Chapter 7: Circles of Dance

Cheng Yun answered the phone.

“Xiao Yun.”

“President Li.”

“What are you doing?”

Cheng Yun leaned against the hard steps behind her and said, “Nothing.”

“What do you mean, ‘nothing’?”

“….” It was a pointless, meandering call, but Cheng Yun had received many such calls from Li Yunchong. Too many to count.

Every time she went on a business trip, he called daily. Sometimes they discussed serious matters; other times, they rambled like this.

On stage, the host finished his opening remarks. The first performance began—a dance.

Soft bells filled the air. Rows of Miao girls, adorned with silver ornaments and colorful costumes, walked out smiling.

“Oh dear, I’m so tired here I can barely stand up straight, while you seem to be having a great time on your trip.”

Cheng Yun checked her watch. By his health-conscious routine, Li Yunchong should already be home. Judging from his lazy tone, he was indeed lying on that enormous bed, waiting for soup.

That sandalwood bed—two million yuan—was his pride. He had explained its virtues endlessly.

She remembered visiting his home before a trip. He cooked dinner, then showed her the bed.

“Red sandalwood is the ‘gold among woods.’ Sleeping on it leaves a pleasant fragrance. It repels insects, so no mosquito bites in summer. Polished sandalwood regulates blood circulation, promotes health and beauty.”

He had pulled her to admire the carvings. “Rub them occasionally, they release aroma. Calms the mind, refreshes the spirit, prevents aging, reduces wrinkles.”

Cheng Yun touched it, then joked, “You should just go sell beds; even the shop assistants can’t argue with you.”

Li Yunchong laughed. “Sure, when I retire, I’ll buy a courtyard house in Beijing. I’ll go out twice a year to find goods, and spend the rest of the time in the courtyard.”

“How will you sell things then?”

“You don’t understand. Real big buyers find sellers themselves. They don’t even look at those who come to them to sell.”

“Big buyers? Like you?”

“Like me.”

The sun set, lights flickered on. The dancers left, replaced by a man who played tunes with leaves.

Cheng Yun pointed her phone at the stage. “Did you hear that?”

“Yes, what’s that?”

“There’s a man who can play songs with leaves.”

“Leaves? How come it’s so loud?”

“You’re so dense. Of course, you’re holding a microphone.”

“Oh, you think I’m stupid.”

“….”

Every time he spoke smugly, Cheng Yun stayed silent. She knew what words could please him, what could stifle him, what could keep the conversation going. But in recent years, she rarely responded. He didn’t mind. Their tacit understanding had been established long ago.

Li Yunchong was forty-seven. Not young, not old. Most his age were two ranks below him.

“Seeing you so relaxed makes me want to go out and have some fun too.”

Cheng Yun laughed. “You? You wish you could stay indoors forever. You wouldn’t go out even if someone invited you. Where would you go for fun?”

“What do you mean by staying indoors? I’m taking care of myself.”

“That’s just laziness.”

“I’m not lazy. Look at Beijing’s weather—it’s a killer. I’ve added layers of air purifiers indoors, but I still feel sand in my breath. How can I go out in this weather?”

“Then let’s move.”

The leaf flute played two long, melodious tunes. Torches flickered, rare in modern times. Cheng Yun stared at the flames, mesmerized.

Li Yunchong paused. “Okay, in a few years, when I retire, I’ll find a secluded place. Where do you like?”

Cheng Yun chuckled. “What does your choice of retirement place have to do with where I like to live?”

“At least the environment has to be good. Fresh air, not like Beijing. Winters shouldn’t be too cold, constant snow isn’t good either…”

Cheng Yun thought: his leisure to dream meant his troubles with the procuratorate and insurance bureau were mostly resolved.

The next performance was a group dance. Darkness deepened, torches glowed. Feeling cold, Cheng Yun stood, stretched, and prepared to leave.

“Hey, can you help me think of something else?”

“I also need you to retire.”

“….”

She moved through the crowd.

“You really do need to retire,” Li Yunchong said. “Now that the retirement age has been adjusted, I can only retire at sixty. How about this, I’ll work until fifty-five and then find a beautiful place to retire, what do you think?”

Cheng Yun reached the front of the stage.

Not far away, the dance reached its climax. Bells and rattles jingled from the women’s wrists, ankles, backs. Men played lusheng, red ribbons swaying. The sound rustled through the valley.

Cheng Yun’s eyes fixed on one of them.

“That’s fine…” she said softly, “find a beautiful place to retire in.”

“Where do you recommend?”

“Anywhere is fine, as long as the air is good and there aren’t many people.”

“You can’t expect me to find some desolate wilderness to farm.”

“Then Yunnan, Sichuan… and Guizhou.”

He was the tallest performer, his dark skin glowing like black gold in the firelight.

“Yunnan, Guizhou, Sichuan,” Li Yunchong mused. “Maybe I can have someone scout places. Best to build our own house; I’m always worried about feng shui of ready-made ones.”

“Go ahead and build it. You choose the location, and the house will be ready quickly.”

Cheng Yun leaned against the railing, watching. From a distance, she couldn’t see his face clearly, but imagined it blank, as always. She smiled. Perhaps she was wrong. This blockhead wasn’t entirely without spirit.

“Xiaoyun, go back to the hotel early. It’s so cold, and you never want to wear more clothes.”

“Okay,” Cheng Yun said. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

She hung up. The performance ended. The host invited the audience to dance in a circle with the troupe.

Cheng Yun went down. The crowd was packed, lively. The troupe led them into a circle.

He wasn’t hard to spot. Still in costume, now holding a lusheng.

Anan followed the crowd, careful with the heavy instrument, dodging audience members. Someone stepped on his foot. He moved forward, then sideways, but couldn’t escape.

He turned—and saw a tall woman behind him.

“Why aren’t you bragging along? You’re not even putting your mouth on it! Be careful, or I’ll tell on you and you won’t get paid!”

Anan froze. Cheng Yun walked up.

Anan looked at her. “It’s you.”

“It’s me.”

“You came to watch the performance.”

“What else?” She glanced at him. “Is this what you’re supposed to do?”

“Yeah.” He added, “I don’t come often, and they’re short-staffed today.”

“You’re like a socialist brick, always there wherever you’re needed.”

Anan pouted, unable to retort. The crowd dispersed. Holding his lusheng, he said, “I need to go line up.”

“Fight your way up?” Cheng Yun teased. “Go to the battlefield.”

He frowned slightly. “No, it’s just standing in line. There’s a photo session later.”

Cheng Yun raised her chin lightly. “Go ahead, I’ll wait for you here.”

“Okay.”