Hong Jinbao and his party tumbled into the hall in utter disarray.
The filmmakers in their seats could not hold back their laughter. They respected Hong Jinbao, but they did not respect Lam Ching-ying, Taibao, or Huang Xia—let alone those martial arts stuntmen without a name to them. Martial arts stuntmen ranked very low in the Hong Kong entertainment world. Uneducated besides, they had always been a byword for rough, grassroots types.
Hong Jinbao, though, was good at boosting people. He had made quite a few of his brothers famous, and once you were famous it was different. Everyone around you became a good person.
He found his place and sat, greeting friends he knew, only to be pricked by those mocking looks until he was on pins and needles. He cursed under his breath, "Look at the lot of you, like beggars. Shirts and jeans I could let pass, but Huang Xia, you're in shorts. Have you got any sense at all?"
"The six of us can't even scrape together one suit between us. You know that perfectly well. Besides, you're not dressed up either." Huang Xia sounded aggrieved.
"Me? My suit's at the cleaners!"
Hong Jinbao dug in. "Even my formal clothes have to be custom-made. They gave such short notice. There was no time to have something made."
He looked up at the second floor. It was all film fans, and his vexation deepened. Disaster, disaster—not a shred of image left! But then another thought came. What image did he need? Were there even schoolgirls who liked him? He wasn't Ah Long.
Just then a stir rose behind them, along with a buzz of whispered talk.
The group turned. Fu Chi and Shi Hui led the way, and the Left's contingent made their entrance in a wholly unexpected fashion: every one of them bright and spirited, handsome men and pretty women, instantly the best-looking crew in the hall.
"No way. The Left looks like this now? I remember them as poor and dowdy."
"They're on the rise. The wheel of fortune turns."
"Those newcomers are solid material. They've got an acting company now. Pull in a few more directors, and Hong Kong's going to change hands."
Tsui Hark's eyes went wider still. He was so angry his mustache puffed straight up. Chen Qi passed him perfectly at ease, even made a point of looking over his outfit, showed a look of surprise, then turned his head and walked on.
"Hahaha, Ah Qi is really too funny!"
Shi Nansheng laughed himself sick.
"That bastard. Nothing but dirty tricks in his belly. He knew full well I was coming and didn't tell me!"
"It's all right. Plenty of people look more ridiculous than we do."
Over on Hong Jinbao's side they were talking too.
"Why is the Left putting on such a show? Did they get word ahead of time?"
"Every one of them dressed like a peacock. Just looking at them makes me sick!"
"They must have known in advance. Otherwise who'd wear formal clothes? They're doing it on purpose to laugh at us!"
"Brother Sanmao, I'll go take them on!"
Huang Xia, the most humiliated of the lot, wanted to win a little ground back. He suddenly stood and charged straight down the aisle.
Over here they were walking forward when a fellow came storming to meet them. The aisle was narrow, and he made no move to yield. His face made it plain he meant to stage a collision.
Chen Qi frowned and shepherded the others on ahead of him.
"......"
A smug smile hung on Huang Xia's face. He didn't dare anything big. He only wanted to bump the man and make him look a fool. But when he was still three or four steps short, someone suddenly popped out from who knew where.
"Damn!"
All he felt was two powerful hands seize him, sweep him sideways, and pin him firmly into the seat beside the aisle.
Huang Xia had trained in Hung Kuen, and his master was Lau Kar-leung's own father, yet now he was clamped like a chick. He looked up in a panic and met an utterly ordinary face speaking Mandarin:
"Sir, step aside!"
"......"
He swallowed. For no clear reason he felt a murderous air on the man, the kind that had truly been on a battlefield. He didn't dare move again. Only after Chen Qi and the others had passed did the man let go. "Thanks for cooperating!"
From an onlooker's view, Huang Xia had turned into a soft-legged shrimp, subdued in a single move, docile as a baby.
"Wow!"
Liu Dehua and Liang Jiahui saw the whole thing. Their chuunibyou blood was up, and they said excitedly, "Mr. Chen, your bodyguard is amazing!"
"What did you think? He's killed who knows how many Vietnamese. First in the whole army's martial contest, a palace grandmaster. Hard qigong that cracks gold and snaps jade, and with an army dagger he'd dare seven charges in and seven charges out!"
Out in the world, a man's background was whatever he gave himself.
Chen Qi had no idea what Xiao Mo's real record was, but it didn't matter. He cranked the awe straight to the limit and was perfectly satisfied with Xiao Mo. I've stood you so many huge meals, he thought. Damn it, you're finally of some use!
Over there, Huang Xia slunk back to his seat, only to catch a mouthful from Hong Jinbao. "Please! Who told you to go? You still don't think we've been humiliated enough?"
"I just wanted to see what he was made of," Huang Xia muttered.
Hong Jinbao shook his head. He was different from these bottom-rung martial arts stuntmen. His grandfather and grandmother were both renowned elders in the business. The drama school Yu Zhanyuan ran had been funded by his grandmother. When he went to study opera, he was a young master from the investor's household.
As for Chen Qi's status as an official sent from the mainland, big bosses like Shao Yifu and Raymond Chow understood it best, and men who had seen the world, like Hong Jinbao, understood it too.
The ones who truly didn't take Chen Qi seriously were usually the grassroots.
This little episode drew no general notice. The Left's party sat down in sharp contrast to everyone else, and the unease was thick—because the Left had been the very byword for poor and dowdy, and today it was the other way around.
Around six o'clock, the ceremony began.
Before the awards, they first showed a slideshow of a brief history of Hong Kong cinema. Then two hosts came on, one from Radio Hong Kong and one from TVB. Chen Qi knew neither.
In truth, aside from the sense of ceremony he had added, the content was still nothing much to speak of.
After the opening remarks, the awards began at once.
Of these, the five main awards were limited to films produced in Hong Kong. Both the Top Ten Chinese-Language Films and the Top Ten Foreign-Language Films were chosen from films that had been screened in Hong Kong.
There was no complicated judging procedure and no crowd of constraints. The whole point was to keep it light and easy.
Michael Hui won Best Actor for Security Unlimited. He had not come. Xu Guanying accepted in his place.
Kara Wai won Best Actress for My Young Auntie. Onstage she was quite moved and said "thank you" more than a dozen times, but afterward she paid it no mind. For a long time the award sat under the bed at her home.
Best Screenplay went to Zhang Jianting for The Story of Woo Viet.
Best Film went to Father and Son, and Best Director went to that film's director, Fang Yuping, as well. Fang Yuping was a representative of the New Wave. He had made only five films and taken three Best Director awards. Absurdly formidable.
The film was a Feng Huang production, and Feng Huang's boss went up to speak as well.
Of the Left's three companies—Great Wall, Feng Huang, and Sun Luen—Chen Qi was as close as one body with Great Wall and not very familiar with the other two. Listening to the man's remarks, he shook his head inwardly. Still the same old line.
In a place like Hong Kong, ideological preaching alone would not do.
You had to beat them into submission on the one hand and lead everyone in making money on the other. Only then could they be pulled together.
Tsui Hark: "I never thought anyone would have the nerve to hold a film awards ceremony. I'm very glad someone's willing to be the ox that breaks new ground!"
Ann Hui: "Honestly, today's awards ceremony completely exceeded my expectations. I hope you'll keep doing better and better!"
Leaving the Top Ten Foreign-Language Films aside, the directors of the Top Ten Chinese-Language Films went up to give their remarks. It was not entirely empty courtesy. Everyone very much hoped Hong Kong would have an authoritative award. Encouragement made up the greater part.
Hong Jinbao went up for Encounter of the Spooky Kind and even mocked himself. "I sent my suit to be cleaned. All right, I never meant to wear one... But the next time you invite me, I'll definitely attend in formal dress and support our own film award!"
Clap, clap, clap!
Amid the applause, they took the stage one after another.
The Top Ten Chinese-Language Films actually included three mainland films—Legend of Tianyun Mountain, Longing to Return, and Tai Chi—all imported by the Left, of course. Aside from Chen Qi, none of them had come, so the Left accepted in their stead.
Then the host finally announced:
"Next, please welcome the recipient for Tai Chi, Mr. Chen Qi!"
Chapter 286