Work Text:
The old theatre stands between two modern buildings, sharp in their concrete and metal lines, like a phantom of the past of the city. Wei Ying lines up with the others in front of the entrance and surveys the crowd. It’s the usual mix that attends these kinds of events: all ages and demographics, from young artists like him, chatting with each other, to older folks carrying their art supplies in well loved leather bags.
Wei Ying shifts the weight on his feet in anticipation. He loves these events: life drawing sessions, but instead of having just a model posing solitary in the centre of the room, it’s a whole production. A mixture between theatre and performance, where a narrator tells a story that models represent in still scenes on stage, with music and lights and scenography and costumes. It’s awesome, and the perfect occasion to train his sketching skills.
He’s been living in the city for a couple of years now, and since he finally found a long term rent in a flatshare last winter, everything has started to kick into place. He has landed a part time job in an art gallery that paid rent, and he rounds it up with the occasional collaborations and commissions. The city is welcoming to artists in a way that few others are, and it’s a huge relief to be able to sustain himself without having to give up his art, or live the struggling not-so-poetically-boheme artist lifestyle. If he only could beat the artistic block that's been cursing him in his current project, things would be just peach. When he applied to participate in the big collective exhibition at the end of the year, he was confident he would have had something meaningful ready by now. But months have passed by and he finds himself still stuck. He wants to do something personal, something connected to his culture and history, but every time he tries to work on finding his voice, he just hits a wall. It’s never personal enough, or it feels too formulaic, too traditional, a mere exercise in style.
When he read about this event, he signed up in a second: this month’s theme is old legends from the far east, and he looks forward to seeing what the creative production group will create. Every time they would surpass his expectations and give unexpected spins to traditional fables and tropes.
The line keeps moving, and he’s still lost in his thoughts when his turn comes. He fumbles with his bag to retrieve his wallet, pays and walks in through the dusty velvet curtain separating the foyer from the main hall. The theatre is small and very old, almost decadent, with a narrow balcony going around the back wall and along one side of the room, and an intimate parterre, filled with chairs. He looks around for a spot, but the place is almost full already, and he starts despairing he won’t be able to find somewhere with a decent view of the stage and space for his long legs. He’s ready to give up and head to the balcony when he sees somebody waving at him from the front row.
It’s Nie Huaisang, the guy from Shijiazhuang he met at the last lunar new year’s celebrations. Wei Ying smiles at him and makes his way through the narrow rows.
“Ge! I saved you a seat! You want to have a good view for this!” Nie Huaisang welcomes him warmly and keeps talking as Wei Ying begins to unload his supplies and organize the space on the floor between him and the stage. He always needs to have everything out and ready, since he keeps changing his mind about what materials to use mid sketch. He has an efficient system by now.
“Preparing the costumes for this has been a challenge, let me tell you. Especially with the limited budget we have.” Nie Huaisang is doing an internship in one of the local independent fashion brands, and is enmeshed in so many of the artistic events and collectives of the city that Wei Ying has lost track immediately, and just started assuming the other would always be involved one way or another.
“I can’t wait to see your work then! Can you give me some spoilers?” Wei Ying asks with a grin.
Nie Huaisang holds his hand on his chest, making a scandalized face. “Spoilers? And ruin the experience for you??? Never!”
“Well, at least you could tell me which colors I should prepare in my palette,” Wei Ying says, waving a gouche tube and tipping it on his nose.
Nie Huaisang rolls his eyes fondly “Well, if I must, be sure to have some ultramarine blue ready, then” and he follows with a wink.
Wei Ying nods at that, and pours a generous dollop of color on his messy metal palette. His curiosity is peaking.
Just as he manages to get himself a beer at the bar, the lights start dimming: the show is about to start. He hurries back to his spot, grabs his sketchbook and his water brush and waits.
The scenography is just a series of big fabric panels hanging from the ceiling, but as soon as the lights turn off the whole stage becomes alive with images beaming from a projector. A soft minimalist piano music starts playing, and the familiar voice of the narrator - a middle-aged trans woman who has been running these events for the past decade with a firm hand and zero tolerance for displays of toxic masculinity and disrespect towards the performers, making the space queer and safe(r) than many other similar events in the city - begins to introduce the evening and the house rules, while images of traditional landscapes chase each other on the panels on stage.
They welcome the first models to the center of the set, a couple of young women and a big muscular man, carrying a large papier-mâché egg. They set up their scene: one woman shakes the fabric ropes hanging from the ceiling and climbs up with grace, setting herself in an aerial pose. The other drapes her green robes on the floor lying at the feet of the man, who places himself standing between them, arms raised up as if to hold the floating figure. The egg is laid in two halves at his sides. The narrator calls the pose time – ten minutes – and starts reading the story of the god Pangu and the creation of the world.
Nie Huaisang leans in to whisper in his ear “That’s my da-ge! He moved here recently and I convinced him to participate. He’s perfect for the part, isn’t he?”
Wei Ying can only nod enthusiastically, his hand already flowing on the page to catch the composition of the scene. Nie Huaisang’s brother has a solid build and golden skin, and he is indeed a pleasure to draw. The women are ethereal in their poses, but Wei Ying is most of all fascinated by the flow of the fabric. The trio goes through several more poses and variations before receiving a wave of applause and leaving the stage with a bow.
The next part of the show is then occupied by the representation of the story of Zhinü, daughter of a goddess, and the cowherd Niulang. The models are the two women from the previous scene, now wearing fascinating paper costumes that fold and unfold revealing different patterns and shapes. Nie Huisang's creativity with low-budget costume making is truly impressive, and the visual compositions on stage are capturing Wei Ying with their unexpected solutions, while maintaining the core spirit of the traditions behind them. When the flock of tulle magpies is released from above, connecting the two lovers on the opposite sides of the stage, Wei Ying gets so emotional he has to wipe his eyes.
When the lights switch back on for the halfway break, Wei Ying turns towards his friend and grabs his hands. “A-Sang, this was incredible.”
“You’re too kind!” He says dismissively, but Wei Ying can tell he is pleased at the praise. “I was so happy to work with traditional aesthetics after months of minimal european structural black and white concepts. If I see another shapeless jacket on a sad, white, blonde techno-core guy I may throw a fit.”
Wei Ying laughs at that, and together they go to the bar to get some drinks before the final part.
“You said to prepare the ultramarine blue, but I barely used it. What are you hiding from me?”
“I said no spoilers! Come on, let me have my fun.”
While they are drinking, Wei Ying watches as the staff rearrange the stage, taking away most of the structures the other models used. They also sweep the wooden boards and double check for poking nails. Mhhh… somebody will move around barefoot then. Maybe a dance performance? He doesn’t know any traditional Chinese dancers in the city though… Wei Ying's curiosity is starting to move into high tension territory when they hear the call back to the seats. Nie Huaisang sits down beside him barely hiding his smirk.
The lights turn off and Wei Ying keeps his eyes glued on the dark stage. The panels turn a pale blue ultramarine color, but a shadow steps forward from a spot behind them, the dark outline back lit in stark contrast. All that Wei Ying can tell is that they are wearing long flowy robes and have long loose hair. After a moment of silence and pause, the music starts playing and the person raises their hands. Holy shit, is that a sword? The figure begins to slowly move through traditional sword forms, the movements precise and of unnatural grace, always stopping ten seconds in each pose to allow the artists to catch the gesture on paper.
Wei Ying is so enchanted he forgets to start drawing until Nie Huaisang elbows him in his side.
“Damn, A-Sang, who is it?” Wei Ying is still speechless at the whole thing, but finally regains his focus, grabs his brush pen and starts annotating on paper the gesture of each pose.
After a couple of minutes, the music changes and the figure walks around the panels to the front of the stage, where a spotlight is waiting to follow their movements again.
The moment the person becomes visible, Wei Ying’s brain becomes a single pitch of white noise.
Holy shit.
That is Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, the guy he met during English summer camp in his last year of highschool in China, and who he had an endless crush on. Lan Zhan, who basically ignored all of Wei Ying’s attempts to get a reaction out of him, and that always ratted him out when he broke curfew. Lan Zhan, that was so beautiful and ethereal that Wei Ying did not mind spending his afternoons of punishment in the library with, and making so many portraits of in his sketchbook.
The morning of the last day of camp he chose what he thought was the best one and gave it to him as a gift. He still remembers how Lan Zhan’s mouth almost moved to a small smile. He thanked him, and that was it. They never exchanged contacts and Wei Ying got the message, and never tried to stalk him on Weibo. (That’s not technically true. He tried to stalk... em, find him on Weibo, but he either doesn’t have an account or he only has a private one.)
Wei Ying never saw him again. That was five years ago.
Now Lan Zhan is here. On this stage, in front of him, clearly taller and broader and even more perfect than what Wei Ying could remember, wearing an hanfu that seems made of clouds and water and vapor, soft white fabric stained with – finally – ultramarine blue, that follows his movements perfectly and creates the most beautiful shapes as he resumes the sword forms sequence, now holding each one for a couple of minutes, clearly unaffected by gravity like the rest of us mortals.
Wei Ying may have stopped breathing.
Wei Ying may have been gaping for the last three poses without moving, trying to process HOW Lan Zhan has ended up here. In this city. On the other side of the world. Performing. On this stage.
He wants to cry. He wants to scream. He wants to draw him so intensely that nothing else would seem relevant anymore because Lan Zhan is here and he is perfect and Wei Ying feels alive and saved and inspired like he hasn’t been in years.
He is not going to ask how Nie Huaisang is connected to all of this, because that way lies madness and conspiracy theorying, and he has learned that his friend is just like that. Always quietly and inconspicuously one step ahead of everybody else.
He grabs his palette and his brush and his bigger paper and just loses himself in the flow of drawing, his eyes dancing from one detail and shape to the other, fast and focused. He’s feeling so elated and present he never wants it to stop.
When Lan Zhan breaks the last pose and bows, he almost wants to whine out loud. He hides it by joining the applause the whole room is giving him.
“Damn, that was…” He can’t even finish the sentence.
“Oh, there’s more.” Nie Huaisang says, with a delighted tone.
Everything goes dark again and Wei Ying can see the staff moving around, carrying and placing something on the floor at the center of the stage. Lan Zhan comes back and sits beside it. When the lights turn on, there’s a legit full size guqin on the floor. Lan Zhan has changed into a different hanfu, this time fully white, but composed by many layers of the finest lace, in geometric and subtle patterns.
He sits gracefully on the floor, spreading his robes wide around him. He has a hairpiece now, some intricate metal work. He looks like an immortal from a xianxia drama. It’s just unfair.
Wei Ying had a crush on him because he could not not notice the silent guy, always on his own, who could also crush anybody at any sport or physical activity challenge without boasting about it. He was beautiful, but he was also so smart, always asking interesting questions during conversation practice and debates.
He would play around trying to translate Chinese poems to english and vice versa, and they would get into endless debates about the quality of an idiomatic expression, and sigh at how limited the english language is to convey some subtleties.
Wei Ying always thought they had a connection. Something. Yes, he was thirsting on his arms and shoulders, but he also thought he was a super interesting person and he just wanted to get to know him more.
There was a moment, during the evening of the last day of camp, when while walking around after curfew – again, but it was the last day and everybody was celebrating and getting different degrees of drunk – he had found Lan Zhan sitting on the small pier by the lake. The only times he had seen Lan Zhan around after curfew were when he was on guard duty, but he clearly wasn’t tonight, because Wei Ying had just dodged that stinky Jin cousin guy on the way there.
When Wei Ying sat beside him, Lan Zhan looked terrified of being caught, but didn’t send him away. His eyes were suspiciously shiny. They sat in silence for quite a while, an incredible feat for Wei Ying, and in the end Lan Zhan told him in a few words that it was the anniversary of his mother’s death, and that was the reason his family always sent him away during that period. They wanted him to distract himself and have fun, and move on.
Wei Ying’s heart grew ten sizes in that moment, and he shared his own story of loneliness, and being an orphan, his messy childhood and the complicated gratitude he had towards the Jiangs. They stayed there until late, watching the night sky in silence while lying down, and they fell asleep on the wooden boards. Side by side, the back of their hands just a hair from touching. When Wei Ying woke up the next morning Lan Zhan was nowhere to be seen, but he found a small light ultramarine blue paper crane in his pocket.
So in the end nothing happened and Lan Zhan just disappeared, clearly leaving the camp at the crack of dawn. And now Wei Ying is spiraling again because that’s what his brain does when he’s not focusing on drawing, and his fucking first love reappears after five years in a completely different continent looking even taller, bigger and hotter. Fuck.
The clean notes of the guqin draw his attention and he realises that Lan Zhan is now... playing??? How did he not know that he could play? He had suspected his family was very traditional, from his behaviour and attitude, but wow. Wei Ying’s crush is officially coming back with a vengeance, and it’s like a cluster of fireworks in his belly because he wants to eat him alive, but also just paint him forever, but also just be able to look at him without ever losing him again.
Wei Ying doesn’t recognize the music that Lan Zhan is playing, but it doesn’t matter. He just focuses back on painting and “This will be a long pose,” the narrator announces, “thirty minutes.”
It becomes the simultaneously longer and shorter half hour of Wei Ying’s life. He finishes the general study at the twenty minutes mark, and then gets lost in drawing study details of Lan Zhan’s hands.
The music ends, the pose ends, and Wei Ying tries to release all his energy in the rounds of applause, when all the performers come on stage again and all the credits are due, and Nie Huaisang literally gets lift on stage by his huge da-ge manhandling him, and Wei Ying just claps and claps and claps, and doesn’t look higher than anyone’s belt because if he were to lock eyes with Lan Zhan now he would start crying, and he needs to calm down.
The performers go backstage along with Nie Huaisang, so Wei Ying takes the chance to grab all his stuff and shove it back in his backpack, before running to the bathroom and trying to make himself presentable. He looks in the mirror and tries to pep talk himself. It doesn’t work. Why does it always work in the movies? Damn.
He decides to get out from the front, where a wooden deck is set with chairs and small tables, like a modest outdoor patio, and wait for Nie Huaisang there. He doesn’t have energy and focus at this point for the usual after show social mingling, so he sits in a far away corner and just lies back on the chair and closes his eyes, simply trying to breathe.
He might doze off. He comes back as a smooth, low voice asks “Do you mind if I join you?”
Wei Ying knows that voice. He inhales sharply and opens his eyes. Lan Zhan has changed into his street clothes. Which are not the pants and polo shirt he used to wear at summer camp. He’s wearing a tunic and some wide flowy pants and his hair is up in a bun, and Wei Ying's brain goes offline again. “Lan Zhan…” It’s all he can say, and Lan Zhan smiles, the tiniest smile, but without effort, and sits in front of him.
“Hi,” he says, eyes gentle and focused on him. “Sorry for the surprise. When Nie Huaisang realised we were former acquaintances he insisted on waiting and surprising you. He was very determined. I hope the… surprise wasn’t too distressing for you.” He sounds genuinely concerned, and Wei Ying doesn't know what to do. He’s probably gaping again.
“Why?” Why did you disappear without a word, why didn’t you ever look for me, he doesn’t ask, but Lan Zhan understands.
“I’m sorry for how we left things. It was… complicated. I needed time, and to find… my place.”
Wei Ying nods, understanding the code for “I was in the closet and my family is extremely traditional and it took me years to get to a point where I was comfortable enough to just move out and live my own life without breaking their heart” or some other variation of a similar story. He hopes Lan Zhan’s family took the blunt better than his own.
“How long?” He asks again, because he doesn’t want to get hurt again and all of this seems too good to be true.
“I don’t know. There is no set time frame. My brother and Nie Mingjue just opened a start up project in the city and it will take a while to see if it works well enough to settle.”
Oh.
Wei Ying smiles. He smiles, and then he laughs, and then he says “Lan Zhaaan!” In the same teasing tone he used as a gangly teenager full of hormones, and he might be shedding some tears, but they are happy tears.
Lan Zhan is here, bright and gentle like the moon, and they finally have time, in a city where they can fully be themselves, and Wei Ying is so happy.
He shows Lan Zhan his drawings from the night, and they talk about art and the complex intersections of life and it feels like the fresh breeze in the early dawn, bringing all the hints of the potential day ahead.
They have time.