A Chinese American

The weather was getting hotter and hotter. All the windows in Room 302 were open. On the floor stood an electric fan Chen Qi had bought himself, humming with a steady drone. The room was considerably roomier now; the old books and two chairs had all been moved over to Lechunfang. He had already made up his mind to head to Hong Kong in August, having exchanged several letters with Fu Chi. Fu Chi had briefly described the situation among the leftist studios. The two films *Wrong Turn* and *The Descent* had brought Great Wall nearly eight million dollars in box-office receipts, making life quite comfortable for them. By contrast, the productions from the other two studios, Feng Huang and Sun Luen, were still flopping, keeping their heads above water only thanks to a minor transfusion of revenue from *Tai Chi*. Fu Chi continued petitioning the Central Authorities to merge the leftist forces into a single entity rather than keeping them fractured, and the authorities had indicated that the proposal was under consideration. *…* Chen Qi bent over his desk to pen a reply. Just as he finished sticking on the postage stamp, a series of knocks rattled the door, followed by Liang Xiaosheng's voice: "Xiao Chen, I've brought people to meet you!" "Coming, coming!" He hurried over to unlatch the door. Liang Xiaosheng ushered in four young people, instantly making the small room feel crowded. "Hello, General Manager Chen!" The four greeted him in unison, eyeing him with curiosity. Chen Qi looked them over as well: two men and two women, dressed in shabby, worn-out clothes that gave off an air of poverty, but their gazes were clear and carried the refined manner of people who had received an education. After the two young men introduced themselves, the two women spoke up in turn: "My name is Bai Xuejia. I hope you'll give me a chance!" "My name is Dai Hanhan. I studied art, so naturally I'm here for art and layout!" Dai Hanhan was an endearing, plump young woman with two braided pigtails and a pair of eyeglasses, one temple of which was held together with adhesive tape. Liang Xiaosheng explained, "They're all educated youth who've returned to the city. They formed their own literature appreciation group and submitted manuscripts to *New Film Works*. I've given them a few lectures. They're all fine young people—they write well, have progressive ideas, and adapt quickly to new things." Chen Qi smiled, looking at the four of them, and asked, "Do you like wuxia?" "Yes!" "We love it!" the four answered eagerly. "Do you like things that are novel, fun, and bizarre?" "We do! Very much!" "Alright. Each of you write a ghost story for me as an entrance exam." "Huh?" The four were dumbfounded. *You ask about wuxia, you ask about novel fun, and then you have us write ghost stories?* They had arrived in the frame of mind to write wuxia fiction; none of them had prepared for ghost stories! Chen Qi paid no heed to their bewilderment. In these times, ghost stories were forbidden territory. Being able to write one well—that was true skill. He asked a few more questions before finally inquiring, "Which of you has housing needs?" *Swish! Swish! Swish! Swish!* Every single hand went up simultaneously. "Seven of us in my family share a single room. I sleep on the floor. I don't ask for much—I just want a bit more breathing room when I unroll my pallet." "I have two younger brothers, two younger sisters, plus my grandparents. My grandparents share a room with my brothers, while I share a room with my parents and sisters. The three of us girls are squeezed onto one small bed. If you can give me a single bunk, even in an eight-person dormitory, I'd take it gladly." The atmosphere heated up instantly. Everyone chimed in, each story more miserable than the last. A line of dark sweat ran down Chen Qi's forehead. *Good grief, did they all come here to scrounge housing off me?* "Stop, stop, stop!" he said. "Pass the exam first. Once that's settled, I will naturally take your needs into consideration!" After chatting a bit longer, the four took their leave. As Liang Xiaosheng showed them out, he didn't forget to toss back a remark over his shoulder: "And don't forget me! You have to find a place for me to stay too. I can accept a double room, but any more people than that would be pushing it." "Get lost! How did you manage sleeping on communal kangs in the army?" Chen Qi drove him out the door, then sat back down and rubbed his face, feeling utterly depressed. Finding office space was easy, but finding living quarters was pure agony. Ordinary citizens didn't even have enough living space for their own families; where was anyone going to spare a room for you? It made him immensely grateful that he had bought Lechunfang in advance. *Sigh, why does a work unit have to resolve housing issues? Who made that rule anyway?* Chen Qi was letting his position dictate his thoughts—never having run a household, he hadn't known the true cost of daily bread. Deciding to set it aside for now, he went outside, dropped his letter into the mailbox at the reception office for the mail carrier to collect, and then headed over to the tongzilou to look for some comfort. "Huh? Why did you suddenly come running over?" Gong Xue was holding the script for *Mama, Love Me Once More*, quietly studying her character, when she saw him enter, kick off his shoes, and collapse directly onto her bed, groaning like a spoiled child. "I don't want to build an empire anymore. I don't want to be a general manager anymore. Official staffing quotas, hukou registrations, wages, welfare benefits, grain ration transfers, housing allocations… Every single morning when I open my eyes, I feel like I owe someone two thousand yuan. It's over. I'm clinically depressed…" "Oh, you!" Gong Xue burst out laughing. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she caressed his cheek. "You only have a handful of people in your company, and you're already fretting like this?" "The magazine office needs at least five people, doesn't it? Ji Chunhua can't stay in a guesthouse forever, can he? And I've got my eye on a director I want to recruit, so I have to provide him a place to live too, right? Then there's Xiong Xinxin, Sun Jiankui, Li Jianqun, Hu Weili, and so on and so on—I want to poach every single one of them…" "Who?" Gong Xue pinched his ear, asking with an amused grin, "Who did you say?" "Li Jianqun! I need a costume designer!" Chen Qi owned up to it openly, then sighed again. "Let me calculate. For now, I need to prepare dormitory space for at least seven or eight people. Good thing my courtyard is large enough." "Will you still have a place to sleep yourself?" "Of course. The front courtyard goes to them, and the rear courtyard is my private living quarters. It's my house after all; I'm not going to suffer just to accommodate everyone else. Then I need to quickly produce some real results, apply for a land plot, and put up our own building so everyone can use an indoor toilet." "I don't really understand all that, and I can't help you with it, but seeing how your head aches, let me rub it for you. Come here…" Gong Xue had him adjust his position, brought over a chair to sit beside the bed, reached out, and began gently massaging his temples. They chatted for a few moments, but soon the room fell silent; he had drifted off to sleep. "Sigh, he really carries so much pressure inside." Gong Xue leaned down and softly brushed her lips against his forehead. *…* A reply finally came regarding the matter Chen Qi had requested from Liao Gong. Chen Qi had asked to find an overseas Chinese in America who could serve as a bridge. Liao Gong had indeed recommended someone, but the name gave Chen Qi quite a shock. This person also carried the surname Chen—it was Anna Chennault, Chen Xiangmei! Her maternal grandfather and Liao Zhongkai were full brothers, making her Liao Gong's first cousin once removed. Her husband had been Claire Lee Chennault—the very same famed General Chennault of the Flying Tigers who used to ride around in a Studebaker. She had worked for three American presidents—Kennedy, Nixon, and Reagan—had visited Beijing, and had contributed to the normalization of Sino-US diplomatic relations, serving as a semi-official goodwill ambassador. Leaving aside personal evaluations of her politics, her influence in the United States was undeniable. With Liao Gong recommending someone of her stature, Chen Qi felt slightly out of his depth. He only wanted to hire a few American actors to shoot a movie; there was hardly any need to trouble such a heavyweight. After checking in with leaders from the Ministry of Culture, the officials explained that Anna Chennault was a writer herself who had published numerous pieces in the United States. She was a prominent figure in cultural circles with connections to cinema, and she understood the industry well. Furthermore, Liao Gong was deeply intrigued by the Sino-US co-productions Chen Qi had mentioned. The intention was likely to let Chen Qi become acquainted with Anna Chennault so they could produce a few works together when the time came. Only after hearing that did Chen Qi set his mind at ease. Naturally, there was no way to contact her from the mainland; he would have to wait until he arrived in Hong Kong to get in touch.