Director

Teresa Teng's music reached the mainland in the late 1970s.

A small number of tapes were brought back by people traveling on official business, but most were smuggled in from the south.

At the time, they were still original tapes, because copying them on a single-deck cassette recorder was a hassle. By the early 1980s, people were making copies on blank tapes, with no covers or lyrics. They would listen to a line, write it down, and pass the lyrics around to be copied.

For quite a long time, Teresa Teng's songs were underground music, listened to in secret.

Some children of high-ranking cadres would lock the door, draw the curtains, put on "Sweet Honey Honey," and start dancing "erotic dances" with one another. These so-called erotic dances were nothing more than ballroom dancing with a slightly tighter embrace.

Of course, some were more uninhibited, and that was genuinely erotic.

For the people of the mainland, Teresa Teng's decadent music was earth-shaking. Teresa Teng and Yang Yuying were the dream lovers of countless middle-aged and elderly men. That was true of the fathers' and grandfathers' generations. When those born in the eighties and nineties got nostalgic, it had to be Jay Chou, Stefanie Sun, and the three giants of QQ Music...

In any case, Chen Qi bought three tapes and successfully turned his father into a die-hard fan.

His father swiftly fell under the spell of the decadent music. Every evening, he locked the door and listened for a while, humming along, much to Yu Xiuli's displeasure.

Chen Qi had been back for several days, and during that time, he treated his friends to a meal.

They pooled their ration coupons, though they didn't have many. The thirteen of them, plus Auntie Wang, only spent a little over ten yuan in total, averaging one yuan apiece. Even so, they ate their fill. Restaurants might beat their customers these days, but their portions were generous.

At noon that day.

In a storeroom at the neighborhood office, Chen Qi rummaged through several battered boxes full of brightly colored plastic sandals. They were simply made and rubbed against bare feet, but they had the advantages of being brightly colored, sturdy, and resistant to dirt. People could even wade through water in them on rainy days.

"One hundred pairs of men's shoes, one hundred pairs of women's, and three hundred pairs of children's. They said children's shoes sold best."

"What about the selling price?"

"Six yuan for men's, two for women's, and one for children's. That's the market price. We got them much cheaper. The No. 2 Plastics Factory practically gave them away, so they only cost us two hundred yuan in total."

"You paid them?"

"Of course I did!"

"Remember this from now on: hold off paying them for a few months. If you can get something for free, do it."

Chen Qi was corrupting the great red heart of a socialist warrior. He went on, "When we sell them, we'll add two mao to each pair."

"Huh? Why are we raising the price?"

"We're not asking for ration coupons, so of course they'll cost a little more. Raising it by just two mao is already very fair."

Hearing this, Huang Zhanying whipped a small abacus out of her bag. Its beads clattered for a while before she cried, "If we sell them all, we'll make a net profit of over a thousand yuan!"

"Comrade Zhanying, how many times have I told you? Think bigger, broaden your horizons. Over a million pairs of these sandals can sell in the capital in a single summer. We need to stock up, as many as we can take in."

While they were talking, someone called from outside, "Little Chen? Little Chen?"

"Old Liang?"

Chen Qi looked up, and sure enough, it was Liang Xiaosheng.

"I asked quite a few people before I finally found you. Come back to the studio with me, quick."

"What happened?"

"They've settled on a director for Romance on Mount Lu!"

Chen Qi immediately got to his feet, called out to Huang Zhanying, "I'm off first!" and followed Liang Xiaosheng out. Huang Zhanying shook her head. The literary and artistic front really did corrupt people. How long had it been? And he was already wavering.

Beijing Film Studio had adopted a Soviet model and established four major creative collectives.

Each collective had a core director, several other directors, and cinematographers, art designers, prop specialists, and so on. Taken on its own, each was a complete production team.

The core of the first collective was Shui Hua, whose representative works included The White-Haired Girl, The Lin Family Shop, and Eternal Life in the Flames.

The core of the second collective was Cui Wei, whose representative works included Zhang Ga the Soldier Boy and The Song of Youth. Chen Huaikai was also on this team, among the "other directors."

The core of the third collective was Ling Zifeng, whose representative works included Red Flag Spectrum and, later, Camel Xiangzi.

The core of the fourth collective was Cheng Yin, whose representative works included From Victory to Victory and The Red Lantern.

These four were the four great directors mentioned earlier, also known as the four great marshals.

Later, two Xies joined their ranks: Xie Tieli and Xie Tian.

These were the very best creative talents at Beijing Film Studio. Besides them, there was a group of highly capable middle-generation directors, all counted among the "other directors." Other film studios longed for such talent, while Beijing Film Studio had it by the wholesale, a testament to its strength.

In fact, this model was formally much like Hollywood's producer-led teams, but the difference was that one was director-centered and the other producer-centered.

For Romance on Mount Lu, Beijing Film Studio had chosen a middle-generation director.

Her name was Wang Haowei, a female director whose representative works included Haixia and Look at This Family.

She was only thirty-nine this year and had graduated from the directing department of the Beijing Film Academy. She had been given the assignment a few days earlier and accepted without hesitation. She immediately studied the script, and only after she felt she had a sufficient grasp of it did she ask to meet Chen Qi.

Wang Haowei was short, with ear-length hair, and was already sitting in a small conference room waiting.

Speaking of which, the proportion of female directors in this era was very high, and the rate at which they became accomplished was astonishing. Everyone knew Yang Jie, the director of Journey to the West. Romance of the Three Kingdoms also had a female director named Cai Xiaoqing, who was a hero in her own right.

Take the burning of Red Cliffs, for example: a massive scene with 2,500 people, the biggest set piece in the entire series, filmed under Cai Xiaoqing's command... If that were done in a later era, could she have gotten through it without losing three hundred pounds??

She waited a while, then heard footsteps outside.

Liang Xiaosheng came in first, followed by an excessively young man.

"This is Director Wang Haowei, and this is Chen Qi!"

"Hello, hello. Sorry, I went home for a visit and only just made it here."

"I was the one who imposed. I should be the one apologizing..."

Wang Haowei smiled and shook his hand. The considerable difference in their heights made them look a little comical. Chen Qi was always modest and courteous before his elders, and only sat down after she did.

"The studio has entrusted this assignment to me. I've been reading the script these past few days, and I've written down some thoughts as well."

She picked up a notebook and said with a smile, "These are my notes. Let's talk first, and then you can take them home and have a look."

"There's no need, no need. I'm mainly here to listen to your guidance!"

"You can't say that. The script comes before the film. We have to reach a consensus and be of one mind, or we won't be able to shoot it. I'll speak frankly, and you should feel free to share whatever thoughts you have."

Hmm?

Chen Qi was taken aback. His soul, steeped in the fumes of a cesspit, had suddenly encountered something pure, and he wasn't quite used to it.

The two began talking at once.

First, they settled on the film's direction: a lyrical scenic film that would not deliberately portray "persecution," "the humanitarian tide," and so on, but instead revolve around the theme of "love": love for one's beloved, love for the land, and love for the motherland.

It would express positive, uplifting feelings about building a new era.

This was different from the "scar literature" popular at the time, whose core lay in criticism of and reflection on the humanitarian tide, with a mournful tone... To be honest, Chen Qi had never cared much for scar literature.

"It seems we understand each other quite well! We've had the same ideas about so many things."

Wang Haowei smiled, looking increasingly kind. "All right, then we're agreed on the theme and the ideas behind it. Next, let's talk about casting!"