RSDH CH55

The moment Duan Xingye opened his mouth, his pitched vocal register rang clear and soaring. Even through the heavy door, a passing group of servers and guests in the hallway outside heard it with crystal clarity, halting in their tracks to turn and listen.

That peerless voice was supple yet luminous, carrying smooth, rounded vocal glides alongside sweet, crisp, and full-bodied resonance. It was nothing like the pinched, forced falsetto Qin Yaolian had spoken of; this was pure, effortless Peking opera vocalization.

Out in the hallway, an intrigued guest asked a server, “Do you have a master Dan performer headlining here today?”

The server merely smiled, explaining they weren’t sure.

Inside the livestream, bullet comments surged like a tidal wave.

Three years into his debut, Duan Xingye’s songwriting had always been rooted in mainstream Western genres like jazz and R&B. Netizens had once questioned why he never composed traditional Chinese-style tracks, asking if he worshipped foreign culture. Duan Xingye had merely offered a cool, indifferent reply during an interview: “The prerequisite for Chinese pop music to step onto the world stage is to accept the world’s rules.”

Whether through his discography or interviews, Duan Xingye had never showcased any proficiency in Peking opera. Everyone had simply assumed he had never dabbled in traditional opera at all. Who could have imagined that the second he opened his throat, he would completely outclass Qin Yaolian? Not only was his vocal tone purer and more resonant, but his melodic cadence was noticeably more nuanced. The key was that he wasn’t even a theater professional. To pull this off was staggering; both opera aficionados and complete novices were equally astounded.

Riding the brisk, skipping rhythm of the Xipi Liushui tempo, Duan Xingye sang:

“How laughable that he courts embarrassment without true learning, a common scoundrel posing as refined to deceive the world.”

“Fortunate that I personally presided as the chief examiner on site, watching that arrogant fraud put on airs while scribbling doggerel…”

Having trained in the performing arts since childhood, Qin Yaolian immediately recognized whether Duan Xingye’s vocal prowess was genuine. This was unmistakably professional grade. He sat completely paralyzed, realizing that Duan Xingye was performing an excerpt from The Poetry Gathering. Applied to the present moment, the lyrics pointed straight at him, heavily implying he was a vulgar pretender posing as cultured, putting on grand airs before the public with only half-baked talent.

This was a direct tongue-lashing.

Qin Yaolian’s face burned with sudden heat and numbness, stinging as brutally as if he had been slapped across the cheeks several times over.

Yet Duan Xingye’s dark, crystalline eyes remained fixed squarely on Qin Yaolian, singing as though performing exclusively for an audience of one: “…He seeks vain glory while masquerading as elegant. Even if he were the son of a high official, he remains a brazen charlatan, shameless to the extreme!”

Under that piercing gaze, Qin Yaolian felt steam rising from his scalp, hastily averting his eyes.

The reason he had pivoted into showbiz in the first place was that he couldn’t endure the grueling hardships of the traditional opera world. Furthermore, that circle was notoriously competitive, brimming with talents far more gifted and hardworking than him. The entertainment industry, however, was another story entirely. Standing among superficial idols, he appeared uniquely refined. Simply dropping a few opera-style vocal riffs was enough to earn adoration, leading people to revere him as Boss Qin, a cultural inheritor, and the leading male Dan performer in domestic entertainment.

In this fleeting moment, he felt stripped bare by Duan Xingye. The haughty pride he had worn earlier was ground to dust.

Qin Yaolian was consumed by a toxic mix of resentment and mortification, wishing he could storm out this very second. Yet with the camera rolling right beside them, leaving now would turn him into a laughingstock for the entire internet.

What he didn’t realize was that because his fans had jumped so high and hyped him up so loudly earlier, he was already being universally roasted online.

“Trying to swing a broadsword in front of Teacher Duan? Know your own weight first.”

“Incredibly satisfying! What a clown, daring to manufacture conflict between pop music and traditional culture.”

“Compared to Teacher Duan, Qin Yaolian sounds completely amateur. His fans are probably the ones who don’t understand Peking opera if they’re this easy to fool.”

Duan Xingye’s breath control remained rock-steady. His soaring, supple, and radiant voice carried the final line to a close: “An embroidered pillow stuffed with rotting straw, akin to a crow cloaked in a phoenix’s plumage.”

The melody ceased. Director Liang was left so breathless that all he could do was applaud. He had assumed Duan Xingye meant singing one of his own pop songs; he never expected him to drop a piece of authentic Peking opera.

Rousing applause drifted in from outside the private room as well. Turns out that group of guests had stayed put, listening attentively all the way to the end.

The livestream’s comments spiked yet again.

“Holy shit doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel!”

“This is the first time in my life I’ve been mesmerized by Peking opera, Teacher Duan’s voice is too gorgeous!”

“Aside from giving birth, is there anything this man can’t do?”

“Clear difference in caliber. People with true talent rarely boast, while it’s obvious who relies on traditional gimmicks to farm clout.”

Cheng Duzhou had already poured a cup of tea in advance. It had cooled just enough, so he handed it over to Duan Xingye.

Duan Xingye hadn’t practiced his vocal registers in ages, naturally falling short of the peak form he had under Cao Junbo’s tutelage. Even so, blessed with innate genius, crushing a showy poser like Qin Yaolian was effortless.

He took a sip of tea to warm his throat, set the cup down, and lifted his eyelids, looking toward Qin Yaolian whose face had turned a deep shade of purple: “Being just an amateur, I won’t offer any critiques, lest I become a laughingstock. As for your performance, we’ll let the audience be the judge.”

The dripping sarcasm made Qin Yaolian wish the floor would swallow him whole.

An amateur had just dismantled him with ease; who was laughing at whom was painfully obvious. The audience was certainly capable of distinguishing genuine talent from mediocrity.

His tongue felt clumsy, unable to figure out how to extricate himself, so Qin Yaolian cast a pleading glance toward Director Liang.

Director Liang, however, had zero attention to spare for him right now. His tone toward Duan Xingye was laced with genuine fondness: “Xiao Duan, your vocal technique is extraordinary, and your stage posture must be just as solid. My film desperately needs someone photogenic who also has genuine depth. Would you be interested in auditioning for a character? Not a cameo, a proper role.”

The livestream cheered:

“Teacher Duan, conquer the film industry!”

“True talent receives olive branches wherever it goes.”

Qin Yaolian’s face drained of color. His immediate instinct was that Director Liang intended to replace him. Recalling Yang Wan’s warning on WeChat about offending Duan Xingye meaning doom, a chill crept through his heart. Regret gnawed at him, even as bitter resentment lingered.

Yet Yang Wan had gotten one thing wrong: if Duan Xingye wanted to crush someone, he didn’t need Cheng Duzhou at all. His proud, aloof exterior made him look like he needed a man’s protection, but that was just the deception of his face. At his core, he was a ruthless operator.

“You flatter me,” Duan Xingye replied to Director Liang, standing firm. “I am merely an amateur, and I can’t endure hardship, so I won’t be considering acting in the film.”

Qin Yaolian breathed a genuine sigh of relief.

“No, no, no, your vocalization reminded me of Master Cao, it is already quite professional,” Director Liang sighed. “I thought the opera troupe we assembled looked rather convincing, but compared to you, it falls short. Performers taking the stage really do need to come from the profession.”

Qin Yaolian’s heart leaped into his throat again. His character was an opera singer meant to perform on stage. Whether Director Liang meant hiring a body double or replacing him outright was impossible to tell.

Throughout the rest of the meal, Qin Yaolian sat in an anxious daze, barely touching his food.

The others, meanwhile, chatted and laughed merrily.

As the gathering drew to a close, Cheng Duzhou used a trip to the restroom as an excuse to settle the bill at the front desk.

Even though Director Liang had offered to host, both he and Li Lin had mentored Cheng Duzhou throughout his acting career, acting as teachers to him. Allowing an elder to pay felt improper.

When Director Liang called the server over only to learn the bill was already settled, he immediately turned to scold Cheng Duzhou.

Cheng Duzhou simply sipped his tea, saying nothing.

Seeing that he wouldn’t budge, Director Liang turned to Duan Xingye: “This one doesn’t count. Once we’re back in Shanghai, I’ll host you two separately, and I’ll pay the second we order.”

Duan Xingye could only offer a polite smile.

As they walked out, Director Liang intentionally pulled Cheng Duzhou back a few paces, saying, “Duzhou, do me a favor.”

Cheng Duzhou asked, “What is it?”

Director Liang said, “While eating just now, I was thinking how wonderful it would be if Xiao Duan could sing the theme song for my film. Could you help me talk to him?”

It was obvious Director Liang deeply appreciated Duan Xingye. Having been turned down once, he didn’t dare push aggressively on his own, hoping Cheng Duzhou would act as an intermediary.

Director Liang naturally assumed that Li Lin getting Duan Xingye to cameo had largely been thanks to Cheng Duzhou.

In reality, Cheng Duzhou was in a tough spot as well. He and Duan Xingye had never crossed paths professionally, remaining completely independent outside the romance show. If Duan Xingye found it bothersome, he wouldn’t agree just to give Cheng Duzhou face.

Cheng Duzhou could only say, “I’ll explain the situation to him, but if he’s unwilling, I won’t pressure him.”

Selfishly speaking, he hated seeing Duan Xingye do anything that put him in an awkward position.

“Fair enough,” Director Liang patted his shoulder with a chuckle. “You should have brought Xiao Duan to meet us sooner instead of hiding him away for so long.”

Cheng Duzhou lowered his eyes, remaining silent.

The car provided by Companionship Along the Way had been waiting at the base of the restaurant steps. The driver had gone for a stroll nearby and was now hurrying over.

The couple stood shoulder to shoulder beside the vehicle.

Cheng Duzhou glanced at Duan Xingye’s ankle, asking, “Does it still hurt?”

Noticing Cheng Duzhou’s gaze, Duan Xingye suddenly felt self-conscious. Shifting his foot slightly, he looked straight ahead: “I don’t feel anything.”

“Tell me if it hurts,” Cheng Duzhou licked his lips, hesitating for a moment before speaking. “Director Liang wants you to sing the theme song for his movie… Would that be convenient?”

Hands tucked into his coat pockets, Duan Xingye cast a side-eye at Cheng Duzhou.

Cheng Duzhou looked back at him.

Duan Xingye immediately withdrew his gaze. In the cool night breeze, that strange, simmering heat began coiling through his chest all over again.

Seeing Duan Xingye’s expression tightening, Cheng Duzhou wondered if he had crossed a line, leveraging his own connections to trouble Duan Xingye.

Lowering his head, he rubbed the back of his neck and murmured, “I was just asking on his behalf…”

Duan Xingye, privately annoyed with himself for looking away first, refused to show weakness. He had never backed down, especially not in front of Cheng Duzhou. Turning around, he closed the distance by two steps, backing Cheng Duzhou against the car door, lifting his chin: “Why should I help you?”

Faced with that striking face pressed close, Cheng Duzhou’s Adam’s apple bobbed once, tightening as he steadied his breath.

He understood the message: Duan Xingye didn’t need a movie theme song for clout, nor did he need the money. If he agreed, it would solely be out of consideration for Cheng Duzhou’s relationship with Director Liang, letting Cheng Duzhou do Director Liang a favor.

Given the terms of their marriage, he had no right to ask for such help.

Cheng Duzhou said, “What I mean is, you don’t have to.”

Duan Xingye knitted his brows and pursed his lips. Two seconds later, looking thoroughly exasperated, he jabbed a finger into Cheng Duzhou’s chest: “Is that the attitude you take when asking someone for a favor?!”

Cheng Duzhou caught on a beat late. Duan Xingye’s words hadn’t been a cold dismissal; he had been opening the door to bargain.

A burst of warmth flooded his chest. Grasping the hand poking him, his brows lifted, his expression turning vividly animated: “Then what do you want?”

Duan Xingye yanked his hand back: “Too late.”

Cheng Duzhou moved to pull him back, but the driver and Lao Xu walked up together, forcing him to stop.

Duan Xingye pushed Cheng Duzhou aside, yanked open the car door, climbed inside, and slammed it shut behind him.

Through the dark window tint, Cheng Duzhou stared at Duan Xingye in the back seat.

If Duan Xingye had given him an icy glare and delivered a flat refusal like he used to, Cheng Duzhou wouldn’t have pushed further. But Duan Xingye had said “too late” with that haughty, tsundere lilt that made one feel it wasn’t actually too late at all, as though he was waiting to be coaxed a little more.

Duan Xingye had left his heart itching fiercely. Taking a deep breath, Cheng Duzhou rubbed his face, filled with a messy blend of restlessness and satisfaction, before circling around to climb into the other side.

In the front of the car sat the driver and Lao Xu. The livestream had already ended, and they were heading toward their accommodation for the night.

Cheng Duzhou’s entire focus was anchored to Duan Xingye beside him, burning hot, trying to decipher what kind of attitude Duan Xingye was looking for.

Duan Xingye kept his face turned toward the window, not sparing a single glance for the man next to him. Yet the delicate tips of his pale ears were flushed red, hidden in the shadows where the streetlights couldn’t reach.

A strange, restless charge settled over the back seat.

Cheng Duzhou stole several glances at Duan Xingye’s hand resting beside him, acting like a thief in the night, tempted to just grab it regardless of the consequences.

Ding.

A text notification chimed inside the car.

Not just Cheng Duzhou; Duan Xingye felt his phone vibrate at the exact same moment.

Both pulled out their phones to check.

Cheng Duzhou opened his messages. The moment he read the text, a bucket of ice water seemed to dump over his head. His heart stopped, and the air left his lungs.

[Hello Mr. Cheng, this is Zhao Heting from Dahua Law Firm. Two years ago, I was retained by you and your spouse, Mr. Duan, to draft your prenuptial agreement, which stipulated a marriage term of two years. Currently, there is one month remaining before your scheduled divorce. To avoid delaying the proceedings and prevent unnecessary complications, I recommend scheduling a time in advance to discuss the divorce arrangements in detail. Please reply upon receipt.]

Piss off.

Cheng Duzhou deleted the message, turning his head toward his window. As he propped his cheek with one hand, he realized his fingertips had turned ice-cold.

It felt as though the Grim Reaper had arrived with a death warrant.

Cheng Duzhou sat in silence for a long time. Suddenly remembering that Duan Xingye’s phone had chimed too, his heart lurched, and he turned to look beside him.

Duan Xingye was still staring at his phone.

Cheng Duzhou asked with a faint lack of breath, “What is it?”

Duan Xingye blinked, saying mildly:

“Nothing.”

“Just 10086.”

…

Inside an illuminated skyscraper in Shanghai, attorney Zhao Heting was still waiting at his desk. Half an hour later, he picked up his phone again.

“Tsk…”

He had sent messages to both clients, yet neither had replied.

Zhao Heting tilted his head in confusion, wondering if he should send it one more time.

__

Author’s Note:

Attorney Zhao: Are you two getting divorced or not? I want to get off work.