Chapter 17: Leaving This Ship

Li Siwei had read more than half of the script. After the intimate scene on the balcony, Li Peiyun had developed feelings for Liang Haisheng.

He flipped to the latest page, a star marked in the corner.

The scene they were filming today was the night Li Peiyun spent with Liang Haisheng in the crew quarters, a scene where Li Peiyun’s feelings took a subtle turn.

The long voyage had brought an unprecedented loneliness to the violinist. Coupled with the intimacy with Liang Haisheng on the balcony, his feelings had awakened, and he had developed a taste for it.

It happened to be the day of the cruise ship auction, and most of the wealthy passengers and crew members were there. Liang Haisheng wasn’t on duty that day, so he spent time with Li Peiyun on the ship.

Liang Haisheng lived in the crew quarters on the lower deck, a small room shared by two people. That night, Liang Haisheng’s roommate was on duty in the engine room, leaving the room to Liang Haisheng alone. The two risked a secret rendezvous in the crew quarters.

Li Siwei had originally thought this scene was simple. He had read the lines in the script many times and had memorized them. But last night, before going to bed, he received a call from the assistant director, saying that Director Qiu had a new idea and had changed the original scene. Li Siwei would need to improvise tomorrow.

Li Siwei asked what had been changed, but the assistant director refused to elaborate, saying that Director Qiu had instructed him not to reveal the details in advance, so as to capture the most authentic reactions on set.

During his four years at the film academy, Li Siwei had done this kind of improvisational performance test before. But this time, his co-star was an unpredictable factor, and he didn’t know what Yu Chuan might do in this uncertain situation.

By the time he arrived on set, the sun was already high in the sky. It was another day of filming a night scene during the day. The overhead lights in the studio were all turned off, and the lighting crew was setting up the lights.

The details of this scene had been changed significantly. To improve efficiency, Director Qiu also called the screenwriting team to the set. Li Siwei saw Mo Xue waiting on the sidelines as soon as he entered.

“First time watching you film live.” Mo Xue patted his shoulder with the rolled-up script in her hand.

“Screenwriter Mo, I’ll definitely give a good performance. I won’t embarrass you.” Li Siwei smiled.

Mo Xue was about to reply when her eyes flickered, her mouth opening halfway then closing. She quickly gave Li Siwei a look.

Li Siwei didn’t understand what she meant and continued to study the set design on the wall.

Half a minute later, someone nudged his leg with their knee. Li Siwei was startled and turned around to see a figure looming behind him.

“Don’t you know we’re about to start filming?” Yu Chuan asked, arms crossed.

Li Siwei was used to his cold tone and walked past him.

“Of course, I’m never late to set.” He retorted. Tit for tat, the unspoken rule of their interactions.

As their interactions progressed along with the plot, Li Peiyun’s makeup and costume became simpler and simpler. From the initially complex accessories, it was now just a satin shirt and trousers, not even his gold-rimmed glasses.

The crew quarters were a replica of the description in the original novel. A small room, only about three meters long and wide, with bunk beds. Opposite the beds were two rows of dark wooden cabinets, the surface cluttered with metal boxes and miscellaneous items.

Liang Haisheng slept on the lower bunk. A worn world map was pinned to the wall behind him, dotted with red pushpins.

Indoor shooting required more complex lighting than the deck scene. The lighting crew adjusted the lights for another ten minutes before they were satisfied. Director Qiu was already sitting behind the monitor, the cameras set up, two Steadicams aimed at the two actors.

Li Siwei closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, he affirmed to himself that he was Li Peiyun.

Medium close-up shot.

Liang Haisheng sat very close to Li Peiyun, side by side on the narrow bed. The crew quarters were cluttered, and there was a faint smell of gasoline from the lower deck.

Li Peiyun’s hand, resting on the edge of the bed, brushed against something hard. He pulled it out and saw a thick notebook, bound in oilcloth, looking quite old.

He opened the notebook. The first half was mostly a ship’s log, recording the date, the sea area they entered, and how long they had sailed.

Two thin pieces of paper, like bookmarks, were inserted in the last few pages. Several names were written on them in pen, both in Chinese and English. Some names were crossed out, others underlined.

Before he could finish reading, the notebook was taken away by the person beside him and tucked back under the pillow.

Liang Haisheng leaned close, gently cupping his face, their breaths mingling.

There was a sudden sound outside the door. Li Peiyun stiffened, a wary look in his eyes.

“No one will come today.” Liang Haisheng smiled.

Li Peiyun was still nervous. He sat up and looked around the small room. A metal box on a cabinet in the corner caught his attention.

“What’s this?” Li Peiyun picked up the box and saw an open lock hanging from it.

With a click, he opened the box and saw a pistol inside.

The camera zoomed in, and beads of sweat appeared on Li Peiyun’s forehead.

Liang Haisheng asked: “Never seen a gun before?”

“Why do you have a gun?” His voice trembled slightly.

Liang Haisheng smiled: “At sea, it’s for self-defense.”

The gun had a dark silver, heavy casing. A short row of letters was engraved on the bottom of the magazine, worn almost illegible by fingerprints.

“Want to try it?” Liang Haisheng asked.

Although Li Peiyun had traveled abroad, he had never touched a firearm. His hands were precious and couldn’t be damaged.

But now, in the dimly lit room, Liang Haisheng took out the gun and placed it in his hand.

Liang Haisheng’s rough hand covered his, the cold, hard pistol held between his palms. A solid chest pressed against his shoulder blade.

Li Peiyun’s heart pounded, and he subconsciously swallowed.

“Don’t be afraid, there are no bullets.” Liang Haisheng pressed against his index finger. “Try it, see what it feels like to fire a gun.”

He pulled the slide back, a crisp click, the sound of the gun being cocked. Li Peiyun’s back tensed.

Liang Haisheng held his hand and aimed at a target on the wall.

Then, he pressed against his index finger, pulled the trigger, and at the same time, his lips brushed against Li Peiyun’s ear, imitating the sound of a gunshot: “Bang—”

Li Peiyun flinched, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. He leaned back against Liang Haisheng.

Indeed, it was an empty magazine. The air from the barrel hit nothing but air.

Liang Haisheng chuckled, lowered his head, wrapped his arms around Li Peiyun’s tense waist, and whispered in his ear: “See? I told you it’s fine.”

For the first time, he realized that Liang Haisheng seemed to be hiding many secrets. Li Peiyun, overwhelmed by nervousness, abruptly stood up from the bed. Liang Haisheng stood up and blocked his way, cupping his face and kissing his cheek.

Indescribable emotions couldn’t resist the instinctive attraction. The cold gun was warmed by their body heat. Li Peiyun decided to meet the kiss.

Humans were strange creatures. Once thrown into a strange and unpredictable environment, love could arise as easily and randomly as colliding particles.

“Cut!” Director Qiu’s voice came. “This take is great! The effect is very good!”

Li Siwei’s back was soaked with sweat. He struggled slightly, and Yu Chuan released his arms.

Except for the part where he found the notebook, all the subsequent actions were improvised. Judging by Yu Chuan’s reaction, Li Siwei realized that he had the complete script, and this scene was a test only for him.

The camera moved away, and Yu Chuan weighed the prop gun in his hand before putting it back in the box.

Li Siwei’s fear of the gun was mostly genuine. The moment he opened the box, he was truly startled. No one had told him the magazine was empty, so he could only follow Yu Chuan’s lead and continue acting.

Yu Chuan didn’t say anything more to Li Siwei but returned to his van to wait for the next scene.

Only then did Li Siwei understand why Director Qiu insisted on not giving him the script and asked him to improvise. This relationship was also uncertain for Li Peiyun, just like he couldn’t have predicted that there would be a gun in the metal box.

Li Siwei turned to look at the world map pinned to the wall again. The camera didn’t lie. Li Peiyun didn’t understand, but he did. He understood why this map was here.

Wandering and freedom were Liang Haisheng’s way of life. Perhaps Li Peiyun’s appearance was just another pushpin on the vast map of his life.

One of the lights on set went out. Mo Xue, who was outside the studio, stood up and clapped for Li Siwei: “Great acting. You were Li Peiyun himself.”

Li Siwei walked over to her, pulled up a chair, and sat beside her, shaking his head: “Li Peiyun is Li Peiyun, I am me.”

Mo Xue turned to look at him: “What do you mean? Such a dramatic scene, a mysterious man, if it were you, wouldn’t you be attracted to him?”

Li Siwei was silent for a few seconds, sweat still dripping from his temples, then smiled: “People in extremely tense and dangerous situations can develop the illusion of being loved.”

Mo Xue handed him a white towel to wipe his sweat.

Li Siwei took it and covered his face, his voice muffled: “I don’t have the capital like Li Peiyun to risk my luck.”

“Interesting. Then if it were you, what would you choose?” She asked.

He was silent for more than ten seconds before slowly taking the towel off his face.

“I would leave this ship.”