That does not mean they are, consciously or not, using bigger-than-life Hollywood forerunners as their role models. Apart from the practical considerations of keeping a cult-like fan base, Chinese superstars could be reaching back into our own traditions for inspiration. In the male-dominated age of our history, women were stored away in the inner sanctum of the family residence. The wife had the alias neiren, which literally means "person on the inside". A Chinese head of household might have a legion of wives and concubines, but they were crouching and hidden, not interacting with guests or out partying.

A Chinese man of social standing rarely took his spouse out on formal functions. Chinese classics portray male bonding with such poignancy that modern readers often squeeze homosexual overtones from it. In reality, these men all had wives, but they were left at home, and therefore out of sight of novelists. In the new movie Empire of Silver, bankers in the late 19th century were forbidden to take their family along on assignments that were as long as three years.

A lot of people feel it is unfair to Lin and Chu to live in the shadow of Jackie Chan and Andy Lau. To protect the required aura of someone forever pure and attractive, these women have to erase themselves from the public consciousness. Lin was a top-ranking star of the 1970s, and Chu a beauty queen. Shouldn't they share the limelight of their men? Do they have to remain invisible so that others can keep alive their dreams of becoming concubines to the stars?

Today, many people sympathize with the spouses of media personalities. In the old days, with polygamy, things were more complicated. A man of importance had several options when it came to making a public appearance with a spouse: Should he take the first wife? It was the ethical thing to do, but she probably could not help him by projecting an air of youth and beauty. Taking the younger one, it would be unfair to his "first love". If he took the whole entourage, it would be interpreted as a lack of self-restraint.

In 1930, for his tour of the United States that turned out to be the pinnacle of his illustrious career, Peking Opera megastar Mei Lanfang hesitated between taking the woman he was legally married to (an over-the-hill singer from the same genre who quit her career for him) and his paramour of the day, a big star in her own right. In the end, he did not take either of the women - a typical move for Chinese men caught in this quandary.

Although Lau has a pristine reputation, with no rumors of philandering whatsoever, the tactic of hiding the woman who has possibly been with him two dozen years and borne him a daughter - or possibly two kids - is immersed in the cultural genes of our country. An emperor could put hundreds, even thousands of women, under one roof; a star can surely keep his wife and children from the prying eyes of the public. It's part of the package.

Lau has another issue to address. Chinese custom dictates that a couple in this situation should marry within 100 days of the father's death, or wait three years. Some see this as pressure, but I don't care what decision he makes. It is his life, and he can be an emperor within his realm. But maybe it's his intention to turn "guess my wedding date" into another leitmotif for the tabloids.