White Rabbit

"Three, two, one, action!" The moment the call ended, Gong Xue came walking forward, map in hand, looking left and right. Catching sight of the stone bridge, her eyes lit up. She broke into a brisk, clip-clopping stride, the red bell-bottoms fluttering forward and back with her light steps like two trailing blossoms, remarkably lovely. With a touch of sprightliness, she trotted onto the bridge. Down below, the stream burbled softly over Pillow Stream Rock. "Oh!" Gong Xue's mouth parted slightly in an expression of finally having found what she was looking for. Clamping the map under her arm, she flusteredly fished a camera out of her bag and snapped away, click-click. "Cut! Good!" Wang Haowei finally called out, sounding thoroughly pleased. "Director!" Gong Xue hurried over at once, anticipation written across her face. "How was it this time?" "Not bad. It's got the feeling I wanted. Those few days of leisure weren't wasted on you after all." "It's only because of your patience, Director. Otherwise I would've worried myself to death." Wang Haowei believed in taking the time to produce fine work; if the results weren't ideal, she would rather not shoot. She had taken Chen Qi's advice, telling Gong Xue to think about nothing at all and just go enjoy the scenery and take photos, and it had clearly paid off. "Comrade Gong Xue, you've made rapid progress!" Tang Guoqiang walked over with a broad smile. He had been thoroughly bored over the past few days as well. He asked, "Director, can we shoot for real now?" "We can!" "Everyone get ready!" Filming finally commenced. Gong Xue made it through her first scene, and the moment "Cut!" was called, sheer joy practically overflowed from her. Watching from the sidelines, Chen Qi felt barely a ripple of emotion. She hadn't actually become one with the character; she had merely used a crash-course method. Rather than cultivating internal mastery, she had practiced external forms directly, using stylized movements and expressions to project a persona. There were two approaches to acting: the star's method and the actor's method. Take Andy Lau, for instance—a whole career built on the star's method. Not to say it was bad; it was quite good. Audiences loved watching him, and he won Best Actor awards all the same. Having seen Gong Xue's films in his previous life, Chen Qi felt she was well-suited to the star's method. Only when he crossed paths with the likes of Empress Gong or Maggie Cheung would he feel any interest in discussing what truly made an actor. Of course, Gong Xue had no idea she had been looked down on by a certain individual. She remained immersed in her joy, only stealing a covert glance at him now and then. *** "Gong Xue, you have a parcel!" "Thank you!" A few days later, just after wrapping up for the day, Gong Xue returned to the hotel and received a mailed package, accompanied by a letter. Mount Lu wasn't too far from Shanghai. She opened the letter; it was from her father. *Xiao Xue,* *Hope this letter finds you well:* *Learning that you are filming on Mount Lu, your mother and I were both surprised and delighted. You are actually so close to home. Regrettably, traveling is quite difficult for us, and work has been very busy lately, so we cannot come visit. Please do not blame us.* *Take good care of your health. All is well with us.* *To make up for it, I have specially enclosed a pack of White Rabbit candy. Enjoy it slowly...* She smiled, though a touch of melancholy welled up within her. After graduating from middle school, she had volunteered to go down to the countryside. Farming in the village, she could endure hardships. Later, serving in the military arts troupe, she could endure hardships too, marching dozens of li a day without uttering a peep even when her feet blistered. She had no right to complain. Precisely because of that, no matter where she was, she always pushed herself to stand out and strive to be a model worker, so life might be just a bit easier. Later, her parents were restored to their posts, and she joined a theater troupe far away in the capital. A decade had slipped by without her being able to stay by their side; she could only request leave to visit them once in a long while... She had always dreamed of becoming a full-time film actress, ideally transferred to Shanghai Film Studio. Unfortunately, her theater troupe took great issue with her acting in movies; if Beijing Film Studio hadn't stepped in this time, they likely still wouldn't have let her go. "Beijing Film Studio..." Holding the letter, Gong Xue drifted into a momentary daze. She had truly never imagined she could forge ties with Beijing Film Studio, let alone shoot such a major production. She opened the parcel, and indeed found a pack of White Rabbit creamy candy, alongside a copy of *Story Session* magazine. White Rabbit creamy candy was illustrious. Its predecessor had been a candy factory established in Shanghai in 1943, which produced "ABC Mickey Mouse Sweets" featuring Mickey Mouse on the wrapper. Later, it was nationalized. Mickey Mouse was deemed a symbol of foreign worship and naturally could no longer be used, so it was changed to the White Rabbit—giving Disney's legal department a sigh of relief as well. In the beginning, only eight hundred kilograms could be produced a day. Backed by the slogan that seven White Rabbits equaled a cup of milk, it was considered an accessible luxury. When Nixon visited China, he was presented with a pack. It was rather difficult to buy; her parents must have expended considerable effort to send one. Gong Xue loved White Rabbit candy best. She unwrapped one and popped it into her mouth, letting it melt for a bit. Seeming to remember something, she picked up the bag and stood up, then hesitated, blinked, and finally headed out the door. *Knock, knock, knock!* "Xiao Gong, do you need something?" Wang Haowei opened the door. "My parents sent me a pack of White Rabbit candy. I wanted to share it with everyone, but I don't know how to divide it up. Could you help me?" "Oh, White Rabbit is a rare treat!" With a quick turn of thought, Wang Haowei realized the girl was worried about fumbling interpersonal relations within the crew and had come seeking advice. She said straightforwardly, "Since it's a rare treat, just give it to the key personnel. One piece each should be plenty; nobody will take offense." "Yes, I understand. Thank you, Director!" "Nothing to thank me for. I've noticed you're just overly polite. Everyone on the crew is good-natured, so there's no need to worry about any nonsense. Oh, by the way, Xiao Chen did you such a huge favor—set aside a few pieces for him. It's the thought that counts, after all." "I understand. Thank you, Director!" "All right, hurry along now. You're being so polite you're taking years off my life!" Shooed away by Wang Haowei, Gong Xue pursed her lips and hurried downstairs, knocking *rap-rap-rap* on another door. "Oh? Comrade Gong Xue, is something the matter?" Chen Qi pulled the door open. "My father wrote back, and he sent along a copy of *Story Session*—the magazine you mentioned." "He even sent the magazine? That's fantastic! Thank you!" "No, no, I'm the one who should thank you. If you hadn't broken down the scene for me, I might still be struggling to find the feeling... By the way, my parents sent some candy. Please don't think it's too meager." "White Rabbit! Great stuff. I'll just take two, and you can share the rest with the others." "Mm, I'll take my leave then." She turned and left immediately, terrified of being seen. Chen Qi shrugged, went back inside, unwrapped a piece, and savored it. Perhaps it was psychological, but it tasted better than in later eras. He then picked up that copy of *Story Session*. Speaking of which, the birth of *Story Session* was quite interesting. In 1962, the Chairman proposed carrying out socialist education among the masses: "From now on, we must talk about it every year, every month, every day, so that we have a relatively clear understanding of this issue." Consequently, propagandists sprang up across the country, adapting revolutionary struggles and red history into small stories to tell the peasants in the countryside; Shanghai alone had two thousand such storytellers. Under this backdrop, *Story Session* emerged, a magazine dedicated entirely to storytelling. During the special period, the magazine was renamed *Revolutionary Story Session*, only reverting to its original name earlier this year, with the title calligraphy brushed by the renowned Shanghai calligrapher Zhou Huijun. That widely celebrated cover featuring the storytelling figurine didn't exist yet. At its peak, *Story Session* launched dedicated columns for famous writers, soliciting manuscripts from Jin Yong, Xi Murong, Pai Hsien-yung, Feng Jicai, Su Tong, Mo Yan, Chen Zhongshi, and others. Back then, Jin Yong promptly wrote a story, but the editorial board felt it wasn't quite up to par and rejected it. Jin Yong then selected an unpublished short story, "The Monk of Ruzhou," which succeeded. "The Monk of Ruzhou" was a tale from the Qing dynasty's *Thirty-Three Swordsmen Illustrations*, which Jin Yong had rewritten into vernacular prose. His *Sword of the Yue Maiden* had likewise drawn its prototype from the *Thirty-Three Swordsmen Illustrations*. At the moment, Chen Qi flipped through it casually. The content was rather unremarkable, all handwritten manuscripts. During the tumultuous years of the human flood, many banned books were born, circulating in the form of hand-copied texts. Now that the bans had been lifted, mainstream literary magazines looked down on such material, and only *Story Session* was willing to print it. It truly belonged to popular fiction. Next, he spotted a call for submissions. *"Short stories: no more than fifteen thousand words maximum; small stories of three to four thousand words preferred."* *"Medium-length and long stories: no word limit, serialized as appropriate."* "Hmm..." He pondered it. He had no desire to write anything overly long—about fifty thousand words would do, roughly the length of a literary screenplay. Two to seven yuan per thousand words. Calculated at seven yuan, that came to 350 yuan! Chen Qi arched an eyebrow. While it didn't earn as much as a screenplay, he had an endless supply of stories in his head, and the turnaround time for payment was fast. It was a long-term meal ticket!