The duty manager was a woman, a crumbling beauty. To his surprise she remembered him. She shook his hand and said, “It’s been a while, have you been striking it rich?”
Bao Ding grinned, “I had some business to attend to, just got back.”
“What’ll it be? A little relaxation?”
Bao Ding laughed, and said he could use a rest. The manager said he’d be wanting a bed then, and signaled to another employee. Bao Ding followed the employee to another floor, where she pushed open the door of a room where a dozen girls in low-cut dresses were drinking and laughing. Bao Ding pointed to the one with the lowest-cut dress and said, “That one.”
“You don’t want to take a closer look?”
“That one,” Bao Ding repeated, then turned and continued on.
Seated on a sofa, he had a cigarette and fingered the money in his pocket. This place was aimed at working men, so he ought to have enough. The girl stuck her head through the door and asked innocently, “Did you ask for me?”
Bao Ding waved her in, and the moment she sat down he stubbed out his cigarette and said, “Strip.” The girl blinked at his abruptness, and Bao Ding knew he was being a little hasty. What could you do? he thought. You try going for six months without.
Two rounds later, Bao Ding re-lit the cigarette he’d stubbed out. When he finished it, he wanted to use the toilet. As he got out of bed he said to the girl, Don’t go anywhere, we’re not done. She looked as if she might cry.
When Bao Ding was finished he came out of the men’s room and headed for the sink to wash his hands, but a girl got there before him. She spat several times into the sink, then started washing her hands, while a man outside urged her to hurry up. “I’m coming,” said the girl. Something inside Bao Ding went clunk, and he looked in the mirror: it was Qibao. Bao Ding hurried out of the washroom. After Qibao washed her hands she went into the ladies’ room, and Bao Ding waited outside. Qibao — it had to be her. She washed her hands again, dried them, and as she came out the man waiting for her put his arm around her shoulder. Bao Ding followed behind, watching the man’s hand slide down from her shoulder to her ass, and then they went into a private room and closed the door.
Bao Ding’s mood was instantly fouled. When he returned to the room he dropped his trousers. “Be a little gentler, okay?” the girl said. He stared at her until she retreated under the covers. The blanket moved a bit, and the G-string she’d just put on slid out onto the floor. But Bao Ding turned and pulled his trousers back on. Before he left he dropped a hundred-kuai bill onto the G-string.
It was nearly midnight when he returned to Weixiuyuan. Dunhuang was at home, watching a film. He stood up when Bao Ding came in the door, saying, “I thought you weren’t coming back.” Bao Ding planted a foot in his chest, sending him sprawling back onto the bed.
“Bad enough that you screwed her,” Bao Ding shouted, pointing at Dunhuang, his eyes bloodshot. “But did you have to let other guys screw her too? You call yourself a man?”
“You mean…Qibao?” Dunhuang clambered back up from the bed.
Bao Ding gave him another boot, knocking him back down. “Don’t you fucking play the fool, she’s your woman!”
Dunhuang stood up again, his fist in Bao Ding’s face. “What the hell are you talking about?! What’s wrong with Qibao?”
“She’s a fucking nightclub girl!” Bao Ding suddenly collapsed in the chair, exhausted.
“What are you talking about?”
Bao Ding told him. There was no mistake, unless she had a twin sister. Dunhuang called her phone, it was still off. He put on his shoes, meaning to go to Huayuancun. Bao Ding said, “Forget it, worry about it tomorrow.” Dunhuang shoved his hand away: “This has got nothing to do with you!”
Dunhuang took a taxi to Huayuancun. He pressed the intercom buzzer for ages, but no one answered. Bony Beauty wasn’t at home either. Dunhuang waited outside, sleeping and waking in turns, until he was covered in dew.
At 5:10 am, the sky already lightening, Qibao came back, a satchel over her shoulder. When she saw Dunhuang’s dew-soaked hair and clothes, she subconsciously tugged at her dress.
Dunhuang’s eyes were mean. “How long have you been doing it?”
“Doing what?” she asked.
Dunhuang’s temper flared, and his palm hit her right cheek. Qibao pulled back in shock, then gave him a slap in return.
“What business is it of yours what I do?”
“We’ve been sleeping together this long, I should think it’s my business! You’re my goddamn woman!” Another ringing slap landed on her left cheek.
She returned the compliment, also on his left cheek. “Since when am I your woman! Did the Party Chairman sell me to you?”
Dunhuang delivered a third slap.“How fucking shameless can you get?”
Her response landed almost simultaneously. “Oh, so you feel shame, do you? When you’re out fucking women? You, Bao Ding, Kuang Shan — which of you feels a scrap of fucking shame?”
“You sold it to Kuang Shan, too?”
“Yeah, I sold it. I sold it to anyone who was buying.”
A year ago, Kuang Shan had gone to the same nightclub and requested her, and they’d gotten to know each other. After Dunhuang had treated him to dinner, he had called Qibao, but she wouldn’t see him. “Are you afraid he’ll find out?” asked Kuang Shan. “I can’t speak for anyone else, but I can keep my mouth shut.” They weren’t strangers, after all, and he was paying. In the end she went to see him.
Early risers in the surrounding apartments watched from their windows as the young couple in the garden exchanged slaps. They were just getting into the show when the young man turned and walked away. Of course, they couldn’t hear the last thing he said, “That’s it. It’s over.”
18
Dunhuang kept selling DVDs. He didn’t contact Qibao, and she didn’t come to see him. Occasionally, he’d meet Xiaorong on the street or at the entrance to some supermarket. Her belly was impressive, given its size and how much time had passed, it could very well be twins. And if it were twins, which one would be called Kuang Xia? Xiaorong always had a small bag of DVDs with her, and as she spoke to her customers she’d glance from side to side. Kuang Shan smoked a little ways off, looking like an innocent bystander, a locked case at his feet. The rat bastard had been spooked, and was pushing Xiaorong and her belly out onto the front lines alone.
Bao Ding stayed in Dunhuang’s room for two more days before renting a room of his own by Madian Bridge. He was back doing fake IDs, plenty of his old contacts were still around. When he was leaving, Dunhuang gave him 1,500 kuai, everything he’d saved, and Bao Ding didn’t stand on ceremony. He told Dunhuang not to take it all to heart, in a place like Beijing anything could happen.
Life was simple once again. Dunhuang turned his full attention to his DVDs, selling them and watching them. He found a few new regular outlets, and sales were good — most importantly, it was safe. That was a piece of parting advice from Bao Ding — if you went to jail, you’d have to start all over again. After a day of making runs he’d return to his room, lie on his bed, and think of Qibao and Xiaorong, but only for a few moments before he put in a movie and started watching. Sometimes he’d look at the actresses and note their similarities to Qibao or Xiaorong, then berate himself for being pathetic. He was a man, wasn’t he? Why couldn’t he be a little more goddamn manly?