Chapter 65: Enlightenment at Longchang

The bank teller’s attitude toward Chen Qi was no exaggeration.

In those days, when average citizens went to the bank to collect remittances sent by overseas relatives and friends, the staff would warmly and enthusiastically chat with them for a bit: "Oh, write more letters to your relatives, tell them you receive preferential treatment, and ask them to send more foreign currency..."

This was especially true in the southeastern coastal regions, which were home to the largest number of overseas Chinese.

Do not underestimate this measure; the living expenses sent back to the mainland by overseas Chinese alone reached tens of millions of US dollars every year.

Chen Qi’s collaboration with leftist companies meant his political stance was beyond reproach, but the actual financial benefits were a bit lacking. Since he hadn't received any Overseas Chinese Remittance Vouchers this time, he was genuinely planning to write a script for a local Hong Kong company, or pen a novel and submit it to publishers in the United States to earn some real dollars.

He directly deposited the exchanged RMB, and the little savings passbook flashed with the number 4,000, representing his total assets.

That was enough to marry eight wives!

……

In the afternoon, Chen Qi returned to the Beijing Film Studio.

After glancing roughly through the items mailed from Hong Kong, he went to the main building to find Wang Yang and requested access to the reference room. As mentioned earlier, the main building of the Beijing Film Studio had three and a half floors, and that half-floor was the reference room, which also housed many books and served as a reading room.

Usually, there was practically no one there. An old studio worker opened the door for him and said, "Put the books back in their original places after reading them. Make sure not to soil them or tear out pages. If you take them back to the guesthouse, you must register them."

"Understood, you can rest assured!"

Chen Qi walked in, looked at the dozen rows of bookshelves and the few tables and chairs, let out a breath, and immediately sprang into action.

First, he selected some periodicals and newspapers related to Soviet and Yugoslav cinema, found a random seat, and buried himself in reading.

Sino-Soviet relations were still tense at the time and would only normalize by the mid-1980s, but cinema served as a friendly ambassador and had already taken the first step. After China's reform and opening up, Soviet films were unbanned, and occasionally domestic Chinese films were sent to Eastern Europe for release.

Relations with Yugoslavia were relatively good, with frequent cultural exchanges.

These two socialist blocs had a combined population of nearly 300 million, and their film genres mostly consisted of war movies, works reflecting the working class, eulogies to laborers, and critiques of capitalism.

"The Yugoslav market is quite active, and Romania is also rather vibrant."

Chen Qi recorded some notes and searched for materials related to European cinema. In the blink of an eye, a pile of papers covered the table.

He needed to gauge these countries' acceptance levels for certain genres so that he wouldn't make a film only to inadvertently violate their taboos.

He truly knew nothing about this, having had no exposure to it in his past life, but he understood the American market very well. New Hollywood had risen, and its three representative figures—Coppola, George Lucas, and Spielberg—had already completed their breakthrough masterpieces.

*Star Wars* had single-handedly ushered Hollywood into the era of blockbuster industrial filmmaking.

Next, America was about to enter a brilliant, kaleidoscopic golden age where any crappy movie could scrape together some box office revenue. This was the most entertaining era of American cinema until it was battered to death by superheroes.

***

Returning to martial arts films.

The first Hong Kong martial arts movie released in American theaters was Shaw Brothers' *Five Fingers of Death*. Its lead actor was Lo Lieh, who later had an affair with Leyun from the cast of *Dream of the Red Chamber*. Leyun followed him to Hong Kong and committed suicide by jumping from a building.

This picture grossed twenty million US dollars simply because naive foreigners had never seen a martial arts film before.

A few months later, Bruce Lee's *The Big Boss* was also released in the US, pulling in 2.8 million dollars. *Fist of Fury* made 3.4 million, and *Enter the Dragon* was an absolute juggernaut, raking in 25 million dollars.

*The Way of the Dragon* fared worse, pulling in just over one million dollars globally.

"..."

Chen Qi stared at this set of data as if he could stare blooming flowers right out of it.

*Five Fingers of Death* profited from being the first to grab the soup, while *The Big Boss* and *Fist of Fury* underperformed because mainstream American audiences didn't particularly care for that subject matter.

Then why did *Enter the Dragon* succeed?

Because Bruce Lee had died just a month prior, giving the film a huge gimmick, and moreover, it featured beating up Americans.

Americans didn't mind in the least being beaten up in movies; they knew they were powerful in reality, and each of them wore a face that had never been bullied. What were they truly wary of, then?

Did the movie mobilize the working class?

Did it oppose capitalism?

Was there any shadow of the Chairman? This included all photographs, badges, songs, and quotations!

To put it bluntly, as long as you didn't touch their core principles, go ahead and beat each other up all you wanted—it was all just entertainment...

Chen Qi made his own summary, filling page after page with dense notes. He categorized overseas-popular martial arts films into three types: First, blockbusters like *Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon*, *Hero*, and *Fearless*—big stars, big budgets, exquisite visuals, and philosophical expressions that foreigners could easily understand.

Second, small-scale pictures focused purely on martial arts, brawling from start to finish with an emphasis on sheer visceral thrill, represented by *Iron Monkey* and *Fist of Legend*, where action choreography was paramount.

And third, art-house films wrapped in the skin of martial arts while exploring deep spiritual cores, such as *The Assassin*.

Meanwhile, many kung fu movies that didn't achieve much in overseas box offices actually made a killing through video tapes and DVDs. For instance, *Fist of Legend* had mediocre overseas theatrical earnings, but rental stores in the US brought in 16.75 million dollars alone. However, since video tapes were only just beginning to take off, there was no need to consider that yet.

The Beijing Film Studio could provide a budget of seventy thousand at most, so blockbusters were ruled out immediately; even if the funds were sufficient, the hardware facilities simply lacked the capacity.

"In that case, we can only make a small-scale picture, sprinkle in some scenery of the motherland to fool those naive foreigners, and that should be just about enough. The crucial part is the action choreographer!"

An idea formed in Chen Qi's mind, but then he began to worry. Mainland action design evolved entirely from traditional martial arts routines, whereas Hong Kong had already moved past the phase of hard-hitting, rigid combat. Jackie Chan’s acrobatic style and Sammo Hung’s flashy choreography were already becoming popular.

Once Tsui Hark's new-style wuxia films emerged, they would be even more imaginative and untethered...

***

"Foreigners now love a style where every punch lands with solid flesh. It would be best to find a Hong Kong action director who is a master of techniques—someone like Wang Yuyan. But how on earth can we lure someone from that environment over here?"

Huddled in the reference room, Chen Qi pondered these and other questions until the words on the pages gradually faded into indistinct shadows—night had fallen without him noticing. He rubbed his stiff neck, scooped up his pile of papers, and stepped outside.

It was the end of the workday, and everyone looked at him with curiosity.

"Little Chen, what have you been up to?"

"Oh, nothing much, just looking up some information!"

"Got inspired again? What genre are you planning to write?"

"It's not even a shadow of a shape yet. Once I figure it out, I'll definitely tell you."

He brushed them off with perfunctory replies, left the main building, and took a glance at the soundstage. With the National Congress of Writers and Artists concluded, *Romance on Lushan Mountain* had resumed filming and would wrap up smoothly by mid-December.

…………

For the next three days straight, he holed himself up in the reference room.

A rumor spread through the Beijing Film Studio: Good grief, nobody knows what Little Chen is trying to pull. He’s been reading books for three days straight, burning the midnight oil and forgetting to sleep and eat. Look at that pretentious pose of his—does he think he’s achieving sudden enlightenment at Longchang?

On the fourth day, Chen Qi finally stopped going to the reference room and knocked on the studio director's office door.

"Come, come, come, have a cup of tea!"

Wang Yang personally brewed a cup of tea for him and laughed, "Everyone says you've been in closed-door seclusion for cultivation. Now that you've emerged, do you have a concept?"

"Pretty much. I've got a bit of inspiration."

"Tell me about it right away!"

"I've come up with three ideas. Let me give you an overview."

Chen Qi took a sip of tea to moisten his throat first, and said, "The first is the story of a western-style swordsman; the second is the story of the legendary thief Swallow Li San; and the third is the story of Tai Chi grandmaster Yang Luchan."