Chen Qi had already met quite a few officials, from high-ranking leaders in Beijing down to Auntie Wang. This county magistrate carried himself very modestly, greeting the main cast and crew with the warm, approachable air of an elderly neighborhood uncle as he shook everyone's hand.
"Coach Yu Hai, it's an honor to finally meet you!"
"Comrade Li Lianjie, a national champion! Your name precedes you!"
"And this is Ji Chunhua!"
"My, such striking features! Truly out of the ordinary!"
After working his way around the group, the magistrate beamed. "It is an immense privilege to welcome you all to Ji County. As the host, you must give me a chance to show some hospitality. I'd like to treat you to an informal meal tonight. Of course, I can't afford to host the entire crew, just the comrades here with us."
"How could we possibly impose on you?"
"Don't mention it, don't mention it! Then it's settled—I'll come back this evening."
The magistrate had brought hardly any entourage, accompanied only by a single secretary. The young man's clothes were neat but visibly worn, and one arm of his glasses was held together with adhesive tape; poverty clung to him at first glance.
This was the prevailing reality across inland China in the early 1980s. The early coastal reform zones were an entirely different world, bustling with "three-plus-one" export-processing enterprises, investments from Hong Kong and Macau, overseas Chinese donations, and outright smuggling...
Sensing an opportunity, Chen Qi took the initiative. "Such a rare occasion—how about we take a big group photo?"
"You have a camera?" The magistrate's eyes lit up.
"I have one. I'll go grab it!"
Chen Qi retrieved his camera and arranged everyone in order. Li Wenhua and the magistrate stood in the center, flanked by Li Lianjie and Gong Xue on either side, while the rest fanned out in a graceful wing. After snapping several shots, Chen Qi said to the secretary, "Is there anywhere around here to develop photos? Could I trouble you to come along with me? It'd be great to keep a few prints as souvenirs."
Then he turned back to the magistrate. "Actually, we also have a rather presumptuous request to make. Would you be willing to brush an inscription for us, or write a few words? It would commemorate that *Tai Chi* was filmed in Ji County with your generous support. In the future, whenever people bring it up, it'll make for a wonderful story in cinema history."
"Oh, Xiao Chen, Xiao Chen, listen to you! I... well, then I shall humbly accept!"
Beaming from ear to ear, the magistrate departed with his secretary.
Li Wenhua leaned in close. "Hey, wasn't that laying it on a bit thick?"
"We're working on his turf, so building a good rapport never hurts. If he can arrange a few vehicles for us, won't our lives be a lot easier?"
Chen Qi knew exactly what he was doing.
*Never underestimate a county magistrate—I still want to scout locations in some county in Hebei later on...*
After that brief interlude, the secretary returned in the afternoon. He accompanied Chen Qi to have the photos developed, delivered a freshly brushed calligraphy scroll, and handed over a newspaper on top of that. "You're all busy with filming and might not have time to keep up with outside news," he said. "The leader specifically asked me to pass along a message. There's an article in here he wanted you to take a look at."
"..."
Chen Qi glanced down and saw an article critiquing *Romance on Mount Lu*. His heart skipped a beat. "I've received it. Thank you for looking out for us!"
"I won't disturb you any longer, then. See you tonight!"
Seeing that Chen Qi had understood, the secretary said his goodbyes and left.
Chen Qi bounded up the stairs to his room and sat down to examine the piece carefully, his brow knit tight from start to finish. The article advanced two core arguments: first, that *Romance on Mount Lu* pandered to the vulgar tastes of the petty bourgeoisie, tailing behind the backward elements of the masses; second, that the struggle between the Communist and Nationalist parties had been framed as a mere "historical misunderstanding," reducing the four bloody years of the War of Liberation to an unfortunate mix-up.
The first claim was trivial, but the second was grave—it was a full-blown political reading.
The subtext between the lines was unmistakable: *Romance on Mount Lu* had erased the revolutionary struggle between the two parties and was effectively summoning the ghost of the Kuomintang.
"Damn it! What utter bullshit!"
"Taking things out of context! Slapping big political labels on people! Who the hell said there were no clickbait content farms in this day and age?"
Chen Qi slammed his hand on the desk, then checked the author's byline: Zhao Baohua.
"Zhao Baohua?"
He scratched his head. The name rang a faint bell from his previous life, but the details eluded him. He took the newspaper to Li Wenhua. The director was also taken aback upon seeing it. "Xiao Chen, this critique doesn't pull its punches. You need to publish a response. Getting saddled with a political label is dangerous!"
"Do you know this author?"
"Let me think... The name sounds familiar..." Li Wenhua pondered for a moment. "Oh, right! He's the deputy director of the art office and an editor over at Changchun Film Studio. He handles film quality reviews and script vetting, roughly the same job as our Director Jiang."
"Does he have any notable work of his own?"
"None that I recall."
"Understood!"
Chen Qi went back to his room and dredged deep into his memories until the puzzle pieces finally clicked together.
Zhao Baohua had indeed started out at Changchun Film Studio before moving to Beijing, where he founded *China Film Weekly* and began writing screenplays. He didn't produce many scripts, but he cultivated close ties with the Film Bureau leadership, serving as their designated pen for hire.
In 1987, it was he who helped the Film Bureau draft the famous slogan: "Highlight the main melody, uphold diversity!"
That was the very first time the term "main melody" had been formally introduced into the official lexicon.
There was nothing inherently wrong with the slogan, but domestic policy tended to swing toward extremes and rigid, one-size-fits-all mandates. Over time, diversity vanished, leaving only main-melody propaganda films, which directly precipitated the massive collapse of Chinese cinema in the 1990s.
Back then, certain figures treated commercial films like a scourge, blamed television for crippling cinema, and even pushed for policies to stifle the growth of TV dramas—all without ever considering that the flaw lay in their own approach.
As for Zhao Baohua himself, he possessed no actual authority. He was merely an ideological mouthpiece.
"..."
Once Chen Qi ran through the whole history in his mind, he stopped worrying. He wasn't playing their game on a straight path anyway; he was carving out a brand-new track on the side, bypassing China Film, the Film Bureau, and the conservative gatekeepers altogether, charging straight for foreign exchange earnings.
"Tch! Still, if someone needs a scolding, I'm giving them one. You're an eighties content farm trying to pick a fight with a 2024 verified influencer?"
"Do you even know what a long-form Weibo callout post looks like?"
Chen Qi was never one to swallow an insult. He immediately sat down and dashed off a rebuttal, readying it while waiting for the evening feast.
...
He wasn't the only one eagerly anticipating dinner.
The food in Ji County was genuinely dreadful, and this was a rare chance to satisfy their cravings. Around five in the afternoon, Li Lianjie, Yu Hai, Wang Qun, Huang Qiuyan, and the other core cast members had already gathered in the guesthouse's modest canteen.
"What kind of good food do they have in Henan?"
"Spicy beef soup, probably!"
"Would he really treat us to just soup?"
"The county magistrate is hosting. There has to be meat and fish at the very least. Spicy soup would be too embarrassing."
"I wouldn't get my hopes up. Ji County is dirt-poor, and the magistrate isn't rolling in cash either. We'll be lucky if we get a plate of stir-fried pork."
They chatted back and forth, waiting from five o'clock to six, and from six to seven. Their bellies were rumbling, yet neither their host nor any groceries had materialized. Chen Qi raised his wrist to check his imported Swiss watch. "Should we go ask what happened?"
"How can we ask? It'll make us look like desperate freeloaders drooling over a meal."
Li Wenhua couldn't sit still either. "We have an early shoot tomorrow morning. Why don't we just rustle up something ourselves?"
"What? Then didn't we wait all this time for nothing? Time wasted, and still no food!"
Just as they were debating, the secretary came rushing in out of breath, clutching an armful of potatoes and Chinese cabbages along with a hefty cut of fatty pork. The layer of fat was two fingers thick, trembling with every step—plainly from a prime hog.
In those years, animal fat was hard to come by, and people craved rich pork. It satisfied hunger and could be rendered into lard, then stored in ceramic jars like solid grease to make vegetable stir-fries burst with fragrance—plant-based cooking oil only became the standard much later.
"I'm so sorry! Terribly sorry for being late!"
"No trouble at all, we only just came downstairs. My, that's a huge cut of meat—you shouldn't have spent so much!" Huang Qiuyan's eyes shone at the sight of the pork.
Li Wenhua asked, "Why didn't the magistrate come with you?"
"The leader will be a little longer. He wanted everyone to have a proper meal, which meant having at least one fish dish, so he went out to catch one himself," the secretary explained.
"And where's the fish?"
"He hasn't caught one yet, so he sent me ahead!"
*Good heavens!*
The group struggled to keep straight faces. Sincerity truly was the ultimate weapon; their goodwill toward the magistrate surged instantly. Chen Qi chuckled to himself. *So the county magistrate got skunked? You have to chum the waters first, man! Otherwise, why would the fish offer up virgin boys and girls as sacrifices to you?*
With the groceries delivered, the kitchen got to work. It was past eight in the evening by the time the magistrate finally walked through the door, proudly dangling a large carp.
"In our Xinxiang region, no banquet is complete without carp—a table without one lacks stature. My hands are rusty in my old age, but luck was on my side today. Please, everyone, enjoy some authentic Yellow River carp!"
"Wild-caught?"
"Naturally!"
*Even better.* Chen Qi's appetite was thoroughly whetted; wild Yellow River carp would cost a fortune in later decades, and even then you could never be sure it was genuine.
Once the banquet commenced, there were only two "heavy" dishes: the pork and the carp. No wonder he couldn't afford to invite more people. The magistrate had been a country boy who used to catch fish for local landlords before joining the revolution, eventually working his way up to this post.
He was down-to-earth, relatively unvarnished, yet carried the natural shrewdness of an official; he had proactively sought them out precisely to gain visibility.
Ji County had little to boast of. Hosting a film crew that included the red-hot stars of *Romance on Mount Lu* was an opportunity. Played right, it could land in the newspapers and earn praise from the municipal leadership. Chen Qi understood this mindset inside out, which was why he had proactively suggested the group photo and asked for the inscribed calligraphy.
The results were immediate. When Li Wenhua mentioned transportation troubles, the magistrate agreed on the spot to assign them a vehicle—even though the entire county had only one car to begin with.
There were times when Chen Qi despised this era, and times when he fell in love with its simple charm. The spread was devoured down to the last scrap, leaving everyone thoroughly satisfied. Even Gong Xue, delicate as she was, kept reaching eagerly for the fish—despite southerners not being particularly fond of carp.
After finishing dinner and seeing the magistrate off, everyone returned to their rooms to turn in for the night.
Chen Qi stayed up to finish his article, sealed it in an envelope, and prepared to mail it to a journalist friend in Beijing.
After all, if there was one thing he relished above all else, it was giving people a thorough dressing-down.
Chapter 117