"I wrote two scripts for Great Wall. Even though I offered them for free, they'll definitely pay me. Twenty thousand Hong Kong dollars works out to roughly six thousand renminbi."
"*Story Session* pays out every two months, a flat eighty-seven yuan."
"If I churn out a few more screenplays, the Beijing Film Studio pays a few hundred, and Hong Kong can double that... That should just about cover it, right?"
Chen Qi had no idea how much money the courtyard would take in total; he only knew that the more he had, the better, or he would never feel at ease.
After calculating back and forth, writing scripts remained the most lucrative route.
"Sigh, I wanted to take a break after coming back, but here I am stuck working again—and working for a house, no less!"
Tossing his pen aside, Chen Qi flopped onto the bed like a salted fish. His current state bore an uncanny resemblance to a middle-aged corporate drone grinding through life in later generations: taking flak at the office by day, coming home to a rebellious kid, finding out his father had blown eighteen thousand on a healthcare mattress claiming it was a steal, and lying in bed only to have his wife ask if he would still love her faithfully if she turned into a caterpillar...
*O vast, unfeeling Heaven, why have You dealt so harshly with me!*
*Knock, knock, knock!*
As he lay there, a sudden knock sounded at the door, accompanied by a woman's voice. "Great Screenwriter Chen, are you in?"
He sprang up in an instant. Had an actress finally come knocking on his door uninvited?
"My, what are you doing cooped up in your room alone?"
The door swung open, and Liu Xiaoqing strolled in with familiar ease, wearing a floral short-sleeved blouse, a long skirt, and white sandals. In these days, people wore socks under sandals, a fashion Chen Qi thoroughly detested, as it always made him imagine sweaty feet.
Liu Xiaoqing, on the other hand, thought she looked quite stylish. This outfit was her finest summer ensemble.
The guesthouse kept men and women segregated; unannounced evening visits were strictly forbidden. Daytime visits, however, were permitted, since directors frequently held meetings in their rooms that actors were required to attend. Still, for a woman to boldly march into a male comrade's room completely on her own proved she was a force of nature.
"Did you need something?" Chen Qi left the door wide open.
"Can't I drop by just to visit? Congratulations on the huge success of *Romance on Mount Lu*! I still remember when you first arrived; I rushed over to ask if I could play the lead, and you said I wasn't right for it. Sigh, if I'd known, I would have fought harder for the part."
With her hands clasped behind her back, Liu Xiaoqing glanced around the room and asked with a smile, "What's your next project? Got any inspiration yet?"
"Inspiration doesn't just appear out of thin air. We'll see next year."
"Always giving me polite brush-offs, Great Screenwriter! Little Genius!"
Liu Xiaoqing suddenly leaned in, her apple-cheeked face flushed pink. She grinned. "I want to act in your work. What do you think of me?"
"Stop, stop, stop!"
Chen Qi had been around the block when it came to women; tricks like this were far too amateurish. Having no interest in entanglements with her, he said bluntly, "If I think there's a role suited for you, I'll definitely seek you out. If there isn't, showing up at my door won't do any good either. I'm making myself clear. Whether you believe me is up to you, but please don't come bothering me again."
"……"
Liu Xiaoqing stared at him for a few seconds, seemingly gauging whether he was being serious or merely playing hard to get. Then she laughed. "My, you truly have a heart of stone! Well, I'm off, then!"
She was just as direct, turning and leaving on the spot.
"Hmph! With how handsome and refined I look, who's taking advantage of whom?"
After locking the door, Chen Qi could not help rolling his eyes. Liu Xiaoqing's special visit had been nothing more than an attempt to play the beauty trap. Unfortunately for her, he was not fond of broad faces, and her approach was far too blunt.
The beauty trap you imagined: Liu Yifei seducing you.
The true beauty trap: a sixteen-year-old Zhao Ling'er throwing herself into your arms and calling you Brother Xiaoyao!
* * *
With Chen Qi's return, visitors flocked to Room 302 in droves.
Some came specifically to exchange thoughts on creative writing, some came soliciting manuscripts, and others came for interviews. Cultured scholars mingled in lively conversation while the unlettered were nowhere to be found, lending the place an air reminiscent of the classic *Inscription on a Humble Dwelling*.
Among the guests was a representative from the People's Fine Arts Publishing House, who hoped to adapt *Romance on Mount Lu* into a *lianhuanhua* picture-story book and wanted Chen Qi to write the textual script.
Chen Qi was quite interested in the offer. *Lianhuanhua*, often called palm-sized picture books, were an immensely popular medium in the country. The books were usually small, printed in a horizontal landscape format.
Common titles in this era included *The Legend of Yue Fei*, *The Generals of the Yang Family*, the Four Great Classical Novels, and revolutionary tales; adaptations of hit movies were also a common genre. In a few more years, the variety would explode with martial arts, mysteries, and crime thrillers.
Picture books were beloved by adults and children alike.
Chen Qi enthusiastically chatted with the representative, but the moment they got to the remuneration, his interest withered.
"For an original script, the rate is one to two yuan per panel, with a few exceptional ones fetching three yuan. Since yours is an adaptation of your own work, regulations set the pay at sixty fen to one yuan per panel. We are willing to offer you the top rate of one yuan."
In picture-story books, the art was naturally the centerpiece. Black-and-white illustrations earned six to twelve yuan per frame, and color art commanded eight to twenty-two yuan, with exceptional work earning even more. In this era, comic illustrators were high earners.
A "panel" referred to the text accompanying a single page of illustration—just a sentence or two for one yuan. To outsiders, that seemed quite generous.
Chen Qi found it meager, but even the smallest mosquito had meat. Needing funds to rebuild his courtyard, he accepted the offer. *Romance on Mount Lu* would run a hundred pages at most, which amounted to a hundred yuan at best.
This was all thanks to his newfound fame; he could now step outside and formally proclaim his identity as a renowned screenwriter!
Chen Qi even contemplated whether to reveal his pen name behind the stories in *Story Session*. On second thought, it was still too early. The martial arts craze had not yet taken off, so revealing it might not drive sales. Better to wait until *Tai Chi* became a hit.
* * *
*Knock, knock, knock!*
"Come in!"
Early one morning, an unexpected guest knocked on the door of Room 302. Chen Qi, who had been sitting at his desk, rose to his feet. He recognized the man, but had to pretend otherwise, asking with feigned confusion, "And you are?"
"My name is Wang Fulin, a director from China Central Television!"
"Oh, of course! Old Director Wang mentioned you. Please, have a seat!"
Chen Qi grabbed the enamel mug reserved for guests, brewed a cup of tea, and looked at the forty-nine-year-old Wang Fulin. With a thick head of dark hair, the director appeared quite youthful. Looking at him, Chen Qi felt a brief sense of daze, as though recalling many old acquaintances—especially ones named Daiyu and Baochai...
In three years, this man would begin preparations to shoot *Dream of the Red Chamber*.
In nine years, he would take charge of preparing *Romance of the Three Kingdoms*, serving as its chief director without handling the actual filming himself. In any case, he would handle two of the Four Great Classical Novels, cementing his place in Chinese television history.
"Old Director Wang must have told you," Wang Fulin began. "We in television suffer from a severe shortage of scripts. I watched *Romance on Mount Lu* a while back and felt you combined grand love with personal love brilliantly, so I took the liberty of coming to see you."
"You're too kind. Please, share your requirements, and we can speak frankly."
"Splendid! First, a television script must break free of old shackles. It cannot follow the rigid mold of the model plays, yet the theme must remain positive, uplifting, and aligned with sound values."
Wang Fulin ticked points off his fingers. "Take the project I'm preparing, *Eighteen Years in the Enemy Camp*. It tells the story of intelligence work behind enemy lines—a very sound theme. Second, our resources are limited, so three episodes will do."
"Three episodes? For a second I thought you meant rated-X! We can push boundaries that far?"
"Goodness, no, we can't push boundaries—everything must be well within moderation!"
Wang Fulin shook his head and added, "Lastly, at the risk of embarrassing myself, our funding is somewhat tight. We might not be able to offer you a very large fee."
"Are there no set regulations for television script pay?"
"Television is still in its infancy. How could there be regulations? It's all negotiated case by case. If your script is genuinely high-quality, we will raise the pay appropriately. We won't let your hard work go unrewarded."
"Uh..."
Chen Qi hesitated. Writing for television was far more exhausting than writing for picture books; if the pay was too low, he had little interest in doing it. "To be honest with you, I'm building a house. It's not that I'm greedy, but I genuinely need the money. If you can promise me a hundred yuan per episode, I'll agree. Of course, if the quality isn't up to par, feel free to reject it, no questions asked."
"……"
Wang Fulin agonized for a moment before biting the bullet. "Fine, let's call it a gentlemen's agreement!"
"Excellent. I'll have the script to you in a month at the latest."
"Th-that fast?"
"The biggest advantage of my scriptwriting—er, copying—is that it's fast and good. Once you get to know me better, you'll see."
Chapter 121