Show-Off

Before the reform and opening-up, China's civil aviation conditions were poor, and the in-flight meals were even worse, barely distinguishable from standard communal canteen fare. Deng Gong often grumbled that the bread served on planes crumbled so badly that for every bite you took, two bites' worth fell onto your lap. Only after the opening-up, when Hong Kong's Maxim's Group was brought in to cater international flights, did the quality improve. Deng Gong had even specifically requested croissants—he was quite fond of croissants, after all... Chen Qi ate his in-flight meal and then dozed off. The flight to Hong Kong went by quickly. Hong Kong was currently served by Kai Tak Airport, a truly peculiar airport backed by mountains, bordering the sea, and nestled right up against residential neighborhoods. When the plane made its descent, everyone was startled: the streets and apartment buildings below were clearly visible to the naked eye, down to the clothes hanging out to dry on the rooftops... There was a saying at the time that someone standing on an upper floor of a high-rise could swat a plane out of the sky with a laundry pole. After disembarking, because the leftists intentionally kept a low profile, only Chinese-funded newspapers like Ta Kung Pao, Wen Wei Po, and the Hong Kong Commercial Daily sent photographers to snap a few pictures. Afterward, they took cars straight to their lodging. Long before Hong Kong's handover, many state-owned enterprises had already set down roots here—branches of Bank of China, China Travel Service, China Resources, and others. They owned various properties and businesses, simply maintaining a low profile. The delegation checked into a hotel of that nature, two people to a room. Chen Qi roomed with Li Wenhua, while Gong Xue and Ge Chunyan, being the only two female comrades, naturally shared a room. After resting and freshening up, evening quickly arrived. Fu Chi hosted a small reception dinner. Great Wall, Feng Huang, Sun Luen, and the cinema circuit all sent representatives; the leftist newspapers sent several reporters; and a cadre from the Xinhua News Agency Hong Kong Branch made an appearance as well. The Xinhua News Agency Hong Kong Branch was the mainland's highest authority stationed in Hong Kong. In name, it was a news agency, but journalism accounted for only a fraction of its duties; political missions were its true priority. The current director was Wang Kuang, who would retire in 1983. He would be succeeded by a certain veteran revolutionary surnamed Xu—the one mentioned earlier who succumbed to capitalist corruption and fled to the United States. The director held far too high a rank to attend an event of this scale; the person who came was merely a mid-level official. "I can't even remember the last time a mainland film was imported here—must have been the early sixties. Twenty years have flashed by in the blink of an eye, and at last, another domestic production is premiering in Hong Kong. It truly fills my heart with emotion. Although I haven't seen the film yet, I've heard it's marvelous. May it achieve roaring success!" Glasses clinked amid the bustling toasts and socializing. Fu Chi brought a man over and introduced him: "This is the general manager of our cinema circuit company, Comrade Xu Dunle!" "Hello, hello! It's an honor to meet you," Chen Qi greeted him warmly. Xu Dunle was slightly older than Fu Chi, with a full head of white hair. A native of Shantou, he had served as general manager of the circuit for over a decade. He chuckled and asked, "You say you've heard much about me? Could it be that my name has reached all the way to Beijing?" "I have long admired every single senior comrade fighting here by the Fragrant River." "Haha, quite the silver tongue! No wonder Fu Chi sings your praises to the skies." With that, the two men sat down beside Chen Qi and began to chat. "We have two flagship theaters, South China and Nanyang, which is why outsiders usually call us the Southern Circuit. Back then, we had no money. It was the central leadership that funded us, purchasing the land and building the theaters, and Elder Xia Yan himself wrote screenplays for us. The support was enormous. "We didn't let them down either—one year, six of the top ten box office hits were ours. "Unfortunately, you know full well what happened later. For years, production ground to a halt, and our circuit could only screen model operas. The ten million in profits we had accumulated evaporated in the blink of an eye, plunging us into the red. "The country isn't well-off right now, so financial support is slim. Fu Chi and his people can't produce enough films, leaving my circuit with nothing new to screen. We're forced to rely on old titles. Last year, we were even screening Third Sister Liu—and that movie came out twenty years ago! "Fortunately, Wrong Turn turned a profit. We've always supported each other: profits from my theaters go toward funding their film productions, and the films they make are brought back to my theaters to screen... In a place like Hong Kong, solidarity is everything!" After recounting the past, Xu Dunle smiled. "Whenever a Hong Kong film company rolls out a major release, they temporarily lease additional theaters. I've already locked down eight more, which brings our total to sixteen alongside our original eight. That puts us right on par with Shaw Brothers and Golden Harvest." Fu Chi chimed in, "Tomorrow we're holding a premiere at South China Theatre. A number of local media outlets will attend, functioning essentially as a press screening, ahead of the official release on February 3." "Do we have any competitors running alongside us?" "Michael Hui's Security Unlimited, Cinema City's Beware of Pickpockets, and Lau Kar-leung's My Young Auntie—all competing in the Chinese New Year slot! For tomorrow, I've arranged for several local martial artists to demonstrate on stage and exchange techniques, which should give the press something to talk about." "What kind of martial artists are there in Hong Kong?" "Plenty! There are over four hundred martial arts halls, big and small, teaching just about everything under the sun!" Their arrangements were meticulous. It was evident the leftists had deep roots and a broader mindset than the mainland, even if luck had not been on their side. After the banquet, Chen Qi returned to his room. Not in the mood to sleep, he studied the itinerary for the coming days, focusing especially on tomorrow's program. Southern martial arts were traditionally categorized as the 'Five Fists and Thirteen Schools.' The Five Fists referred to Hung, Lau, Choy, Li, and Mok, while the Thirteen Schools included Dragon Style, Hop Gar, Bak Mei, Nam Chi, and others—Jackie Chan, aside from Peking opera training, had actually practiced Bak Mei. Tomorrow's event featured two local martial artists: one demonstrating Bak Mei, the other Hung Ga. "..." Chen Qi rubbed his chin. With government officials accompanying the group, stirring up massive trouble was out of the question, but pulling off a little stunt was certainly fair game. In a martial arts exchange, bumps and scrapes were only to be expected. *** Hong Kong's cinemas also followed the old-fashioned style: two tiers of seating accommodating over a thousand patrons. Scheduling screenings in this kind of theater was nothing like modern multiplexes, where dozens of showings could be crammed into a single day. At the time, the schedule typically went like this: A morning matinee showing older films at discount prices, attended mostly by senior citizens. An evening screening known as the 'after-work show'—which, as the name implied, catered to workers getting off shift and students leaving school, playing foreign films or second-run features. The evening prime-time show kicked off around 7:30 p.m., which was when new releases finally hit the screen. Early the next morning, Gong Xue rose before dawn, washed up, dressed, and slipped into the little black dress and high heels. Sitting before the mirror, she took out the lipstick Chen Qi had given her and applied it carefully to her lips. It was her first time using it, and she found the color suited her wonderfully. "Sister Xue, you look so pretty! A hundred times prettier than me!" Ge Chunyan, dressed in a tracksuit, stood behind her with utter envy. Gong Xue smiled. "Who said that? You're spirited, gorgeous, and know kung fu! If anything, I think you're a hundred times better than me." "So what? I still have to wear a tracksuit!" Ge Chunyan tugged at her jacket, thoroughly dejected. She wanted to dress in beautiful clothes too, but there was no helping it—who told her to belong to the martial arts team? When the two went downstairs, the male comrades were already waiting, also clad in tracksuits, each boldly printed with the characters for "Tai Chi" across the chest. These outfits had been provided by the leftists—not the hideous old-fashioned cuts, but relatively modern in design. Still, no matter how new the design, a tracksuit was still a tracksuit and inevitably looked a bit rustic. They hadn't really minded—until one particular individual showed up. "Hey, look!" "Whoa, look over there!" Ji Chunhua, who had been goofing off with Xiong Xinxin, suddenly widened his eyes and tugged at him, pointing forward. Xiong Xinxin looked as if he had seen a ghost. The others reacted with varied expressions, none of them able to conceal their naked envy—er, disdain! "..." Gong Xue covered her mouth, a blend of shock and delight washing over her as she watched Chen Qi, that absolute show-off, saunter over. He was actually wearing... a! full! suit! Underneath was a crisp white shirt, paired with leather shoes, and instead of wearing a tie like the current fashion dictated, the open collar gave him an air of effortless cool. To top it off, the bastard was actually wearing glasses. Wire-rimmed in gold, perched neatly on the bridge of his nose. Darned if he didn't actually look respectable!