Early summer, the capital.
The nude mural at Capital Airport had already been covered up, and covered it would remain for years until the Beijing Asian Games. The ideological climate of the 1980s was defined by its vacillation, swaying left one moment and right the next, leaving the social atmosphere alternating between relaxing and tightening.
In a car driving from the airport toward the city center, the two brothers, Yuen Woo-ping and Yuen Cheung-yan, gazed curiously at everything around them.
Both were gaunt and skinny with distinctively ancient-looking features, their eyes remarkably large. Yuen Cheung-yan would go on to play an old crone in The Miracle Fighters, an image Stephen Chow later borrowed in Forbidden City Cop.
The beggar in Kung Fu Hustle peddling martial arts manuals everywhere was also him.
"Is this your first time back in Beijing?"
"Yeah. The old man went to Hong Kong in '37 and never came back. We brothers were all born down south."
"Then do you know where the old family home is? You could go take a look."
The one asking was a staff member from Great Wall who had accompanied them north. Hearing this, the brothers were quite tempted, but exchanged a glance and shook their heads. "Our dad never mentioned it. He only said the family was dirt-poor and the times were turbulent, and he only joined a Peking opera troupe just to get a bite to eat."
"Times were indeed chaotic back then, but things are fine now. A new era, a new atmosphere—you two should walk around and explore."
The brothers smiled obligingly in agreement, though still somewhat constrained.
It couldn't be helped; this was Beijing, and Hong Kongers harbored exceedingly complicated feelings toward the capital.
On their journey north, they had traveled first to Shenzhen, then Guangzhou, and finally here from Guangzhou, sneaking around in secret under pseudonyms so no one would find out. In truth, they hadn't been entirely keen on coming, but since they were already here, they might as well get to work.
In those days, anyone from the Hong Kong entertainment circles visiting the mainland had to do so furtively. When Li Han-hsiang prepared to shoot Reign Behind a Curtain and The Burning of the Imperial Palace, he had also traveled north in secret, only to be exposed by the Hong Kong press.
Taiwan naturally blacklisted him, but such bans also depended on who you were. Li Han-hsiang was a major director and didn't give a damn; in his later years, he still lived high on the hog in Taiwan.
"We've arranged a hotel specifically catering to Hong Kong and Macao compatriots for you. You'll stay there and head to Beijing Film Studio during the day for work. If there's location shooting, I'll accompany you, and we'll make arrangements when the time comes."
"Great, great, no trouble at all."
While they spoke, the car drove into Beijing Film Studio. The Great Wall staff member led the two upstairs to the studio director's office.
The brothers were rather nervous. They had heard Beijing Film Studio was a bureau-level institution. Exactly what "bureau-level" meant was beyond them, but the studio director was certainly a big shot—someone with direct access to the leadership in Zhongnanhai. Hong Kong's entertainment industry was rooted in the grass roots, steeped in a rough-and-tumble street ethos; arriving on the mainland, the very first thing they had to confront was the institutional system and its bureaucratic framework.
Knock, knock, knock!
"Come in!"
They pushed the door open and entered the room.
Yuen Woo-ping swept a quick glance across the room. An elderly man sat behind the desk, imposing without being fierce and carrying an impressive presence—he was presumably the studio director. A middle-aged man with unremarkable features sat on the sofa, with a young man beside him.
This rascal was actually nibbling on a bar of imported chocolate, its wrapper stamped with prominent English letters.
"..."
For a moment, Yuen Woo-ping felt a jarring sense of contrast. What's going on here?
"Mr. Yuen Woo-ping! Mr. Yuen Cheung-yan!"
Wang Yang, courteous to his guests, took the initiative to address them respectfully as "Mister," stepping forward warmly to shake hands. "We've been looking forward to your arrival. It's wonderful to finally meet you today."
"You're too kind. We've been eager to come and see for ourselves as well."
"Oh? Your Mandarin is quite good!"
"Our father was a Beijing native, so we learned the Beijing dialect from childhood. Though we speak Cantonese day-to-day, we wouldn't dare forget our native accent."
"Good, good! I was truly worried communication might be an issue!"
The Yuen brothers, the Seven Little Fortunes, Lam Ching-ying, and others all spoke good Mandarin because the masters they had apprenticed under had all come from Peking opera. In the case of the Seven Little Fortunes especially, when they were studying opera as children, if their master caught anyone speaking Cantonese—smack!—a vicious slap would come flying across their face.
Therefore, those Hong Kong stars of later generations who came to the mainland to make a living yet refused to improve their Mandarin over decades really just deserved a good slap.
And don't talk about language habits.
In that era, almost every Hong Kong star went to Taiwan for promotional tours. In Taiwan, they naturally spoke Mandarin, fawning with fiery enthusiasm. Did any of them cry foul then? So why did coming to the mainland suddenly make them feel aggrieved?
They just needed a good slapping.
"This is Li Wenhua, the director of Tai Chi, and this is our screenwriter, Chen Qi!"
"Chen Qi?"
The two brothers couldn't help bypassing Li Wenhua, turning their gazes in unison toward the young man. Yuen Cheung-yan was especially astonished. "You're the Chen Qi who wrote The Miracle Fighters?"
"That should be me. I received your generous consideration"—referring to the manuscript fee—"and I'm grateful for your high regard."
"How old are you this year?"
"Twenty!"
"Whoa!"
The brothers exchanged a glance. Yuen Woo-ping gave a thumbs-up and praised sincerely, "Remarkable!"
Hong Kong was a money-worshipping society chasing fame and fortune, restless to the core. People paid special attention to overnight sensations and those who built careers at a tender age, and Chen Qi fit that bill perfectly.
Right then, they chatted briefly about Tai Chi. Fatigued from their long travels, the two brothers headed off to their hotel first.
Once they were out the door, Wang Yang wiped the smile from his face and said, "Even though they voluntarily lowered their wages, staying in a hotel every day is still an expense. You'd best shoot the action scenes first, then the dramatic scenes."
"We're already saving a lot. We didn't even ask for martial arts stuntmen; otherwise, they could have brought over a dozen people, all on our tab."
"What do stuntmen do?" Li Wenhua asked.
"Handle props, play extras, but mainly work as doubles. If a stunt is too dangerous or an actor can't pull it off, you need stuntmen to step in."
"Isn't that unprofessional? We certainly won't do things like that. Ji Chunhua and that bunch of lads are bursting with energy, just waiting to prove their mettle," Li Wenhua said, uncomprehending.
A clash of filmmaking philosophies wasn't worth arguing over. Chen Qi had no desire to convince him—there was no point, and they genuinely did need to save money. It just meant harder work for Ji Chunhua and the others, who would have to perform every stunt themselves.
It was all a matter of comparison.
Ji Chunhua earned one yuan a day and had to risk life and limb for Tai Chi, so Chen Qi naturally felt for his hardships. Those people in later generations made tens of millions; damn right they should suffer for it!
Chen Qi flipped through the storyboard script. From the opening duel where Yang Yugan fought an opponent, being turned away at Chenjiagou, sparring with Chen Shaojie, battling enemies, and studying the art under Chen Zhengying, there were over twenty fights large and small.
Right away, the three discussed it and decided to film a few simple action sequences first to ease into things, then tackle the climactic pagoda battle immediately after.
Once the pagoda sequence was out of the way, everything else would be smooth sailing.
Stepping out of the office, Li Wenhua looked full of worry. "Xiao Chen, after spending so much effort bringing in people from Hong Kong, will this really work? They don't look like anything special to me—so thin and small, nothing like martial artists."
"A martial arts choreographer doesn't have to be a grandmaster. This is brainwork. Don't worry, there's no one more suited for this."
Chen Qi was genuinely not worried.
Because Yuen Woo-ping was famously versatile, exceptionally adaptable. Whether it was period or contemporary, wuxia or sci-fi, the mainland, Hong Kong, or Hollywood, as long as the director stated what was needed, he could deliver.
Furthermore, he tailored the choreography to the actors' actual abilities. More importantly, he didn't run his mouth or boss the director around, sticking strictly to his job. Calling him the supreme model employee was no exaggeration.
Chen Qi looked forward to seeing what kind of film this gathering of talents in the year 1980 would produce.
Chapter 97