Sword Saint

Chen Qi spent his first Spring Festival since transmigrating—and a profoundly boring one at that. His parents' work units had distributed plenty of holiday welfare goods, complete with the standard trio of a wall calendar, hairtail fish, and apples. The calendar was one of those thick, coarse-paper tear-off blocks meant to be nailed to the wall, where you tore off a page for every passing day. He didn't receive a single perk. At the Beijing Film Studio, he was merely on temporary loan, not a formal employee; and at the cooperative, he had been absent from work so long he didn't even draw a wage. In the eyes of uninformed onlookers, the bloke was nothing but a good-for-nothing slacker! Yet he had collected eight hundred yuan—his remuneration for the *Tai Chi* script. Heh heh! There was no Spring Festival Gala in these years; the first official one wouldn't air until 1983. However, in 1979 and 1982, CCTV produced two pre-recorded variety galas, effectively the precursors to the annual extravaganza. By now, provincial-level administrative divisions had all established their own television stations. In another two years, even cities and counties would be permitted to launch stations of their own. Domestic television dramas were poised to enter a phase of explosive growth. Chen Qi kept that firmly in mind. When the time came, he'd whip up a few TV scripts—a blossoming across both film and television, embracing starlets from all over... Once back at work after the Spring Festival, he rushed off without pause alongside Li Wenhua to Ningxia to pay a visit to China's last Sword Saint. ... Ningxia Wushu Team. In the office, Yu Chenghui sat on a stool. In his early forties, he was of medium build, with a narrow waist, broad back, and shoulders wrapped tightly forward. His hands were large, his beard thick and full, the front half of his crown bald while long hair flowed from the back. He wore a tattered sheepskin coat. Looking closely at his face, his eyes glinted with sharp intensity, brows arched high, scrutinizing Chen Qi and Li Wenhua like a hawk sizing up prey. In a wuxia novel, a figure of such bearing and aura would be described along the lines of: *Temples bulging prominently—evidently a consummate master!* Li Wenhua actually felt a twinge of intimidation, not daring to meet his gaze directly. Yet at the same time, it was as if he had laid eyes on an incomparable treasure. *Holy hell, we absolutely have to drag this man into the cast! Anything less would be an outright waste of heaven's gift!* "Yu Hai wrote to me, saying you intend to make a martial arts film and are looking for skilled practitioners across the country?" "That's right. Coach Yu recommended you, which is why we traveled thousands of li to come here. Now that we've met, I won't beat around the bush. Your image is an extraordinary fit for one of our characters. Would you have any interest in taking the role?" "I am deeply grateful to you two for coming all this way, but..." Yu Chenghui's voice was steady and powerful, and he pulled no punches. "I have no intention of acting in films. I can only ask for your understanding." "Please don't be hasty in refusing. How about I tell you a bit about the story?" Since they had traveled from afar, Yu Chenghui was willing to extend that much courtesy. Immediately, Li Wenhua began rattling on about the film, babbling about how profoundly important *Tai Chi* was, how much importance the studio attached to it, and how, if made, it would serve the people and add luster to art... Not a single word hit the mark. Yu Chenghui listened politely, thoroughly unimpressed. He was a few years older than Yu Hai. He had studied martial arts at a sports academy and was selected for the Shandong Wushu Team. In the 1960s, suffering a leg injury, he went to work at a machinery plant, though he never abandoned his martial training. Later, he left the plant, traveled widely to seek out seasoned martial artists with real combat experience, studied ancient texts, and systematized a two-handed sword technique of his own, which he named the Mantis Passing Through Forest Sword. A "two-handed sword" did not mean holding a blade in each hand, but gripping a large, two-handed sword with both hands. Now coaching martial arts with the Ningxia team, he felt his horizon was too confined. His sole desire was to compete in national-level tournaments to promote and propagate the two-handed sword. His perspective differed from Yu Hai's; he held little regard for movies. After Li Wenhua yammered away for a long while, Yu Chenghui still shook his head. "My sincere apologies, Director Li, but I have no interest in your film." "Please reconsider, I implore you..." Li Wenhua grew anxious, yet had no idea how else to persuade him. Chen Qi waited until Li Wenhua froze up and ran out of words before speaking up: "Coach Yu, I hear you created a two-handed sword art of your own?" "That is so." "We promise that you can showcase your two-handed sword in the film." Yu Chenghui's eyes instantly flashed bright. That wasn't all. Chen Qi continued, "We've already gathered top experts from wushu teams all across the nation. We've designed a pagoda guarded by seven great masters, who will respectively showcase kicking, wrestling, staff play, hard qigong, fist arts, and ninjutsu—just treat the ninjutsu part as a bit of fun, it's for the movies, after all! "Then the male protagonist challenges them, fighting his way up floor by floor. "And you are the final master!" What did it mean to hit the mark? This was hitting the mark right in the center! In literature, there is no undisputed first; in martial arts, there is no second. Who would ever yield to another? Chen Qi laid all his cards on the table: we've gathered all these martial elites, and we want you as the final boss. Hearing that felt outrageously satisfying. Even a man like Yu Chenghui couldn't help a surge of soaring ambition and pride. After a brief internal wrestle, he declared, "If you truly let me showcase the two-handed sword, then why shouldn't I accept!" "Excellent, it's a deal!" Having secured Yu Chenghui, Chen Qi let out a breath of relief. Running all over the country was exhausting, but the cast was finally complete. ... "Old Studio Head, let me wish you a belated New Year! May you enjoy good health and all the best!" "Good to see you, good to see you! Why bring gifts? You're being too polite!" "Only right and proper—it's the holidays!" In the studio head's office, Zhang Xinyan, who had spent the Spring Festival in Hong Kong, had returned to the capital at a leisurely pace, bearing gifts for Wang Yang. Sitting on the sofa with legs crossed, showing not the slightest hint of urgency, he chuckled: "Preparations for *The Shaolin Temple* are going very smoothly! Comrade Fu Chi went to see Liao Gong, and Liao Gong approached the State Physical Culture and Sports Commission. The wushu team finally relented and agreed to lend me Li Lianjie." "Oh? Congratulations, congratulations! With that, you could say half the battle is already won." "You could say that. I've already dispatched people to scout actors from wushu teams nationwide. They must have genuine martial arts skills. Those promising talents, champion-level athletes—bring them all to me. I'm going to make *The Shaolin Temple* into a true martial arts blockbuster!" Zhang Xinyan was brimming with grand ambitions, his blood surging hot. Wang Yang's expression twitched; he was holding back with great difficulty. *That damn brat Chen Qi is full of wicked tricks!* Chen Qi had once shared a viewpoint with him, arguing that the pace of filmmaking in the country was far too slow. While there were certainly legitimate reasons—a sense of conscientious responsibility, the pursuit of artistic quality, and hardware constraints—from a subjective standpoint, there was also human procrastination and sluggishness at play. And why was that? Because making a movie was just going to work. A daily stipend of fifty cents, no bonuses no matter how great the film turned out, and no connection between box office earnings and the creative team. There was simply no material incentive. Coming to the mainland to shoot a film, Zhang Xinyan had settled into the exact same rhythm—unhurried and leisurely. Yet Chen Qi had already begun driving up the competition! "Alright, I'd better be going. I'll still be troubling your studio for a while." "Stay as long as you'd like, provided you don't mind the accommodations." "The Beijing Film Studio is full of great artists. I can't get enough opportunities to learn from them! And then there's young friend Chen Qi. I often chat with him about anything and everything—it's always such a pleasure... Ah, by the way, how come I haven't seen him this time?" "He's away on a business trip. He'll be back in a few days..." Wang Yang's expression grew increasingly strange. Walking him all the way to the stairwell, Wang Yang waved a hand. "Xinyan, then let me wish you every success and a swift triumph!" "From your lips to God's ears, Old Studio Head! Absolutely, absolutely!" High in spirits and riding a wave of vigor, Zhang Xinyan sauntered down the stairs with hearty laughter.