The Mantis Fist Master

Rumble! Rumble! A green-skinned train bound from Beijing to Jinan hurtled along at several dozen kilometers per hour. On both sides, snow blanketed the ground, punctuated by sparse plumes of chimney smoke from scattered villages, laying bare the rugged expanse of the northern plains. "Comrade, two boxed meals, please!" "Here's your money!" Chen Qi handed over seventy fen and accepted two aluminum tins. He gave one to Li Wenhua across from him before opening his own. Stewed cabbage and potatoes covered the rice, complete with savory broth—piping hot and fragrant. It was barely half a month before the Spring Festival. Passenger traffic on the railways was already surging, on the verge of erupting at any moment. Choosing to travel on official business at such a juncture was asking for misery, but he had no choice. He needed to lock down several actors ahead of Zhang Xinyan so he would have leverage to bargain. "Young Chen," Li Wenhua said suddenly around a mouthful of food, "I've been at Beijing Film Studio for so many years, and this is the first time I've ever seen a screenplay go from project approval to pre-production in just twenty days. The speed is unprecedented." "That's precisely why we asked you to take charge, Director Li. A junior like me—how could I handle an entire picture alone? I'll be relying on you for everything!" "They all say you're smooth and tactful. You really know how to talk." Li Wenhua smiled. His demeanor toward Chen Qi was polite yet distant, tinged with a hint of scrutiny. He was the director Wang Yang had selected for Tai Chi. At fifty-one, he had started out as a cinematographer before moving on to direct. Golden Dart Huang Tianba and Invincible Dual Kicks were both his works. Wang Yang had naturally spoken to him beforehand, but someone of his seniority being asked to consult with a mere greenhorn was bound to rub him the wrong way. Having knocked about the world in his previous life, what kind of person hadn't Chen Qi encountered? Men like this were simple enough: just give them face. As long as they felt respected, everything was easy to handle. "Would you like some hot water?" "In a little while." "There aren't many people by the boiler right now, so I'll fetch you some... No trouble at all, I'll take care of it!" Chen Qi took Li Wenhua's enamel mug and went to fill it. When they finished eating, he proactively cleared things away and returned the aluminum tins. Yes, they had to be returned; passengers certainly weren't allowed to keep them. Faced with such attentiveness, Li Wenhua couldn't bring himself to be overbearing. He chatted, "Speaking of which, I'd heard of you before you joined the studio. I read that letter you published in China Youth Daily." "You flatter me, Director Li." "It was very well written. Especially that line—'Facing the sea, with spring blossoms blooming.' My daughter loved it most; she even copied it into her notebook..." Before he could finish, a young woman sitting in the neighboring row seemed to catch the signal, crying out, "Ah! Are you Chen Qi?" "I am." "It really is you! What a wonderful surprise! Hello, hello!" The girl hastily reached out. Chen Qi shook her hand, and she immediately unleashed a torrent of words: "I'm an educated youth too! I was assigned to a cooperative last year. Back then, I was so lost, feeling like life had no meaning. Then I saw your article! I even wrote you a letter! Hey, why didn't you write back?" "Maybe China Youth Daily didn't pass it along. Everything went through their hands." "They're so annoying! Anyway, I have to thank you. You gave me so much encouragement! My favorite line is also 'Facing the sea, with spring blossoms blooming.' Is that just a single line, or is it a whole poem?" "It's..." Chen Qi scratched his head. Damn it, how did that poem go again? He felt that reciting poetry out of nowhere on a train was rather cringeworthy, so he said, "It was just a sudden flash of inspiration—a line I jotted down casually." "But it already has the imagery of poetry!" The girl was clearly an artsy youth. "The mood of that line is so warm, so full of beauty and longing! When you have time, you should explore it and write a full poem!" "I'll try my best, try my best." Chen Qi felt thoroughly exhausted. Here he was, squeezed onto a green-skinned train, eating stewed cabbage and potatoes, enduring all sorts of foul smells, turning casting over in his mind while worrying about the country's arts and cultural cause from afar—and now he even had to play conversationalist and cater to a fan's emotions... The weight of the two capitals and thirteen provinces was practically resting on his shoulders! After fluttering with excitement for a bit, the girl pulled out a magazine. It was Poetry Periodical, which had resumed publication in 1976 with Zang Kejia as its first chief editor. "Have you read this? I buy every issue! My absolute favorite is Shu Ting's 'To the Oak'—I know it practically backward and forward. 'If I love you— / I will never be like the climbing trumpet creeper, / boasting of myself on your high bough.' What a resilient, beautiful spirit!" She actually began reciting the poem aloud. "Why don't you submit to magazines?" the girl asked again. "You write so well, they'd definitely publish you." "Lately I've switched to popular fiction—martial arts, romance, that sort of thing." "What? How could you write popular fiction!" Disappointment was plain on the girl's face, tinged with the frustration of someone reproaching iron for failing to become steel. Fortunately, that put a damper on her enthusiasm, and she finally stopped chattering. In this era, knowing how to write poetry, play guitar, or breakdance practically granted someone priority mating rights. One shouldn't assume this era was entirely conservative; it was conservative on the surface, but locally open. Those who played around really went wild—from high-ranking cadres' children down to ordinary folks, men and women had been suppressed for so long that when they suddenly let loose, their sphincters couldn't even rein in their corpora cavernosa... Chen Qi had no desire to join that crowd. He had no interest in poets; ninety-nine percent of them were lunatics—Gu Cheng was an outright nutcase, his wife was one too, his mistress had issues as well, a whole family of lunatics. Going to Jinan was far easier than going to Mount Lu; it took only a single day. Departing in the morning, they arrived at Jinan Railway Station at night. The girl got off there as well, leaving Chen Qi a slip of paper—presumably with her address and contact info. Even if he wrote popular fiction, he was still handsome! Chen Qi turned around and tore it up without even looking. Li Wenhua watched the whole thing with keen interest and asked, "Why did you tear it up? She had good intentions." "We crossed paths by chance. Why do something superfluous?" "Superfluous? You have talent, and the girl admires your talent. Wouldn't that make for a pleasant fate?" "We met by chance on a train, but I have no interest in her. That means our fate ends right here. Once we step off this train, we're just strangers passing in the world." "Now that's an interesting way to put it." Li Wenhua nodded, his opinion of him rising a fraction. *** The land of Qi and Lu had been famed for its martial prowess since ancient times, producing numerous renowned masters. For instance, there was Cai Guiqin, who founded the Chin Woo Athletic Association in Shanghai alongside Huo Yuanjia. He had known Qiu Jin, served as an instructor at the Grand Marshal's Residence in Guangzhou, and even donated two hundred thousand yuan during the War to Resist US Aggression and Aid Korea. His son was Cai Longyun. In 1943, when a group of foreigners swaggered around Shanghai and set up a fighting ring for open challenge, the martial arts community formed a Chinese team to compete. Cai Longyun, then only fifteen years old, threw a White Russian fighter thirteen times. Born in 1928, Cai Longyun didn't pass away until 2015, having served as captain of the national wushu team. His seniority was too elevated—a grandmaster-level figure Chen Qi could never hope to recruit. The man Chen Qi had targeted this time was another famous master. Early the next morning. Chen Qi and Li Wenhua arrived at the Shandong Provincial Physical Culture Work Brigade—which would be reorganized into the Sports and Technical College in 1984. The two presented their credentials at the gate. After waiting a short while, they saw a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and an honest, genial face coming out to greet them. His heavy Jiaodong dialect was a bit of a challenge to understand. "Hello! Hello! I've been waiting for you folks for half the day!" "You must be Coach Yu?" "That's right, that's right! The name's Yu Hai!" Chen Qi shook hands with him and carefully gauged his grip. Good heavens, those fingers were thick as baby radishes. In particular, his two forearm ridges—the wrist and forearm striking surfaces in Mantis Boxing—were extraordinarily thick and hard. A strike to the temple from those would leave someone black and blue, wouldn't it? "When we heard you were coming, everyone was thrilled to bits. We'll cooperate with your work, but you have to understand, whether we can release anyone, and how they're released—that's up to the leaders." "Understood, understood. Just show us around first." The three walked into the compound. Chen Qi struck up a conversation along the way: "Coach Yu, what kung fu do you practice?" "Seven Star Mantis Fist. My master was Lin Jingshan." "That's a grandmaster of his generation! A renowned master produces fine disciples indeed. I hear you also know staff fighting?" "Staff and sword—I know a little of each, but I'm not very good." "You've won national championships, and that's 'not very good'? If that's the case, mortals like us might as well crawl into a hole! You're too modest—you're a true contemporary master." "Oh, listen to you, young man... I don't deserve such praise, truly!" Yu Hai beamed, his face blooming like a Chinese rose. Li Wenhua had been observing him all along, utterly astonished. This stature, this age, those broad features and large ears, that aura of dignified authority mingled with genial simplicity—he was the spitting image of Chen Zhengying from the script! The head of Chenjiagou, Yang Yugan's master, and the female lead's father! It was as if the part had been tailored just for him. When other people made movies, they had the character first, then searched for an actor. When Chen Qi put a production together, he found the actor first, and only then wrote the character—one radish for every pit, more precise than recruitment at a state-owned enterprise.