The Beijing Film Studio was vast, with the production complex out front and the living quarters in the rear.
Several tongzilou stood in the residential area. On each floor, a long corridor ran through more than a dozen households. The apartments were tiny, forcing pots, pans, and utensils to spill into the hallway. Whenever mealtime rolled around, the entire building choked on cooking fumes.
Things were still manageable for now. By the 1980s, as the studio's staff swelled, housing would fall far short of demand.
Singles could sleep in offices, but those who were married or had children had no such easy way out, leading to all kinds of vicious squabbles over apartments. There was an actress named Gai Lili who spent a few years at the studio. When another actress got married and took a fancy to Gai Lili's single dorm room, she took advantage of Gai Lili being away on a shoot to pry the door open, dump all her belongings outside, and brazenly move right in.
Suffice it to say, housing was crucial no matter the era.
That evening, after wrapping up the day's shoot, the four core creatives—Tang Guoqiang, Gong Xue, Zhang Jinling, and Chen Qi—gathered at the tongzilou.
"Come in, come in! Perfect timing, I just finished buying groceries!"
"Make yourselves at home, don't be shy! Have some candy, have some sunflower seeds!"
Wang Haowei and her husband greeted them warmly. Chen Qi glanced around the place. It was barely a dozen square meters—cramped in the extreme, but kept spotless, with books making up the bulk of the clutter.
Tang Guoqiang, of course, had an influential wife, while Zhang Jinling had just gotten married and been allocated a similar flat. Gong Xue looked on with a touch of envy; in the military troupe, she still lived in a collective dormitory without a place to call her own.
As for Chen Qi, he was a supreme freeloader who could coast on everyone else's dime until the end of time.
After chatting for a bit, Wang Haowei said, "Sit tight for a moment. I bought some meat especially so I could whip up a few dishes for you all."
"How could we make you do all the work? Let us help, let us help!"
"Don't be silly, you're our guests."
After the usual polite back-and-forth, Gong Xue took the initiative to lend a hand in the kitchen. Chen Qi knew how to cook as well, but he was too lazy.
He strolled out into the corridor. Families all around were preparing dinner, filling the air with a medley of aromas—both savory and strange. Gong Xue looked through the ingredients and gasped in delight, "You even bought hairtail?"
"I had to fight tooth and nail to grab it! Genuine winter-catch hairtail from Zhoushan. Say, have you ever been to Zhoushan?"
"Twice when I was little. The hairtail there really is exceptional. Look at this width—you must have bought the top grade! Thirty-eight cents a jin, wasn't it?"
"See that!"
Wang Haowei got the emotional validation she had been looking for, slinging an arm around Gong Xue's shoulders with praise: "Now this is a girl who knows how to run a household! You're hopeless, Jinling, completely careless!"
"Uh-huh, uh-huh, all I know how to do is eat!" Zhang Jinling replied, completely unbothered.
Back in 1957, there had been a bumper harvest of hairtail in the south. The capital purchased 150,000 jin of fresh hairtail, and the following year bought over a million jin. Yields were massive and the fish was cheap and good, making it ideal for widespread promotion.
Cadres from neighborhood committees and communes went door-to-door campaigning, explaining that hairtail was rich in iodine, prevented goiter, and tasted great, urging everyone to buy it.
That was how the people of Beijing took to southern hairtail. Zhoushan's hairtail was the best, graded by width—the broader the fish, the steeper the price.
"How would you like to prepare it?" Gong Xue asked.
"Stew it. That's how we always make it."
"Stewed? Actually, braising it in brown sauce is delicious too, or sweet and sour."
Gong Xue smiled as she made the suggestion, only for a certain someone to pop up behind her like a backseat phantom and pick a fight: "Hey, hey, you Shanghainese love your heavy oil and thick soy sauce. That doesn't work for us—we prefer lighter flavors. You think Director Wang gets her condiments for free?"
"Frying it in oil before stewing makes it taste much better," Gong Xue countered.
"And does cooking oil grow on trees?"
*Tsk!*
Gong Xue turned around and glared at him. How could one person be so thoroughly irritating?
"Get yourself inside! Standing here like a bump on a log, just getting in the way!"
Wang Haowei shooed him into the apartment and said, "Xiao Gong, let's stick to stewing it. Broth and fish all in one big pot—it feels lively when we eat."
"All right, whatever you say."
Gong Xue nodded, pulled over the basin of hairtail, and cleaned it deftly.
Although oil was precious, they were hosting guests today after all, so she gave the fish a light flash-fry. Then she lit the honeycomb briquette stove, tossed in the seasonings, and let it simmer gently over low heat. Before long, a mouthwatering aroma drifted through the hall.
"Oho, having guests over?"
"From the smell of it, that's thirty-eight-cent hairtail, isn't it? How about sparing a piece for our family?"
"Your family didn't spare us a single bite of that big pork shank you had yesterday! Shoo, back inside with you!"
Neighbors popped out one after another to trade playful banter. Wang Haowei shed her director's persona completely, turning into a warm neighborhood big sister. The more she looked at Gong Xue, the fonder she grew: "Xiao Gong, when do you head back to your troupe?"
"Tomorrow."
"You're such a wonderful girl, truly without a flaw. Once there's a suitable role for you in the future, we must work together again."
"Yes, thank you, Director Wang!" Gong Xue smiled.
Owing to her upbringing, she had something of a people-pleasing personality—afraid of offending anyone and deeply concerned about what others thought of her. Naturally, there was a calculated aspect to putting her best foot forward in front of Wang Haowei, which was only normal. But she was nothing like a fierce powerhouse like Liu Xiaoqing.
Liu Xiaoqing would put everything on the line just to claw her way to the top.
Before long, dinner was served. At the center of the table sat a generous basin of stewed hairtail, surrounded by a few side dishes, steamed rice, steamed buns, and a bottle of liquor brought out specially for the occasion.
"Anyone care for a drink?"
"Most of the folks here are female comrades, so I'll pass," Tang Guoqiang said.
"Worried you won't be able to explain yourself when you get home, huh?" Chen Qi teased.
Tang Guoqiang rolled his eyes, too exhausted to bother snapping back. Chen Qi chuckled. "If Old Tang isn't drinking, count me out too."
"Then let me say a few words first..."
Clearly the master of her household, Wang Haowei took charge without hesitation: "From Xiao Chen writing the script up to now, *Romance on Mount Lu* has been more than half a year in the making, and we've finally finished filming.
"This has been a deeply pleasant experience. Everyone got along wonderfully, without all the petty, messy nonsense. You younger folks haven't done many shoots, so you might not realize how rare it is to have such a peaceful crew.
"So my thanks to all of you. Let's raise our tea instead of liquor!"
They clinked cups and dug in. A good meal was hard to come by in these days, and everyone treated their food with absolute respect.
Chen Qi picked up a piece of hairtail. Simmered until the bones were soft and the meat fell apart, he plucked away the strip of fine bones along one side, lined his mouth up with the main spine in the center, and slurped it clean in one go. Man, it was heavenly!
After scarfing down two pieces, he immediately ladled out some broth, chattering away: "Drink the soup, drink the soup! The soup's the most nutritious part—all the hairtail's essence is in there."
"Just eat your food and quit jabbering. Who doesn't know how to drink soup?" Tang Guoqiang grumbled.
"You've gotta pour it over rice! That's where the real flavor is!"
Chen Qi drenched a bowl of rice in broth and wolfed it down in the blink of an eye. Too embarrassed to ask for a second bowl, he picked up a steamed bun and studied it intently for a long moment.
"What's wrong with you now?" Tang Guoqiang asked.
"I was just thinking... if you sliced this bun into pieces, deep-fried them in oil, slathered on a thick layer of sesame paste, and dusted it with a heavy coating of fine white sugar... taking a bite of that, man!"
Everyone burst out laughing. Zhang Jinling's broad face wobbled with mirth. "Xiao Chen, you usually act like such an old soul, but whenever food is involved, you turn right into a little kid."
"Kid? Have you ever seen a kid my size?"
"You really are just like a child sometimes—and a mischievous one at that," Wang Haowei confirmed.
"That's called keeping a childlike heart. You folks wouldn't understand!"
With filming behind them, everyone felt relaxed, chatting happily about anything and everything under the sun. Each had their own motives—Wang Haowei's dinner was an exercise in cultivating connections as well—but that did not diminish the genuine camaraderie among them.
"Xiao Gong, are you really heading back to your troupe tomorrow?"
"Yes!"
"Then Xiao Chen's assignment is finished too. Are you heading out as well?"
"I'm not leaving! I'm working on a new script right now, so I'll keep freeloading at the guesthouse, getting free room and board just like before."
He showed not a shred of shame, wearing his thick-skinned grin proudly.
Wang Haowei shared some heartfelt advice: "Staying at the studio as a screenwriter is fine—everyone views you as an outsider. But once you actually join... that is, if you ever want to get transferred in... you'll find yourself facing a completely different world."
"I understand. I've already noticed a few people who can't stand the sight of me," Chen Qi said with a smile.
Chapter 69