We walked into the Ermu Private Cinema. I straightened the slit of my hakama skirt. Dianzi walked beside me, her sheer skirt catching the light under the hallway wall lamps.
The screening room had a sofa, a massive screen, and surround sound. Zhao Dayong sat in the middle, the sleeves of his deep blue shirt rolled to his elbows. The fabric at the bend had pressed several fine creases.
Dianzi and I took the left and right seats. The lights were still bright. Dianzi pulled a small white box from her bag and set it on the coffee table.
There was a round hole on the front of the box. A cartoon cat was printed on the side. Beneath it was a line of small text, the characters rubbed faint by wear. She called out at the box.
"Hakimi."
The box beeped. The overhead lights went out automatically. The giant screen lit up, the blue standby screen reflected on all three faces.
Zhao Dayong stared at the box for two seconds, his fingers pausing on the arm of the sofa.
Dianzi called out another command. "Get up and give me a rave."
The box beeped again. The overhead lights came on full. The strobe mode lit the room like a dance floor. White light and blue light flashed in turns.
The decorative paintings on the walls became stop-motion animations under the strobing.
Zhao Dayong was blasted by the flashing and raised a hand to cover his eyes. His shoulders shrank back into the sofa.
Dianzi hurriedly called out a third command. "Sleep, you furball." The lights obediently switched back to soft warm tones.
She sank completely into the sofa and let out a breath, waving a hand in the air. "This girl bought a light-control gadget online. She accidentally said the wrong command just now."
Zhao Dayong lowered his hand from his eyes and blinked. His pupils were still adjusting to the suddenly darkened light.
"It only listens to you."
"Of course. This girl bought it. This girl trained it."
"How long did it take to train?"
"A long time. It didn't used to listen either. Took many shouts before it learned. At the start, only two out of ten shouts worked. Now nine out of ten work."
She pushed the box toward the center of the coffee table. The rubber pad on the bottom of the box scraped a short friction sound against the glass surface.
Then she picked up the remote and selected an old movie. The Pianist of the Sea. Zhao Dayong said he'd never seen it.
When the film reached the scene where the protagonist touches the piano for the first time, I placed a cup of hot cocoa in his hands. He held it with both palms pressed against the sides—like holding a hand warmer.
From the neighboring screening room came the sound of a child kicking the wall. Thump thump thump.
The decorative paintings on the wall shuddered slightly. His finger paused on the rim of the cup. The surface of the hot cocoa wobbled.
It didn't spill. After several seconds, the kicking stopped. He lowered his head and took a sip. A ring of cocoa foam clung to his lips.
The film reached the scene where the protagonist plays piano in the raging storm. The piano slid across the ballroom floor as the ship tilted.
The music rose above the roar of the storm. The melody started in the low register and slowly climbed upward.
Zhao Dayong's fingers moved on his knee, half a beat off from the notes on the screen. His index finger landed precisely on the position of the low register.
——Not everyone gets off the ship. No matter how small the ship is, you still have a seat. No matter how big the shore is, you might not even have a place to stand.
Dianzi quietly covered half of the surround speaker on the side closest to Zhao Dayong. The sound immediately went muffled.
The music became as if separated by a layer of water. The protagonist's playing was compressed into a muffled echo. Zhao Dayong leaned forward, trying to hear clearly. His shoulders were pushed forward several centimeters. His neck stretched slightly.
After a few seconds, she released her hand. The sound returned clear and bright. Every note was as sharp as if it had been washed clean.
She leaned in close and whispered into his ear. The current of her breath grazed the rim of his ear.
"When you couldn't hear clearly just now—didn't you want to hear it even more? Sister says the method to happiness is very simple: let you know that only we can make the sound clear again."
Zhao Dayong turned his head to look at her. His lips moved. No sound came out. His Adam's apple dipped once.
At the end of the film, the protagonist didn't disembark. The abandoned cruise liner was blown up and sunk. He sat in front of that old piano and sank with the ship into the sea.
The flames of the explosion burned on the water's surface for a few seconds before being swallowed by the ocean. The piano's last note floated to the surface together with the bubbles.
Zhao Dayong was silent for a long time. His finger traced a circle around the rim of the empty cup. Then it stopped.
"Why didn't he leave?"
"Because he didn't need the world outside. The ship was big enough. Having the piano was enough. People outside think the ship is cramped for him. He thought the outside was too wide. So wide you don't know where you are. So wide that the people beside you are all shouting about how great their lives are—but not a single one can tell you which way to go."
He nodded and set the empty cup on the coffee table. The bottom of the cup struck the glass with a crisp clink.
Dianzi shouted one more command at the box. "Sleep, you furball." The lights went out.
The credits were still rolling on the screen, white text slowly rising from the bottom up. The light flickered on all three faces—bright, then dark.
Leaving the cinema, the wind at the mouth of the alley had cooled. It carried the watery smell of the canal.
The wall lamps in the hallway had been dimmed. Only every few steps was one still lit.
Zhao Dayong walked ahead. The back of his suit jacket was lifted by the draft. At the elevator entrance, I noticed a stub of a movie ticket poking out of his suit pocket. The corner had been pressed into a very shallow crease by his fingers. But he hadn't thrown it away.
"Keeping the stub?"
He looked down at his pocket. "First time seeing this kind of movie. Before, I'd watch a film and leave right after. This one, I was still thinking about it after it ended. When the protagonist wouldn't get off the ship, I thought he was stupid. Later, I felt like maybe he was smarter than me. He knew what he wanted. I'm still thinking about what I want."
"So have you figured it out yet?"
"Not yet. But at least now I know there's someone who can think for me."
The elevator doors opened. He stepped into the car. The moment the doors closed, Zhao Dayong glanced at the ticket stub in his pocket.
Then he let his hand fall, hanging naturally at his side.
The elevator descended. The doors opened. The night wind poured in from the mouth of the alley, blowing open the front of his suit jacket.
When Zhao Dayong walked out, his steps were half a beat slower than when he'd arrived. The soles of his shoes dragged a long friction sound across the stone pavement.