-water bottle, she had already knelt down in the snow, lifting her face as if offering her very soul to the light and the camera, letting them take from it whatever they pleased.

“Raise the bounce board a little higher. Bring the lumens down – we want more light reflecting off the snow…” Old Fu directed the lighting crew before calling out, “Miss Ying, hold that pose!”

For some reason, Bai Lan suddenly shivered. Goosebumps raced over her skin.

“Miss Bai,” Jiang Te said evenly, watching her, “your eyes are wet.”

“Why?”

“It’s nothing.” Bai Lan wiped at the corner of her eye. She took a deep breath, then let it out with a smile. “Staring at snow for too long. Doesn’t it make your eyes ache? Now… where were we? Stanislavski and Brecht…”

She paused. “But here in China, there’s another system of theatrical creation. It’s completely independent of Western theory. It’s called the Mei Lanfang System… Do you know Mei Lanfang?”

Without warning, she lifted her voice and sang a line from The Drunken Beauty: “The icy moon above the sea has only just begun to rise…”

Beneath the vast, cloudless sky, her operatic voice drifted through the valley like the song of a mountain oriole, so graceful that it gave one the illusion spring had already arrived.

It was April. In Aqiap, the snow really had begun to melt.

Having arrived only recently, Shang Lu wandered around for half the day before realizing there wasn’t a single decent place in this godforsaken town to settle down.

After finishing three cigarettes, he dumped his backpack with a loud thud outside a wooden lodge whose sign read:

“Big & Sweet Honest Good-Person Mare’s Milk Hotel.”

The owner lifted the curtain and poked his head out.

Shang Lu frowned, wearing the universal expression of someone looking for a fight. “How can liquor be both big and sweet?”

The owner: “…”

Without a word, he dropped the curtain. Then slid the bolt firmly into place.

When Shang Shao finally found him, what he saw was his younger brother sitting cross-legged outside the inn’s front door with his eyes closed and lips pursed.

In one hand, Shang Lu slowly rolled a string of bodhi prayer beads between his fingers.

He looked exactly like a begg…

No.

Like a monk waiting to receive alms.

Shang Shao stopped walking.

Flipping open his white porcelain cigarette case with one finger, he tossed a cigarette into Shang Lu’s lap.

Shang Lu jumped. He opened his mouth, ready to swear. The instant he realized it was Shang Shao, he swallowed the profanity back down.

Closing his eyes again, never pausing the steady movement of the prayer beads, he said coolly, “This humble monk asks the benefactor to return whence he came.”

“…”

It was the first time Shang Shao had ever seen him like this.

He wasn’t in any hurry. He cupped his hands around his lighter, lit a cigarette, took a drag, and asked casually, “So what exactly are you sulking about?”

Shang Lu absolutely could not be asked that question.

The moment he was, all the proud composure he’d been holding together collapsed like a landslide.

Come on. This was Shang Shao. The Shang Shao who had once casually gifted him two Sanyu paintings.

Back then, when Yu Shasha had been introduced, Shang Lu had certainly thought she wasn’t worthy of his brother.

But Yu Shasha hadn’t been beautiful enough to make him suspect Shang Shao had simply been dazzled by looks. Which meant there had only been one explanation left:

True love.

As painful as that thought had been, he was his younger brother. If it was his elder brother’s true love, then he would support it. But Ying Yin was different.

Shang Lu had every reason to suspect that, standing before overwhelming beauty, his brother had been completely enchanted – his good sense bewitched and carried away.

His impeccable, wise, and infallible elder brother had become one more ruler in history who’d lost his head over a beautiful woman.

The string of prayer beads tightened in his large hand, the beads clicking against one another in a rapid series of collisions.

With a sudden jerk, Shang Lu sprang to his feet. “Are you serious about her?”

“Yes.”

“You won’t get past Shang Qingye.”

“I already have.”

Shang Lu choked for a moment. “…You won’t get past me.”

Shang Shao turned the hand holding his cigarette, palm facing upward – a standard, polished gesture of a corporate superior. “Why don’t you listen to what you’re saying?”

He almost laughed as he asked.

Shang Lu’s expression remained cold and stern. “I don’t have any prejudice against her, but I don’t think you two are very compatible.”

“I think your prejudice against her is actually quite strong.”

“She’s materialistic. All she wants is to find a rich man.”

Shang Shao looked as though he had only just been reminded of something. He nodded politely. “Then fortunately, I’m reasonably wealthy.”

Shang Lu: “…”

“And what else?” Shang Shao asked, displaying remarkable patience as he waited to hear the rest.

“Also…” Shang Lu’s brows knitted tightly together. “She likes Ke Yu.”

“Impossible.”

“How do you know that?” Shang Lu gave a cold, mocking laugh. “She even said Ke Yu was perfect in every way – brackets, by ‘every way’ she meant his body, end brackets – and said she wanted to stay with Ke Yu for the rest of her life. I heard it with my own ears.”

And he would remember it for all eternity!

Shang Shao narrowed his eyes slightly.

After a brief pause, he asked in an apparently casual tone, “When?”

“One time when she was drunk.”

“When she was drunk.”

Shang Shao repeated the words slowly, his expression unchanged. “Got it.”

“I originally thought you’d like Rita,” Shang Lu said earnestly.

“She’s beautiful too. Like you, she loves the ocean. She’s the queen of sailing, a world-record holder, and she’s close with Xiao Wen. And after what happened with Yu Shasha last time… you two had technically already met properly and interacted quite a few times.”

Every word he said was reasonable. Every point followed the natural logic of how fate and feelings should develop.

“Then,” Shang Shao said calmly, the corner of his lips lifting slightly, “I originally thought you would like Pei Zhihe.”

“He looks good too. Like you, he loves art. He’s a genius, a world-renowned principal figure in European classical music, your childhood friend, and close with Xiao Wen. Besides, you lived together in France for so many years and went through so many things together.”

Shang Lu: “…”

Even though he knew Shang Shao was deliberately throwing his own logic back at him, his chest still tightened.

For Ke Yu.

“What do you think?” Shang Shao looked straight at him, giving a slight nod of his chin, signaling that he shouldn’t stay silent – he needed to face the question and answer honestly.

It was far too calm and composed, a gentle yet persistent persuasion that sounded almost like he was patiently teaching an innocent student.

“Feelings aren’t a logic problem,” Shang Lu said after he had calmed down. “It’s not like if the conditions are sufficient, something will definitely happen, and if the conditions aren’t sufficient, it definitely won’t.”

“Let me put it this way,” Shang Shao said. “How does that make you feel?”

Shang Lu was silent for a moment. Then, on his handsome face, a faint trace of a bitter smile appeared. “I feel terrible. Even if you’re my elder brother, I’m still going to be angry.”

Shang Shao said nothing more.

He bent down, picked up Shang Lu’s backpack, and held it between his fingers. The cigarette still in his hand curled with wisps of white smoke.

“Whether you want to eat vegetarian food and chant prayers or sit there knocking on a wooden fish, fine. Just don’t sit here. If you freeze yourself, it’ll be very difficult for me to explain myself to Ke Yu.”

Without realizing it, Shang Lu followed after him. His expression remained stubbornly aloof and awkward.

“Let me make this clear first. I absolutely will not call her sister-in-law.”

“Whatever,” Shang Shao replied.

“…”

Translator’s Notes:

[1] “Green tea girl” is a Chinese slang term for a woman who appears sweet, innocent, and delicate on the surface but is perceived as subtly manipulative or calculating, especially in romantic situations.