A New Idea

In 1895, the British missionary Edward Selby Little used illicit means to secure perpetual leasehold rights to four thousand mu of land halfway up Mount Lu, naming it "cooling," which later became known in Chinese as Guling. Guling developed into a summer retreat for Westerners in China and underwent an unexpected boom. By the Republican era, Mount Lu had become the Nationalist government's "summer capital," and Old Chiang ascended the mountain seventy-seven times. By then, Guling already boasted churches, cinemas, libraries, hospitals, schools, tennis courts, public baths, photo studios, banks, newspaper offices, and more—a world utterly distinct from everything outside. After the founding of the People's Republic, Mount Lu's status remained undiminished. The Teacher went up the mountain three times to preside over central committee meetings, and senior leaders frequently visited to convalesce. Thus, Mount Lu carried strong political overtones. And since *Romance on Mount Lu* happened to feature a story of Nationalist-Communist reconciliation through marriage, setting it here could not have been more fitting. *** Noon. Guling Hotel. Exhausted from the train ride, Chen Qi had slept comfortably for most of the day before finally waking. Yawning, he pulled open the curtains. Outside lay the small town of Guling, nestled among rolling peaks. A mountain breeze drifted in, delightfully crisp and refreshing—a world apart from the capital. "What a great place! No wonder everyone comes up here." After washing up, he opened the door and stepped outside. In these days, making a film was a national mission. Wherever a crew went, the local authorities generally cooperated to the fullest extent. The local administration bureau was exceptionally hospitable, providing tremendous support to the crew. As usual, Chen Qi stayed in a single room, as did Wang Haowei, while the rest were assigned double rooms or shared dorms. Ambling downstairs to the dining room, he found Tang Guoqiang, Gong Xue, and several others who had also just gotten up, eating their meal. Beside them sat a local cook, spittle flying as he held forth animatedly. "That was back in September 1970! Right after a big conference wrapped up here, they suddenly called all of us outside. I had no idea what was going on. But when I stepped out—oho, guess who I saw?" "Who did you see?" Chen Qi chimed in as he sat down. "I saw the Old Man himself!" Highly pleased with Chen Qi playing the straight man, the cook slapped his thigh. "Right there on that open lot! Two-fourteen in the afternoon—I remember it clear as day. He was tall, and he even waved at me! He said something thanking me, but I was so starstruck on the spot that I plumb forgot to answer..." "Did you take a group photo?" "We did! We did! It's hanging right on the wall. I'm standing right behind him... His voice and smile are still so vivid. I'll never forget it as long as I live. Why did he have to leave us? Three whole years already, gone before you know it..." "Don't be too sad, master. He surely wouldn't want to see us sniffling and crying. We need to brace our spirits—the revolution will surely triumph!" "Right, right! You've got great political awareness, young man! Oh, you haven't eaten yet, have you? I'll go dish up some food for you!" "Much obliged!" "..." Having received an immense boost of emotional validation, the cook walked off in high spirits. His companions cast sidelong glances at Chen Qi. *What are you, a comic cross-talker? Would it kill you to let a line drop?* Chen Qi paid them no mind, looked around, and asked, "Where's Director Wang?" "Out scouting locations!" "So we've got nothing to do?" "We have to study and internalize our characters," Tang Guoqiang said. "You're free for now." "Oh, so have you figured them out yet?" Tang Guoqiang knitted his brows. "Xiao Chen, I've noticed that no matter what comes out of your mouth, it somehow ends up sounding cheeky." "To a serious person, I naturally seem serious. To an unserious person, I naturally seem unserious. That's hardly my fault." "Uh..." Tang Guoqiang choked on his words, while Gong Xue lowered her head, stifling a giggle. The cook brought the food over in person—steamed buns, rice, a stir-fry, and a bowl of soup. Chen Qi ate while chatting with his colleagues. As the on-set screenwriter, he indeed had little to do most of the time. Almost every production encountered situations requiring on-the-spot script revisions. Crews that weren't particular would just let the director and actors hash it out themselves. Crews that were meticulous insisted on having the screenwriter make the changes. The on-set screenwriters of this era were nothing like those of later generations. In the future, on-set writers were treated like dirt—or hired as private screenwriters by superstar celebrities. No need to name names here, but take someone like Song Dandan! Some big shots brought their own private screenwriters into the crew every single time to help "smooth out" the script. This "smoothing" wasn't meant to make the overall filming go smoother; it was about highlighting their own roles, picking out scenes that made them shine, and restructuring the plot around themselves. For instance, a supporting actor might originally have a substantial monologue, but the star decided it was useless and detracted from their own spotlight. With a slash of the pen, it was cut. In the end, the whole production was torn to shreds, impossible to assemble smoothly in the editing room. After pocketing their money, the big star patted their backside and left, leaving the production company weeping without tears. The producers then had to hire more people to re-edit everything and slap on voiceover narration just to make the plot barely coherent. That was routine in the entertainment industry of the future. Thus, being genuinely respected by the director and the entire crew touched Chen Qi deeply, making him more than willing to do his part and lend a hand. *** In this era, there was no tourism industry. Domestic travel was open only to foreigners and overseas Chinese. Ordinary people could only visit scenic spots on business trips when the opportunity arose, which was the closest they got to touring. Mount Lu had no tourists and was extraordinarily tranquil. Rolling peaks and delightful greenery surrounded them. After their meal, everyone went for a leisurely stroll. Walking through the mountain town of Guling felt like being enveloped inside an immense ink-wash painting. They also took a look at the exterior of Meilu Villa. Meilu Villa had once been Old Chiang's residence, and later the Teacher had stayed here as well. Chen Qi was intrigued, comparing the scene with his memories. When he had visited in his previous life, this area was packed with homestays and sanatoriums. As he walked, his eyes suddenly lit up, and he trotted over to a building. Built from rough-hewn stone, the structure clearly had some history behind it, bearing the sign: "Guling Donggu Cinema." "This used to be a chapel built by foreign devils. We turned it into a cinema," an accompanying local staff member recounted with righteous indignation, reviling Chiang Kai-shek. "Back then, Old Chiang and that old witch often strolled along this street. I was just a kid at the time, and he even gave me a piece of candy. Looking back now, my consciousness was too low, my thinking too flawed—that was counterrevolutionary candy!" The staff member was beside himself with indignation as he denounced Old Chiang. Everyone understood implicitly—over that single piece of candy, he had probably suffered harsh criticism during the political movements. "Let's take a photo! It wasn't easy getting all the way out here!" Chen Qi suggested, looking at the cinema. "Great idea! I made sure to bring a camera!" A crew member eagerly chimed in and unzipped a bag, revealing a Seagull camera. "Old Tang, stand in the middle!" "Zhang Jinling, you're tall—don't stand in front!" "Xiao Chen, stand next to Gong Xue!" "Watch the lens!" *Click!* A dozen or so people gathered for a souvenir photo. Everyone was overjoyed; an opportunity for sightseeing like this was truly rare. *** Night fell. Mountain winds blew in through the window, circled around the room, and slipped out beneath the door. There was no need for electric fans—a cross-breeze was the most cooling of all. Dressed in an undershirt and shorts, Chen Qi sat at the desk, spreading out paper and pen. Having nothing to do for the moment, he pondered writing something new. With *Romance on Mount Lu*, he had been racing against the clock and lacked the leisure to experiment; now that there was no rush, he could write whatever he pleased. *I'll start with a novel. Then adapt it into a screenplay. That way I can earn two paychecks.* *The novel royalties won't be huge, but even mosquito meat is meat.* *What should I write?* The currently trending scar literature? He shook his head; he detested that stuff most of all. His conversation on the train with Wang Haowei hadn't been posturing. He genuinely liked serving the people, creating things that the broad masses loved to read and watch, while also paving a path for his own future. Having arrived in this era, his mindset was destined to differ from his contemporaries. If he just drifted along with the current, what was the point of coming here? *Hmm, should I do a wuxia story?* *Right now, wuxia is regarded as street-stall trash. I don't know if any magazine would take it. What if...* *Thud, thud, thud!* Just as an idea began to take shape, he heard a faint thumping sound coming from upstairs. It paused briefly, then started up again, somewhat irregular in rhythm. "..." The noise wasn't loud, but Chen Qi hated being disturbed while thinking. After putting up with it for a while and seeing no sign of it stopping, he pulled on a pair of trousers and trotted upstairs with hurried steps.