The Storyteller

"Telling stories? He even tells stories to you all?" "Of course! Little Chen shares stories whenever he has free time, and everyone loves listening to him." "What kind of stories does he tell?" "Oh, all sorts! Sun Wukong, Wu Song, Lin Daiyu, Mu Guiying... Anyway, you'll see once you meet him. Ah, are you checking in?" the desk clerk asked. "Uh, yes. Are there any rooms left?" "You're in luck. There's just one left. Let me see your letter of introduction." He Chengwei handed over his introduction letter and work ID, completing the check-in process. This was one of the reasons tourism couldn't develop in these times. It was no easy feat for ordinary folks to travel; one needed letters of introduction just to take a train or stay at a hotel, along with national grain coupons. For many people, the farthest they ever traveled in their entire lives was the county seat. A trip to the provincial capital was something to brag about for three months, and visiting the capital city of Beijing was practically out of this world... Reaching his room, He Chengwei took a brief rest to freshen up, eagerly looking forward to the upcoming meeting. *** As the poem goes: *Nature carved the Immortal's Cave, where endless beauty lies upon the perilous peak.* The Immortal's Cave was a natural sandstone cave on Mount Lu, where legend held that Lü Dongbin attained immortality through Daoist cultivation. In later generations, the site would be hung with wooden prayer plaques—asking for wealth, romance, peace, or success in examinations. Chen Qi had hung one himself in his past life. Beside the Immortal's Cave stood Laojun Hall, dedicated to Taishang Laojun. Two-thirds of *Romance on Mount Lu* consisted of exterior shots, the camera following the male and female leads to showcase the breathtaking scenery of Mount Lu. But having only the two of them on screen made the scenes too monotonous, so Wang Haowei had added some tourists and mountain villagers—even though there weren't actually any real tourists around right now. These background extras were played by crew members, and Chen Qi had made a few cameos himself. Doing it for fun was fine, but if asked to act seriously, he had no interest; his ambitions lay elsewhere. Today, he was cast as Extra A, playing a game of chess with another crew member in front of Laojun Hall just as the female lead came running by. "Let's do a run-through first!" "Three, two, one, action!" Chen Qi sat at the stone table with his legs crossed, leisurely playing chess like a retired cadre drawing a twenty-thousand-yuan pension. Gong Xue approached from the left, intending to enter Laojun Hall. She pushed at the door only to find it locked. Just as she was about to turn around and ask, she heard that rascal speak up: "Jump!" "Asakura jumped! Doto jumped! Come on, why aren't you jumping?" "Pfft!" She broke character and burst out laughing on the spot. Wang Haowei scolded immediately, "Little Chen, what mischief are you stirring up now?" "I saw he was about to jump his knight! If he jumped the knight, I'd win! I just couldn't help myself. Sorry, Director!" "You volunteered for this, so take it seriously! Why are you adding your own lines? That's called upstaging, you know! Who's the lead and who's the extra? You're supposed to highlight her!" "Got it! I promise to make sure the audience gets a full view of her!" "Take it from the top!" Wang Haowei rolled her eyes. She had already figured out the kid's temperament. He was full of nonsense and loved cracking jokes, thoroughly amusing yet possessed of impeccable tact—he never genuinely upset anyone, and on top of that, he was exceptionally talented. Those lines he had just blurted out were from the film *Manhunt*, delivered with such vivid flair. It was just a shame they didn't fit the scene, or she might have actually kept them. "Three, two, one, action!" Gong Xue ran through the scene again, pushed the door, and this time, undisturbed, turned back to ask, "What's going on here?" "Not open!" Chen Qi answered without looking up. "Why?" "The Four Olds!" "Cut, that works! Little Chen, come here!" Wang Haowei called Chen Qi over. "In the next scene, she peeks inside through the door, spots the statue of Lord Lao, and offers a prayer. I feel it's a bit plain. Can we add a little flourish?" "Are we allowed to show Christian elements?" "It's allowed this year." "Then let her make a sign..." Chen Qi touched his forehead, chest, left shoulder, and right shoulder with his fingers, demonstrating the common Christian sign of the cross. "Have her stop halfway through, realize she's praying to an Eastern deity, and switch to pressing her palms together." "Daoists don't press their palms together like that, do they?" "She's a foreigner, so she wouldn't know the difference!" "Fair point!" Wang Haowei was thoroughly pleased. The kid possessed a wide range of eclectic knowledge and delivered ideas at lightning speed; whatever she asked for, he produced effortlessly, making him a joy to work with. After working together for some time, their efficiency had improved considerably. No longer burning through an entire day for a single shot, they could now manage three a day. Soon, mealtime arrived, and the production assistants wheeled over handcarts loaded with several large vats. No matter who you were, everyone lined up obediently holding an aluminum mess tin to get their food, which they would take back to wash after eating so it could be reused the next day. "Radish and cabbage again?" "There are plenty of wild vegetables on this mountain! Stir-fry some with a bit of tender beef, blanch the rest and toss with vinegar, MSG, minced garlic, and sesame oil—one cold dish and one hot dish, oh, the aroma would be heavenly!" "Do I look like tender beef to you? One cold and one hot? What kind of capitalist joke is that!" The production assistant ladled out a generous scoop of vegetables and asked eagerly, "Screenwriter Chen, are you telling stories again today?" "Sure am!" "Wait for me a moment, then! Here, let me give you an extra ladle of broth." Rice soaked in radish and cabbage broth wasn't meat, but at least it had more flavor. Carrying his mess tin, Chen Qi found a boulder to sit on. Everyone instinctively gathered around him in a circle, their faces alight with anticipation. Having finished serving the food, the production assistants hurried over to snag spots as well. Good grief, it looked just like disciples crowding Purple Cloud Palace to hear the Dao expounded. If someone placed a few prayer mats in front, anyone sitting down might well achieve sainthood on the spot... He first took a hearty mouthful of soup and rice, then began in an unhurried voice, "Picking up where we left off!" "After Zhu Yuanzhang conquered the regions south of the Yangtze, Shen Wansan took the initiative to show goodwill. First, he helped construct the city walls of Nanjing, single-handedly funding a third of the project. When Zhu Yuanzhang wished to reward the three armies, Shen Wansan stepped forward again to cover the bounties. "Zhu Yuanzhang asked him, 'I have a million soldiers; can you truly reward every single one?' Shen Wansan replied that giving one tael of silver to each man would be no problem at all." "He was that rich? A merchant could produce a million taels of silver?" On their break, Wang Haowei wasn't nearly as strict as during shooting, and she enjoyed listening to stories just as much. "More than a million taels! Shen Wansan was the wealthiest man under heaven; no one truly knew how much money he possessed." "Then how did he make it all?" Gong Xue held her mess tin in her left hand and a spoon in her right, taking dainty bites. "That's a long story. Shen Wansan's ancestral home was Shen Family Village, where he owned nine qing of farmland and employed over a dozen regular and seasonal laborers. One year of severe drought, all the vegetation was withering to death, yet one laborer managed to bring back a bundle of tender green grass every single day. "Shen Wansan shadowed him in secret and saw him reach a mountain ridge, where a round patch of lush green grass grew. Stranger still, whenever the grass was cut, it sprang right back, growing endlessly as if drawn from an inexhaustible spring. "Shen Wansan invited a Daoist master to examine it. The Daoist remarked that this mountain was originally named Phoenix Mountain, and a phoenix never alights on ground devoid of treasure..." Having reached this point, Chen Qi shoveled a massive bite into his mouth, followed immediately by another. "Keep going!" "Can't go on. The rest involves feudal superstition!" "Boo—!" The crowd jeered in unison. If this had been the Deyun Club, he would have been booed off the stage. Without realizing it, the crew had already spent over twenty days here. Nearly everyone had grown fond of the fellow—he was generous, warm-hearted, tactful, humorous, and entertained them with stories. One had to remember that the masses had watched only the eight model plays and the three great battle films (*Tunnel Warfare*, *Landmine Warfare*, and *Fighting North and South*) for ten whole years. No matter how good something was, it grew stale after that long. Now that the atmosphere was easing, people were starved for entertainment. Forget Shen Wansan; they would gladly listen to tales of a cat catching mice. Yet this rascal was truly infuriating. Every time he reached a climactic moment, he would use feudal superstition as an excuse to break off, only to start an entirely new story later, repeating the cycle endlessly... In truth, it wasn't that Chen Qi didn't want to tell it; in this era, someone really might report him for it. *** As usual, filming wrapped up around five o'clock. The group returned to Guling. Just as Chen Qi stepped into the hostel, the desk clerk hurried over to meet him. "You're finally back! Someone's looking for you!" "Who?" "Said he's an editor from *Story Session*!" "He actually came in person...?" Chen Qi hurried upstairs and knocked loudly on the door. He Chengwei, who had been waiting for half the day, answered. Seeing a young man, he asked, "Hello, comrade. Can I help you?" "Are you the editor from *Story Session*? I'm the one who sent the submission." "You're Ah Qi?!" "That's right. My name is Chen Qi." He Chengwei stared as if looking at a ghost. The boy was far too young! Still incredulous, he asked, "And you're a screenwriter too?" "Yes, we're currently filming." "Truly young and promising! Please come in, come in!" He Chengwei ushered him inside, poured some water, and looked him up and down once more. Smiling, he said, "If my colleagues knew, they'd be even more astonished than I am. We've all read your *The Cotton Kasaya*. The editor-in-chief specifically sent me here to pay you a visit and make your acquaintance." "It must have been exhausting traveling all this way. Were you satisfied with the manuscript?" "It's magnificent! We've already decided to publish it in the upcoming issue. That won't be long now—it'll be out early next month. How is the second half coming along?" "It'll be finished in a few days. Around thirty thousand words, I'd say." "Could you tell me the rest of it first?" Chen Qi readily agreed. He invited the editor to have dinner with him first, and upon returning afterward, they settled down for a detailed chat. He recounted the second half of *The Cotton Kasaya*. Put simply, Ding Mo was rescued by Lin Ying. Spending days and nights together, their feelings deepened. Through fortuitous encounters, he mastered supreme martial arts, returned to Shaolin to avenge his grievances, and took down the arch-villain. Yet Shaolin Temple had suffered heavy casualties and stood teetering in the wind and rain. Only Ding Mo could shoulder such a heavy burden, so he resolved to officially take the monastic vows. "During the grand ceremony of succession for the abbot, Ding Mo knelt before the Buddha draped in the cotton kasaya. Lin Ying stood outside watching him, separated merely by a doorway, yet it felt as if they were parted by an entire lifetime... Truly, how could there be a way in this world to satisfy both—to not betray the Buddha, and not betray you? Sigh..." Having concluded the tale, Chen Qi feigned a profound, sorrowful sigh. Hearing no sound from across the table, he looked up. Good grief! He Chengwei was weeping.