In 1958, the nation's very first television drama, *A Piece of Vegetable Cake*, was born.
Back then, dramas were typically a single episode or split into two parts; only productions reaching three episodes earned the title of a serialized drama. The previous year, the entire country's television output had amounted to a mere twenty episodes. The medium was still in its infancy.
"I'm currently preparing an adaptation of a novel called *Eighteen Years in the Enemy Camp*," Wang Fulin said. "We plan to shoot nine episodes. It should end up being the longest drama in the country."
"Nine episodes? That's quite an ambitious undertaking! How much funding do you have?"
"Uh, around a hundred thousand yuan."
"……"
Wang Yang's expression turned subtle. With film budgets skyrocketing lately, several hundred thousand yuan hardly amounted to much anymore, yet a nine-episode television series was making do with a meager hundred thousand.
It was impossible not to feel a sense of superiority. In truth, the film industry regarded television dramas the way an older brother looked at a toddler—acknowledging its potential, perhaps, but never taking it seriously.
That was why, when cinema went into decline in later decades, some in the industry would grumble to the government: *Why didn't you step in and nip television in the bud back then?*
"We want to create something fresh, nothing like the model operas," Wang Fulin continued. "Right now, though, television is suffering a dire shortage of talent. We're lacking directors, screenwriters, and actors. Our station can't rely solely on *Eighteen Years in the Enemy Camp* to keep the lights on. I heard that screenwriter is a young man, so his head must be full of new ideas. I'd like to invite him to give it a try."
"He's not in the capital. He's down in Henan."
"That's fine. Just leave me his contact information."
"Fair enough. I'll tell him to look you up when he gets back."
"Thank you, Director Wang!"
Once Wang Fulin took his leave, Wang Yang scratched his head. *That brat really has become a hot commodity!*
***
Hong Kong, employee dormitories of Great Wall Movie Enterprises.
Night had fallen. In the dimly lit room, Fu Chi lay on a sofa holding a letter, his eyes closed in deep thought. After a moment, he opened them and glanced at the page once more. The final line read:
*"I am willing to take up a three-foot sword, lend you a helping hand, and achieve unparalleled glory!"*
It was hard to imagine these words coming from a young man in the mainland.
Mainlanders regarded Hong Kong as a paradise that everyone dreamed of reaching. Yet this young man had written: *Respected seniors! I stand with you leftists. I am willing to give my all to help you crush them together!*
What kind of man was Fu Chi?
He was someone who had seen blood. It was only due to shifts in national policy and the need for united-front diplomacy in Hong Kong that he had cooperated. Truth be told, he was an aging hero in the twilight of his life, no longer harboring soaring ambitions.
Yet along with the letter, the young man had sent two full screenplays, accompanied by storyboard sketches and concept art. The sincerity was unmistakable.
*Click!*
The light suddenly flared bright. Shi Hui stepped into the room and smiled. "Still reading that letter?"
"Yeah. Looking at it makes me feel like we haven't been forgotten, that people are still rooting for us."
"And what good does that do? There's nothing we can do anyway."
"We might not be able to pull off great feats, but we can at least make a small difference in cinema…"
Fu Chi paused, then said, "A few days ago, I made a special trip to Guangzhou to watch *Romance on Mount Lu*. Even though it's steeped in united-front ideology, quite a few things about it felt remarkably fresh. Could you ever have imagined that was a romance film?"
"So what? Are you tempted?"
Shi Hui sat on the arm of the sofa and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. The two had shared hardships together through life, growing old side by side.
"You've read those two screenplays. They don't read like mainland scripts at all, nor do they look like Hong Kong films. Their structure and subject matter are much closer to American cinema. I honestly don't know how he wrote them. The boy is simply a genius."
Fu Chi sighed. "I had someone crunch the numbers. A few hundred thousand yuan will be enough, and we can still scrape that together. We've been wringing our hands over what to shoot next anyway, so why not this? What do you think?"
"What about directors and actors?" Shi Hui asked. "There's hardly anyone left at the company. Even Ah Jing is gone."
"Hong Kong has this new batch of New Wave directors cropping up who are desperate for opportunities. We can borrow some talent from Shao Yifu. As for actors, this sort of film doesn't require big stars. That'll be easy to manage."
"Then should we let Liu Xuehua and the others give it a try?"
"Yeah, that works!"
As glorious as Great Wall had once been, it was just as desolate now, sustained by only a handful of veteran stalwarts.
Bao Qijing, whose representative works would later include *The Way We Are* and *Crossing Hennessy*, was the daughter of Bao Fang, Great Wall's famous director. Her younger brother, Peter Pau, had gone to Hollywood to study cinematography and would eventually win an Academy Award for Best Cinematography for *Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon*.
Having grown up on Great Wall's studio lots, Bao Qijing had joined the company as a matter of course. Before officially starting work, leftist staff had to undergo reeducation alongside workers and peasants, so she had spent several months working as a laborer in a Guangdong textile mill.
She was thirty-one now. Having stayed with Great Wall through its darkest days, she had recently departed after all, jumping ship to Rediffusion Television, later known as ATV.
She had been the sole pillar of the middle generation.
Fortunately, Great Wall's acting training class had recruited a new batch of fresh faces. These newcomers understood little about left-wing or right-wing politics; getting their foot in the door was all that mattered. Among them, four young, attractive women were being groomed with special care, one of whom was Liu Xuehua.
The famous leading lady of Qiong Yao dramas—yes, she had come from the leftist camp.
After languishing in obscurity at Great Wall for a few years, she would move to Shaw Brothers, find little success there either, and eventually head to Taiwan to film television dramas. That turned out to be the right path, finally catapulting her to stardom.
Fu Chi and Shi Hui discussed the matter. The four young actresses were well-suited to appear in *Wrong Turn* and *The Descent*.
As for a director, they planned to borrow one from Shaw Brothers.
A shrewd old fox like Shao Yifu naturally hedged his bets. Openly anti-leftist, he nonetheless turned a blind eye whenever his studio's directors moonlighted on leftist productions. For instance, Wong Jing's father, Wong Tin-lam, had directed films for Great Wall under a pseudonym.
Shaw Brothers happened to have two eccentric directors who fit the bill. One was Mou Dunfei, whom Chen Qi had his eye on (though he hadn't mentioned that to Fu Chi and the others), and the other was Gui Zhihong.
Gui Zhihong possessed a wildly imaginative mind and a unique style. His works—*Hex*, *Bewitched*, *The Boxer's Omen*, and *Hex Versus Hex*—were all rare cult classics of Hong Kong cinema.
"Daddy, Mommy!"
Just then, a girl of about ten came dashing over and threw herself into Fu Chi's arms, wheedling, "What are you doing? Can you play with me? Please?"
"We're talking about work. Go play on your own for a bit."
"Mmh-mmh-mmh~"
The little girl began to whine. Delicate and pretty, she was a natural beauty in the making, with watery eyes that would surely blossom into captivating peach-blossom eyes when she grew up. She was none other than their youngest daughter, Fu Mingxian.
"All right, all right, we'll play with you!"
Cornered by her pestering, the couple had no choice but to indulge their daughter, doting on her endlessly. Later on, when Fu Mingxian wanted to enter show business, Fu Chi would simply place a direct call to Shao Yifu, leading to her signing with TVB and eventually landing the role of Guo Fu in *The Return of the Condor Heroes*.
After frolicking for a while, Fu Mingxian scurried off again.
Watching her daughter run away, Shi Hui remarked, "She's getting older. Should we find a chance to take her to Beijing to have a look?"
"As our daughter, she has to go see Beijing, of course—and see Tiananmen!" Fu Chi replied without hesitation.
Living in this era, so many things had already begun to shift.
***
*Romance on Mount Lu* had been playing to packed houses for over a month. In later decades, a film would have been approaching the end of its theatrical run by now, yet its first-round rollout had barely begun.
By future standards, its box office haul would easily rival that of *YOLO*—ptui, ptui! It would easily cross the four-billion-yuan mark! Unfortunately, data collection in this era was crude, making accurate box office figures impossible to calculate.
August arrived, the summer heat still lingering.
The *Tai Chi* crew wrapped their location shoots in Xiaodian Village and Yesanpo, officially concluding principal photography.
Chapter 119