Limitations

He Chengwei made another trip before long. He brought over the latest issue of *Story Session* alongside a hefty bundle of mail, taking the opportunity to collect the second half of *The Cotton Kasaya*. The film crew took it in stride. They had long known he was a master storyteller, and basking in his reflected glory felt only natural. And so, amidst the dull routine of life on set, Chen Qi found a new pastime: opening fan letters. Most of them were largely identical and devoid of real substance, so he did not bother replying—save for one sent from the Jinniu District Cultural Center in Chengdu. It was written in an engaging tone, expressing the hope that he might set a novel in Sichuan. Since antiquity, the land of Bashu had been blessed with natural treasures and gifted minds, giving rise to countless legends and folklore. Huanzhulouzhu's *Legend of the Swordsmen of the Mountains of Shu* was nothing short of legendary, and the Emei and Qingcheng Sects in Jin Yong's works were equally renowned. It had even birthed a staple fixture of the genre: the Tang Clan of Shu! Whether wuxia, xianxia, or xuanhuan—whether in novels or video games—the moment that clan appeared, everyone knew they specialized in hidden weapons. Then there was Master Haideng, the "Grandmaster of a Generation," who was also from Sichuan. All told, setting a story in Sichuan was certainly an option, but having just finished *The Cotton Kasaya*, Chen Qi had no desire to grind like a modern corporate wage slave. He would revisit the idea whenever inspiration struck. *** "And you are?" "I'm Geng Hua's older sister. You must be Zhou Yun?" "Yes, I am. Geng Hua has mentioned you before. Hello, Sister!" "Hmph! Don't call me Sister. I certainly can't accept that honor..." Outside a villa, Gong Xue and Zhang Jinling were rehearsing their lines. The female lead was an overseas Chinese from America, while the male lead was no less privileged—his father was a high-ranking cadre, and he had only come to Mount Lu for convalescence due to his mother's illness. A regular person's low point was an entirely different concept from a senior cadre's low point; one might think the family had fallen on hard times, completely unaware they were staying in a villa. In essence, *Romance on Mount Lu* ought to have been titled *The Love Story of the Young Master and the Rich Heiress*. Zhang Jinling let her face drop, speaking with utter sharpness: "Geng Hua isn't here! Two people just came by to question him and have him write a self-criticism. The two of you go out early and return late every day, seeking out secluded spots for secret talks, complete with contact points and secret passwords. Do you have any idea what that implies?" "Please don't come looking for him again!" "Geng Hua is still young and has a bright future ahead of him. You can't be this selfish—you have to think of him too!" Zhang Jinling's character functioned much like Huang Rong in *The Return of the Condor Heroes*, dedicated entirely to breaking up the lovebirds. Her solid build and aggressive demeanor framed Gong Xue like a panicked little lamb. "Good!" Wang Haowei clapped her hands and smiled. "Your chemistry is improving by the day, and your grasp of the characters is growing deeper. At this rate, we'll be able to head back to Beijing right after National Day!" "Everyone take a break and get some food!" Today's meal was finally not just radishes and cabbage; it had become cabbage and potatoes. Chen Qi lined up with his mess tin, collected his food, and sat on a rock without telling any stories. National Day was approaching, the crew had two days off, and they planned to hold an evening gala to celebrate. At this time, there were only seven statutory holidays a year: one day for New Year's Day, three for Spring Festival, one for May Day, and two for National Day. It was not until 1999 that statutory holidays for National Day, Spring Festival, and May Day were paired with adjusted weekends to create seven-day nationwide breaks, known as Golden Weeks. And did anyone really think those were meant for rest? Pure naivety—they were designed to spur consumer spending! Chen Qi was immensely surprised that a film crew would actually take two days off. In later generations, who had ever heard of a production crew observing statutory holidays? Some crews racing against deadlines kept shooting straight through Spring Festival. "This year marks the thirtieth anniversary of the founding of our country, an occasion of immense significance. Celebrations are being organized everywhere, and we can't fall behind here on Mount Lu. We still have a week left, so everyone find time to prepare a performance. Conditions are humble, but sincerity is what counts." Once Wang Haowei finished speaking, Tang Guoqiang paused for a moment and spoke up. "I have an announcement as well. I might as well take this opportunity to share it!" "Right after National Day, I'll be holding my wedding. The date was set long ago. I'm letting everyone know today, but since our crew is so large and the venue can't accommodate everyone, I won't be inviting you all to the ceremony. Still, there will definitely be wedding candy, so please don't take offense!" "Oh, congratulations!" "May you enjoy a century of harmony and be blessed with a child soon!" The atmosphere instantly turned lively as people chimed in with their congratulations. Chen Qi asked, "Even if we can't go, do you have a photograph? At least let us have a look!" "Yes, yes, show us the photo!" "Oh dear, this is so embarrassing!" Tang Guoqiang's face flushed bright red, but he still reached for his bag and pulled out a notebook with a photograph tucked inside. Chen Qi took a look: the woman had neat features and fair, clean skin, looking quite attractive. She was a resident physician at the August First Film Studio. Her family background was formidable. His marriage would later stir up tremendous controversy, with people denouncing him as a heartless modern Chen Shimei who drove his wife to her death, and so forth. Yet as for what truly happened, not much could be elaborated here lest it run afoul of censorship; suffice it to say that reality differed from public rumors. For an actor to portray national leaders, particularly the Great Teacher, they had to pass strict political vetting beforehand... After eating, shooting resumed. Wang Haowei called Gong Xue over and instructed, "After hearing Geng Ying's words, you decide to leave of your own accord. In a moment, we'll shoot you looking utterly heartbroken. You run down this path—just keep running, tears streaming down your face, completely overcome with grief. Understood?" "I understand!" Gong Xue nodded. "Alright, let's do a rehearsal first!" For this scene, she had swapped her high heels for a pair of flat leather shoes, wearing a purple belted dress and stockings thicker than thermal long johns. "Get ready!" "Three, two, one, action!" The moment the cue dropped, Gong Xue took off running, looking thoroughly tormented as she went. Wang Haowei looked on in deep satisfaction, while Chen Qi could barely bring himself to watch. Actors of this era carried themselves with great stiffness, affecting exaggerated cadences with a heavy stage-play flavor, virtually devoid of everyday realism. Yet this was hardly their fault; film genres were simply too monotonous, with an utter lack of slice-of-life cinema. Once the eighties and nineties arrived and perspectives shifted toward ordinary citizens, performance styles would change entirely. Wang Haowei was a fine director, yet she could not escape the limitations of her era. Her directorial style leaned toward melodrama. Chen Qi could already picture how this sequence would turn out: in post-production, it would inevitably be set to dramatic, pounding music, showing a heartbroken woman dashing through the woods, followed by abrupt close-ups and sudden wide pulls, manic as an amateur video remix... "Good!" "The feeling is spot on—that's exactly the effect I want! If you're ready, let's do a real take!" "I'm ready, Director!" Gong Xue's confidence had grown. And so the cameras rolled, and she sprinted wildly down the path once more. "Xiao Gong, you really are quite talented!" "We made the right choice casting you!" When she stepped off the set, she was met with a flood of free compliments. She responded with a modest smile, feeling a faint swell of pride in her heart. "Not bad, not bad!" Chen Qi clapped his hands, gave her a thumbs-up, and smiled. "You looked so pretty running. Keep it up!" "Thank you!" Gong Xue replied with a smile, then turned away and lightly bit her lip. *Why does he sound so insincere?* Even though the man had praised her, she somehow sensed a distinct air of perfunctoriness, as if what she had done was nothing remarkable at all. Her acting had been coached by Chen Qi, so his attitude mattered a great deal to her.