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Esen-Temur has the sex appeal of a baked potato.
Granted, Ma is not exactly in his target audience. And he is objectively handsome, with his square jaw, wide shoulders and dark eyes. But all the handsomeness in the world can’t help when he’s just sitting there like a lump.
“Did no one make him do a screen test before casting him?” she asks in despair, though not loudly enough to be heard by anyone but the other handlers.
“You’re just bitter because he’s not paying attention to any of your charges,” Yuchun says, with an air of smug superiority.
“He’s not paying attention to yours, either!”
There’s a commotion on the other side of the room. One contestant has grabbed another one by the wrist. She’s saying something, the words too low for Ma to hear from where she’s standing, but her face is screwed up in obvious fury. It’s early for the first fight - the night has barely started - but it’s not the earliest Ma has seen. At least neither one of the women involved is in her group.
All the cameras are moving to focus on the altercation, and at last this makes Esen show some sign of life. He stalks over to the pair, just as the woman who is being held wrenches her wrist free with a little cry and retreats a few steps, pouting prettily. The other one is still scowling. Even with her face scrunched up like that, she’s the kind of movie-star gorgeous that Ma had been pretty sure doesn’t actually exist in real life. Whoever approved her outfit should be fired, though. It’s a truly horrendously fitting black slacks and black shirt combo that almost manages to make her look drab.
As he puts a solicitous hand on her back and escorts her to a more private corner - completely ignoring the other woman in the process - Esen’s face actually shows signs of animation. And as they talk, she opens up like a flower, her expression gradually softening. And Esen is looking at her with such sweet intensity that watching them feels like intruding on something private, even if the entire country will get to see them like this.
Zhu is also staring at the hot woman. Ma notices this with a lurch in her stomach that definitely isn’t jealousy.
“I’m calling that one,” Ma says.
This makes Zhu turn her head. “This humble one thanks Teacher Ma for her support of this humble one’s charge,” she says, faux-solemn. She’s grinning, and her eyes are bright, and Ma’s heart flutters, just a little.
“Don’t call me that,” Ma says, automatically, before the meaning of Zhu’s words even registers. When it does, she adds, “Wait…”
“Aren’t you on dog duty?” Yuchun asks.
“Stop calling it that,” Ma says. She understands where it came from - every day she marvels over the fact that several people must have approved the decision to call the show Man’s Best Friend - but it still feels mean-spirited and disrespectful.
“Actually, yeah, don’t call it that,” Zhu says, “I don’t think this one would find it funny.” And then she smiles again at Ma, slow and spreading, sweet as molasses. “And I am on best friend duty. Thank you in advance for your generosity this season, Teacher Ma.” And then she has the nerve to execute a little bow.
The rules of Man’s Best Friend are simple: sixteen young, conventionally attractive women compete for the chance to marry a rich, conventionally attractive man. He decides who wins. His best friend decides who makes it to the finals.
The rules of the seasonal bet between the handlers on Man’s Best Friend are also simple: they all pick a contestant, and the one whose pick is eliminated first buys all the drinks until filming for the season wraps up.
“That doesn’t count!” Ma says, incensed. “He’s not even in the running. I should get to pick someone else.”
“Sorry, Teacher Ma,” Zhu says, not sounding very sorry at all, “the law is the law.”
***
They don’t talk about it until the end of the week, when they’ve all gotten drunk on Ma’s money and she and Zhu are walking to the bus stop. The night around them is dark and close, and it feels easy to reach out and take Zhu’s hand in hers, their small palms pressing perfectly together. “It’s going to be a shit-show,” Ma says.
Zhu makes a sound in her throat that is something between a hum and a laugh. “It’s always a shit-show.”
It’s true. The official reasoning behind Man’s Best Friend is that your best friend knows what’s good for you better than you do, but really the point is to destroy friendships on-screen. To bring to the fore all the jealousy and resentment and petty betrayals. Ma has been working on the show for five years, and every season she contemplates quitting. The only reason she hasn’t yet, beside the fact that it pays her bills, is that the contestants should have someone in their corner.
“Yeah,” she concedes, “but you’ve seen how they look at each other. They’re the real thing. If I had what they have…”
“What would you do?”
They’re in a pool of lamplight. Zhu is looking at her keenly, and something in her expression makes Ma shiver. She feels like a butterfly, splayed open and pinned to a board. There are times she feels very sure of Zhu. And then there are times like now, when she gets the impression that she’s some kind of fun science project for her, that she’s only poked at and teased to see how she’ll react. “I wouldn’t waste it like they’re doing.” The moment stretches. Ma feels herself on a precipice. If I kissed her, she thinks, what would she do? “Come on,” she says instead, “I want to eat noodles.”
***
The show limps on. Ouyang, the best friend, is obviously miserable, which is understandable. He takes it out on the contestants, which is not. By the end of week three Ma has dried enough tears that any sympathy she ever felt for him has completely evaporated.
On week eight, halfway through the show, they fly everyone out to a luxurious seaside resort for a beach episode. For the first time since they started filming, Ma feels optimistic. Not even Esen and Ouyang can ruin sun, sea and scantily clad women for her.
It starts out decently enough. Esen even looks vaguely animated as he joins a beach-volley game with the contestants. Ouyang looks like he’s bitten into a lemon and also he’s dressed like a pensioner but that’s par for the course with him at this point.
Everything is going fine, and then Little Guo stalks over to where the handlers are sitting and says to Zhu, “You need to get Ouyang to show some skin. It’s a fucking beach episode. Why’s he fully dressed?”
Zhu is silent for a few seconds too long, and then she says, “No one cares what the best friend wears.”
“You’re paid to obey, not to have opinions,” Little Guo snaps. He’s an assistant producer, and everyone knows he’s only got the job because his father is a big-shot in the company. He’s not the main reason why Ma regularly considers quitting her job, but he’s up there.
Zhu salutes him lazily, and then stands up, calling out, “Hey, general, we need to take a quick trip to wardrobe.”
It’s not a quick trip. They’re gone for the better part of an hour, and when they come back, Ma understands why. Clearly some intense bargaining took place: Ouyang’s still got a shirt on, even if it’s of a slightly nicer material than usual and short enough that it bares quick flashes of his pale stomach as he moves, but where he’s obviously given ground are the shorts. Which are, indeed, short. Short enough that he probably should avoid bending over if he doesn’t want to give the entire beach a view of his ass.
He has nice legs, too. Kind of a shame they’re attached to someone with that personality.
Ma is not the only one who has noticed Ouyang’s skimpy shorts. Esen is standing stock-still and gaping at him.
That is not a smart thing to do if you’re playing a game that involves hitting a ball as it plummets towards you from on high.
Ma kind of has to admire Borte’s arm strength, because her ball not only hits Esen full on in the face, it also knocks him to the ground.
There’s a flutter of activity, first the cameras zoning in, and then they get the on-set doctor and then they have to call a car to take Esen to the hospital, because Borte might have broken his nose. Throughout it all, Ouyang crouches at Esen’s side and hisses at anyone who gets too close. Like an irate feral cat. He goes to the hospital with Esen, which is a relief for everyone.
The rest of the day is fairly normal, or as normal as a dating show episode that is missing two essential cast members gets. The contestants do a few beach-themed challenges, and everyone on the production team is very excited about having a genuinely good reaction shot of Esen. They discuss how to edit it and who he was looking at, and everyone really carefully avoids the elephant in the room.
Everyone except Zhu, that is. “I’m kind of regretting not getting him a sluttier shirt, too,” she says cheerfully that evening over drinks. “I wonder what color Esen would have turned if he’d gotten a glimpse of his nipples.”
“No one needs to know that,” Yuchun says.
“No one needs to see Ouyang’s nipples,” Ma adds.
“Esen might disagree with you,” Zhu says, snickering, and drains her glass.
***
The next day, Esen and Ouyang are still nowhere to be seen. They continue filming, but no one’s heart is really in it. Around the middle of the afternoon, rumors start running rampant: Esen’s nose is broken. He has a concussion. He’s absent because he’s been meeting with the producers. He’s absent because he’s been meeting with lawyers. He’s going to sue Borte. He’s going to sue the network.
No one knows anything for sure until dinnertime, when they’re all gathered on the beach and Chief Producer Chen stands up in front of everyone. “Mister Temur has had to step down for personal reasons,” he says, “we’ll keep you apprised of further developments regarding this season and the future of the program.” And then he walks off, leaving them there with more questions than answers.
***
“Do you really think they’ll cancel the show?” Ma asks later, as she and Zhu stroll down the beach.
“Nah. Chen just wants everyone to be worried so then they’ll be grateful they get to keep their job. Esen’s in breach of contract anyway. He’s going to have to give the network loads of money.”
“Why do you think he did it?”
“Didn’t you say it, Yingzi? That if you had what they have you wouldn’t waste it?”
They come to a stop. Zhu is smiling. The light of the setting sun throws soft shadows over her face. It feels like the most natural thing in the world to lean forward and press their lips together.
When they separate, Zhu is still smiling. “Aiya, Yingzi, I had this whole romantic promenade planned, but maybe you want to go straight back to the hotel room.” She waggles her eyebrows.
Ma feels her face heat. “Shut up,” she says, swatting her lightly on the shoulder. They walk further down the beach. Without having to look, their hands find each other. Belatedly, a thought occurs. “Doesn’t this mean I won the bet?”
“Technically…” Zhu hedges.
“I did! My pick is definitely marrying him! You all owe me so many drinks!”
Zhu laughs. “Ah well, Teacher Ma, this humble one is poor. She’ll have to repay you slowly. In weekly installments until we’re old, maybe?”
Ma feels herself blush again, and buries her face in her hands to hide it. “I can’t believe I like you,” she mutters.
Zhu laughs again and pulls her hands away from her face.
They don’t make it back to the hotel until dawn.