Into the Fold

Dusk fell over the Overseas Chinese Affairs Office compound. As darkness gathered, Liao Gong sat in his wheelchair, reading a letter under the lamp. His health had deteriorated in recent years; he had grown quite heavy, had undergone heart surgery, and sometimes suffered from mobility issues that required the help of a wheelchair. The letter was from Chen Xiangmei. She chatted about family matters and trivial everyday routines, touched on several international developments, and in passing mentioned Chen Qi's *Life Is Beautiful*. She offered neither praise nor criticism, remarking only with a subtle observation: "This is a story written from a Western perspective..." Liao Gong had no idea Chen Qi had cooked up such a piece, but anything his niece went out of her way to mention was bound to be extraordinary, especially with phrasing that gave so much food for thought. "A Western perspective?" Having lived abroad for years in his youth, Liao Gong knew the local customs and mindsets intimately and could broadly grasp what she meant. After thinking it over, he picked up the phone and dialed: "Connect me to Chen Huangmei!" Before long, Chen Huangmei's voice came through the receiver, chuckling. "Liao Gong, great minds think alike! You're an expert on overseas affairs, and I was just hoping to seek your guidance!" *** Meanwhile. Zhang Yimou, Zhang Junzhao, and He Qun arrived at Lechunfang riding three to a bicycle—reminiscent of Sakuragi's gang. "Is this the place?" "Isn't this the editorial department of *World of Wonders*? I even bought an issue once." Zhang Yimou was hesitant too. Sizing up the entrance for a long moment, he said, "Yes, this is it. I came here once before!" "Come on, let's go in and ask!" The three of them were dressed each more rustic than the last. Zhang Yimou wore a red sweater over blue trousers and rubber-soled shoes, an uncertain look in his eyes; to Dai Hanhan, he looked like a *mangliu* barging in. "Hey, hey, what are you doing? This is an editorial office, you can't just wander in!" "Who is it? Someone looking for trouble?" Ji Chunhua happened to be around. Swinging his thick arms, he marched over with a fierce, menacing scowl. Zhang Yimou jumped in fright, which only confirmed it for him—Ghost Face! He stammered hastily, "We're here to see Comrade Chen Qi. We have an appointment." "Oh, so you're the three! Head inside!" "Follow me!" Ji Chunhua led the trio around the U-shaped corridor and knocked on the courtyard door. "Brother Qi, your guests are here!" With a clatter, the door swung open, and Chen Qi appeared to usher them into the rear courtyard. Zhang Yimou looked around cautiously. The place hadn't finished renovations on his last visit, but now it displayed carved beams, painted rafters, and sweeping upturned eaves, practically radiating the ambiance of a capitalist roader. Zhang Junzhao and He Qun were even more constrained, clicking their tongues in silent amazement. The main residential rooms were naturally off-limits, so they were shown into the reception parlor, furnished entirely with Ming- and Qing-style pieces. Chen Qi shook hands with each of them, invited them to sit, and smiled. "The food is ready. We'll start as soon as Old Tian gets here. How did you come?" "Rode over on a bike." "Oh, that's quite a trek. Come, have some water first!" "Yes, thank you, thank you!" Chen Qi poured the tea. He was only twenty-two, whereas Zhang Yimou was thirty-two, Zhang Junzhao thirty, and He Qun, the youngest of the three, already twenty-seven. Yet they behaved as deferentially as subordinates before a high-ranking official, not only because of his official stature, but because his track record in cinema was genuinely formidable. After they sat for a short while, Tian Zhuangzhuang arrived, unexpectedly bringing someone else along. "This is He Ping, my childhood friend. He's been working at the Science and Educational Film Studio." "Pleased to meet you!" Chen Qi was pleasantly surprised to see a talent delivering himself right to the doorstep. The party moved to the dining room, gathering around a large round table. The meal had been prepared by Dai Hanhan and the others, complete with fish, meat, and alcohol. Zhang Yimou's eyes widened, his salivary glands kicking into overdrive. He rarely ate well in ordinary times, and he figured that even if negotiations failed today, this meal alone would make the trip worthwhile. Why did people always say Old Mou was down-to-earth while Director Chen had his head in the clouds? Their family backgrounds were worlds apart. One hailed from hardship, while the other was a scion of privilege; how could their temperaments and habits ever be the same? Zhang Yimou had previously worked as a textile worker in Shaanxi, hauling heavy raw-material sacks every day—pure physical labor. Only after several years of hauling was he transferred to the sock-knitting workshop to begin knitting socks. He had relied on selling his blood—referred to then as a "blood donation subsidy"—combined with his own meager savings to afford a camera and embark on his photography journey. Moreover, he was already married to a woman named Xiao Hua, who was also a factory worker. Chen Qi took the head of the table, Tian Zhuangzhuang acted as co-host, and the others took their seats casually. After pouring everyone a drink, Chen Qi smiled. "Normally, whoever sits in this seat is expected to deliver a few remarks. I won't bother—let's just drink!" "Cheers!" It was *baijiu*, served in tiny liquor cups. It went down hot and pungent, drawing sharp exhales all around. "Pick up your chopsticks, dig in! Make yourselves at home!" Nobody stood on ceremony when there was meat on the table in those days, and their favorable impression of Chen Qi rose instantly: this guy was great—no nonsense, meat first. "Eat while you listen; I'll get straight to the point." Chen Qi wasn't about to fight them for food. Unhurriedly, he said, "One director, one cinematographer, one art designer, and He Ping can count as an assistant director. Four men—I want all of you! "Come work for me, and you'll get official staffing quotas, Beijing hukou registration, and company housing, with wages matching the standard scale across film studios nationwide. "I'm preparing a project right now. The moment you join, you'll have a movie to shoot. You won't be directing it, of course, but your positions certainly won't be low. Furthermore, I guarantee that within one year, Zhang Junzhao, you'll direct a film independently! "Zhang Yimou, you'll take independent charge of cinematography on a picture! "He Qun, you're the art designer, and you'll oversee the art department for a full feature! "He Ping, you didn't graduate from an academy, so you'll start as assistant director. How soon you become a full director depends on how fast you improve! "You all know the nature of my company: the only film export and foreign-exchange earning unit in the entire country. I carved this out single-handedly, and the thing I loathe most is seniority-based promotion! "In short, I recruit talent without following rigid conventions. You're the first graduating class from the Beijing Film Academy. If you say you're proud and ambitious, that's fine—I don't mind you being proud; what I fear is mediocrity. As long as you have talent, I'll give you plenty of opportunities to show it!" "..." All four men froze with their chopsticks mid-air, completely dumbfounded. It sounded too good to be true, their hearts pounding in their chests. Chen Qi didn't beat around the bush; he put every attractive condition on the table, offering terms unprecedented anywhere in the film industry. In the Spring and Autumn or Warring States period, this would have been Lord Mengchang gathering his three thousand retainers, winning the hearts of all the realm's worthy men. "Keep eating. Take your time to think it over; after all, this is a major life decision..." "No need to think! Since you hold me in such high regard, I'm ready to serve!" He Qun was the first to surrender. His family was in Nanjing, and he had never wanted to go to Guangxi in the first place; having a shot at staying in Beijing was an opportunity he seized without hesitation. "As long as you let me direct independently, I'm in too!" Zhang Junzhao was the second. Historically, when these brothers went off to Guangxi, they dug out the script for *One and Eight*, which had been shelved in the archives for three years. The political risks had been immense, and no one dared touch it, but with the fearlessness of newborn calves, they took it on—even shaving their heads bald in unison to show their resolve. Zhang Yimou was deeply tempted as well. Swallowing hard, he asked tentatively, "Well, um... my wife works in a factory in Shaanxi. Could you arrange a job transfer for her?" "Done!" "Then it's settled. My life is—" He had been about to say his life was sold to him, but feeling that sounded too much like a bandit, he corrected himself: "From now on, just say the word, and I won't bat an eye!" That left only He Ping. He hesitated for a moment before asking, "May I ask what kind of films you'll be making here in the future? Will they all be wuxia films? And will you only produce films to earn foreign exchange, or can you make domestic films as well?" "We can release films solely domestically. Earning foreign exchange is our primary mission, but once we achieve solid results on that front, we can let a hundred flowers bloom across a wide variety of genres." "Then... then count me in too." He Ping nodded. Having reeled in all four men at once, Chen Qi was thrilled. With his Eastern Depot's first, second, and third commanders, along with his thirteen generals, his power base was rapidly taking shape. The day was coming when he would raise his banner, storm China Film, and seize the damn throne! "Excellent! With all of you on board, creating glory together is just around the corner!" He raised his cup once more. "Cheers!"