High-Income Earners

The script had been approved, and Chen Qi could still stay at the guesthouse.

His job had changed from writing the script to assisting with the production, and he still received a daily allowance of two yuan.

The Beijing Film Studio would choose a director, who would then cast the actors and begin preproduction. It would take quite a while. With no need to rush, no pressure from investors, and none of that bullshit traffic-driven hype, everything centered on making a good film.

The simplest examples: to play a farmer, an actor had to go to the countryside and experience life there; to play a worker, the actor had to work in a factory; to play a fisherman, the actor had to drift at sea and experience what fishing was like...

Nobody treated any of this as a badge of honor. It was perfectly normal.

Some good actors in later generations still upheld that tradition, but the idol actors were another story. They played domineering CEOs and pampered wives. Did they need firsthand experience for that?

Unless they played a poor person and gave us a taste of it. That was how we ended up seeing a "poor person" who earned 3,000 yuan a month in Shanghai, rented a place by the Huangpu River, and ate Soup Master every day.

But back to the point: actors received no acting fees these days.

Actors belonged to various arts organizations and drew monthly salaries. Acting was part of their job-or, on a grander scale, a national assignment. How could they possibly receive acting fees? They did, however, receive a daily allowance of around fifty fen to one yuan.

Liu Xiaoqing, Pan Hong, Tang Guoqiang... no matter how big a star they were, that was the rate.

By the 1980s, however, there were acting fees.

By comparison, and indeed across the entire film industry, screenwriters were indisputably high-income earners. How high? Three or four stories high!

In the 1950s, for example, the state stipulated that songwriters and composers were paid by the song, ten to twenty yuan each. The writer of "The Moon on the Fifteenth," which was sung all across the country, received fifteen yuan and later even went to court over it.

For poetry, every twenty lines counted as 1,000 Chinese characters, with a payment of ten to twenty yuan per thousand characters.

So

now you know

why the poems poets wrote

were all

in separate lines.

Gu Long pulled a similar trick to get more for nothing. He was also paid by the line, which was how he ended up with this style:

Night

A cold night

A solitary lamp, its flame no bigger than a bean.

The rates for novels and quyi performances were much the same, but film scripts were the sole exception. The standard at the time was 3,000 to 8,000 yuan per script-an astronomical sum!

By the 1960s, the rates had fallen, but they were still beyond the imagination of ordinary people.

Scripts for feature films paid 2,000 to 6,000 yuan each, while short films paid 1,000 to 3,000 yuan. Directors received 500 to 1,500 yuan for a feature film and 300 to 700 yuan for a short film.

Music was the most interesting case. Write a song on its own, and they would give you ten-odd yuan.

But if you scored a film or wrote a song for one, you could earn 300 to 800 yuan for the composition and 50 to 100 yuan for the lyrics.

You could say that as long as your work had anything to do with film, you were solidly among the high-income earners.

The state had always attached importance to film as well. The Chairman had personally criticized The Life of Wu Xun. The reason, ultimately, was that film had another function: it was a tool for ideological propaganda!

Knock, knock, knock!

Jiang Huaiyan knocked on the door of the studio director's office, entered, and handed over a written request. "This is our recommendation for the Romance on Mount Lu script payment. The literary department unanimously agreed on it."

"Let me see!"

Wang Yang picked up the document and looked it over. He smiled. "That works. It's neither too high nor too low, and it'll encourage the young man."

"Then it's approved?"

"Approved. Go coordinate with finance."

Jiang Huaiyan acknowledged him, then asked, "Who are you planning to have direct Romance on Mount Lu?"

"Ah, that's hard to say!"

Wang Yang was worrying about that very question. "You've classified it as a scenic lyrical film, but there's never been anything of this type before, and nobody has any experience with it. If we find an older director, I'm afraid he'll make it too serious. Its tone is youthful and lively, after all."

"Exactly, that's what we thought too. Handsome men and beautiful women, lovely scenery, a beautiful romance, and intense patriotism, each setting off the others."

"Let's give it some more thought. There's no rush."

Wang Yang paused, then suddenly asked with considerable interest, "Xiao Jiang, what do you think of the young man who wrote the script?"

"He's talented, presentable, and modest. His class background is good too; there's nothing black in it."

"The day they screened Drunken Master, I heard him chatting with someone. He seemed to have some ideas about entertainment films. I've always wanted the studio to make more films of different types. We can't keep making everything so steeped in bitterness and hatred, but unfortunately, not many people understand that sort of thing."

"You're appreciating talent again?" Jiang Huaiyan said with a smile.

"Of course I appreciate talent. But that young man is awfully young, and I'm not sure about him either. Let's keep an eye on him."

After chatting a little longer, Jiang Huaiyan returned to the literary department.

He sent Liang Xiaosheng to fetch Chen Qi. Before long, Chen Qi arrived and asked, "Director Jiang, has something else happened with the script?"

"No, don't be nervous. I wanted to talk to you about the payment."

Payment!

Chen Qi's eyes lit up. He had fussed over this lousy script for two reasons, hadn't he? First, to stay at the guesthouse, and second, to make money.

Seeing his reaction, Jiang Huaiyan teased him. "I thought you'd say you were serving the people and didn't want any payment!"

"I'm no saint. I put in the work, so naturally I want something in return. Besides, I want to show my parents and make them happy. If the day ever comes when I have no wants or desires, maybe I really won't take it."

"Mm, that's honest."

Jiang Huaiyan nodded. "Screenwriters' fees have always been the envy of others, how should I put it? Then they were suspended for more than ten years and reinstated in recent years. The state hasn't set us a new standard, so we generally discuss it among ourselves.

"A script used to fetch six thousand yuan, but that's impossible now. Still, we try to consider all the factors and give you the best terms we can.

"For an adapted script, we look at the influence of the author and the original work. The greater their influence, the higher the payment. It's much the same for original scripts. You're a young writer, so it normally wouldn't be too high."

"I understand, I understand!"

Chen Qi nodded repeatedly, muttering to himself, Five hundred yuan? Or four hundred? At the very, very least, it has to be three hundred...

"After considerable deliberation, we've decided to pay you eight hundred yuan!"

Gasp!

He shuddered. He had been a boss in his previous life, after all, yet hearing the figure of eight hundred yuan now, he looked a little beside himself with delight.

As for script payments, it was not until 1984 that the state issued a new standard: 1,500 to 4,000 yuan per feature film and 750 to 2,000 yuan per short film.

That was indeed high pay at the time. Unfortunately, the 1990s soon arrived, bringing a great commercial tide. Writers made pots and bowls overflow with money, while film screenwriters were still stuck miserably with those rates.

"Director Jiang, when can I collect it?"

"Once finance has finished processing it, you can go get it in a little while."

"Great, great!"

Jiang Huaiyan understood perfectly as he watched him beam. This was eight hundred yuan!

In 1979, the average monthly income of urban employees in the capital was eight yuan. Note that this was for urban residents and did not include farmers. A farmer did well to make thirty yuan a month; in poorer places, it was ten-odd yuan.

"Keep staying at the guesthouse for now. The studio will gradually start preparations, and we'll call you if anything comes up."

"So I'm free to do as I please!"

"Hehe, you don't have any assignments for the moment. Aren't you going home for a visit?"

"Of course I am. Oh, right, Director Jiang, can Romance on Mount Lu be published in next month's Film Creation? I want to take it home and show my parents."

"Sure, no problem."

"That's good!"

Chen Qi was relieved. It was May now, and next month was June, so he wouldn't clash with the original author.

He went out and immediately ran to finance to collect his money.

The third series of renminbi was in use now, and the highest denomination was only ten yuan. The front showed people's representatives walking out of the Great Hall, so it had a common nickname: "Great Unity."

Speaking of Great Unity, Chen Qi had been only a teenager that year when he accidentally opened a literary website. The works on it had all been wonderful, and he still remembered every one of the protagonists vividly:

There was a naive young man doing poorly in high school, a pitiful female schoolteacher bullied by men, the prince of Dongxing who moved between the underworld and the business world, and even Western knights, the beauties of Dream of the Red Chamber, Huang Rong after she had given birth, Luo Bing after her husband had died...

Eight hundred yuan filled a thick envelope.

Chen Qi returned to the guesthouse. Before long, Liang Xiaosheng and Ge You came over. Liang Xiaosheng had even brought a small hammer, which left him momentarily bewildered.

"What are you carrying that thing for?"

"To go with you to deposit the money! You're not going to put away that much money? I brought something with me, so I can hold my own if anything happens."

"..."

Chen Qi rubbed his nose. Why were they opening their hearts to each other like this at his age? Honestly, he was a little touched.

Ge You, meanwhile, hesitated, but in the end he couldn't help asking, "Um, can I have a look?"

"At what? The money?"

Chen Qi casually pulled out the envelope, revealing a thick stack of banknotes.

"Whoa, whoa!"

Ge You's eyes turned green. As if he had earned it himself, he excitedly rubbed his hands and spun around. "That's so much money! It's the first time I've ever seen so much money!"

(I have something to do today too, so that's all...

Happy May Day, everyone. Did you all go out and have fun?)

(End of chapter)