Fleecing Capitalism

"Tell me, is there any chance we could earn some foreign exchange?" "Xiao Chen, do you know what you're saying? You have to take responsibility for your words!" "Old Director, I wasn't the one who said it. Comrade Fu Chi did. I'm just summarizing." "..." Wang Yang stared at him for several seconds. He first opened the door to check outside, then locked it behind him and gestured for Chen Qi to sit on the worn sofa. "Tell me your thoughts in detail!" "If we make anything else, foreigners might not understand it, or they might not care in the first place." Chen Qi turned serious again. "Action, however, is physical movement. Even if two people don't speak a word of each other's language, they can still communicate basic things through hand gestures. Martial arts are no different—there's no cultural barrier. "When two people fight, audiences anywhere in the world can understand it, right? "Whether the fight is thrilling, audiences anywhere in the world can see that, right? "Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan's films are wildly popular overseas, and I think that's the reason why." "Keep going!" "More importantly, martial arts films contain nothing Westerners are afraid of. They're pure entertainment with no ideological conflict, which makes them comparatively easy to clear past censorship. "On top of that, we hold two major advantages. First, the state has trained so many martial arts talents, giving us a rich pool of performers. Second, our motherland boasts magnificent landscapes and endless scenic beauty, providing an immense canvas to work with. "That's why this idea crossed my mind: let's make a martial arts film and try distributing it overseas. We can make money off the Japanese, the British, and the Americans—fleecing the capitalist sheep!" *Hsss!* Wang Yang sucked in a sharp breath of capitalist wool. What whimsical nonsense, what sheer audacity! Yet he had to admit that his aging heart was actually pounding. Chinese cinema had remained isolated for far too long. In the past, exchanges had only existed with the Soviet Union, the socialist countries of Eastern Europe, and Yugoslavia, and even those had flickered on and off amid a rapidly shifting international landscape. After the Reform and Opening Up began, foreign imported films were the first to be unbanned. Titles like *Manhunt* and *Jane Eyre* had already been screened across the mainland, and a British Film Week had even been hosted. Yet no one had ever contemplated how to send domestic films abroad. In 1979, the mainland's moviegoing admissions reached a staggering twenty-nine billion visits—an average of twenty-eight visits per person in a single year, an unprecedented and unrepeatable record. With such a booming domestic market already demanding all their attention, who had the bandwidth to think about sailing overseas? Besides, domestic films were centrally purchased and marketed by China Film; international distribution was China Film's responsibility and had nothing to do with individual film studios. And yet! Wang Yang felt an old man's sudden surge of youthful reckless ambition. He stood up, pacing slowly in a few tight circles around the office. "We make the film, and our comrades in Hong Kong import it and help us handle distribution. "They can distribute it directly overseas, or release it in Hong Kong theaters to earn a bit of money to help subsidize costs. "Even if no one buys it abroad, we can still screen it on the mainland. Martial arts films definitely have a future here, and I've wanted to make a few commercial entertainment pictures for quite some time... But if it sells abroad, that would be the best outcome. Boy, if we truly earn foreign exchange!" Wang Yang stopped abruptly, staring at Chen Qi and pronouncing each word with deliberate weight: "You, me, and every colleague who puts in the effort—we will all be great heroes of the state!" "..." Chen Qi couldn't help but chuckle. The old man had actually worked himself into a passionate fervor. Ten minutes later, he stepped out of the office and gently pulled the door shut. They had reached an agreement on the concept of producing films to earn foreign exchange. It would be a long road. The first step, naturally, was writing the script. He took on the task without hesitation, but made one request: he hoped Hong Kong could send over some reference materials—primarily detailed performance data on Hong Kong films released overseas so he could study them. Without realizing it, noon had arrived. Everyone had gone to eat, leaving the main building largely deserted. Walking alone down the corridor felt rather cavernous, his footsteps carrying far down the stairs. Before the TikTok era, whenever anyone mentioned China's most successful cultural export, it was always kung fu! Kung fu! Kung fu! In truth, China's most successful export was that man—yes, that man. Particularly in the era Chen Qi had transmigrated from, when conflicts flared across the globe, unhinged actors ran rampant, global powers seemed to outdo one another in wickedness, and even an Iranian president could die out of the blue, that man was invoked by the West more often than ever... Yet for various reasons, people could only speak of kung fu. Chen Qi walked downstairs, breathing in the cool, crisp air of late autumn, feeling a warmth stirring in his chest. It came back to the same thought: since he had miraculously transmigrated here, he had to accomplish something worthwhile, right? He couldn't spend all his time picking up antiques, buying properties, and chasing movie stars... Well, chasing movie stars was still on the table. Antiques were definitely worth collecting too; finding hidden gems at a bargain was free money, and it would be foolish to pass them up. It wasn't as if he was dealing in smuggled cultural relics—they were for his personal collection. Huh? Chen Qi scratched his head. With movie stars and antiques, he would definitely need a large courtyard home. In the end, it all circled back to those worldly desires. "Well now, if it isn't my gentle big sister!" Thinking of movie stars, he looked up as he walked and spotted Gong Xue strolling along the path beside the guesthouse, seemingly out for a post-lunch digestive walk. She noticed him too and came over to ask, "Have you eaten yet?" "Not yet. I just finished a meeting." "There should still be food at the cafeteria. Go grab a bite." "I'm not very hungry, so I'll pass. Since the crew isn't filming, what have you been up to these past few days?" "Just reading in my room." "That sounds dull. Tomorrow I'm thinking of taking a walk out on the streets. If you're free, why don't you come along? We can invite Zhang Jinling too." "Okay." Gong Xue nodded. She seemed genuinely incapable of turning anyone down, or perhaps she was simply obedient by nature. With that settled, Chen Qi went upstairs through one entrance, while Gong Xue strolled a little longer before heading up through another. The guesthouse was divided into male and female sections, each occupying half the building, separated down the middle by a partition. Why not divide them by upper and lower floors? Because each floor had only one communal washroom and toilet. Going up and down every day, some careless comrade would inevitably look sloppy or unkempt, and having that witnessed by the opposite sex wouldn't do. Back in his room, Chen Qi found he truly wasn't hungry; instead, he felt a bit drowsy. He took a short nap, waking up fully energized and ready to work. The foreign-exchange film would have to wait a little. He really did need to inspect the data from Hong Kong first so he could write the prescription to fit the disease. This matter remained a secret known only to him and Wang Yang; before bringing in any foreign currency, no one else would know what this film was truly meant for. In 1979, China's foreign exchange reserves stood at a mere 840 million US dollars. Next year would be even worse, dipping to negative 1.29 billion. The country was dirt poor back then. You had no idea what lengths the state would go to just to pull in a little extra foreign exchange. The Overseas Chinese Apartments mentioned earlier were merely small potatoes. In this era, anyone who could bring in foreign currency wasn't just treated like a king—they were revered like an ancestor! An acquired treasure of boundless merit! As long as Chen Qi didn't commit murder or arson, minor personal flaws like messy romantic affairs would be treated as mere trifles! Spreading out his manuscript paper, he picked up his pen. First, he would write a new story for *Story Session*; he still needed to earn those manuscript fees. The plot was already clear in his mind. The pen flew across the page as if guided by divine inspiration, and in no time he had drafted the opening: *In the early years of the Republic of China, near the coast of Guangdong, there stood the South Bamboo Temple. On the surface, it appeared to be a tranquil Buddhist sanctuary, but in truth, it had fallen under the control of a band of scoundrels who engaged in violating women and trafficking people...* That gentleman from Chengdu hoped he could write a story set in Sichuan, but Chen Qi had no time for that right now. Please! Custom commissions cost extra! And the tale he was writing now was equally renowned, a cherished memory for countless people born in the 1970s and 80s: *Invincible Dual Kicks*!