The Whole World Is Waiting for Me and My Ex-Girlfriend to Remarry (Entertainment Industry) - Chapter 8

A convenience store in Shanghai after the rain.

“Love is the power to be mistreated, offered up of one’s own free will.”

—

Summer in Shanghai is hot enough to literally peel a layer of skin off a person. Having just graduated from high school, Dong Huaci, who came to Shanghai with her friends, was like an ant seeking shade in the shadows of the skyscrapers. A group of thin, tanned girls huddled together, their faces bare of makeup, staying in a youth hostel, crowding in front of the lens of an old-fashioned camera.

In that group photo, Dong Huaci was the only one wearing lipstick. It had been a gift from a friend back then—a red tube bought from a street stall for twenty or thirty yuan, brand unknown. Most of them were there to sightsee and see the world, but only Dong Huaci had submitted applications to companies, intending to settle in Shanghai for at least a month to work and see if she could earn some money for her family.

Among all the temporary jobs, a recruitment call for “civilian” girl group members by an internet technology company offered conditions and described an environment that was most attractive to the eighteen-year-old Dong Huaci. She applied, received a reply with an interview invitation, and after discussing it with her friends, they all came along to cheer her on while they explored the city.

They came from an ordinary middle school in Henan. In a sea of people, youth gives birth to a sea of faces; at this stage, exhaustion and hope blend into a single countenance with incredible force. Their pasts were filled with test papers and bowls of braised noodles; let alone knowing how to use cosmetics, having a full set would have marked a family as having some means. Dong Huaci’s family received government subsistence allowance; her mother was in poor health and could no longer work in factories after injuring her back from years of physical labor. When her father first started the family, he behaved decently for a couple of years, until the arrival of the “younger brother” they were supposed to have failed to materialize—in his words, “that dead woman couldn’t give birth to one.” After he succumbed to the vices of gambling and drugs, Dong Huaci considered him dead. But she could not abandon her mother. Her mother had played the role of both parents, using subsidies from her maternal family to put Huaci through high school. Unfortunately, Huaci didn’t have a “studying brain.” In that environment, how could she not have worked hard? She didn’t even have the conditions to indulge in teenage vanity; her only entertainment was sharing a pair of wired earphones with her best friend to listen to Jay Chou. She simply couldn’t absorb the books—her class ranking was twice as long as her house number. What was she to do?

The only window God had left open for her was likely her appearance.

This window, given Dong Huaci’s circumstances, was like a small child walking at night carrying gold. A capital that everyone can see is perhaps a misfortune for someone who does not yet have the mature ability to hold onto it. One sweltering afternoon in her senior year, with the electric fan swaying, the classroom stuffy, and the wallpaper peeling off in ruins, Dong Huaci looked into a small mirror to check her acne and suddenly realized that if she continued like this, there were only two paths for her future.

Marriage: Exchanging her hand for a bride price to repay her parents—a decent, long-term, legal form of prostitution that required childbirth and carried responsibilities.

Prostitution: Exchanging her body for money to repay her parents—a disgusting, short-sighted, illegal form of prostitution that had nothing to do with childbirth and waited for destruction.

Most girls in her hometown chose the first path and looked down upon the second. As for the concept that marriage equals prostitution, this was clearly not a common perception there; rather, “marriage” was a beautiful blessing for young, reliable, virtuous, and kind girls. That concept had come from a female teacher—a politics teacher nearly fifty years old—who, holding a copy of Engels’ The Origin of the Family, Private Property and the State, had spoken those views slowly to Huaci when she returned to school to visit after the college entrance exams.

Perhaps to that politics teacher, what the eighteen-year-old Dong Huaci was thinking and what troubled her was as easy to read as a blank sheet of paper, and quite beautiful to look at. Or perhaps, she felt sorry for Dong Huaci—a groundless pity for such a hardworking girl who couldn’t get ahead, who had no vices, who was always grateful, and who hadn’t slid down yet but faced extremely high future risks. Or perhaps, she saw herself in the past, standing in the mist?

Who knows. Regardless, her politics teacher said those words, or perhaps fate arranged that conversation. In short, that dialogue unintentionally became a turning point in Dong Huaci’s life, even more important than the college entrance exam.

At that time, she stood by the office door, her hair in a beautiful ponytail, but the colors in her expression were not the carefree relief of post-exam liberation; instead, they carried a heavy confusion. Dong Huaci said, “Teacher, how can I… at this age, through my own efforts, legally, earn a lot of money?”

Effort.

This word lacked miracles in Henan. But she still held hope that this word might be effective in one place. The name of that place was Shanghai.

Borrowing a classmate’s computer to browse summer recruitment ads in Shanghai, she saw a position that required no degree and no experience, and specifically needed young women. Moreover, this position seemed to have absolutely nothing to do with prostitution! Indeed, the environment she grew up in made Dong Huaci view marriage and men as a kind of unbearable destination; she had not yet experienced “love,” yet she could not bear to let her “beauty” go to waste. How could she escape dependency on men while maximizing the utility of this face?

She sent in her photos and filmed a bare-faced self-introduction video. Not long after, she received an email notification that the company would cover her travel expenses. She had been informed of the email reply by a friend, so Dong Huaci still remembered that distant afternoon. It was at a stall with four or five bowls of braised noodles—what did this notification mean to her? It was like a Tsinghua admission letter to a high schooler with no family background. It was a form of affirmation.

Her friends screamed around her, saying, “This is perfect! Huahua! Huahua, you’re so pretty, how could you not become a big star? Let’s go to Shanghai together! Shanghai, here we come!”

The deficiencies in her family life allowed Dong Huaci to reap an incredible smoothness in friendship. Few classmates were as disadvantaged as she was, and she was a beautiful girl—it’s hard for girls in their student days not to know the advantage of their beauty; the remarks of others, the glances, the long-term habits, and the reality that cannot be hidden by makeup or cameras all make a girl very clear about her own aesthetic standing. She didn’t date, and she rejected the gifts and love letters pushed her way, but she never humiliated anyone to their face, only saying, “I’m already stupid; if I start dating, I’ll really have no education left to pursue.” Her temper was good, and though her grades were average, she lacked that sharp, aggressive coldness; talking to her was no burden, and she was almost never seen arguing with anyone. The only time she was fierce was when her father barged into the school to ask her for money; even the principal stepped in to help drive him away and handle the matter. The principal naturally didn’t know Dong Huaci—her grades never drew attention—but after seeing her once, the principal remembered her and even said: “Study hard. If he comes again, I’ll have the security guards kick him out.”

Yes, that was Dong Huaci.

Before the interview, she arrived at the company door wearing foundation applied by Friend A, lipstick applied by Friend B, carrying a small bag lent by Friend C to keep up appearances, and wearing a brandless “youthful school uniform skirt” they had just bought at a Shanghai night market. Later, when her acting career led to a new endorsement deal, she suddenly realized that the “brand name” bag that looked so shiny to Friend C and had cost several hundred-yuan bills was actually a knock-off; the school uniform skirt was an unauthorized copy—if she had posted it online, she would have probably been scolded or “educated” by netizens. The lipstick and foundation were from who-knows-where! But relying on such an outfit, Dong Huaci spoke to the interviewing supervisor for less than five or six minutes before the supervisor went to find the boss and very gently told her to drink some water.

In less than half an hour, she was led up to see the boss. The boss was in a large office, frowning while on the phone, but the moment he saw Dong Huaci, his frown vanished by half. He politely asked her to sit and asked a series of questions.

“Can you dance?” “I learned how to do a bridge when I was little; I can learn now. My learning attitude is fine, I’m from Henan.”

“Can you sing?” “Does the school choir… count?”

“Do you accept live streaming? Do you like taking photos?” “What is live streaming? Photos, I’ve taken photos. I just took some with a group of friends two days ago.” Dong Huaci was terrified that the first two questions would make the boss give up on her. “I know how to use a camera too.”

The male boss remained restrained, his expression largely unchanged throughout. But presumably, because Dong Huaci was too young, he didn’t want to put on too many airs with her. He coughed twice: “The company needs time and costs to train you… but you are young after all, and luckily, you’re an adult. Where did you apply for university? Do you plan to come to Shanghai? Our company headquarters is in Shanghai.”

Dong Huaci shook her head vigorously, being honest: “I might not even get in. Shanghai universities have higher score requirements and no ‘price-performance ratio’ for me; how could it be my turn?” She then said cautiously, “If you are willing to let me take dance lessons and give me a chance to practice, I can take a lower salary at the start. But, of course, it can’t be too low; at the very least, you have to provide room and board. I really can’t afford Shanghai rent long-term…”

The boss laughed as he listened. It is hard for anyone to maintain an emotional guard against such simplicity and beauty. He tossed a five-year contract to Dong Huaci as if it were a blessing and said he could give her some time to think about it. He said their company didn’t have a large market share in the mainland yet, as the domestic girl group economy was almost a blank space, but they were very willing to give opportunities to young people with no background and no experience to strive together.

In fact, if Dong Huaci had even a bit more life experience, she would have known how to negotiate better; at the very least, such a long-term contract should be carefully considered, and a five-year “indentured servitude” was definitely not a blessing. But Dong Huaci was dizzy at the time! Her mind was filled with one thought: She had been chosen. Among the cards of poor grades and poverty, had the God of Luck finally lost patience and given her an ace that was starting to glow?

After signing the contract, while her friends were still at tourist attractions, she went alone to the convenience store downstairs, intending to carefully select a bento lunch from this “high-end shop” to reward herself for her success. She calculated which price was most cost-effective, picking things up and putting them back.

Summer in Shanghai—the weather changes in an instant.

Suddenly, a torrential rain poured down outside, and Zhong Qing appeared before her in that afternoon, soaking wet. While Dong Huaci was holding a chicken burger without salad dressing, not knowing how to use the self-checkout and feeling a bit flustered, Zhong Qing directly opened WeChat and completed the scan-to-pay for her.

Dong Huaci, who had been waiting for the clerk to return from the warehouse, stood dazed, two ten-yuan bills still clutched in her hand, staring at her.

“No need to pay me back, just consider it my treat.” Zhong Qing took two more steps forward, and only then did Dong Huaci realize she had been blocking Zhong Qing’s path to the self-checkout.

Zhong Qing bought a ten-yuan transparent umbrella. Dong Huaci had just been thinking: Who would buy a ten-yuan transparent umbrella? Dong Huaci didn’t speak for a while; she stepped back two paces, unable to stop staring at Zhong Qing’s profile. Her dark, long curly hair carried a layer of misty dampness, and there were lingering droplets of water on her face. As if possessed, Dong Huaci reached out and wiped one away for her. This time, it was Zhong Qing who was stunned, allowing the movement, forgetting even to ask.

“You are really beautiful,” Dong Huaci said instinctively, from the bottom of her heart. Zhong Qing was wearing black boots and a black T-shirt, and was currently in a disheveled state; in this condition, Dong Huaci’s exclamation was purely sustained by Zhong Qing’s face and aura.

Zhong Qing finally reacted, a hint of red rising to her face. “Thank you. Do you want my signature? I haven’t officially debuted yet; I didn’t think any fans would follow me here.” She looked left and right, then sneakily handed her phone over for her to scan. “Don’t tell anyone… the company doesn’t let me add people on my private WeChat anymore.”

Huh? Dong Huaci thought. This is a huge misunderstanding. But the words that slipped out were: “No, no, no… well, not entirely no. What am I saying? Actually, maybe I’ll be your colleague? Classmate? I just went to the tech-entertainment company upstairs for an interview today, I…”

Zhong Qing’s reaction speed was incredibly sharp: “The new recruitment plan? Are you a new trainee at the company?”

Dong Huaci was afraid of making Zhong Qing feel awkward—she was used to treating other people’s awkwardness as her own: “Yes. My name is Dong Huaci. It’s not that I don’t want to add you, I can’t add you; I haven’t bought a new smartphone yet.” She looked at Zhong Qing again, holding her chicken burger, and finally, as if making a grand resolution, she stuffed the twenty yuan into the other girl’s pocket.

“Thank you for helping me, no need for change. Pretty sister, I’m leaving now!”