The three went upstairs, entered the office, and closed the door behind them. Fu Chi settled comfortably onto the sofa and asked, "Old Wang, how does the situation look this year?"
"Same old story. Every studio has its hands tied. Everyone worries too much about costs to dare tackle a major production."
"Then mobilize studios across the country and negotiate with China Film!" Shi Hui said with a laugh.
"The root of the problem isn't China Film; it's the state. What's the use of negotiating with them? China Film only gives seven hundred thousand yuan per film. Now production costs keep climbing, yet all the studios are hemmed in by that seven-hundred-thousand line. How could anyone make a decent picture under those conditions?"
Wang Yang gave a cold snort. "I've been in constant communication. If they truly push me to the brink, I'll take my petition straight to the central leadership!"
One could never underestimate Beijing Film Studio's clout. It had direct access to the highest authorities, so talking about petitioning the central leadership was no idle boast. Wang Yang shook his head and said, "Enough about that. How is your *The Shaolin Temple* coming along?"
"Not well!"
Fu Chi's face fell into a frown. "We'd already shot a third of it, but when we sent the sample footage to Beijing, Elder Liao wasn't satisfied, our Japanese backer wasn't satisfied, and we were even less satisfied. We tore it down to start over from scratch!"
"What?"
Wang Yang was startled. "Tear down such a major production and start over? Do you even have enough money left?"
"I talked with the Japanese backer, and they're willing to put in an additional seven hundred thousand Hong Kong dollars. If we tighten our belts, we can squeeze out a few hundred thousand more, which should just about cover it. I've invited Director Zhang Xinyan to take the helm. The script is being rewritten, the cast recast... Sigh, what a headache!"
Fu Chi gave a string of bitter chuckles.
"Elder Liao" was Liao Chengzhi, whose father was Liao Zhongkai. He served as director of both the Overseas Chinese Affairs Office and the Hong Kong and Macao Affairs Office, exercising full authority over Hong Kong-related matters.
Early this year, he had met with representatives of Hong Kong's left-wing film companies and explicitly requested a martial arts picture.
The left-wing studios took on the task, but lacking funds, they sought out a Japanese monk named Doshin So. So had studied Shaolin boxing in China and later founded the Nippon Shorinji Kempo Federation back in Japan, boasting over a hundred thousand disciples. He agreed to purchase the film's Japanese distribution rights and paid a deposit of five hundred and fifty thousand Hong Kong dollars.
The left-wing studio then drafted a script based on the legend of the thirteen cudgel monks saving the King of Tang. The tone was rather solemn, the protagonist wasn't the later novice monk Jueyuan, and there was no romantic storyline.
They hired a director in Hong Kong and selected a troupe of performers from a Henan Peking opera company, with an actor named Wu Gang in the lead.
After filming part of it, they took a look at the footage: it reeked heavily of stage opera rather than genuine martial arts, the plot was bland and tedious, the outdoor locations were plagued by wind and dust, and the visual quality fell flat... No one was satisfied, leaving them no choice but to reshoot.
"Elder Liao shook on a pact with us to produce thirty-six new films across various genres within three years. We're gritting our teeth and pressing forward, but in truth, you can't make bricks without straw. We have neither the money nor the talent."
"..."
From the moment Fu Chi began talking, Wang Yang's expression had turned peculiar. He thought to himself: *Could it really be this coincidental???*
"Old Wang, do you have something in mind?"
"Just yesterday, I read a piece that happens to be about Shaolin Temple."
"That much of a coincidence?" Fu Chi was equally astonished.
Wang Yang reached into his desk drawer and brought out two small magazines. "Though this one is set in the late Ming dynasty, telling the story of Shaolin Temple opposing the court's henchmen. It carries a stronger flavor of the martial arts world, and it includes a romance."
"Then what a pity. Our rewritten script still uses the thirteen cudgel monks saving the King of Tang as its foundation. The costumes and props are already made, so we can't change the setting."
"You should take a look regardless. I thought the romantic subplot was well done, especially the ending."
Hearing him say so, Fu Chi and Shi Hui each took a copy of *Story Session* and skimmed through them.
They did not read closely, only glancing over the general plot. Shi Hui had the second half. At the conclusion, the male protagonist decided to take the tonsure as a monk for the sake of Shaolin Temple, while the heroine stood outside the main hall watching him—separated by a single doorway, yet severed from the mortal world forever.
At the very end were two lines of verse: *How in this world to find a path that fulfills both sides, failing neither Tathagata nor you!*
Shi Hui's eyes lit up. She nudged Fu Chi. "This ending is wonderful! We could use this!"
"Let me see!"
Fu Chi read it through as well and nodded. "In our new script, we changed the protagonist to a young novice monk and added a lot of comedic elements. We've been hesitating over whether to include a romance—after all, he's a monk, so how could we weave it in properly? If we follow this approach, the logic holds together."
"Can we find this author?" Shi Hui asked.
"He's right here at Beijing Film Studio. *Romance on Mount Lu*, the film we asked you to buy clothes for, was scripted by him too."
"Oh? What a coincidence!" Shi Hui laughed. "Then I really must meet this comrade!"
"No rush. I'll have him join our symposium shortly. That young fellow has a brilliant head on his shoulders."
Wang Yang had originally intended to study *The Cotton Kasaya* to see if Beijing Film Studio could adapt it, but the Hong Kong comrades had a more urgent need, and he was willing to part with it. Of course, he would first need to ask Chen Qi's opinion, since he was the author.
***
"Why am I being called to a meeting out of nowhere?"
Chen Qi had been planning to visit China Bookstore when Liang Xiaosheng suddenly fetched him for a meeting.
Liang Xiaosheng whispered, "The Hong Kong comrades are here for an internal symposium. Everyone attending is key creative talent from the studio. Bringing you along shows the director values you. Look around the room—you're the only non-staff person here."
"Non-staff my foot. I sell large-bowl tea!"
The two stepped into the conference room. True enough, there were only about forty people, all core members of the four major creative collectives. When Chen Qi walked through the door, heads turned in surprise.
"Old Wang, what's this about?"
"Fu Chi took a liking to an idea of his and wanted to chat, so I went ahead and called him in for the meeting."
"I know you cherish talent, but we must still observe discipline. This is an internal symposium. What if word gets out?"
The one raising the objection was Deputy Director Sun Wenjin. Knowing he was technically in the wrong, Wang Yang chuckled. "Won't happen again! Won't happen again!"
Braving the gazes directed at him from all sides, Chen Qi found a corner and sat down. He understood his position: he was merely an outsider staying at their guesthouse. Being treated well was fine, but once he stepped into internal affairs—well, what work unit's inner circles were ever peaceful?
"Quiet down, please!"
With everyone assembled, Wang Yang personally presided over the meeting. "First, let us welcome Comrade Fu Chi and Comrade Shi Hui from Hong Kong. Despite their packed schedules, they came to Beijing Film Studio and, unable to resist my thick-skinned pestering, agreed to hold this internal symposium. Today, we've invited them to speak about the current state of Hong Kong cinema, which will be of immense help in broadening our understanding of the film industry outside our borders..."
*Clap, clap, clap!*
Applause broke out. Fu Chi raised a hand in acknowledgment. Born in Shenyang and raised in Shanghai, he spoke with a slight accent as he smiled and began, "The last time I came here was over a decade ago. In the blink of an eye, I've reached the age of knowing my destiny, which stirs up many feelings.
"Director Wang asked me to speak on Hong Kong cinema, so let me start from a dozen or so years ago.
"As you all know, our left-wing companies and the Taiwan-backed companies have always fought tooth and nail, using Hong Kong as the battlefield. Back then, we held the upper hand in every respect, routing them completely. Our films once commanded a third of the Hong Kong market.
"Great directors, top actors, renowned screenwriters, master cinematographers—we lacked nothing, and we even ran a theatrical circuit of eight cinemas. To this day, I still remember the sensation when *Third Sister Liu* screened in Hong Kong...
"Yet the present is nothing like the past.
"Once the turbulence cleared and we opened our eyes, Hong Kong cinema had entered a fully commercialized era where box office is the sole benchmark. But that does not mean the struggle has vanished; our battle continues.
"Taiwan established an organization called the Free Association, created specifically to win over Hong Kong film practitioners and suppress us.
"Taiwan is the largest export market for Hong Kong films. If a movie wants to be released in Taiwan, the director and actors must join the Free Association and become members—a pledge of allegiance, as it were.
"There are even those who flatter and openly bribe officials just so their films receive preferential treatment!
"Early this year, Hong Kong's TVB collaborated with Guangdong to record a Spring Festival celebration program, featuring twenty-nine performers. Before heading to Guangzhou, they had to register with the Free Association and submit letters of repentance, along the lines of: 'We are under contract with TVB and cannot refuse assigned work, so please forgive us,' and so forth..."
As Fu Chi spoke, emotion seemed to catch in his throat. Shi Hui reached over and patted him gently on the shoulder.
"A boycott by Taiwan effectively ruins a performer's career, so those artists dare not draw close to us. To be frank, the left wing is in dire straits, held together solely by a few veterans. Many comrades couldn't hold out and chose to leave.
"Over the past two years, our three companies produced only five films altogether, and the box office returns were poor. Because Hong Kong cinema developed so rapidly, our long blank period has left us lagging behind.
"Attending the Congress of Literary and Art Workers this time, the stance of the central leadership has renewed our confidence. Backed by the motherland, we firmly believe we can restore our former glory.
"We will neither belittle ourselves nor aim unrealistically high. For now, our top priority is boosting production, delivering several impactful works, and regaining a firm footing in Hong Kong..."
"..."
His words were earnest and packed with candid insight. The conference room fell dead silent.
Surprised and deeply sympathetic, everyone realized the Hong Kong comrades' work was even more fraught with difficulty: caught between the British colonial government, right-wing factions, and restrictions from the mainland, they were often trapped in a no-win position.
After Fu Chi finished, Shi Hui added a few remarks.
Wang Yang smiled and said, "Everyone, feel free to ask questions. It wasn't easy snagging them, so we can't let them off lightly!"
"Haha!"
The room broke into laughter. A veteran director spoke first, asking, "Do you still make realistic films today?"
"Of course we do! Realism is our foundation, but the audience for it is shrinking."
"What are your impressions of the mainland's new releases this year?"
"They're all wonderful. I can feel a vibrant vitality within them. I saw *What a Family* and was pleasantly surprised to find it was a comedy. I hope to see more and more films like that."
"Will you make films depicting life on the mainland?"
"That's very difficult; the British colonial government wouldn't approve them for release. Put it this way: mainland films, or mainland themes produced by us, face censorship as their very first hurdle. They're terrified to the point of scrutinizing every single frame. For example, photos of the Chairman cannot appear, his name cannot be spoken, nor can he be mentioned in lyrics..."
Fu Chi and Shi Hui answered patiently. The questions raised by the room were all centered on artistry, technique, and censorship limits.
Then, suddenly, cutting straight through the uniform tone of the room, a voice rang out:
"Excuse me, which film took the box office crown in Hong Kong this year?"
Chapter 58