Huayu: A master director who debuted as a singer

Chapter 80 Richie Jen

The next morning, at the VIP building of the Beijing Hotel.

The sun had just climbed over the glazed tiles of the Forbidden City, its rays slanting into the room. Zheng Hui's phone, which was on the bedside table, vibrated.

Zheng Hui reached for his phone, and Richie Jen's name appeared on the screen.

"Hey, Brother Qi."

Richie Jen's voice on the other end of the phone was filled with joy: "Ah Hui, are you up yet? I have good news for you, I passed too! The production team just notified us that the program will be kept!"

Zheng Hui sat up, leaned against the headboard, and put a pillow behind his back: "Congratulations, Brother Qi. Now we can continue to hang out in Beijing."

Richie Jen laughed heartily: "Hey, didn't we make a promise yesterday? If everything's over, we'll go out for a nice meal. There's no time like the present, how about noon today? I've heard that the Quanjude restaurant near Hepingmen is the most authentic."

These days, Quanjude's food quality is consistently high, and its reputation is excellent. Moreover, Quanjude frequently hosts celebrities and dignitaries, so the waiters don't make a fuss about two stars coming to eat and drink.

"Okay, whatever you say." Zheng Hui threw back the covers and got out of bed. "What time?"

"At 11:30, I had my assistant reserve a private room. If we sat in the lobby, we probably wouldn't even be able to eat a duck feather; we'd be busy signing autographs."

After hanging up the phone, Zheng Hui went to the bathroom to wash up. Water droplets slid down his face in the mirror. He dried himself with a towel and looked at himself in the mirror.

I passed yesterday's hurdle, which means I've got half a ticket to the competition, but there are still a few rehearsals to go and I need to prepare for the Beijing Film Academy entrance exam, so I can't let my guard down.

At 10:30, Lin Dashan drove the rented Audi and took Zheng Hui out of the VIP building.

The Quanjude signboard gleamed golden in the winter sun.

As soon as the car came to a stop, a uniformed doorman came up to open the door. Zheng Hui then gave Richie Jen's name.

"Mr. Zheng, is that right? Mr. Ren is waiting for you in a private room upstairs." The waiter led the way, guiding Zheng Hui through the lobby.

At that time, Quanjude was still the top choice for state banquets. The hall was bustling with people, and waiters carried trays high, piled high with sliced ​​duck meat and lotus leaf pancakes. The air was filled with the aroma of burning fruitwood and the smoky scent of roasting duck fat.

Zheng Hui lowered the brim of his hat and followed the waiter into Quanjude and upstairs.

Pushing open the door to the private room, Richie Jen was already there.

"Ah Hui, you're here!" Richie Jen strode over and pulled out a chair. "Please sit down, please sit down. It must be cold outside, right?"

"It's alright, there's heating in the car." Zheng Hui took off his coat and handed it to the waiter next to him to hang up.

The private room was large and decorated in an antique style, with calligraphy and paintings by famous people hanging on the walls and several pots of blooming orchids in the corner.

Richie Jen took the menu and handed it to Zheng Hui: "I ordered two ducks, along with wasabi duck feet and stir-fried duck hearts. Do you want to add anything else?"

Zheng Hui glanced at the menu, then closed it: "That's enough. There are two of us, and we might not even be able to finish two ducks."

"If you can't finish it, just take it home." Richie Jen smiled and waved to the waiter, "Let's get the food ready."

A short while later, a master chef wearing a tall hat pushed in a cart. On the cart was a freshly roasted duck, its dark red skin glistening with oil and looking incredibly crispy.

The master chef didn't say much, just nodded to the two of them, and started slicing the duck with his knife.

With a flash of the knife, a piece of duck meat shaped like a willow leaf landed on the plate.

The chefs at Quanjude are skilled; they meticulously prepare 108 slices, each with both skin and meat. The sound of the knife slicing through the duck skin can be clearly heard in the private room—the crisp sound of the fat bursting open under high heat.

Richie Jen looked at the duck and swallowed hard. "I've been eating bland food every day to stay in shape these past few days, and my mouth is practically tasteless. I need to make sure I get some nourishment today."

The waiter handed the rolled-up duck meat to the two people on small plates.

Zheng Hui picked one up and took a bite. The soft and chewy flatbread, the spicy scallions, the salty and savory sweet bean sauce, combined with the crispy duck skin and tender duck meat, created an explosion of flavors in his mouth.

"How would you say that in Beijing dialect? That's incredibly authentic." Zheng Hui gave a thumbs up.

Richie Jen also stuffed a big mouthful, chewing until his cheeks were bulging, and said indistinctly, "This is the taste! The last time I came to Beijing was two years ago, and I didn't get to eat my fill then either."

Richie Jen ordered two bottles of beer, and after downing them, he started talking non-stop.

"Ah Hui, I was really close to getting through that challenge yesterday."

Richie Jen put down his chopsticks and said, "When I was singing on stage, I saw those judges below, their faces were as hard as iron plates, and they were just scribbling on their pens."

My immediate thought was, "Oh no, I'm probably going to have to pack up and take it all home."

Zheng Hui poured him some tea: "Brother Qi, you're just being modest. The song 'The Girl Across the Way' is so popular, it's playing everywhere. The Spring Festival Gala is all about having fun, and your song is perfect for it."

"It's hot, but this is CCTV."

Richie Jen sighed, "The rules are strict. Unlike when we're filming variety shows over there, we can do whatever we want. Here, you can't move an extra step, and you have to report even if you change a single word in the lyrics."

He picked up another piece of duck heart, put it in his mouth and chewed: "But speaking of which, your rendition of 'My Motherland and I' yesterday was absolutely amazing. I was listening from the side stage, and I got goosebumps. Only you would dare to use that kind of singing style."

"I'm just taking a gamble," Zheng Hui said modestly. "If I were to sing in a classical style, I definitely couldn't beat those singers; I can only sing from the heart."

The two chatted back and forth, talking about everything from the Spring Festival Gala to records, from Beijing to their performance experiences in various places.

After several rounds of drinks and several dishes, Richie Jen, enjoying his meal, relaxed and leaned back in his chair, unbuttoning his collar.

The waiter brought over a plate of stir-fried pea shoots.

Richie Jen picked up a spoon, scooped up a spoonful, put it in his mouth, his eyes lit up, and he blurted out, "Wow, this dish is so delicious!"

In Taiwanese, "水" means beautiful or good, and "呷" means to eat.

Zheng Hui paused for a moment while picking up food with his chopsticks, and subconsciously replied in Hokkien, "Yes, it tastes really good."

Richie Jen was stunned.

His spoon froze in mid-air, his eyes wide as he stared at Zheng Hui: "Ah Hui? You speak Taiwanese?"

Zheng Hui put down his chopsticks, smiled, and switched back to Mandarin to explain, "Brother Qi, this is Hokkien. My parents are both from Quanzhou, Fujian, and later went to Macau to make a living. I grew up speaking this at home."

"Wow! You speak this too! I thought you were from Guangdong and only spoke Cantonese!"

That familiar tone instantly shortened the distance between the two.

In the unfamiliar capital city, surrounded by the sounds of retroflex consonants, suddenly hearing this familiar tone evokes an indescribable sense of warmth.

Richie Jen picked up his glass and, this time, instead of speaking Mandarin, said directly in Taiwanese, "Come on, brother, let's have a drink! We absolutely have to have one!"

Zheng Hui also raised his glass and clinked it with his: "Cheers!"

The two drank it all in one gulp.

Richie Jen put down his cup and began to chat with great interest: "I grew up in Changhua, and all my neighbors have been speaking this dialect since I was a child. My hometown is actually Wuhan, Hubei, but I've always spoken Taiwanese. My pronunciation is authentic, right?"

"Authentic." Zheng Hui replied in Quanzhou-accented Minnan dialect, "I feel like there's no communication barrier with you; the wording is pretty much the same."

Richie Jen seemed to have found a kindred spirit: "Staying here and speaking Mandarin every day, my tongue is going to get stiff."

It's still easier to say this way; it's more satisfying to use it to insult people.

He pointed to the duck on the table: "This duck is delicious, but it's too oily. It would be even better with a bowl of Changhua meatballs or danzai noodles."

Zheng Hui smiled and nodded: "Quanzhou also has rice noodle soup, which tastes similar to yours, both being light and flavorful. We can go to Quanzhou together to try it sometime."

"Sure!"

As they chatted, Richie Jen became even more enthusiastic.

"Ah Hui, do you know, when I was studying physical education at Chinese Culture University, before I debuted, I played in a band and was a DJ at school. Back then, I thought, could I use this phrase to create rap music?"

Zheng Hui was somewhat surprised: "Rap? In dialect?"

"Yeah! Even though nobody listened back then, I had a blast." Richie Jen stood up and kicked his chair back.

He picked up a pair of chopsticks from the table and began to tap them rhythmically on the edge of the plate.

"Ding-ding-dong, ding-ding-dong—"

As soon as the rhythm started, Richie Jen began to sway his body and uttered a series of rapid syllables.

"I woke up early this morning, feeling great. I rode my motorcycle to buy a bowl of soy milk—"

"The girl by the roadside is so pretty, I want to have her, but I'm afraid I don't have the money—"

The lyrics are straightforward, even a bit vulgar, describing the daily trivialities of young people in small towns. But combined with unique rhymes and intonations, they have a distinctive flavor, both rustic and trendy.

While singing, Richie Jen made hip-hop gestures, completely abandoning his superstar airs and acting just like a college student having fun on the street.

Zheng Hui sat in the chair and clapped along with the rhythm.

After finishing a section, Richie Jen slammed his chopsticks on the table, took a breath, and laughed heartily: "I've made a fool of myself! This is just something I did back in the day, I haven't sung it in years."

Zheng Hui clapped: "Brother Qi, this is amazing! This is the earliest form of dialect rap! If you put this on an album, it will definitely be a hit."

"Really?" Richie Jen sat down and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "My previous company always said it was too old-fashioned and wouldn't let me post it. The market seems to be much more tolerant now."

"Being tacky to the extreme is actually cool." Zheng Hui said earnestly, "If there's a chance in the future, we can collaborate on a song like this. You can use Taiwanese, and I can use Cantonese or Taiwanese. Let's do it together."

"It's a deal!" Richie Jen extended his hand, and Zheng Hui reached out and shook it.

This handshake was much more forceful than the polite greeting we had earlier.

If the two were merely casual acquaintances in the same industry before, now, because of this meal and their shared accent, they have become true friends.

After finishing their meal, the two left Quanjude restaurant at around 2 p.m.

Richie Jen still had to meet with some media friends, while Zheng Hui went straight back to the hotel.

Back in his room, Zheng Hui took off his coat and hung it on a hanger.

The room was quiet, with the humidifier emitting white mist.

He walked to the desk, where a stack of books lay. They weren't sheet music or scripts, but high school textbooks.

Full-time regular senior high school textbooks: Chinese, Mathematics, History, Geography.

This was bought by Lin Dashan at Xinhua Bookstore a few days ago.

Zheng Hui pulled out a chair, sat down, and opened the math book.

Although he took the Joint Entrance Examination for Hong Kong, Macao and Taiwan Students, which was easier than the mainland's college entrance examination, he still wanted to do it and see if he could find the current mainland textbooks. The textbooks he studied in his later years were definitely different from those of this era, and doing it once would give him peace of mind.

He picked up a pen and began working on a piece of scrap paper.

Given the function f() = ...

1

The only sound in the room was the scratching of the pen tip on the paper.

Outside the window is the bustling city of Beijing, and below is the busy Chang'an Avenue. He's a superstar who just won the Best Newcomer award and whose record sold over a million copies; he was just enjoying Peking duck with an Asian superstar.

But at this moment, he was just like an ordinary senior high school student, racking his brains over a geometry problem.

In the days that followed, Zheng Hui's life became more regular.

During the day, I read books and do practice problems in the hotel, and occasionally I go to Liu Huan's place in the evening to practice singing and keep my voice in good condition.

Richie Jen was also busy, but whenever he had free time, he would call Zheng Hui.

"Ah Hui, come out and grab a bite!"

The two seemed to be on a culinary adventure in Beijing.

They went to Qianmen to eat Baodu Feng.

It was a small shop tucked away in a narrow alley. The two people, wearing hats and scarves, huddled at a small table in the corner.

The tripe was served piping hot.

Richie Jen imitated Zheng Hui, picked up a piece of tripe with his chopsticks, rolled it in the sesame sauce, and put it in his mouth.

"Crunchy!" Richie Jen chewed loudly. "This stuff is more chewy than gum."

They also went to Gulou to eat fried liver.

The bowl of food was sticky and had a strong garlic smell. Richie Jen was hesitant to take a bite at first, but seeing Zheng Hui drinking it with relish, he tried taking a sip himself.

"Ugh—this taste—" Richie Jen frowned and took another sip: "It's a bit intoxicating, all garlic flavor."

After finishing their meal, the two strolled around the alley.

In winter, the alleyways are gray with gray walls and tiles, and the rooftops still have bits of snow that haven't completely melted. Old men, bundled up in thick cotton-padded coats, bask in the sun and play chess against the walls.

No one recognized that the two young people, who were bundled up tightly, were popular singers.

One evening, the two were taking a walk by Houhai Lake.

The lake is frozen over, and people are skating on it.

Richie Jen exhaled a puff of white breath, looked at the ice surface in the distance, and suddenly sighed.

"Ahui, to be honest, the happiest time I've had since coming to Beijing has been these few trips with you."

Zheng Hui put his hands in his coat pockets: "What do you mean?"

"As you know, when I was rehearsing at CCTV, the staff and directors were really polite to me."

Richie Jen kicked a pebble on the roadside: "Mr. Ren this, Mr. Ren that, serving tea and water, asking about your well-being."

"But I always feel like there's something between us."

Richie Jen gestured: "It's like—it's like I'm a guest. They're entertaining me, not welcoming me, so I can't fit in."

They laughed when I spoke, but I don't know if they genuinely found it funny, or if they were laughing because I'm Richie Jen.

"Sometimes I try to joke with them, but they just freeze up and don't dare to respond, which makes me feel pretty awkward."

He turned to look at Zheng Hui: "But it's different with you."

"We can speak similar languages ​​and eat the same street food. You understand what I say, and I understand what you mean."

"Wandering around these alleys with you, I don't feel like a Taiwanese pop star, but just a leisurely person strolling around Beijing. This feeling is especially comfortable."

Zheng Hui smiled and said, "Then let's explore more. Anyway, there are still a few days before the next rehearsal. Let's tour the whole city of Beijing."

"Sure!" Richie Jen perked up. "Where to tomorrow? I heard about something called douzhi (fermented mung bean juice), said to be the soul of old Beijing, shall we give it a try?"

Zheng Hui's expression changed slightly: "Brother Qi, well—let's forget about that. I'm afraid you'll drink it and then immediately buy a plane ticket back to Taiwan."

"That's amazing? Then I'm definitely going to try it!"

"Don't try it, it tastes like swill."

"Just give it a try! Just one sip! I see those old men drinking it with great relish."

Their laughter drifted away in the cold wind of Houhai.

This is Beijing in early 1999.

It wasn't as congested as it would be in later years, and the air still smelled of burning coal.

Two young people from across the strait and Macau explored this ancient city with their footsteps. And in each bowl of steaming hot snacks, they forged a rare friendship, one that is hard to find in the world of fame and fortune.