Three years ago, Fu Yanlin set off on a journey to Yunnan with just a suitcase and a guitar.
When he landed in Lijiang, he felt dizzy and his vision blurred, almost losing his balance. Having lived nearly thirty years without leaving the plains, he was caught off guard by the altitude sickness. The famous Fu Yanlin had to remove his mask, taking deep breaths of the thin air. He gently placed a hand on his chest, his watch displaying a heart rate of 120.
The long journey left his mind feeling swollen, as if filled with water, while the car rattled along. The vehicle could only stop at the entrance of the ancient town. Resigned, Fu Yanlin sighed, dragging his suitcase and carrying his guitar. The wheels of the suitcase clattered over the cobblestone road, echoing his restless mood and countless sighs. He pulled up his mask again.
"Hey there, sorry, sorry, the journey must have been tiring. Our whole town is pedestrian-only, so it’s tough to drag a suitcase. You should have called me earlier, I could have sent someone with a cart to help." The enthusiastic owner hurried over to greet the guest from afar.
Fu Yanlin waved her off, his eyes filled with indifference and fatigue. But faced with the overly enthusiastic hostess, he had to muster some energy to respond politely, "No need, I don’t like troubling others."
"Oh, don’t worry about that. There are shops every few steps here. It’s fate that you chose us, we’re all friends here. Xiaobei—guest!" The owner called out loudly to the second floor across the courtyard.
Fu Yanlin looked up, spotting a young and handsome face peeking out from the wooden window on the second floor. The boy squinted slightly, meeting Fu Yanlin’s inquisitive gaze with a sly smile. His skin wasn’t particularly fair, but bathed in sunlight, he resembled a piece of honeyed amber.
Mo Xiaobei? Like that mischievous girl from "My Own Swordsman"? A boy with that name? Fu Yanlin raised an eyebrow in surprise, finally showing a hint of curiosity.
The young man dashed down the creaky wooden stairs, "Coming, coming," Mo Xiaobei waved at Fu Yanlin, deftly grabbing his suitcase. "Hi, I’m Mo Xiaobei, but just to clarify, I’m Xiaobei, not Xiaobei. I’m a volunteer here, mainly cooking and helping with room cleaning. Follow me."
Fu Yanlin nodded. He was a bit reserved with strangers, especially those overly enthusiastic, but he felt being too cold wasn’t right either. So he awkwardly thanked him, "Alright, Xiaobei." However, perhaps due to Fu Yanlin’s less-than-perfect Mandarin or Mo Xiaobei’s mishearing, he thought he was being called Xiaobei and sighed helplessly. "I said, it’s Xiaobei, not Xiaobei!"
"Alright, Mr. Fu is from Hong Kong, forgive him. You also think my accent is strange." Sister Chen returned after completing the check-in, handing Fu Yanlin his passport and room card, teasing Mo Xiaobei before responding to another guest’s call.
Fu Yanlin sighed. The combined voices of Mo Xiaobei and the owner felt like a train roaring past his ears. But he keenly noticed that when Mo Xiaobei learned he was from Hong Kong, his attitude momentarily cooled, and he spoke less, as if a switch had been flipped. However, Fu Yanlin was too tired to ponder it further, his mind already sluggish.
Mo Xiaobei continued carrying his luggage, leading him up the creaky, steep wooden stairs to the top-floor guest room.
"302, here we are. Please come in." Mo Xiaobei chuckled, swiping the card to open the door and bringing the suitcase inside.
Fu Yanlin entered, glancing around. The room was small, predominantly in natural wood tones, adorned with many local decorations. A bamboo floor lamp took up space, making it difficult to walk with the suitcase open. Despite attempts to disguise it with decor, the hardware was clearly lacking. He noticed the scratched tea table and the dingy carpet that hadn’t been cleaned properly.
Opening the small window to look out, he could only see a tiny corner of Jade Dragon Snow Mountain. The pictures on the marketing website were like the beef noodles on the packaging, with meat but only in tiny bits. Fu Yanlin wanted to leave, but the cost and the Chinese travel virtue of "since I’m here, might as well" kept him silent and resigned.
Fu Yanlin stopped Mo Xiaobei before he left, removing his mask. "Don’t you have a phone here? What if I need room service?"
Mo Xiaobei was momentarily distracted by Fu Yanlin’s handsome face, though he found the question amusing. This city boy really thought this little private guesthouse was a five-star hotel. But because he was good-looking, Mo Xiaobei patiently replied, "Just shout across the courtyard from the hallway. The front desk is right across, and the soundproofing here is poor, so everyone can hear."
"Oh, I see." Fu Yanlin nodded, suppressing another sigh. No, his luck was already down, and sighing more would leave him with nothing.
"If there’s nothing else, I’ll get back to work. Dinner is served at 5:30, you can order or eat out. Turn right 300 meters to the main street, it’s lively there with many specialty restaurants." Mo Xiaobei briefly explained before leaving, thoughtfully closing the door for the solitary guest.
Fu Yanlin sprawled on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. His smartwatch beeped softly, and he glanced at it, his heart rate now at 125, even higher.
No wonder he felt utterly exhausted and short of breath, but Fu Yanlin didn’t care. He lay there, fingers slightly curled on his hip bone like a chicken claw. He knew he looked ridiculous, but he was too tired to move. Even though he knew he was likely suffering from altitude sickness, he chose to let his consciousness drift into a stupor.
"Who told you your father isn’t as powerful as others? Accept it, offending him means narrowing your path!"
"You don’t want it? Many people would jump at such an opportunity. I’ve seen many young ones like you, tough as nails. The industry doesn’t lack young and pretty faces, how much is your face worth?"
In a half-dreaming state, those nauseating faces appeared in his dreams, and unbearable memories engulfed him like a tide.
"Ah!" Fu Yanlin shouted, suddenly opening his eyes. He realized he had rolled off the bed, the fall both startling and waking him.
He sat up, wiping cold sweat from his forehead, and checked the time. It was six in the evening. Having not eaten all day, he decided to go out, but he was too exhausted to leave. He remembered Mo Xiaobei from the afternoon, who seemed to be a chef, so he decided to try his cooking.
A few minutes later, a steaming bowl of fried sauce rice noodles appeared before Fu Yanlin. The white, smooth noodles were topped with oily minced meat sauce and green pickled vegetables, with a spoonful of fragrant red chili oil as the finishing touch. It should have been appetizing, and Fu Yanlin found the aroma appealing, but a lingering headache and chest tightness made the food tasteless after a few bites. It was too spicy, bringing tears to his eyes as he coughed incessantly.
The unfamiliar climate and unsuitable food nearly made his chest explode with accumulated negative emotions. This was nothing like he imagined. What seemed like a spontaneous trip was on the verge of collapsing. In that moment, Fu Yanlin almost regretted his impulsiveness.
He recalled telling his friends a few days before departure, "Of course, I’ll stick to my music dreams." His gaze drifted to the wall, where a high-definition poster of the film "Happy Together" hung. Leslie Cheung leaned against a window in the dim light, lighting a cigarette. His attitude was unprecedentedly firm and solemn, "If I’m shelved, so be it. My legs are my own, and there’s no place I can’t go. Hong Kong is just a small place. I want to explore the mainland for new musical inspiration. Maybe one day I’ll go to Buenos Aires, to see the lighthouse closest to Antarctica. Leslie Cheung took eight years to become famous, let alone me."
"I owe my fame to the seniors who supported me, my company, and most importantly, my fans who love me. You’re all my family. Thank you, and I’ll bring you better works."
Lost in thought, Fu Yanlin’s ears suddenly caught a familiar voice. He looked up sharply, and the youthful, handsome face of He Kai appeared on the TV screen. The young man smiled with his eyes, the bright red tear mole beneath his eye adding a melancholic charm.
"So handsome…"
"Yeah." Two young girls in the corner of the restaurant whispered, giggling softly.
Fu Yanlin smirked silently, curling his lips. He knew best that He Kai’s singing was mediocre, even terrible, relying on sound engineers to fix his voice. Even the so-called original songs for fans were ghostwritten. But he knew how to find angles, knew where he looked best, and played the fan game expertly, with legions of devoted fans stretching from Central to Lamma Island.
Those crazy fans, no matter how good-natured Fu Yanlin was, he couldn’t help but curse them in his heart. He recalled the incident after the trending scandal with He Kai. That night, as he returned home and climbed the stairs, the voice-activated lights on his floor were broken. While fumbling with the lock in the dark, he tripped over something. Shining his phone light, he was shocked to see paper ingots and white chrysanthemums scattered on the floor, with yellow paper bearing his name crossed out in red pen.
Fu Yanlin was so startled he nearly jumped, feeling a chill and goosebumps all over. He involuntarily took a step back, trembling with rage. This was too much! It was intolerable. These fanatics had taken it too far, cursing him like this! Was He Kai some cult leader? Arrest them all for personal worship and superstition!
The more he thought about it, the more disgusted he became. Fu Yanlin glanced at the third of the rice noodles he’d eaten, feeling nauseated, and put down his chopsticks, angrily tossing the entire bowl into the trash. It was nine o’clock, and the restaurant was empty. He planned to return to his room and continue sleeping.
"Please wait! Was the food not to your taste?" Fu Yanlin had just placed a cigarette in his mouth, about to light it, when a worried and tense voice called from behind.