Foreign Exchange Really Is King

Shortly afterward, Chen Qi spotted another boy. He looked to be in his teens as well. He seemed rather aloof, practicing his punches alone off to the side. He was good-looking, though his expression carried a distinct coolness. "Coach Wu, who's that?" "Oh, an overseas Chinese kid from America. He loves martial arts, so his mother sent him here to train last year. The kid's Mandarin is terrible, and he hardly talks to anyone. He just practices on his own. His name is Zhen Zidan." "How old is he?" "Sixteen!" Chen Qi looked back and forth between Zhen Zidan and Li Lianjie, the climactic duel between Wong Fei-hung and Nap-lan Yun-seut springing unbidden to mind. What a shame that both were still so young and looked so green, which severely limited the roles they could play. Zhang Xinyan finally finished his conversation, and Wu Bin led the group away. The moment they left, the team members crowded around Li Lianjie, peppering him with questions all at once. "Who were those people? What did they want with you?" "A director from Hong Kong. He wants me to star in a movie!" "Whoa, a movie!" "That's amazing! I love watching movies—I want to be in one too." "Forget it. The team would never agree." Li Lianjie had joined the wushu team at eleven, had visited dozens of countries, performed for Nixon, shaken hands with Kissinger, and been received by senior national leaders. He had truly seen the world, far from some sheltered kid who knew nothing. He scratched his head and chuckled sheepishly, though inside, excitement had already taken root. Being in a movie was infinitely better than staying on a wushu team! Standing all by himself in the distance, Zhen Zidan watched them with considerable envy. He caught a few words: *A movie? I want to be in a movie too!* "All right, all right, stop gossiping!" "Back to training!" Men's team captain Wang Qun and women's team captain Ge Chunyan stepped forward to maintain order and urge their juniors to focus, though down in their hearts, they too felt that longing. Later on, Wang Qun would appear in *The Thirteen Sister*, *Golden Dart Huang Tianba*, *Invincible Dual Kicks*, *The Tai Chi Master*, and *Young Zhang Sanfeng*. He possessed formidable martial arts skills and handsome looks, yet tragically passed away from illness at just forty-eight. Ge Chunyan would go on to star in *Deadly Fury*, *Broadsword Wang Wu*, and *The Women Generals of the Yang Family*, eventually moving to Singapore to open a wushu school. All in all, Zhang Xinyan's visit had planted a seed of ambition in the hearts of these young athletes. In this era, occupations were largely set in stone: peasants remained peasants, workers remained workers, and athletes remained athletes. Crossing industry lines was viewed as improper and frivolous. Yet there were two paths that could break one free from this rigid social hierarchy: one was literature, and the other was cinema. *** "Stubborn fools! Backward thinking!" "Cinema is such a wonderful medium for promoting traditional martial arts, yet they treat it like a raging flood or savage beast! It makes no sense at all!" An hour later, Zhang Xinyan emerged from the sports school, cursing openly in utter fury. He had laid everything out in painstaking detail for the school leaders, but they simply refused to budge. Their attitude had even carried a faint air of condescension, essentially saying: *We're national champions who tour America and Japan. What does your little film amount to?* "Don't be angry, Director Zhang. This is only normal," Chen Qi consoled him from the side. "Li Lianjie can win five gold medals all on his own. He'd be a treasure anywhere. His record ties to the wushu team, and the wushu team ties to the municipal sports commission. Losing him means losing a massive chunk of their athletic achievements—nobody dares shoulder that responsibility. "You should find a way to see Liao Gong and ask him to intervene with the State Sports Commission. Once the State Sports Commission speaks, the wushu team will let him go. Otherwise, even if you go looking for athletes locally, they'll just tell you no." "Mm, that makes sense!" Zhang Xinyan nodded, chuckling. "Xiao Chen, for someone so young, you really see through the ways of the world, don't you?" "It's all thanks to Director Wang's teaching. How could I know anything about all those twists and turns?" "Ha, humble as always!" Having spent several days with Chen Qi, Zhang Xinyan was thoroughly impressed by him. *The Shaolin Temple* already had two screenwriters who had laid out the general framework, so Chen Qi mainly offered suggestions regarding the emotional arc. And every suggestion hit the nail right on the head! For instance, the Shaolin Temple was a sacred Buddhist ground, so how could the male and female leads hang around together all day? Chen Qi simply suggested making the female lead a shepherdess living at the foot of the mountain. Just like that, a problem that had plagued Zhang Xinyan for ages was resolved on the spot. Chen Qi had no wish to get too entangled with *The Shaolin Temple*. Having his name on the screenwriting credits was enough, because its production cycle was far too long—filming began in 1979, but it wouldn't hit theaters until 1982. Zhang Xinyan spent half a year casting, then gathered the actors in Zhengzhou for collective training, taking more than half a year just to get cameras rolling, followed by another full year of shooting... In that amount of time, Chen Qi could easily pull together two entire films of his own. Not to mention, his own foreign-exchange project was also a martial arts picture. He might even have to compete with *The Shaolin Temple* for talent! *** Chen Qi accompanied Zhang Xinyan back to the Beijing Film Studio. The moment they arrived at the gate, the old gatekeeper stopped him. "Kid, you're finally back! The comrade from the post office has stopped by several times!" "Are you Chen Qi? There's a package for you, as well as a remittance notice. You need to sign for them." "I'm terribly sorry. I was tied up with business today. Thank you so much!" "Don't mention it! Your remittance is from Hong Kong, no less. Keep earning more foreign exchange for the motherland in the future!" With patriotic pride shining bright, the mail carrier hopped on his bicycle and rode off. Brushing off the gossiping old gatekeeper, Chen Qi clutched the mail and hurried back to the guest house. He shut the door and opened the package first. Sure enough, it was a thick stack of materials. Next, he checked the remittance notice and spotted the words *Great Wall*. This was the remuneration for *The Cotton Kasaya*! A surge of excitement welled up inside him, no less thrilling than when he received the payment for *Romance on Mount Lu*. Although Hong Kong cinema didn't place heavy emphasis on scripts, once a screenplay was accepted, the compensation was far higher than on the mainland. The going market rate there was typically ten thousand to thirty thousand Hong Kong dollars, and if a renowned writer was commissioned, it could reach fifty thousand. He was a newcomer, and the left-wing studio was strapped for cash, so it would probably be around... "Ten thousand Hong Kong dollars!" Chen Qi couldn't help jumping up and down twice. He had guessed correctly. He truly relished this feeling of starting from scratch and earning money bit by bit. It brought an immense sense of accomplishment. The average exchange rate in 1979 was roughly 100 Hong Kong dollars to 31.35 renminbi, which translated to just over three thousand yuan. Another step closer to becoming a ten-thousand-yuan household! Unable to sit still for another second, he jumped onto his bicycle and pedaled like lightning back to Qianmen. First, he visited the neighborhood committee to get Auntie Wang to write him a verification letter, then dashed home to grab his household register before heading straight to the bank. Remittances in those days worked by mail slip: you received a notice first, then took it to the bank to withdraw the money. Chen Qi stepped up to a counter, pulled out his documents from his bag, and said, "Hello, comrade, I'm here to make a withdrawal!" "Please wait a moment!" The clerk glanced at the slip and gasped. The sender was from Hong Kong, which wasn't unheard of, but the amount written in plain sight was *10,000 Hong Kong Dollars*! When Hong Kong compatriots sent money to mainland relatives, it was usually just a few hundred yuan. Who on earth sent ten thousand Hong Kong dollars? Growing instantly alert, she asked, "Comrade, what is this money for?" "Author's remuneration!" "Remuneration??" She looked even more bewildered. "I wrote a screenplay for a Hong Kong company, and this is my payment. Doesn't the sender line say Great Wall?" "And what is your line of work?" "I work for the Qianmen Refreshment Cooperative—the stall selling large-bowl tea. I have a certificate issued by my neighborhood committee." *Even people selling large-bowl tea can earn foreign exchange now? Reform and Opening Up really is miraculous!* Still uncertain, the clerk called over her supervisor. The two whispered in hushed tones, stealing occasional glances at Chen Qi, before inviting him into a small side room with smiling faces, asking him not to worry. *Uhhh...* Chen Qi was speechless. Were they suspecting him of espionage again? Sure enough, an intimidating man arrived shortly afterward, probing him with question after question. In the end, the man didn't explain much and simply told him to keep waiting. Just as Chen Qi's patience was wearing thin, Jiang Huaiyan walked in. "Director Jiang, what brings you here?" "They contacted the Beijing Film Studio directly! Of course I had to come vouch for you. Good grief, you gave us quite a fright—we thought you'd gotten into trouble, only to find out it was all over a script payment." At this point, the bank officials returned, smiling. "Young comrade, thank you for your cooperation. We hope you understand." "No problem at all. But I won't have to go through this whole ordeal next time, will I?" "No, no, everything's been cleared up." "Will I receive overseas remittance certificates, then?" Chen Qi asked, keen on the perks. "Uh..." The official looked apologetic. "To be frank, your situation is quite unique. Although the money was wired from Hong Kong, the sender is a state-owned Chinese enterprise. We checked the regulations, and under these circumstances, it doesn't qualify as an overseas remittance. We hope you don't mind." Just as he finished, another staff member chimed in, "Don't be discouraged! You can already write screenplays at such a young age, so why not be a bit bolder? Submit manuscripts abroad! Earn US dollars! Earn British pounds! If money is wired from foreign countries, you'll definitely get overseas remittance certificates!" Another person joined in agreement. "Yes, exactly! In the past, overseas remittances were meant for supporting families, building houses, or weddings. Earning remuneration from writing is exceedingly rare. With your talent, wouldn't it be wonderful to bring in more foreign exchange for the nation?" "You flatter me too much, comrades. I'm afraid I don't deserve such high praise!" "Nonsense, of course you do! A brilliant young talent who's handsome to boot—who else could do it if not you?!" Chen Qi, who was usually the one dishing out emotional validation to others, found himself on the receiving end of a barrage of compliments. *Leave it to comrades in finance—their minds really are liberated!* And it only reinforced one undeniable truth in his mind: *Foreign exchange really is king!*