Xu Zechen - Running Through Beijing

“How’d you end up selling pirated DVDs?” asked Qibao. “No more fake IDs?”

“After I got out I couldn’t connect with anyone, so I started selling DVDs in the meantime. Now I think it’s pretty good work, and I don’t want to go back.”

“You got to like it, huh?”

“More or less. You don’t earn much, but there’s less to worry about, and you can watch films in your spare time. Life is pretty good.”

“You must have gotten culture in jail,” said Qibao. “Did the two of you go in together?”

“Yeah. Actually, Bao Ding went in because of me.”

“You can cut that bullshit out. In this line of work, people go in because of themselves.”

Dunhuang smiled at her gratefully. “How old are you?”

“Fuck, don’t you know you’re not supposed to ask a woman’s age?”

“Sorry. If I’m not supposed to ask, I won’t ask.”

“Guess.”

“Twenty-two.”

“You’re even slicker than Bao Ding.” Qibao took another cigarette from him. “Twenty-three. I can barely remember what that jerk Bao Ding looks like.”

“He remembers you.”

“Fuck, plenty of men remember me. Wouldn’t you remember me?”

“Yes.”

The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile. “Enough crap. What do you think of the food?”

“Pretty damn good.” He meant it.

After dinner Dunhuang visited Qibao’s place, so he’d know where it was. A two-bedroom apartment, Qibao in one room, another girl in the other. The apartment was small but nicely arranged, with a mattress, a television, a DVD player, speakers, and a little carpet. The blankets weren’t folded. “It’s messy,” she said. “Don’t look at the bed.” He liked her directness. He looked at the bed, but didn’t see anything in particular. He sized her up and thought that Qibao was just Bao Ding’s style, no wonder he was worried about her. She made him a cup of instant coffee. The aroma of the coffee mixed with the smell of a woman’s apartment made Dunhuang a little dizzy.

“The rent must be high,” he said.

“It’s okay. When you’re alone in this city there’s no one to spoil you, so you’ve got to spoil yourself.”

Girls knew how to make the most out of life. He, on the other hand, had become a cheapskate. He consoled himself by saying that he had to be a cheapskate if he was ever going to get Bao Ding out of prison.

“Don’t waste your time on rescue fantasies,” she said when he mentioned this. “He’ll be out in a year or two. He’s getting three square meals, it won’t kill him.”

“That’s not the point,” Dunhuang said. “It’s something I need to do, he went in because of me.”

“Wow, so loyal!”

Before he’d finished the coffee, Qibao’s phone rang. She looked at him, and he said, “No problem, I should be getting back anyway, I’ve got to pick up more movies.”

Qibao said into the phone, Okay, I’ll be there soon. Dunhuang said that if she wanted any DVDs she should help herself, and she picked out five, saying she’d return them after she’d watched them. She visited Zhongguancun often.

They met again two days later. Dunhuang was selling DVDs at Capital Normal University, and gave her a call — she was at home. They ate together, and this time Qibao treated. She returned the DVDs she’d borrowed and chose five new ones. Two people trying to get a foothold in Beijing had plenty to talk about. “Bao Ding told me to take care of you,” joked Dunhuang. “Do you have any grunt work you need help with?”

“Grunt work is probably all you’re good for,” she said, “but it’s not going to happen yet.”

“I’ll wait,” he said. “Just call me when you want me.” She reached out and patted him on both cheeks.

“Careful Bao Ding doesn’t squash you when he gets out.” They both laughed. They met next when Qibao came to Haidian to make a delivery and swung by Dunhuang’s place to return the DVDs. It was nearing dusk, and Dunhuang had just gotten back. Huang, the student, wanted both the new and original versions of Spring in a Small Town , and Dunhuang was waiting for his call. Bored senseless, he was watching Japanese porn. When Qibao called his cellphone she was already at the west gate of Peking University. Dunhuang quickly shut off the DVD player and went to meet her.

She didn’t think his little room was particularly ugly, and only complained that he didn’t have so much as a glass of water to drink. Dunhuang ran to a nearby shop for some mineral water and green tea. The room was small, with one of them on the chair and the other on the bed their knees were practically touching. Dunhuang felt awkward — Qibao was wearing a skirt, and though it was a long one, he could still sense her skin every time their legs bumped. He was having trouble coming up with things to talk about. He told her to pick out a few more movies to borrow and had just opened his bag when Huang called, asking him to deliver his DVDs. Dunhuang asked Qibao to wait, he’d be right back.

Dunhuang jogged all the way to the dormitory building, where Huang was waiting to lead him upstairs. Some of his classmates had to write film criticism essays and needed DVDs. It took him more than half an hour to talk to everyone and write down the names of the movies they needed and then get back to his room. When he pushed open the door, Qibao let out a scream, fumbling with the remote in her hand, her face bright red. Dunhuang glanced at the TV screen and saw she had pressed the wrong button — instead of stopping the movie she’d paused it, and a naked man and woman were frozen in each other’s arms on the screen. Mortified, Qibao threw the remote away from her. Dunhuang felt it was his responsibility to dispel her embarrassment, and as he picked up the remote from the floor he said,

“What are you screeching for, it’s just porn! I was watching this earlier. Why don’t we watch it together?”

“Piss off, I’m not watching that with you!” Qibao relaxed visibly.

“You’ll regret it one day, once you’re too old and worn out to bother.”

Dunhuang parked himself with exaggerated nonchalance next to Qibao, and pressed play. She’d had it on mute, but he turned up the sound — he was going all in. Qibao sat motionless, and neither of them spoke. They sat frozen upright, staring at the screen, as though they’d lost the ability to turn their heads. The couple on the screen moved fluidly, their cries and moans swelling and fading, filling the small room. They sat on the edge of the bed like two slabs of marble, only gradually becoming aware of the other’s breathing. Dunhuang moved a bit, Qibao moved a bit. Their knees touched. His heart in his throat, Dunhuang left his knee where it was, as though it had nothing to do with him. Then they slowly turned toward each other, eyes and faces on fire, and Qibao pulled him to her.

Qibao said, “Dunhuang. Dunhuang.”

Dunhuang said, “Qibao. Qibao.”

Then things got messy — as messy as they were onscreen.

Qibao stripped with a speed that shocked Dunhuang, and even more shocking was what came next. “Wild” might describe it. He had no chance to use what he’d learned with Xiaorong — all that was too quiet, too proper, he was always one step behind. This was mano-a-mano. When she was on top Dunhuang felt as though a torrential river was raging over him — he completely forgot what he was supposed to be doing. Then, the river returned to earth and he was floating in softness, in abundance.

The onscreen tussle had also concluded, replaced by a pure, flat blue, as quiet as death.

Qibao patted his face and said, “You sure are young.” What the fuck did that mean?

“I made three or four hundred phone calls before I found you,” said Dunhuang.