The Director

Teresa Teng's music first filtered into the mainland in the late 1970s. A small portion arrived on cassette tapes brought back by people traveling on official business, but the vast majority was smuggled in from the south. At this time, they were still original cassette tapes, because copying them on single-deck recorders was a hassle. By the early 1980s, people were dubbing them onto blank cassettes—no covers, no lyrics sheets. Listeners would transcribe the words line by line as they played, passing handwritten copies back and forth. For a considerable period, Teresa Teng's songs remained underground music, listened to in secret. There were even children of high-ranking cadres who would lock their doors, draw the curtains, put on "Sweet Honey," and men and women would begin dancing "licentious dances." These so-called licentious dances were really just ballroom dancing with partners holding each other a little closer. Of course, some took things further, and those were truly scandalous. This kind of decadent, languid music was earth-shattering to mainlanders. Teresa Teng and later Yang Yuying became the dream lovers of countless middle-aged and older men. That was the generation of fathers and grandfathers; by the time the post-80s and post-90s generations grew nostalgic, it would be Jay Chou, Stefanie Sun, and the "Big Three of QQ Music"... In short, Chen Qi had bought three tapes and successfully turned his old man into a diehard fan. His father quickly succumbed to the decadent tunes, locking the door every evening to listen for a while and hum along, much to Yu Xiuli's annoyance. Chen Qi had been back for several days, during which he treated his friends to a meal. Everyone pooled their ration coupons. They didn't have many, so the thirteen of them plus Auntie Wang spent only a dozen yuan or so, averaging about a yuan per person. Still, it was filling. In those days, staff might beat customers, but the portions were undeniably generous. At noon that day. Inside a storeroom at the subdistrict office, Chen Qi rummaged through a few battered cardboard boxes packed with brightly colored plastic sandals. The craftsmanship was basic, and wearing them barefoot easily chafed your feet, but they had the advantage of vivid colors, durability, and resistance to dirt, not to mention being perfect for wading through rain. "A hundred pairs of men's shoes, a hundred pairs of women's shoes, and three hundred pairs of children's shoes. They said children's shoes sell best." "What's the selling price?" "Men's are 3.60 yuan, women's are 3.20 yuan, and children's are 2.10 yuan. That's the market price. Our wholesale cost was dirt cheap—the No. 2 Plastics Factory practically gave them away, so we only spent two hundred yuan in total." "You already paid them?" "Of course!" "Remember for the future: hold off payment for a few months. Squeeze whatever free perks you can." As Chen Qi corrupted the noble socialist heart of a comrade, he added, "When we sell them, add twenty cents to each pair." "Huh? Why are we marking them up?" "We don't require ration coupons, so naturally they're slightly more expensive. Raising the price by a mere twenty cents is already very generous of us." Hearing this, Huang Zhanying whipped a small abacus out of her bag. After clicking the beads for a moment, she cried, "If we sell them all, our net profit will be over a thousand yuan!" "Comrade Zhanying, how many times do I have to tell you? Think bigger! Broaden your horizons! The capital can sell upwards of a million pairs of these sandals in a single summer. We need to stock up as much as we can swallow." As they were talking, someone shouted from outside, "Xiao Chen? Xiao Chen!" "Old Liang?" Chen Qi looked up and saw Liang Xiaosheng. "I had to ask around before I finally found you. Hurry back to the studio with me." "What happened?" "The director for *Romance on Mount Lu* has been chosen!" Hearing that, Chen Qi scrambled up at once. Calling out to Huang Zhanying, "I'm heading out!" he hurried after Liang Xiaosheng. Huang Zhanying shook her head. The arts and culture front really was corrupting; how long had it been, and he was already wavering? * * * Following the Soviet model, Beijing Film Studio had established four creative collectives. Each collective had one core director, several other directors, as well as cinematographers, art directors, prop masters, and the like, forming a complete production crew. The core of the first collective was Shui Hua, whose representative works included *The White-Haired Girl*, *The Lin Family Shop*, and *Immortality in Fierce Fire*. The core of the second collective was Cui Wei, known for *Little Soldier Zhang Ga* and *Song of Youth*. Chen Huaikai also belonged to this team under the rank of "other directors." The core of the third collective was Ling Zifeng, famous for *Keep the Red Flag Flying* and the later *Camel Xiangzi*. The core of the fourth collective was Cheng Yin, recognized for *From South to North* and *The Red Lantern*. These four were the Four Great Directors mentioned earlier, also known as the Four Marshals. Later, the "Two Xies" joined their ranks: Xie Tieli and Xie Tian. These represented the pinnacle of Beijing Film Studio's creative strength. In addition, there was a cohort of capable mid-generation directors, all counted among the "other directors." Other film studios could only dream of having such talent, while Beijing Film Studio could assemble them in bulk, showing just how formidable it was. In truth, this model was formally similar to Hollywood producer teams, except that one was director-centric while the other was producer-centric. The director Beijing Film Studio selected for *Romance on Mount Lu* was one of these mid-generation filmmakers. Her name was Wang Haowei, a female director whose representative works included *Hai Xia* and *What a Family*. She was only thirty-nine this year, a graduate of the Beijing Film Academy's directing department. When she received the assignment a few days earlier, she accepted without hesitation. She thoroughly studied the script right away, and only after feeling adequately prepared did she ask to meet Chen Qi. Wang Haowei was short in stature, with chin-length hair, and was already waiting in the small conference room. In that era, the proportion of female directors was remarkably high, and their success rate was astonishing. Everyone knew Yang Jie, the director of *Journey to the West*, while *Romance of the Three Kingdoms* also had a female director named Cai Xiaoqing, another true heavyweight. For instance, the Battle of Red Cliffs, a massive sequence involving 2,500 extras and the premier highlight of the entire series, was overseen and shot by Cai Xiaoqing... In later times, could someone really direct a production like that without sweating off three hundred pounds? After waiting for a short while, she heard footsteps outside. Liang Xiaosheng entered first, followed by an excessively young man. "This is Director Wang Haowei, and this is Chen Qi!" "Hello, hello. My apologies, I had to drop by home before rushing over." "It's my fault for being abrupt, so I'm the one who should apologize..." Wang Haowei smiled and shook his hand. With the noticeable height difference between them, the scene looked rather comical. Before these senior veterans, Chen Qi was always modest and courteous; he only sat down after she took her seat. "The studio assigned this project to me. I've been studying the script these past few days and jotted down some thoughts." She picked up a notebook and said with a smile, "These are my notes. Let's chat first, and then you can take them back to read." "No need, no need. I'm mainly here to learn from your guidance!" "You shouldn't say that. The script comes before the film. We have to reach a consensus and align our thinking, or we won't be able to shoot it properly. I'll be open and candid, and you should feel free to speak your mind as well." *Hm?* Chen Qi was taken aback. Having spent so much time exposed to foul waters, suddenly encountering such purity left him momentarily unaccustomed. Right away, the two began their discussion. First, they defined the film's genre: a scenic lyric film centered on the theme of love—love for one's partner, love for the mountains and rivers, and love for the motherland. It needed to convey an uplifting, positive spirit, embodying the sentiments of building a new era. This differed from the currently popular "scar literature," whose core lay in critique and reflection with a bleak undertone... To be frank, Chen Qi had never been keen on scar literature. "It seems we have great chemistry! Our ideas align on so many points." Wang Haowei beamed, looking increasingly warm and kindly. "Good, then our theme and ideological direction are settled. Next, let's talk about casting!"