Shrine - Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Ruan Ruan couldn’t sleep again that night.

On the floor, the pot-bellied Xiao Ju was wandering around the new environment. A corner of the floorboard that was sticking up became its toy; it batted it around with a clatter, scratching and biting. And in Ruan Ruan’s heart, a corner had also lifted. She lay prone on the bed, her legs crossed and swaying gently, but she couldn’t press that lifted corner back down no matter what.

During the day, Shi Ran had dropped them off downstairs and driven away without getting out of the car, as distant as a colleague with whom she barely interacted.

But Ruan Ruan, holding the cat, had seen Shi Ran without any makeup. Her skin was translucent, her lips red and teeth white, like a white begonia after a rinse of water—much purer than usual.

Eileen Chang wrote that she hated that begonias had no fragrance. At that moment, sitting next to Shi Ran, Ruan Ruan hated that Shi Ran had no fragrance.

If she had a scent, some lingering thoughts would have a trail to follow.

Ruan Ruan sat up and searched for what to pay attention to when a cat is pregnant, searching until the sky began to lighten at dawn.

For the next few days, Shi Ran was away on location. Ruan Ruan had no scenes, so she didn’t need to be on set. She slept in until late every day, went to the wet market to buy some groceries, and came back to cook salmon for Xiao Ju. Food delivery is especially convenient now, and many celebrities have groceries delivered via apps. Only Ruan Ruan was used to browsing the wet market and haggling with the vendors.

Because she used to help her parents mind their stall at the wet market, she had observed all sorts of people. Later, she saw a teacher say on Weibo that to be a good actor, one must be good at observation. Perhaps an actor should be a mirror, reflecting the myriad states of the world, reflecting the seven emotions and six desires.

So every time she went out and interacted with people, Ruan Ruan felt like she was recharging. One day, she would place this accumulated energy onto the big screen. Her every frown and smile, her tears and wrinkles, would all be glimpses of ordinary people.

In the second week, Shi Ran returned. They heard she had been in the mountains, but Shi Ran showed no signs of having weathered the elements. She still maintained her detached, nonchalant attitude toward everything, sitting down and starting to film as soon as she arrived.

Ruan Ruan watched her act. The moment the camera started rolling, Shi Ran’s expression would become rich and varied, like a piece of clothing draped over a sofa being put on, with flesh, blood, and a skeleton to support it, making it full and vivid.

When the director yelled “Cut,” Shi Ran would shed the emotion again, turning back into the feathered garment draped on the sofa—as thin as a cicada’s wing, and priceless.

In the third week, Ruan Ruan and Xiao Lin became more familiar with each other. They would occasionally joke around and banter, and they added each other on WeChat for occasional late-night chats.

Xiao Lin often said, “Teacher Shi this, Teacher Shi that.” Only when the two of them were alone did her reference change to “Shi Ran.”

In the fourth week, Ruan Ruan finally had her first scene with Shi Ran.

Shi Ran was dressed very youthfully, her long black hair blocking the sunlight. She stood in the school hallway, leaning her back against the railing, and turned her head to ask Ruan Ruan, “What do you plan to do after graduation?”

Ruan Ruan said, “Um, I haven’t decided. I want to be a teacher. Do you think I can?”

Shi Ran blinked, looking at her intently, and smiled under the sunlight. “Of course you can. I believe in you.”

Her voice was very low, delivered from the tip of her tongue. The corners of her mouth looked even more kissable.

The director’s voice came through the walkie-talkie: “Stop, stop, stop.”

Without the assistant director on set needing to point out the problem, everyone realized it: Ruan Ruan’s face was very red.

“Can you not look at Shi Ran with those starry eyes, okay?” the assistant director teased, asking the makeup artist to come touch up Ruan Ruan’s makeup.

Ruan Ruan lowered her head, her neck flushed pink. It was because she had discovered a mole on Shi Ran, at the junction of her shoulder and neck, just above the collarbone. It was usually hidden by her hair, and only because they were so close just now did it catch Ruan Ruan’s eye.

This sense of intimacy too easily sparked inappropriate fantasies—wondering if she had moles elsewhere, and from what distance they might be visible.

The makeup artist applied setting powder to Ruan Ruan’s face and joked, “What’s wrong? Are you a fan of Shi Ran’s?”

Her voice wasn’t loud, but the film crew was gathered closely, and everyone started to laugh.

Shi Ran smiled too, but withdrew it after two or three seconds. She took the water her assistant handed her and drank it coolly through a straw.

Ruan Ruan lowered her head, shielding the corner of her forehead with her hand, and said in a small voice, “I just think she’s too beautiful.”

A little vexed, but very sincere. The set erupted in laughter. Ruan Ruan had Wu Mei give her the script, flipped through it quickly, and forced herself to get into character.

Shi Ran, however, didn’t laugh. She pursed her lips around the straw, her expression even more indifferent than usual, and her face was much paler.

Ruan Ruan glanced at her, uncertain. She didn’t know if Shi Ran was angry, so she quickly adjusted her state of mind and finished the scene professionally.

This little incident wasn’t worth mentioning, but it weighed on Ruan Ruan’s chest for a long time. She felt uneasy the entire afternoon. After sitting in the courtyard for a while rolling up her script, she caught Xiao Lin coming out to pour out some water and took the opportunity to ask, “Was Teacher Shi angry just now?”

“Huh?” Xiao Lin was clueless. “When?”

“When I said she was so beautiful it took me out of character. Maybe what I said made her misunderstand. I saw that she didn’t look well at the time.” Ruan Ruan bit her upper lip, her heart pounding. Shi Ran doesn’t think I have poor professional skills and am just blaming her, does she?

“Didn’t look well?” Xiao Lin hadn’t noticed. “What was her expression?”

“It was…” Ruan Ruan recalled carefully. “She didn’t say anything, and she looked a bit like she had heatstroke.” She seemed quite uncomfortable, and also… a little, inexplicably, vulnerable.

Xiao Lin said, “Oh,” then chuckled, pouring the water from her thermos into a nearby sink. “She was shy.”

“Huh?”

Ruan Ruan sucked in a sharp breath. The nervous little drum in her heart turned into a xylophone, tinkling and vibrating with a ticklish tingle.

Do people turn pale when they’re shy? Shi Ran… can she get shy?

She propped her chin on her hand, thought for a moment, and laughed out loud.

After running through a few more scenes, Ruan Ruan and Shi Ran weren’t such strangers anymore. Much of the awkwardness had dissipated. She discovered that aside from not smiling much, Shi Ran was actually easy to get along with. Her underlying nature could even be considered gentle, it was just that not many people could glimpse it. For example, she would ask Xiao Lin if the fans outside had been waiting for a long time. Xiao Lin said yes, and that the sun was very strong today.

The producer was on set at the time and asked Shi Ran if the production team should send some food, drinks, or autographed photos to the fans. Shi Ran said, “No need.”

Xiao Lin later told Ruan Ruan that Shi Ran had seen that most of the “kids” who came were quite young. She had said before that she wanted them to work hard and study hard. If they could get “perks” for visiting the set, perhaps more would skip class or work to come in the future.

Ruan Ruan told Wu Mei about this while washing rice. “To think that’s how she sees it. If it were us, we’d probably be treating them to a meal.”

Wu Mei said, “Right? If we had fans who squatted in the hot sun for us, we’d want to put them on a pedestal and be their fans.”

Ruan Ruan was tickled pink. She flicked some rice water at Wu Mei, and Wu Mei splashed her back with vegetable-washing water. The two of them goofed around for a bit. During a lull, they noticed Xiao Ju pacing back and forth outside, flicking its tail irritably and letting out a meow or two from time to time.

Ruan Ruan walked over quickly and dried her hands. Xiao Ju must be about to give birth.

On the afternoon of the third day, Ruan Ruan had no scenes, but she checked the call sheet anyway. Holding an umbrella, she headed to the set to bring Shi Ran some sour plum soup.

As usual, she used a napkin to cushion the cup. This time, there was also a small note on top of the napkin.

It was almost four o’clock when Xiao Lin came out, holding the note and looking puzzled.

Ruan Ruan sat on a stool, chewing on her straw and drinking her own sour plum soup.

“Teacher Shi wants to know why you wrote her a note.”

Xiao Lin glanced at it again. It read: Xiao Ju had her kittens. Would you like to come see them when you have time?

Ruan Ruan swallowed a mouthful of the sweet soup. “I felt it would be a bit presumptuous to invite her to my place, so I was too embarrassed to ask directly. Asking you to pass on the message felt too informal. It would have been best to message her, but I don’t have her WeChat.”

Xiao Lin smiled, turned around, and typed out a reply with a flurry of taps. A minute or so later, she turned back. “Teacher Shi says she has time today, and for you to wait for her.”

“Also, here’s her WeChat QR code.”

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