Liao Gong

On January 1 of this year, the new Marriage Law took effect, stipulating that the legal marriage age could be no earlier than twenty-two for men and twenty for women. The previous regulation dated back to the 1950s, which had set the ages at twenty for men and eighteen for women. Law was law, but practical reality was another matter entirely. Countless people across the countryside married in their teens without registering their marriages and had children as usual, a phenomenon that would persist even decades later. In this era without the internet or networked identity databases, plenty of men struck it a little rich, took one wife in this city and another in that city, or even openly brought multiple wives home to the village together—none of which was uncommon. Villagers gossiped, yet more often than not looked on with envy, viewing it as proof of a man's capability... Still, it depended on the location. In the capital, the seat of virtue and propriety, pulling off such feats was far trickier, especially if one was in the public eye. This year was also quite an unusual year. ………… The China Film Association had been wrecked during the turbulence. When it resumed operations in 1978, it rented the fourth floor of the Newsreel and Documentary Film Studio's main building as office space. The editorial departments of *Popular Cinema* and *World Cinema* were also located here. As a popular saying went at the time: "To see if it passes political muster, send it to the Film Bureau; to see if it's artistically sound, send it to the fourth floor." Shortly after the New Year, on this particular morning. Eighty-one-year-old Xia Yan personally arrived on the fourth floor. He was the chairman of the Film Association. There was an unofficial hierarchy among the cultural giants of the country. Lu Xun, Guo Moruo, Mao Dun, Ba Jin, Lao She, and Cao Yu were widely recognized as the top six. While Xia Yan did not rank among those six, placing him in the top ten was undisputed. And with Lu Xun, Guo Moruo, and Lao She already gone, his standing rose even higher if narrowed only to the living. Xia Yan was now very thin, wearing reading glasses and leaning on a walking stick, sitting silently waiting for others to arrive. People trickled in one by one, each startled upon entering the room, offering hurried greetings: "How did you come in person?" "We never expected you to come!" "I'll go fetch the secretary!" With him seated there, the meeting's stature was instantly elevated. The main leaders of the Film Association all gathered. Xia Yan looked around the room and said slowly, "Now that everyone is here, let me say a few words. "Last year's Hundred Flowers Awards drew five hundred thousand votes. The public's enthusiasm was very high. But some people also reported that certain categories weren't judged very accurately. Lumping things like Best Cinematography, Art Direction, Score, and Screenplay into the Hundred Flowers Awards simply isn't appropriate. "Last year, when the Film Association convened at Western Hills, a proposal was raised to establish a professional award to complement the Hundred Flowers Awards. I agree with that completely. Moving all the professional awards here and adjusting the Hundred Flowers Awards so it only retains Best Feature Film and the acting awards is a much better arrangement." "..." When the elder spoke, no one interrupted. Everyone listened dutifully as he continued, "Over the past few days, I have discussed this repeatedly with several comrades, and we believe this professional award should not be delayed any longer. It must be launched this year. "I have also thought of a preliminary name for your consideration. "This year is the Year of the Rooster in the lunar calendar, which evokes the golden rooster heralding the dawn, and also encourages film workers to rise at cockcrow to practice diligence. Therefore, I propose the three words: 'Golden Rooster Awards.'" "Splendid!" "That is a wonderful name! The golden rooster heralding the dawn represents a hundred schools of thought contending!" "It encourages us to strive forward and dedicate our lives to the flourishing of socialist cinema!" The moment the name "Golden Rooster Awards" was uttered, everyone heaped praise upon it. Not a single person present, including Xia Yan, could have imagined how terribly reviled this award would become in later generations. Even when the Hong Kong Film Awards declined and the Golden Horse Awards faced a boycott, the Golden Rooster Awards admirably failed to seize the opportunity to rise in prominence, instead rotting away right alongside them—a truly miraculous feat in its own right! "What month do you think would be appropriate to hold it?" someone asked. "..." Xia Yan fell silent for a moment and sighed. "On May 23, 1942, the Chairman delivered his *Talks at the Yan'an Forum on Literature and Art*, proposing that literature and art must serve the masses of the people. Nearly forty years have passed since then, and looking at the achievements of our contemporary arts, I feel deeply ashamed. "Let's hold the ceremony on May 23. Stage the Golden Rooster and Hundred Flowers together to make it grander." "Then the timeline is very tight! We don't even have the evaluation charter yet!" "That is precisely why I came over to speak with you all. You must seize every moment to complete the task. Very well, I won't hold up your work any longer. Take action immediately!" Having given his instructions, Xia Yan departed. The Film Association staff sprang into action, immediately forming a special team dedicated to the project: drafting evaluation rules, designing the trophy, selecting the venue, screening films, choosing judges, and so forth. The schedule was indeed extraordinarily tight. The Hundred Flowers Awards, having ample experience, was much simpler. *Popular Cinema* would print ballots inside the magazine. Readers would fill in their information, cut out the ballot, and mail it to the editorial department; that was counted as a valid vote. In those early days, the tallies were genuine, cast one by one by actual filmgoers, which was precisely why the Hundred Flowers Awards commanded such formidable prestige in the 1980s. Later on, it turned into complete nonsense; as for what the real vote counts were, not a damn soul knew. These domestic film awards were just like domestic football—miraculous beyond belief. ………… Near Beixinqiao Santiao in Dongcheng District, the Overseas Chinese Affairs Office, the Hong Kong and Macao Affairs Office, and China News Service were all located. Fu Chi made another trip to the capital, accompanied personally by Wang Yang. Braving the biting wind and drifting snow, they arrived together at the courtyard of the Overseas Chinese Affairs Office. After waiting a short while in an office, an elderly man walked in. He had a prosperous, plump face and small eyes, radiating a humorous, whimsical air whenever he smiled. "Liao Gong!" Wang Yang did not dare claim the status of a veteran revolutionary before him, offering a respectful greeting. This man was none other than the son of Liao Zhongkai and He Xiangning: Liao Gong, Liao Chengzhi. "Oh? Little Wang is here too! A rare guest indeed!" "Quick, sit down, or people will think I'm neglecting my guests." Liao Gong waved for the two of them to take their seats and chuckled. "Usually when Little Fu comes by, it's to discuss making films in Hong Kong. With both of you showing up together today, you've got me guessing. Beijing Film Studio isn't under my jurisdiction, you know." "Please don't tease us. We came today to invite you to watch a movie. The reels are all ready." "The martial arts film you mentioned before?" "Yes, exactly!" "It just so happens I'm free today. Let's go take a look!" Such matters had naturally been reported in advance; he was simply making lighthearted banter. The three of them stepped out immediately. The compound had its own small screening room. Once inside, Fu Chi handed the print to the projectionist. There were no outsiders present; the highest-ranking leader was Liao Gong himself. This version was the final 108-minute cut of *Tai Chi*, a fair bit longer than the common 90-minute theatrical releases, primarily owing to the climactic tower battle. "..." The lights dimmed, the screen lit up, and shifting light danced across the three men's faces. At fifty-one, Fu Chi was the youngest among them. Liao Gong had once remarked that Chinese martial arts consisted of Shaolin on one hand and Tai Chi on the other. The leftists had produced *The Shaolin Temple*, but before they could film Tai Chi, he passed away in 1983. Now, through a fortunate turn of events, that regret was being made whole. All three were men of genuine passion. As the story unfolded, they clapped in excitement, occasionally let out colorful expletives, and leaped to their feet during the most thrilling combat sequences. Only when the film ended did they let out a long breath, reluctant to leave and craving more. Turning toward Wang Yang and Fu Chi, Liao Gong voiced praise tinged with astonished disbelief: "How did you two manage to make a film like this? This doesn't look like your style at all!"