Chapter Fourteen: The "Enthusiastic" Actor

There wasn’t the dust he had imagined, nor the cold emptiness he expected. When Wang Lei stepped into his home in the capital, the first thing he saw was the money tree, still lush and thriving, even more so than when his parents were alive. Their portraits were polished spotless and still placed in the living room. By custom, mourning should have ended by now, but this old house and the two departed souls within seemed to be waiting for someone’s return.

“You’re all gone, so every few days I come to tidy up. It’s not like I have much work to do, and Mei’s mother is allergic to pollen, so keeping flowers here is just right,” Ma Pingdong said as he walked in with Wang Lei.

“Thank you, Uncle Ma. It’s my fault for not being filial. I let my parents down, but from now on, I’ll take good care of this home,” Wang Lei replied, deeply grateful not only for Ma Pingdong’s support regarding his relationship with Ma Dongmei but also for his longstanding care for Wang Lei’s family. In contrast to the Ma family, Wang Lei’s parents were both orphans, and he had almost no relatives.

Ma Pingdong was indeed a good-natured man, but to go so far for friends and neighbors was rare and precious. Wang Lei’s words were not just a promise to himself but also to Ma Pingdong; from now on, he would care for the entire household.

“Good, I’m glad you’ve come around. I didn’t want you stuck in that state forever. I don’t know what your plans are, but Mei will need you to look after her,” Ma Pingdong said. “For now, stay at home. Mei’s mother will come over after work. Things need to calm down first; you know how stubborn they both are. Let their relationship ease up, then we’ll talk about your matters, all right?”

“Sure, Uncle Ma. I know I was wrong in all this, and if Auntie has anything to say, I’ll accept it. Mei has sacrificed a lot for me these past years. I’m not a selfish person.”

“Good. You’re a fine young man. I always believed you’d make something of yourself. It was just that the blow was too harsh back then and knocked the spirit out of you. People need to move forward. If you need anything, just tell me. If you want to go anywhere, I’ll arrange a car for you.”

Wang Lei’s maturity gave Ma Pingdong great comfort. The once radical-minded young man had clearly grown much during his absence, something Ma Pingdong was glad to see.

Alone in the empty house, Wang Lei lit three sticks of incense before his parents’ portraits.

At the Three Dreams Theater, Zhang San and “Li Si” had been contacting former actors ever since returning from Jinling. Over the past two years, as the theater declined, most of the actors had left. After all, they needed to put food on the table; those with connections found other opportunities, while the dreamers among the Beijing drifters mostly sought nearby gigs, mingling in small theaters and specialty bars. When there was work, they came to practice their craft; when there wasn’t, they struggled for the next day’s meal.

Zhang San’s plan was straightforward: if the theater was to rise again, he needed famous actors to stage Wang Lei’s story, make a splash, and shake the entire performing arts scene of the Republic. But unexpectedly, every call he made was like tossing out a bun—he didn’t just lose the filling, he lost the whole bun.

Those who responded either demanded performance fees Zhang San couldn’t imagine or insisted on lead roles that he couldn’t offer. Even when seeking a middle-aged woman, those on the other end insisted on playing “stunning beauties”—something Zhang San, even as a “King of Hell,” couldn’t grant.

Left with no choice, Zhang San had “Li Si” call over those part-timers who still harbored dreams of acting. At least this would give Wang Lei a modicum of confidence; otherwise, if he arrived and saw only a couple of stray cats, how could they proceed?

When Wang Lei arrived at the Three Dreams Theater with his single crutch, the scene startled him. Thirty people didn’t sound like much, but standing on the small stage, they gave a formidable impression.

Of course, to these “elites” from various fields whom “Li Si” had summoned, their new boss seemed quite eccentric. They’d seen men with one leg before, but rarely one so tall.

“Mr. Wang, you’re here! Please, sit, sit. Someone bring a stool, and fetch some water—there’s tea in my office,” Zhang San greeted.

“No need for formalities, Manager Zhang. If you don’t mind, I’ll call you Third Brother, and you can call me Lei. ‘Mister’ always sounds a bit awkward,” Wang Lei replied.

“Yes, yes. These are our actors, all experienced,” Zhang San said.

Listening, Wang Lei began to observe the actors and the theater. Admittedly, the venue was a bit worn, and the actors seemed more down-to-earth than before, but overall, he was satisfied. At least the actors looked at him with respect.

“Third Brother, let everyone rest for now. Let’s discuss matters first,” Wang Lei suggested.

“Alright, let’s go to my office,” Zhang San agreed.

Entering the makeshift office partitioned by composite board, Zhang San appeared slightly embarrassed. It was indeed quite bare.

“Third Brother, I’m satisfied with the theater, so let’s be frank. My story comes with investment. How much equity are you willing to offer?”

Hearing Wang Lei’s sincerity, Zhang San dropped all pretense.

“Lei, since you’re being honest, I’ll do the same. I’ve poured over five million into this theater. If you take away the money I wasted, the hardware and paperwork alone cost about one point one million. Next month, the lease is up; if there’s no new investment, the theater will fold. I didn’t get into this for money—I just wanted to fulfill my dream of acting. I won’t cheat you. If you’re willing, with one point five million and your story, you’ll get seventy percent of the shares. I’ll take twenty, and the rest we’ll leave as incentives for outstanding staff. That’s my plan. What do you think?”

“It’s a good proposal, Third Brother. But my money doesn’t grow on trees. I’ll need to be involved in the finances, and I must have a say and veto power in production decisions. I can’t let someone else hold all the reins. If you agree, we’ll have a lawyer draft a contract; if not, I’ll just treat today as a stroll through town.”

The amount meant little to Wang Lei, but he wasn’t some naive youth. Compared to others, he had more authority over the story of “Charlotte’s Troubles,” so he needed to keep some rights firmly in his grasp.

“Ah, we’ve come this far—what’s the point of worrying about power? As long as the theater survives, that’s enough. Should you find the lawyer, or should I?”