Chapter 38: A New Idea

In 1895, the British missionary Edward Selby Little, through illicit means, obtained a perpetual lease on 4,000 acres of land on the slopes of Mount Lushan. He named the area "Cooling," which later became known as Guling.

Guling became a summer sanctuary for Westerners in China, experiencing rapid, unexpected development.

By the Republican era, Mount Lushan had become the "Summer Capital" of the Nationalist government, with Chiang Kai-shek visiting 77 times. At that time, Guling already boasted chapels, cinemas, libraries, hospitals, schools, tennis courts, public baths, photography studios, banks, and newspaper offices—a world entirely distinct from the outside.

Following the founding of the People's Republic, Lushan’s status remained significant. Chairman Mao ascended the mountain three times to preside over Central Committee meetings, and several high-ranking officials also frequented the area for convalescence.

Given its deep political resonance, and the fact that the film *Romance on Lushan Mountain* tells a story of reconciliation between the Kuomintang and the Communists, there could be no more fitting location for the production.

At noon, Guling Hotel.

Chen Qi was exhausted from the train journey and slept soundly for the better part of the day before waking up. Yawning, he pulled back the curtains to reveal the town of Guling, nestled in the embrace of the mountains. The mountain breeze was crisp and refreshing, a stark contrast to Beijing.

"What a wonderful place! No wonder everyone comes here."

After washing up, he opened the door and stepped out.

In this era, filmmaking was a national endeavor; everywhere the crew went, they received full cooperation. The local administration was incredibly hospitable and provided great support. Chen Qi, as usual, had a single room, as did director Wang Haowei, while the rest of the crew stayed in double or dormitory-style rooms.

He strolled leisurely downstairs to the dining hall. Tang Guoqiang, Gong Xue, and others had just woken up and were eating. Beside them sat a head chef, talking animatedly with spit flying.

"That was September 1970. We’d just finished a major conference here when suddenly they called us all outside. I didn't know what was going on, but when I looked, oh my, guess who I saw?"

"Who did you see?" Chen Qi asked as he sat down.

"I saw the Chairman himself!"

The head chef, satisfied with the prompt, slapped his thigh. "Right there on the open ground, at 2:14 in the afternoon, I remember it clearly. He was very tall, and he even waved at me and said something, thanking me or something like that. Unfortunately, I was so stunned I forgot to reply..."

"Did you take a group photo?"

"We did, we did! It’s hanging on the wall right now. I was standing right behind him... His voice and smile are still so vivid; it’s unforgettable. How could he have left us? Three years have passed already without me even realizing it..."

"Don't be too sad. He certainly wouldn't want to see us crying. We must keep our spirits up; the revolution will surely succeed!"

"Right, right. You’re a sharp young man. Oh, you haven't eaten yet, have you? Let me go get you some food!"

"Thank you!"

The head chef, having received a great deal of emotional validation, walked away beaming.

His colleagues looked at him sideways. *What’s your deal? Are you a crosstalk performer? Would it kill you to let a sentence hit the floor?*

Chen Qi didn't mind. He looked around and asked, "Where’s Director Wang?"

"Scouting locations!"

"So we have nothing to do?"

"We’re supposed to be internalizing our characters. You, for now, are free," Tang Guoqiang said.

"Oh, and have you internalized them?"

Tang Guoqiang furrowed his brow and said, "Little Chen, I find that everything sounds somewhat flippant coming from you."

"Serious people see me as serious; flippant people see me as flippant. That’s hardly my problem."

"Er..." Tang Guoqiang was left speechless, and Gong Xue bowed her head, hiding a smile.

The chef personally brought over the food—steamed buns, rice, a small stir-fry, and soup. Chen Qi ate while chatting with his colleagues. As a screenwriter attached to the production, he was indeed free most of the time.

Almost every film crew encounters the need for last-minute script revisions. In slapdash productions, the directors and actors just make it up as they go, but in professional crews, the screenwriter must handle the changes.

The role of an on-set screenwriter today is different from the future. In later years, they are often treated like servants or hired as private screenwriters for big-name stars—I won’t name names, but take Song Dandan, for example.

Some stars bring their own private screenwriters to every set to "trim" the script. This "trimming" isn't to make the filming go smoothly, but to highlight their own roles and extract the scenes that make them look good, reweaving the plot around themselves.

For instance, if a supporting character originally had a long, significant line, the star might deem it useless or distracting, cutting it out with a single stroke.

This leaves the film in tatters, impossible to edit coherently. The star takes their money and leaves, and the production team is left in tears, forced to hire someone else to re-edit the film and add narration just to make the plot remotely intelligible. This is a common occurrence in the entertainment industry.

Because Chen Qi earned the respect of the director and the entire crew, he felt touched and was willing to contribute his efforts.

...

In this era, there is no tourism industry; domestic travel is only open to foreigners and overseas Chinese. Ordinary people only visit tourist sites when they are on business trips.

Lushan was devoid of tourists, exceptionally quiet, with rolling mountains and lush, pleasant greenery. After eating, the group wandered around. Walking through the mountain town of Guling felt like being enveloped in a massive ink-wash painting.

They also stopped by the Meilu Villa on the outskirts. Meilu was once the residence of Chiang Kai-shek, and later, the Chairman lived there as well.

Chen Qi was fascinated, comparing it to his memories. In his past life, when he visited, this area was filled with guesthouses and sanatoriums. As he walked, his eyes suddenly lit up, and he ran toward a building.

It was constructed of stone and looked quite old, with a sign that read, "Guling East Valley Cinema."

"This used to be a chapel built by the 'foreign devils,' but we turned it into a cinema. Back in the day, Chiang and his wife used to stroll down this street. I was just a child then, and they even gave me candy. Thinking about it now, I suppose my awareness was low—my ideology was poor. That was counter-revolutionary candy!"

The accompanying staff member spoke with righteous indignation, denouncing Chiang. Everyone understood—he had likely been criticized for that piece of candy once upon a time.

"Let’s take a photo! It’s not often we get to come here!" Chen Qi suggested, looking at the cinema.

"Good idea! I brought my camera specifically for this!" A crew member responded enthusiastically, opening their bag to reveal a Seagull camera.

"Old Tang, stand in the middle!"

"Zhang Jinling, you’re tall, don’t stand in front!"

"Little Chen, stand next to Gong Xue!"

"Ready!"

*Click.* The dozen or so people posed for a commemorative photo, all of them excited; it was a rare opportunity for travel.

...

At night.

The mountain breeze drifted in through the window, swirled around the room, and slipped out through the door gap. There was no need for a fan; the cross-breeze was perfectly cool.

Chen Qi, wearing a vest and shorts, sat at the table with paper and pen laid out.

He had nothing to do for the moment, so he pondered writing something else. Since *Romance on Lushan Mountain* was a rush job, there was no time to delve deep, but now he was in no hurry—he could write whatever he pleased.

"I’ll start with a novel. Then I can adapt it into a screenplay and get paid twice."

"The royalties for a novel aren't much, but every bit helps."

"What should I write?"

The currently popular "scar literature"? He shook his head; he loathed that stuff.

His conversation with Wang Haowei on the train wasn't just for show. He genuinely wanted to serve the people and produce things that the masses enjoyed, which would also pave the way for his future. Having come to this era, he was destined to hold views different from his contemporaries. If he just drifted with the tide, what was the point of coming here at all?

"Hmm, should I write a wuxia novel?"

"Wuxia is considered pulp fiction right now. I don't know if any magazine would even accept it. If..."

*Knock, knock, knock!*

Just as he had an idea, he heard a slight noise coming from the floor above. It stopped for a moment, then started again, irregularly.

The sound wasn't loud, but Chen Qi hated being interrupted when he was thinking. After enduring it for a while and seeing it wouldn't stop, he pulled on a pair of long trousers and stomped upstairs.