Spring Thunder Resounds

Zhang Xinyan felt as though he had run into an evil spirit! He had sent out three scouting teams across the country to find talent: one went northwest, one went to the Central Plains, and one went southeast. Bit by bit, they brought back files and profiles. Yet every time he took a liking to someone, that person had already been booked; when he set his eyes on another, that one was taken too... When he asked who had claimed them—it was Beijing Film Studio's *Tai Chi*! Ha! Zhang Xinyan immediately went to confront Wang Yang. Wang Yang replied, "I don't know anything! I don't know a thing! Why would a studio director like me micromanage specific shoots?" Then he went to Li Wenhua, who said, "I discussed it with everyone beforehand. It wasn't up to me alone." Round and round it went, finally circling back to Chen Qi. "I know you're anxious, Director Zhang, but please, take it easy first." "Cut the nonsense!" "Then have some water first..." Chen Qi poured a cup of hot water with a genial smile and said, "You stormed in here fuming at me, leaving me totally in the dark. What's this all about?" Zhang Xinyan was usually a cultured, suave man who prided himself on being a literatus, but right now he looked like an auntie shortchanged at the vegetable market. He barked, "Kid, stop playing dumb! You knew full well I was going to the wushu teams to recruit people. What's the idea of poaching them ahead of me?" "Hold on, hold on. Let's sort this out!" Chen Qi said unhurriedly, "When you arrived last year, you said you were preparing *The Shaolin Temple* and talked about Liao Gong's instructions. Then you decided filming wasn't possible in the winter and that the script should be settled first, and I chipped in to help. "Toward the end of last year, *Romance on Mount Lu* wrapped up. I wanted to write a new script, which reminded me of the two subjects Liao Gong mentioned: one was Shaolin, and the other was Tai Chi. Since you picked Shaolin, I thought we'd make *Tai Chi*... Hey, we are allowed to shoot it, right? Nobody said we're forbidden from filming it, did they?" "No!" Zhang Xinyan gnashed his teeth. "You know I write quickly; it took just a few days to finish the script. Our old studio director is ambitious and happened to want an entertainment feature. We hit it off immediately. With me as the creative planner and Li Wenhua directing, we started preparations. "Originally, I also wanted to scout at the Beijing Wushu Team. But then I figured that if they wouldn't give face to you, they certainly wouldn't give face to us. So we decided to look into provincial teams to see if we'd have any luck. "And so, Director Li and I set off on a long journey before Spring Festival. Do you know what that was like? Right before Spring Festival! We spent over a dozen days on trains, crisscrossing several provinces, just to track down those few people! "And what were you doing back then? You'd returned to Hong Kong! "You can't blame me for that, can you? Was I supposed to talk you out of going home? "Now you've returned after the holidays, and because you can't find people, you're taking it out on me. What, do you think I can predict the future? That I intentionally intercepted all your actors in advance? If I had that kind of foresight, what would I still be doing here?" "..." Zhang Xinyan's face flushed like someone suffering from severe constipation, yet he couldn't utter a single word of rebuttal. And that little rascal was still fanning the flames beside him, chattering on, "Isn't that how things developed? Is a single word I said fabricated or exaggerated?" Seeing him remain silent, Chen Qi continued, "Now that you feel our productions are clashing, there is a way. *The Shaolin Temple* is a project initiated by Liao Gong, making it practically a national undertaking. You can just put in a word with the higher-ups. If they order us to back down, we will definitely step aside." *Damn it all!* As a Ningbo native, Zhang Xinyan nearly blurted out that famous regional curse. He snapped, "Kid, don't try to mock me. Out of respect for my relationship with Director Wang, I would never bully anyone with higher authority. "You snatched them, so take them. China is a vast country—I refuse to believe I can't find anyone else!" "Of course you can find people. But *The Shaolin Temple* has already been delayed for a year. If you drag it out for another year, when will the movie ever come out?" Zhang Xinyan made a move to leave. Chen Qi naturally couldn't let him walk away, so he offered a proposal: "My cast is almost assembled, and we can assemble them for training very soon. Even if you find people, you'll still have to train them, right? Just consider this as me paving the way for you. "Our shoot will be fast too. You can scout outdoor locations first, or shoot indoor scenes at Beijing Film Studio while our two crews shoot concurrently. By autumn at the very latest, I'll hand the entire cast over to you on a silver platter. It won't delay your schedule at all." Zhang Xinyan turned back and sat down, asking suspiciously, "Kid, speak plainly. What are you playing at?" "Only one condition: let me use Li Lianjie first." *Hiss!* Cold sweat suddenly broke out across Zhang Xinyan's back. He stared at the young man with an odd, searching gaze as a thought surfaced in his mind: *Could this have been his real goal all along? No, impossible. Just as he said, how could anyone predict the future?* "You mean one cast for two film crews?" "Exactly! I'll train them—ah, no, I'll communicate with them first. None of them are professional actors, so there's bound to be an adjustment period. Once my film wraps, they'll already have experience. When they move over to your crew, they can get straight to work, saving you plenty of trouble, wouldn't it?" Historically, Zhang Xinyan wouldn't gather the actors for intensive training until the summer of this year, and then dragged on for over a year before releasing the film. Now the process was already accelerating; thanks to Chen Qi's involvement, the script had been completed ahead of schedule, pushing the entire timeline forward. He really ought to thank Chen Qi. Zhang Xinyan couldn't bring himself to use his influence to bully others, so he had no choice but to accept the proposal. At the same time, he was deeply intrigued. The kid emphasized efficiency in every breath—could filmmaking truly achieve both efficiency and quality at the same time? He genuinely wanted to see how the young man would pull it off. * * * After seeing Zhang Xinyan off, Chen Qi went straight to the main building to find Wang Yang. Wang Yang burst into laughter. "Good lad, you really put together the whole crew! Excellent. Construction on Xisi Pailou Street is underway as well; it certainly won't hold things up." "Only the martial arts choreographer is left. After that, most of my part is done, and the rest is up to you." "You know what? Working with you on this has actually rekindled a bit of my revolutionary passion!" Wang Yang pulled out an envelope and waved it. "I'm submitting a petition to the Central Authorities right now!" ... In the spring of 1980, an earthquake rocked the film industry. It was not entirely out of the blue; there had been numerous warning signs before, making it somewhat anticipated. Historically, Wang Yang did not write his letter to the Central Authorities until summer, but now, with the flap of a butterfly's wings, that letter had been moved forward by several months. In the letter, he addressed three issues: investment priorities in the film industry, distribution of film profits, and business management of film studios. When word spread, the five major studios—Shanghai Film Studio, Changchun Film Studio, Emei Film Studio, Xi'an Film Studio, and Pearl River Film Studio—rallied in support one after another. The Central Authorities ordered the Ministry of Culture to produce a solution! Why was it so effective? First, Wang Yang held considerable prestige. Second, in the early days of reform, everyone was groping forward through uncertainty. Everyone knew reform was necessary, but no one knew exactly how to do it. The prevailing attitude was to try things out first; if something failed, change course—there were plenty of stones to feel across the river. Third, this was an era when the working class were masters of their own house, an era when a doorman dared to slam his fist on the studio director's desk. One should never underestimate the collective voice; the masses possessed immense power. At the Ministry of Culture, conference room. It was virtually identical to the tea party before the New Year: attended by Ministry of Culture leaders, China Film representatives, and heads of the major studios. Yet the atmosphere was entirely different. Ding Daming of China Film glared fiercely at Wang Yang, looking as if he wanted to bite a chunk of flesh out of him. The Central Authorities had ordered that the issue must be resolved, which meant endless wrangling was no longer an option. More importantly, it meant China Film had to surrender a portion of its profits. Wang Yang sat serenely unperturbed; he wasn't afraid of this in the least. Xu Sangchu of Shanghai Film Studio was also brimming with enthusiasm, knowing this was a milestone moment. The heads of the marginal studios had little say, so they were content to simply watch the heavyweights clash. "Today, we are discussing the issue of profit distribution in film distribution. Old Wang, why don't you start?" "Ahem!" Wang Yang cleared his throat and said, "Let me offer a reminder first: we're not here to argue today. That will only waste time. Let's stick strictly to the substantive points. I'll make only two demands: give us the film copyrights; you can't keep taking them away. And grant our studios independent distribution rights!" Previously, China Film's seven-hundred-thousand-yuan buyout included the copyright, leaving the film studios without even their own intellectual property. Xu Sangchu said, "I support Old Wang's proposal!" "I support it too!" "We support it as well!" Ding Daming also knew today wasn't meant for shouting matches. Forcing down his temper, he said, "Copyright can be returned to you, but distribution rights are out of the question. We can work out an approach acceptable to everyone." "Then price films based on their quality! High prices for good films, low prices for poor films!" "Right! No more flat seven-hundred-thousand buyouts!" "But how do you judge quality?" Ding Daming threw up his hands. "The viewing experience is entirely subjective. What you think is good, I might think is bad; what you think is bad, I might think is good. Won't that just lead to more bickering down the line?" "That's a fair point. There is no objective standard for such things." "Then what should we do?" China Film had agreed to yield profits; the crux was how. The room erupted into noisy debate for hours, with an intermission in between, before finally arriving at a compromise everyone could accept: China Film would acquire films and sell prints to local regions. If the number of prints sold fell between 99 and 120, each print would be valued at 9,000 yuan, and China Film would pay the studio between 900,000 and 1.08 million yuan. If sales fell outside this range—for instance, if only 50 prints were sold, or if 200 prints were sold—China Film would acquire the film at a flat rate of 990,000 yuan. In this way, studio profits rose significantly. Although they still lacked independent distribution, they had at least brushed up against the market, and from then on they would have to pay attention to print sales. However, this intensified the burden on China Film. How many films in a single year could surpass 120 prints? Art films in particular often sold only a handful of copies, yet China Film was still required to purchase them for 990,000 yuan. Consequently, in the years that followed, China Film suffered losses of over sixty million yuan and eventually threw in the towel. The Central Authorities had no choice but to reform again, making the studios responsible for their own profits and losses. This led to a steep decline in domestic cinema during the late 1980s, until further reforms in the 1990s finally transitioned the planned economy into a market economy. Only then did the post-2000 boom arrive. That whole ordeal lasted a full twenty years! How many cinemas shut their doors, and how many workers were laid off? The growing pains of reform were far more than mere words. Of course, none of this could have been foreseen by Wang Yang; he was bound by the limitations of his era. He and the other studio directors were immersed in the joy of victory. With higher profits in the future, production budgets could increase as well—no longer a measly 700,000 yuan, but potentially up to 1.08 million. A 700,000-yuan *Tai Chi* versus a 1.08-million-yuan *Tai Chi* would be damn well completely different! Not long after the meeting, the Ministry of Culture issued an official document announcing the decision: Starting from the second quarter, the reform begins!