"Blue skies and white clouds, gently flowing waterside..."
Inside the recording studio at Beijing Film Studio, seventeen-year-old Li Lingyu was singing with tense apprehension. She had barely finished a single line before Hu Weili cut her off.
"Your Yue opera flavor is far too heavy," he said. "Dial it back!"
"Yes, Teacher!"
"Hold on! I said dial it back, not strip it away entirely! You still need a touch of operatic cadence. That's what gives it that lingering, graceful lilt!"
"Understood, Teacher!"
Li Lingyu blinked her large eyes, looking thoroughly chastised and aggrieved. Yet she refused to let slip such a rare opportunity, forcing herself to endure the scolding and adjust her tone.
She was actually from Shanghai. When Beijing's Hongqi Yue Opera Troupe went to Shanghai to recruit performers, she had passed the audition. Because of her relatively tall frame, thick eyebrows, and large, spirited eyes, her instructor had assigned her to cross-dress as a *xiaosheng*, a young male role.
Male actors had a tough time breaking through in Yue opera, which was dominated by all-female troupes where young men were played by cross-dressing women. That tradition had produced quite a few iconic stage pairings, like Mao Weitao and He Saifei, and later in future years, Chen Lijun and Li Yunxiao.
This song had originally belonged to Li Lingyu in his past life anyway, so Chen Qi had tracked her down to give her a shot, having Hu Weili coach her through it. If it didn't work out, they could always replace her.
Finding a singer for "Who Is the True Hero," by contrast, had proven far more difficult. Liu Huan and Han Lei were still too young, and the track called for a soaring, resonant, rugged, and commanding delivery. There were no pop singers in this era—only vocalists trained strictly in bel canto or traditional ethnic styles.
Chen Qi had been entirely out of options until Hu Weili introduced him to a singer of Northwest folk tunes—someone in the style of "Red Lilies in Bloom." That kind of voice could pull it off.
"How many times do I have to tell you? This part needs to be softer! Softer! If you can't do it, pack your bags!"
"I'm sorry, Teacher. Please give me one more chance, I can definitely sing it right!"
"How are you going to sing it right? Do you have any idea how much time you're wasting?!"
Hu Weili usually had a decent temper, but as an instructor, losing control every now and then was unavoidable. Just as Li Lingyu looked on the verge of tears, Chen Qi stepped in to play the good guy.
"Let's take a break first," he said. "She's still young. Don't be so harsh on her."
"You brought her here, and you're the one who said time was tight. Now suddenly you're not in a hurry?"
"Forcing things never works. You have to balance tension with relaxation."
"Oh, so now I'm the villain?"
Hu Weili rolled his eyes. Chen Qi, possessing skin thicker than the sole of a boot, merely grinned as he offered a pear to Li Lingyu. "Moisten your throat and take a short rest."
"Thank you, Teacher Chen!"
Li Lingyu clutched the pear, too bashful to eat it until he urged her on. She took a dainty bite. A trace of crisp sweetness washed over her parched, burning throat, bringing immediate relief.
"I think you're just too nervous to perform at your best," Chen Qi said. "You're from the south. Treat this like one of your Jiangnan folk ditties. Hum it casually to yourself, and capture that feeling of little bridges over flowing streams, of sweethearts whispering to each other. Once you have that, you'll be set."
"Mm-hmm!"
She nodded repeatedly. Look how gentle this young brother was—nothing like that grumpy old codger!
After a brief rest, she went back to enduring Hu Weili's relentless drilling. Chen Qi watched her from outside, determined to bring this young talent under his wing. The two great pop divas of the 1980s were Zhang Qiang for disco and Li Lingyu for sweet love songs.
Over the next twenty years, the music business would be immensely lucrative.
He noticed that he was developing something of a collector's habit. Whenever he felt the team lacked a particular type of talent, he couldn't rest easy until he had found a way to secure one.
"Xiao Chen, the studio head wants you!"
"Oh, alright!"
Someone stepped in with the summons just then. Chen Qi excused himself to Hu Weili and hurried out. When he reached the foot of the main office building, he noticed an unfamiliar car parked outside. A surge of joy ran through him—this time, he knew who had arrived.
Taking the stairs three at a time up to the studio head's office, he stepped inside to find, sure enough, Fu Chi and Shi Hui sitting on the sofa.
"Senior Fu—"
Before he could finish his greeting, a small head peeked out from Shi Hui's side. With big eyes, a ponytail, a pretty little padded coat, and a pink hair clip, she was an exceptionally fashionable young girl.
"Xiao Chen!"
Shi Hui spoke first, smiling warmly. "We're old acquaintances now, so don't keep calling us 'seniors.' There's quite an age gap between us, so if you don't mind, just call us Uncle and Auntie."
"Uncle, Auntie!" Chen Qi complied readily.
"Good!"
Shi Hui looked delighted. She drew her daughter forward and introduced her: "This is our youngest daughter... and this is Big Brother Chen!"
"Hello, Big Brother!"
Fu Mingxian sized him up with curiosity. Being a little girl who judged by appearances, she was immediately pleased with his handsome face. Chen Qi remained serene as still water. Since traveling back in time, he had already crossed paths with quite a few little girls; one more made no difference. If one widened the criteria slightly, even Cai Ming was only nineteen!
"It isn't easy for you two to bring your child all this way, so you might as well stay a few extra days and look around properly," Wang Yang said. He was quite taken with Fu Mingxian, looking at her like a grandfather doting on his granddaughter. "Did you go to Tiananmen?"
"We went this morning, and also paid our respects at the Memorial Hall," Fu Chi replied. "We'll take her to visit the Great Hall of the People another day."
"As you should. Now that everyone's here, let's have lunch. I specifically told the cafeteria to roast two extra ducks," Wang Yang said with a smile.
"That sounds wonderful! We've been craving your studio's duck!"
With that, the group headed downstairs toward the cafeteria.
The cafeteria had a private dining room dedicated to hosting guests. Joined by director Li Wenhua and leading lady Gong Xue, their party totaled seven.
Beijing Film Studio might not have been a massive state enterprise in head count, but in administrative status it certainly ranked as one—a bureau-level institution. With high-ranking leaders and overseas colleagues frequently visiting, the head chefs in the cafeteria wouldn't have lasted long without serious culinary chops.
On the large round table sat eight dishes, with the roast duck placed right in the center. The carving was finer than Quanjude's—the Quanjude of future decades, at least.
*In a year of disasters, what extravagance!* Chen Qi lamented internally, posing as a champion of the public interest.
"Wow, is this Beijing roast duck?"
Ten-year-old Fu Mingxian was growing well. Sitting on the chair, her feet could already touch the floor; she knew to run home when it rained, and knew to call for her mother after lopping off Yang Guo's arm—she clearly had a bright future ahead of her.
"It isn't from one of the time-honored heritage brands, but the technique is much the same. Our chef's skills are top-notch," Chen Qi said. "Do you have roast duck in Hong Kong?"
"We do, but Dad says it isn't authentic. Over there, it's mostly roast meats and roast goose. There's also whole roast suckling pig—huge ones with super crispy skin—but I don't think it tastes very good," Fu Mingxian explained, gesturing with her hands.
"Wow, you say 'authentic' like a true local! Let me tell you, old Beijing doesn't have streets at all—it's all tunnels! And you usually have to add a little flair beforehand: 'Hey! Authentic!'"
"Are you saying a tongue twister?" Fu Mingxian asked, looking utterly confused.
"Haha! Big Brother Chen is just telling you about local customs. Go on and eat first," Shi Hui laughed, wrapping a duck pancake for her. Fu Mingxian bit off half in one mouthful, her eyes sparkling as she nodded vigorously.
"..."
Gong Xue shot Chen Qi a sideways glance from nearby. This man just loved teasing little girls.
With the only child occupied with her food, the adults turned to serious business. Wang Yang began, "The Film Bureau has approved *Tai Chi* to attend the Berlin International Film Festival. For the main competition, they've selected *Return of the Swallows*, a film about the Anti-Rightist Campaign and supporting the border regions."
"What is the point of sending a film like that abroad?"
Fu Chi was puzzled. "I'm not saying there's anything wrong with the film itself—on its own terms, it's perfectly fine. But the key issue is that this is an overseas festival. If we want to use cinema as a bridge for cultural exchange, it simply isn't suitable.
"Since the Central Committee has decided to open up, why are we still looking at things through old mindsets? Either reform or don't reform; being so vague and indecisive helps no one!"
He had his own firm stance, but ultimately had to follow the directives of the central leadership, which left him thoroughly dissatisfied with the current muddled state of affairs.
"You're being too radical again," Shi Hui said. "Reform doesn't happen overnight. There has to be a process, from the top down."
"I think the real issue is that we haven't found the right approach..."
Chen Qi chimed in. "We want to showcase Chinese ideological values and the characteristics of the era. There's nothing wrong with that intention. The problem is, given our current conditions, we really don't have much worth showcasing right now."
Chapter 135