Chapter 106: The Horse Herder: Screenplay Adaptation (Bonus Chapter for 1,500 Monthly Votes)

Xie Jin had been in film for over twenty years; in 1960, at the first Hundred Flowers Awards, he won Best Picture and Best Director for The Red Detachment of Women, making him a top director nineteen years ago.

After the turmoil, Xie Jin made two films, Youth and Ah! Cradle; though reception was decent, they ranked only middling to low in his body of work.

He was fifty-six now, past his physical prime, but his creative vision and cinematic technique were at their peak—he wanted to make several more films that kept pace with the times while he still could.

Especially after the Cultural Congress, he knew spring had come for filmmakers; he had to move fast—who knew when winter might return?

Looking at this novella titled The Horse Herder, he felt a strong creative urge, especially toward the male lead Xu Shengfang, who was almost too perfect—but wasn’t cinema inherently an idealized form?

Moreover, the author had built a convincing story through masterful dialogue and contrast; all the director needed to do was make the audience believe it.

He’d heard of Wei Ming’s name months ago—those who feel the spring warmth are the first ducks—and even joined the crowd by buying two bottles of Ginseng and Cinnamon Nourishing Wine.

But Director Shi was also perceptive, so Xie Jin turned to read the screenplay adaptation of The Legend of Tianyun Mountain.

The Horse Herder leaned more toward scar literature; though it criticized that era, its core was positive and empowering.

The Legend of Tianyun Mountain was a more standard reflective literature piece—the story was excellent, and the protagonist voiced what many dared not say, but the characters felt too stereotyped and needed revision.

And it was an anti-rightist story—would filming it now carry too much risk?

In Xie Jin’s mind, his scale tipped slightly toward The Horse Herder, but The Legend of Tianyun Mountain already had a complete screenplay—just a few tweaks and he could assemble a crew and start shooting quickly.

Shooting a film might not take long, but writing a screenplay could take a year or more; Xie Jin preferred letting the original author write first, then refining it with a professional screenwriter.

But Wei Ming was only eighteen, wasn’t he? Could he write a screenplay?

So he called Brother Sun Daolin, who, after returning from Beijing, had mentioned meeting a young writer named Wei Ming.

“Write a screenplay?” Sun Daolin chuckled at Xie Jin’s question. “You’re right to go to him—he’s already written screenplays for the Shanghai Animation Film Studio.”

“What? The Shanghai Animation Film Studio? For cartoons?” Xie Jin felt this didn’t quite fit.

“Exactly—he’s got all kinds of talent, so writing a screenplay shouldn’t be a problem. Call Peking University, have him draft one and send it over.”

Xie Jin nodded: “Alright, I’ll have him start writing. I’ll talk to Director Shi about The Legend of Tianyun Mountain first—he’s very invested in that project.”

He thought he might shoot The Legend of Tianyun Mountain first; by the time Wei Ming finished The Horse Herder, he’d likely have finished The Legend of Tianyun Mountain too.

After Xie Jin left, Sun Daolin pulled out the envelope Wei Ming had mailed him—on it was the phone number for Peking University’s South Gate; this kid was thoughtful.

Coincidentally, just after sending off A Long, Wei Ming was at the South Gate and answered the call from Mr. Sun Daolin in Shanghai.

After hanging up, Wei Ming thanked Teacher Sun repeatedly—this news came at the perfect moment!

Fame must be seized early; adaptation should be too.

He hoped Xie Jin would first shoot his film The Horse Herder—so he could have a breakthrough work in cinema, potentially boosting adaptations of his earlier stories and increasing his value as an adaptation source.

If this kept happening, he could buy a car and a house!

The biggest impact of Teacher Sun’s call was making Wei Ming aware of a rival—and that Director Xie preferred The Horse Herder—so he had to move fast.

If The Legend of Tianyun Mountain project officially launched, it would be too late—he’d have to wait at least another year.

Though such a strong story would surely attract other directors, and he wouldn’t lack buyers, in Wei Ming’s view, no director in mainland China yet had the ability to surpass Xie Jin—he was the ideal choice.

Soon after Wei Ming hung up, Uncle Anping called—also looking for him.

“Hello, Director Wei.”

“Comrade Wei Ming, great news!” Wei Anping exclaimed. “Director Xie Jin of Shanghai Film Studio just finished reading your The Horse Herder—he called the school asking if you’d consider adapting your novel into a screenplay. He’s very interested!”

Wei Ming replied calmly: “Alright, I’ll start adapting right away. Please pass on my regards to Director Xie.”

After hanging up, Wei Anping wondered—why didn’t Xiao Ming seem excited? That was Xie Jin! The Xie Jin of The Red Detachment of Women!

Wei Ming’s excitement was all on paper—he’d planned to spend the afternoon with Melinda, but now decided to start rewriting the screenplay immediately.

While he worked on the adaptation, the 200,000 copies of Contemporary were completely sold out in just three days.

The literary world was stunned again by the “Wei Ming Effect”; after Liu Zhenyun, many articles stopped discussing Wei Ming’s individual stories and began analyzing Wei Ming himself, even coining the term “Wei Ming Effect.”

It resembled the later craze around Wang Shuo and Wang Xiaobo—far from being the literary monarch, but undeniably a literary idol with immense commercial pull.

People’s Literature Publishing House reacted quickly, urgently printing another 150,000 copies and shipping them nationwide.

Contemporary’s circulation surged from 100,000 to 300,000, instantly becoming a top-tier literary journal.

Bai Shurong called to inform Wei Ming that their editor-in-chief, Yan Wenjing, had been hospitalized with acute cerebral thrombosis.

Wei Ming was startled: “Could it be because the magazine sold too well?”

“Possibly, but mostly because he’s old—he’s always been in poor health; after this illness, he’ll likely step down from his position.”

“Which hospital is Mr. Yan in?” Wei Ming asked. “Friendship Hospital. Your concern means a lot—I’ll pass it along, but right now no visitors are allowed,” Bai Shurong said.

“Alright,” Wei Ming sighed.

Bai Shurong added: “Your story has stirred up controversy again—near newspapers, it feels like every paper is discussing The Horse Herder and Xu Shengfang. What do you think?”

“I’m just watching,” Wei Ming said, a newspaper lying before him with a critique attacking The Horse Herder for being hollow and unrealistic.

Wei Ming thought this critique was fine—the critic argued that people have selfish desires and a biological instinct to enjoy life, so Xu Shengfang seemed implausible.

In the past, such thoughts couldn’t even be conceived; now he thought them, wrote them, and published them.

That was progress.

Though most readers were moved by Xu Shengfang’s choice, and The Horse Herder was hailed as a positive model—with many official papers pushing it—there was still considerable criticism.

But soon, the People’s Daily delivered a powerful rebuttal.

On the same day, the third page published a real-life story of “Xu Shengfang and Wei Fenfang” in Ningxia: The Choice of Brazilian Chinese Couple Yan Ji and Wang Bailing.

!

On the same day, Wei Ming also published an article in China Youth Daily titled My Father and Mother, first explaining his motivation for writing The Horse Herder.

“Originally I only wanted to record how my parents married before falling in love; then I read about Yan Ji and Wang Bailing in Ningxia and incorporated their story—that’s how The Horse Herder came to be…”

Then Wei Ming recounted childhood memories of his parents and ended the article by expressing his desire to find them.

China Youth Daily cooperated fully, deleting not a single word; Wei Ming also promised to give them a formal interview in a few days.

Beijing Railway Station.

Forty-three-year-old Zhang Xianliang had finally returned to Beijing.

More than twenty years ago, he had studied in Beijing.

Ten years ago, he had stowed away on a train from his re-education farm to visit his mother in Beijing—it was their last meeting, and his last time returning to Beijing.

This time, he was invited back as an author; Beijing Film Studio wanted to adapt his novel The Gypsy and asked him to come to discuss details.

As soon as he got off the train, Zhang Xianliang hurried to a newsstand to buy a copy of Contemporary, Issue Three.

Over the past two days and nights on the train, he’d borrowed newspapers from various passengers, many of which discussed The Horse Herder.

Unfortunately, the newsstand said they were sold out—but new stock would arrive soon.

Every place he asked said the same.

Luckily, at Beijing Film Studio, he borrowed a copy from Jiang Huaiyan, head of the Literature Department, and finally saw the story for himself.

After reading it, Zhang Xianliang understood why Wei Ming had become so popular.

This story lacked the wild inventiveness of Two Bulls and Two Donkeys and was slightly less entertaining, but its prose was solid—once you started, you couldn’t stop until you finished.

Hard to believe he was only eighteen—what a prodigy!

He then thought of the story’s real-life prototype being in Ningxia, yet he himself had been less perceptive than someone far away in Beijing—his regret was deep.

Meilinda’s dormitory in the Women’s Dormitory Building, Shao Garden.

Wei Ming was writing the screenplay when someone approached from behind and hugged him.

From the unmistakable feel against his back, Wei Ming knew Meilinda had returned.

He’d planned to write at the library that morning but couldn’t get a seat; since Xiao Cha rarely came home during the day, after asking Meilinda’s permission, he’d come here for quiet.

Meilinda bit Wei Ming’s ear: “I’ve locked the door—should we… in the dorm?”

Wei Ming’s hand gripped her leg from behind: “Public lewdness isn’t good, and I still need to eat lunch.”

“Aren’t I enough?” Meilinda circled around, pressing her lips to his.

Wei Ming kissed her twice: “Already ate—time for lunch.”

“How about we eat at the international students’ cafeteria? Afterward, you come with me to return the tapes, and I’ll introduce you to Professor Gu…”

(End of Chapter)