Foreign Currency Is Indeed the Ultimate Daddy

Soon after, Chen Qi spotted another one.

He looked to be in his teens as well, seemingly a bit aloof, practicing martial arts alone. He was quite good-looking, save for a rather stern and cold aura.

"Coach Wu, who is that over there?"

"Oh, a Chinese-American boy who loves martial arts. His mother sent him here to study last year. His Mandarin is terrible, and he doesn't really mingle with the others much—he just practices by himself. His name is Donnie Yen."

"How old is he?"

"Sixteen!"

Chen Qi looked at Donnie Yen, then back at Jet Li, a scene of Wong Fei-hung dueling Nalan Yuanshu naturally flashing in his mind. Unfortunately, both of them were far too young, their youthful appearances and temperaments severely limiting the roles they could play.

Zhang Xinyan finally finished his conversation over there, and Wu Bin led the group away.

The moment they left, a bunch of team members crowded around Jet Li, talking over one another with eager questions.

"Who were those people? What did they want with you?"

"Hong Kong directors! They want me to star in a movie!"

"Whoa, make a movie?!"

"That's so cool! I love watching movies the most. I want to act in one too."

"Forget about it, the team leaders won't agree."

Jet Li had joined the martial arts team at the age of eleven. He had traveled to dozens of countries, performed martial arts for Nixon, shaken hands with Kissinger, and been received by high-ranking leaders. He was someone who had truly seen the world; he wasn't just some clueless kid.

He scratched his head and chuckled stupidly. In truth, he had been itching to try it for a long time—making a movie was definitely better than staying on the martial arts team!

In the distance, Donnie Yen stood alone, looking over with considerable envy. Having caught a few words of the conversation, he thought to himself: Making movies? I want to make movies too!

"Alright, alright, stop chattering!"

"Back to training!"

Men's team captain Wang Quan and women's team captain Ge Chunyan stepped forward to restore order, urging the junior students to apply themselves, though deep down, they too felt a longing for it.

Wang Quan would later star in *Heroine Thirteen Sister*, *The Golden Dart Huang Tianba*, *Invincible Mandarin Duck Legs*, *Grandmaster of Tai Chi*, *Young Zhang Sanfeng*, and many others. He possessed formidable martial arts skills and a fine screen presence, though tragically, he passed away from illness at the age of forty-eight.

Ge Chunyan starred in *Wulin Zhi*, *Broadsword Wang Wu*, and *The Yang Women Warriors*, later moving to Singapore to open a martial arts school.

In any case, Zhang Xinyan's visit had planted a seed of ambition in the hearts of these young people. In this era, occupations were basically fixed: a peasant was a peasant, a worker was a worker, and an athlete was an athlete. Crossing professions was viewed as improper.

Yet, there were two paths that could break one's fixed social stratum: literature, and film and television.

…………

"Stubborn fools! Such backward thinking!"

"Film is such a marvelous medium to promote traditional martial arts, yet they treat it like a natural disaster or ferocious beasts. It's completely incomprehensible!"

An hour later, Zhang Xinyan emerged from the sports school, cursing without any disguise, utterly furious.

He had reasoned with the sports school leadership every which way, but they simply refused to agree, their attitude tinged with an elusive hint of condescension, the underlying sentiment being: We are national champions, we visit America and Japan, what is making a movie compared to that?

"Please don't be upset, this situation is quite normal."

Chen Qi advised from the side, saying, "Jet Li can win five gold medals single-handedly; he's a treasure wherever he goes. He is tied to the martial arts team, and the sports team is tied to the municipal sports commission. Losing him means losing a massive chunk of their achievements, and no one dares to take that responsibility.

You should find a way to see Elder Liao and have him approach the State Sports Commission. Once the State Sports Commission gives the word, the martial arts team will let him go. Otherwise, even if you go looking for actors locally, they still won't agree."

"Mm, that makes sense!"

Zhang Xinyan nodded with a smile, saying, "Little Chen, for someone so young, you're awfully perceptive about human relations and worldly affairs."

"It's all things the old factory director taught me. How could I possibly understand all these winding complexities on my own?"

"Ha, being modest again!"

Having spent several days with him, Zhang Xinyan was extremely satisfied with his performance. *The Shaolin Temple* had two screenwriters who had already constructed the basic framework, and Chen Qi primarily offered suggestions for the romantic subplots.

Every suggestion hit the mark precisely!

For instance, the Shaolin Temple was a sacred Buddhist sanctuary—how could the male and female leads be allowed to hang around together all day?

Chen Qi suggested simply setting the female lead as a shepherdess down at the foot of the mountain!

Just like that, a problem that had plagued Zhang Xinyan for days was instantly resolved.

He didn't want to get too deeply involved in *The Shaolin Temple*; just having his name credited as a screenwriter would suffice. After all, the production cycle of *The Shaolin Temple* was terribly long—filming started in 1979, but it wouldn't hit the screens until 1982.

Zhang Xinyan spent half a year selecting actors, and after choosing them, gathered them in Zhengzhou for centralized training, spending well over half a year before finally shouting action, and then filming took another full year... With that much time, Chen Qi could have already churned out two screenplays.

Besides, his own foreign-exchange film was also a martial arts picture; who knew, he might even end up competing with *The Shaolin Temple* for actors!

……

Chen Qi accompanied Zhang Xinyan back to the Beijing Film Studio.

The moment they reached the entrance, the gatekeeper uncle stopped him and said, "Kid, you're finally back. The postman comrade has been here several times."

"You must be Chen Qi? There's a package for you, as well as a cash withdrawal notice. You need to sign for them."

"I'm terribly sorry, I had some things to take care of today. Thank you so much!"

"It's no problem at all. This remittance is even coming from Hong Kong! Keep up the good work and earn more foreign exchange for the country!"

The postman's heart shone with bright, patriotic zeal as he hopped on his bicycle and rode away.

Chen Qi brushed past the gossip-loving gatekeeper, clutched the mail, and hurried back to the guesthouse. Locking the door, he first unpacked the parcel—sure enough, it contained a thick stack of reference materials. Next, he checked the withdrawal notice, his eyes catching the characters for "Great Wall."

This was the royalty payment for *The Cotton Tree Cassock*!

A small wave of excitement washed over him, no less thrilling than the time with *Romance on Lushan Mountain*. Although Hong Kong cinema didn't place heavy emphasis on screenplays, once a script was chosen, the compensation was bound to be higher than on the mainland. The standard market rate over there was usually between ten thousand and thirty thousand Hong Kong dollars, and if a renowned writer was hired, it might reach fifty thousand.

Since he was a newcomer and the leftist studio was poor, it should be around...

"Ten thousand Hong Kong dollars!"

Chen Qi couldn't help hopping up and down twice—his guess was right on the money.

He thoroughly relished the feeling of starting from scratch and earning money bit by bit; it gave him an immense, incomparable sense of achievement.

The average exchange rate in 1979 was roughly one hundred Hong Kong dollars to thirty-one point three five RMB, which converted to just over three thousand yuan.

He had taken another step closer to becoming a ten-thousand-yuan household!

He instantly found it impossible to stay seated, hopped on his bicycle, and sped all the way back to Qianmen like a flash of lightning. First, he went to the neighborhood committee to get a certificate from Auntie Wang, then picked up his household registration booklet from home, and headed straight for the bank.

Remittances in this era worked by first mailing you a slip, which you then took to the bank to collect the cash. Chen Qi walked up to a service window, pulled various documents out of his bag, and said, "Hello, comrade, I'm here to collect a remittance!"

"Please wait a moment!"

The staff member took the receipt and glanced at it, giving her quite a start. The sender was from Hong Kong, which wasn't unusual, but the amount clearly read "Ten Thousand Hong Kong Dollars!"

Compatriots from Hong Kong sending money to mainland relatives usually meant a few hundred bucks at most; where had anyone ever received ten thousand Hong Kong dollars? She instantly grew suspicious and asked, "Comrade, what kind of money is this?"

"Royalties!"

"Royalties?"

She grew even more bewildered.

"I wrote a screenplay for a Hong Kong company. This is the payment for it—doesn't the sender's name say Great Wall?"

"Then what is your occupation?"

"I'm with the Qianmen Tea Pastry Cooperative, the ones who sell the big bowls of tea. I have a certificate issued by the neighborhood committee."

Could royalties from Hong Kong really amount to ten thousand yuan? Capitalism was truly corrupt!

Still lacking certainty, the staff member called over her supervisor. The two of them whispered quietly to each other, casting occasional glances at Chen Qi, before finally inviting him into a small back room and cheerfully asking him to remain calm.

Emmmm!
Chen Qi was left speechless. Were they investigating counter-revolutionaries again?

Sure enough, another fellow showed up shortly after, looking distinctly formidable. He peppered Chen Qi with questions left and right, though ultimately saying nothing definitive, merely telling him to keep waiting. Just as his patience was wearing thin, Jiang Huaiyan walked in.

"Director Jiang, why are you here?"

"They tracked me all the way to the Beijing Film Studio, so of course I had to come vouch for you. Goodness gracious, we were all startled, wondering what kind of trouble you'd gotten into, only to find out it was all over some royalty payment."

At this moment, the relevant bank personnel also walked back in, smiling as they said, "Little comrade, thank you for your cooperation. We hope you understand."

"It's fine, it's fine. I won't have to go through all this trouble the next time I come, right?"

"No, no, everything has been fully clarified."

"So, do I get Overseas Chinese Remittance Certificates?" Chen Qi was deeply invested in this question.

"Uh..."

Looking rather apologetic, the other party replied, "To be frank, your situation is extremely special. Although the funds were remitted from Hong Kong, the other party is a mainland-funded enterprise. After conferring on the matter, we feel it shouldn't be classified as overseas remittance. We hope you won't take offense."

No sooner had those words been spoken than another person offered a suggestion: "Look at you—writing screenplays at such a young age, you can afford to be even bolder! Submit your work overseas, earn US dollars, earn British pounds! When remittance comes from those sources down the line, you'll definitely get your remittance certificates!"

Another person chimed in, "That's right, that's right! Remittances from abroad have historically been used for supporting families, building houses, or getting married; it's genuinely rare to see someone earning them through royalties. With your abilities, wouldn't it be a joy to earn more foreign exchange for the country?"

"Oh my, with everyone showering me with such generous affection, I'm afraid I can't bear the weight of it!"

"You can bear it, you can bear it! A young and brilliant talent, and quite handsome to boot—if not you, then who?!"

Chen Qi, who was usually the one providing emotional value to others, unexpectedly found himself on the receiving end of a barrage of flattery. You really had to hand it to the folks in finance; their ideology was truly liberated, further cementing a certain undeniable truth.

"Foreign exchange really is god!"

(The End...)