Screen Tests

Work on both Romance on Mount Lu and the tea stall progressed in an orderly fashion. Chen Qi shuttled back and forth among Beijing Film Studio, Qianmen, and Menkuang Hutong. He only looked lazy; in truth, he thoroughly enjoyed the fulfilling feeling of pouring himself into his career. In June, summer finally arrived. The temperature seemed to shoot up overnight, making long sleeves unwearable. Short-sleeved shirts of gray and white filled the entire city. Female comrades dressed much the same, with at most a few floral prints on their blouses. A girl carrying a parasol and wearing a pair of heeled sandals was practically the height of fashion. In those days, dress and appearance were tied directly to one's character. Simple and unadorned made for a good girl; dressing too flashily meant no chance at being named a Merit Student or an Outstanding Worker. At the Qianmen Arrow Tower, somber gloom hung over the west side, while jubilation reigned on the east. Huang Zhanying bought another fifty large bowls, several water storage vats, several cauldrons, and several large tables, which stretched out for dozens of meters side by side. She openly laid out sandals for sale, stocked ice pops and raincoats, and bought mung beans to boil into chilled soup. The ice pops were kept in wooden boxes painted white on the outside so they looked clean, insulated with thick cotton quilts on the inside. The three-fen ones were fruit-flavored—bayberry, orange, and sour plum; the five-fen ones were red bean, sweet cream, and hawthorn; the most expensive was the double-stick ice cream bar, costing one jiao and five fen each. Those cream ice pops were the genuine article, using two hundred kilograms of fresh milk for every ten thousand bars. In later generations, one had to scrutinize the ingredient list to see whether something was made with fresh milk, non-dairy creamer, or cocoa butter substitute... "I won't be coming tomorrow!" "You're heading off to the cultural and arts front again?!" "Yeah. Things here are basically taken care of anyway. Just do as I said. Next time I come, I hope to see our very own storefront." Chen Qi sucked on a red bean ice pop, feeling no melancholy at all. Huang Zhanying, on the other hand, felt a touch of sorrow. She felt the distance between them growing ever wider, impossible to restore to their original revolutionary friendship. Perhaps years from now, he would call out "Runtu," and she would only be able to reply, "Master..." Yet this also fueled Huang Zhanying's determination to better herself. She was already plowing through that copy of English 900. "All right, I'm off!" Finishing his red bean pop, Chen Qi rummaged through the box again and fished out a double-stick ice cream bar. "Hey, hey, that one's expensive! Take a cheaper one!" "You pay for it then!" "See ya!" Chen Qi waved, hopped on his bicycle, and rode away. His young companions were long accustomed to it, chiming in with remarks like, "Teacher Chen's off again," "Female movie stars corrupt a man," and "He'll cross over to the bourgeoisie sooner or later," which left everyone feeling a bit wistful. They knew full well that Teacher Chen belonged to a different world than theirs. *** Beijing Film Studio, small conference room. The production crew for Romance on Mount Lu had come together: Director Wang Haowei and cinematographer Li Chensheng, her husband—a husband-and-wife duo much like Yang Jie's team on Journey to the West. The production manager, assistant director, art director, gaffer, and the rest were all confirmed as well. Chen Qi sat in the corner, keeping a low profile. Wang Haowei had invited him out of respect, but he knew to keep his place. At this moment, Wang Haowei sat squarely at the head of the table, holding a stack of dossiers. "First, an announcement: Director Wang has approved seven hundred thousand yuan for Romance on Mount Lu!" "Seven hundred thousand! You all know what that means—the studio treats this as a key production!" The room broke into an excited buzz. Chen Qi remained silent. Seven hundred thousand... that wouldn't even cover the losses on one of my short dramas... "The reason so much funding was approved is twofold: first, we'll be shooting on location at Mount Lu. Second, the female lead is an overseas Chinese from America. We want to highlight her cosmopolitan style, which means buying her some fashionable clothes." "Where will we buy them? Shanghai? Guangzhou?" "Those places aren't stylish enough either. I want to buy them from Hong Kong, and trouble Comrades Fu Chi and Shi Hui to help with that." Chen Qi blinked and whispered, "Who are those two?" "Comrades from Hong Kong's Great Wall Movie Enterprises!" The person beside him paused, then added, "Top-notch figures!" His expression was filled with admiration. Looking around, Chen Qi saw that the mention of those two names drew instinctive respect from the others as well. "Once our female lead is decided, we'll reach out to them... All right, everyone has a dossier in hand. Listed inside are candidates we've scouted recently—some from drama troupes, some from the Beijing Film Academy, some from the Central Academy of Drama..." Chen Qi looked down at the dossier; they were all familiar names. Central Academy of Drama, Class of 1976: Xu Yajun; Beijing Film Academy, Class of 1978: Zhou Lijing, Wang Yue, Zhang Tielin, Fang Shu, Shen Danping, Liu Dong. China Children's Art Theatre: Chen Baoguo. Shanghai International Studies University: Chen Chong. August First Film Studio: Tang Guoqiang. Looking at the list, he crossed off Chen Chong first. Next, he crossed off Chen Baoguo. His facial structure was too hard and his demeanor too stern—unsuitable. After a bit more thought, he crossed off Wang Yue. Wang Yue was the actor who played the first Tang Sanzang in Journey to the West, with dark skin, thick brows, large eyes, and an honest countenance—also unsuitable. These were his private thoughts, which the others could not guess. After glancing through the pages, someone raised a question: "Director, aren't there too few candidates for the female lead? They're almost all male actors." "We did our best to search, but very few met the baseline. I've mobilized my friends to help scout people; we'll see how things stand in a little while." Wang Haowei tapped the table. "Starting tomorrow, they will arrive at the studio one after another for screen tests. We don't fear trouble; we only fear making the wrong choice. If you feel several people are suitable, that's fine too. We can groom several pairs simultaneously and see which pair turns out best. "Let's adjourn for now. Tomorrow we see what they're made of!" *** Beijing Film Academy and Beijing Film Studio stood side by side, exceptionally close. When admissions resumed in 1978, a cohort of vibrant young people had been admitted to the acting department. Throughout the eighties and nineties, they went on to contribute a succession of fine works before growing old or retiring. Yet the achievements of the acting class were rarely highlighted, because the 1978 directing and cinematography departments were even more illustrious—they formed the cultural phenomenon known as the Fifth Generation. After breakfast. The acting students lingered in the cafeteria instead of leaving. They knew screen tests were being held today, but did not know who was on the list. Zhang Fengyi, Xie Yuan, and Zhang Tielin were close friends and sat together murmuring, "Do you know what kind of movie it is?" "Seems like a romance." "Oh man, the two of us are finished then!" Xie Yuan looked dejected. "Do Zhang Fengyi and I look anything like romance leads? A murder flick would be more like it." "Heh, I'm different. I should have a shot!" Zhang Tielin—the future "Imperial Father"—looked rather smug. He had not yet developed his trademark habit of glaring and blowing out his whiskers; in his youth, he had clear, delicate features. Suddenly he lowered his voice. "Who do you think got called from the girls?" "Does that even need asking?" Xie Yuan said incredulously. "I don't know about the rest, but Fang Shu is definitely on it!" "Right, definitely Fang Shu!" "Zhou Lijing must be on it too!" They looked toward a girl sitting by herself near the front, and a boy sitting alone elsewhere. Neither seemed particularly sociable, but their presence was unmistakable—even among this crowd, they stood out sharp and brilliant, cranes among chickens. The girl was named Fang Shu, and the boy was named Zhou Lijing.