Chapter 20
CHANG JINXING FELT like an object. No one understood how it felt to be objectified better than him. His wealthy female clients may have called him a photographer, but in their eyes, he was nothing more than a tripod with an automatic shooting function.
He was relegated to the lowest-class cabin, where he shared a quad room with two other male servants. He slept on an upper bunk, and the lower bunk was piled high with daily necessities. Of course, in essence, he was himself one of those supplies.
They made him work twelve hours a day. There was a quick breakfast at 9:00 a.m., and by 10:00, he was expected to be waiting outside the client’s bedroom. Then he followed the girls and their boyfriends around, snapping photos. The day went on like this, broken up by only occasional breaks, until 10:00 p.m.
“Hey! Snap a pic over here!” That was how most of them addressed him. No one cared what his name was. The nicer ones called him “photographer” or just “bro.” The less polite ones called him “cameraman.” Most of the time, they called him “hey” or “oi.” Honestly, it didn’t make much difference what they called him; to his ears, it all sounded like, “That camera over there! C’mere!”
The Adonis-like face that Chang Jinxing was so proud of provided no advantage. Everyone on the cruise was gorgeous, men and women alike. Their eyelashes glittered with the sparkle of money, and their hearty laughter tinkled like gold coins scattered on the floor.
The people he served fell into two categories: the main clients, and their companions. The clients included men and women; most of the girls were fair-skinned, wealthy, and beautiful, and the guys were all scions of rich families.
The companions were a more diverse group. The men were young talents from securities firms or investment banks trying to curry favor with the girls’ fathers or brothers, university classmates hoping to marry into wealth and skip thirty or forty years of hard toil, or small business owners masquerading as rich men who were actually on the brink of financial ruin. The women were mostly escorts and pretty Z-list actresses hoping to catch a break.
Every male companion was meticulously groomed. Masculine, handsome, and charming, they swirled their wine glasses in one hand while they held their girlfriends close with the other, whispering sweet nothings into their ears. Most seemed to have had good upbringings, and they came across as refined and cultured in front of those they were trying to ingratiate themselves with. The female companions were impeccably made up, considerate women with high emotional intelligence.
But the moment they turned to the waiters, cleaners, and other “objects,” they showed their true colors. Cries of “hey,” “oi,” and “you there” filled the air, as if the servants were just stray mops or dirty plates that they wanted to kick away into the sea.
Squeezed among these gentlemen in suits, Chang Jinxing was, at best, a piece of equipment that was slightly more pleasing to the eye. His trendy outfit looked out of place against the servants’ uniforms and the clients’ custom-tailored suits, and the force of his presence was practically nil. He’d landed this gig thanks to a recommendation from a wealthy woman who had used his boyfriend-rental service, but the job was clearly beyond his capabilities. His photography still couldn’t hold a candle to the work of real photographers. Most of the time he relied on coaxing and flattering, with a healthy dose of flirtation, to get the job done.
Now, as the group’s photographer, he fielded constant criticism and nitpicking. Each day, he shot a never-ending stream of photos, shadowing clients during the day and editing selected photos in the middle of the night. Then he was woken early the next morning to repeat the process. The four-day, three-night tour left him drained and exhausted. Every time he felt an urge to swing his camera at the tourists like a meteor hammer, he silently repeated his mantra: ¥20,000, ¥20,000, just think of the ¥20,000.
When he accepted the job, he hoped that a spark might ignite between him and someone else on the romantic cruise, male or female. He imagined that he might even be able to swing a memorable encounter. Now he was forced to face the facts: He had overestimated himself. The moment he boarded the ship, he’d transformed into a tripod. Nobody on the cruise, no matter how ravenous, would sleep with a tripod.
On the last day, Chang Jinxing was on one side of the deck, deleting photos on his camera, when he suddenly heard voices.
“No way, man!” one male voice said. “I thought you’d already slept with her a few times!”
“Nope,” said a slightly younger male voice. “I can’t do it. When I think about having to…I go soft. Oh well, whatever.”
“Just close your eyes and get it over with. How ’bout I give you a couple pills?”
Chang Jinxing recognized the voices as belonging to two men from the group he was following around and photographing. The one who said he couldn’t get it up seemed to be an actor, and the other was an investor. Chang Jinxing rarely paid much attention to what the clients talked about; he was too exhausted to care about gossip, and if he got distracted, he’d be scolded.
“She likes your type,” the investor continued. The two of them were out on the deck, smoking. “She’s dated a few guys before, all gay. Some were even bottoms. She really likes your type, so you should seize the opportunity.”
“I’ll try again,” the young man said.
They put out their cigarettes and left the deck. Chang Jinxing turned around and moved to the far side of the ship. Curious, he stole a glance at them as they departed. As he did so, the young guy turned back, and their eyes met. Chang Jinxing quickly averted his gaze, afraid they would realize he’d been eavesdropping. He wondered about the girl they were talking about: Who was she, and what was the relationship between them?
Later, during afternoon tea, he noticed the young man and his girlfriend and roughly put the pieces together. The actor, Kong Yu, had been introduced to the group by the investor. His girlfriend, who had a mature air to her and wore an expensive haute couture gown, was named Xixi. The group had cliques, and they were all chatting away in pairs and trios. Chang Jinxing’s first impression of Xixi was that of an innocent young woman, one with whom he might actually stand a chance. From what he’d overheard, however, she wasn’t someone he could tame. He made the prudent decision to keep his distance from her.
“Hey bro,” Kong Yu called out. “Can you help me take a few photos?”
Chang Jinxing nodded and found a spot with good lighting. Kong Yu sat at the place where they’d had afternoon tea and posed for photos before the floor-to-ceiling window. “No influencer-style pics,” Kong Yu reminded him.
“I know,” Chang Jinxing replied, even as he thought, But you are an influencer. Don’t forget where you came from.
Over the past few days, he had learned to take more photos of his clients and fewer of their companions. The clients were the ones paying him, the companions mere tools they brought along for emotional value. Chang Jinxing thought of it like this: They were all tools, so why make things hard for each other?