Chapter 145: The Adaptation Rights Are Being Watched Again (Guaranteed First Update)

Wei Ming first chose Yunnan among several possible aunts, partly because it was close to where Zhu Lin was filming.

This film would take half a year to shoot, meaning she couldn’t return to Yanjing for six months—visiting as an old friend was only natural.

Living and working for half a year in an unfamiliar place among strangers, she must have longed to see someone familiar.

The story of the film “The Traitor” was set near the southwestern border in 1976; originally, the crew had planned to shoot on Yunnan’s border, but with the war ongoing, conditions didn’t permit it.

In the end, filming still took place in Yunnan, but the setting shifted to the outer zones of the Ailao Mountains’ primeval forest near Yuxi.

However, the film had already been shooting for over a month, and the cast hadn’t yet reached Ailao Mountain—everything filmed so far had been urban and indoor scenes, and Zhu Lin’s role was minor.

With the weather warming slightly, crew members had made several trips to scout locations, so Director Zhang Qichang decided today to take a few actors to Ailao Mountain.

The actors needing to enter the mountains were primarily four: the male lead Ma Jingwu, the male supporting actor Li Antai, the female lead Na Renhua, and the female supporting actor Zhu Lin.

Their roles corresponded to overseas Chinese biological expert, security officer and the female lead’s lover, the male lead’s daughter and guide, and the male lead’s assistant and student.

They had stayed in Yuxi for over a month and had long heard locals speak of the mysterious beauty of this long, narrow mountain; Zhu Lin had been eager to go for a while.

But this trip wouldn’t last just a day or two—they’d have to change their lodging, and during this time, if anyone wrote to her, she couldn’t receive letters immediately.

She had been waiting for Wei Ming’s letter, yet her parents had sent several letters already, and he still hadn’t replied—had her asking about his girlfriend made him feel embarrassed?

Boys are so delicate; she was thrilled for him and couldn’t wait to celebrate.

Before departure, Zhu Lin packed a medical kit; since she understood some medicine and drug properties, she also served as a half-time crew doctor, handling basic headaches and fevers herself, leaving serious cases to hospitals.

They were a small crew—only about twenty actors and staff—and many had multiple roles; when everyone else left, only two actors who didn’t need to travel remained at the Yuxi guesthouse to guard items they couldn’t carry.

“Sister Yu Ping, please remember to collect my letters.”

Before leaving, Zhu Lin asked the actress who stayed behind.

The woman smiled: “Don’t worry—I won’t miss your boyfriend’s letters, even if I miss everyone else’s.”

Zhu Lin’s expression grew awkward; besides Wei Ming, her parents regularly sent letters, and as for her boyfriend, he’d complained a lot in his last letter and hadn’t written since.

When Zhu Lin first joined the crew, she’d made clear she had a boyfriend—she had to, because the young men at Xiyingchang were too enthusiastic, and though they were all in their early twenties, they didn’t care about her age at all.

Fortunately, after she explained, they stopped pressing.

The small car carrying Zhu Lin and the other leads grew bumpier and bumpier until they finally got out and walked.

Their new base was a Hani village near the Ailao Mountain filming location, but there was no guesthouse or restaurant—they had to pay to stay in local homes, and crew and actors were scattered among them.

Na Renhua quickly grabbed Zhu Lin’s arm: “Sister Zhu Lin, let’s stay together.”

Zhu Lin patted her hand: “Sure.”

But for the girl’s safety, Master Ma Jingwu and another male crew member also stayed in the same household with them.

Yet after entering, Na Renhua recoiled in fear.

“Snake! Snake!”

The crew member beside Master Ma laughed: “Don’t be afraid—they’re in cages.”

Master Ma instantly understood: “These are the snakes we’ll use for filming?”

Crew member: “Exactly, Master Ma. You’re not scared, right? You’ll have plenty of scenes with them—oh, and little Na too.”

Na Renhua let out a startled “Eh?” and hid behind Zhu Lin, trembling.

Both Ma Jingwu and Na Renhua had scenes in the film where they’re bitten by venomous snakes, but everyone had snake scenes—Zhu Lin asked: “Are these snakes poisonous?”

Crew member: “These ones aren’t. The poisonous ones are with the director, but we’ll handle them before filming—safety comes first.”

The three actors immediately gave the director a thumbs-up.

When Zhu Lin and the others arrived, it was nearly dark; Wei Ming and his cousin Long Xiaoyang’s train, after nearly a full day on the Chengkun Line, finally stopped in Kunming.

Before the train halted, Wei Ming put away his book—he’d been reading, but also writing some essays.

It wasn’t pretense; too many editors were pressing for submissions, and he had no time for short or medium-length stories, so he was writing essays just to keep up.

His recent experiences searching for family and his reflections on them were still compelling enough for magazines to fight over—Wei Ming couldn’t match masters like Zhu Ziqing or Wang Zengqi, but decades of writing experience meant that as long as his emotions were genuine and his content substantial, his work wouldn’t be bad.

His uncle saw Wei Ming’s efforts and understood why the boy had succeeded—he was truly seizing every moment to learn and improve!

Long Xiaoyang asked: “Brother, how much money did you just earn from writing those pieces?”

Wei Ming tapped his head: “I wasn’t calculating that while writing, but our lodging fee for tonight is definitely covered.”

Long Xiaoyang gasped: “Wow!”

Stepping out of the train station into a completely unfamiliar city, the three were lost. It was too late to reach Yuxi today, so Wei Ming pulled out his introduction letter, found a guesthouse nearby, and asked how to get to Yuxi.

Wei Ming picked a slightly better room—finally, everyone had a bed—and pulled out a handful of Yunnan grain coupons from his bag; they’d rely on them for meals over the next two days.

Wei Ming did have connections in Kunming—Zhang Manling, the big sister from Liu Zhenyun’s class, was from Kunming—but she hadn’t returned home for the New Year and stayed in Beijing to work on her novel, which the magazine “Contemporary” had already shown interest in, later adapted into a film called “Rite of Spring.”

Thinking of this, Wei Ming remembered Sister Gong Yu from the “The Herdsman” crew—he wondered how far along that film had come.

“The Herdsman” had just finalized all its cast and was now polishing the script and building interior sets in the studio; it was expected to begin filming next month.

But Xie Jin, seeing “The Shepherd Boy’s Spring” grow increasingly popular, couldn’t resist calling Beijing University again, asking Wei Ming not to agree to let any other studio film it, and to wait for him.

Of course, Wei Ming wasn’t there.

He’d heard from Factory Chief Xu Sangchu that both Beiyingchang and Xiyingchang had developed strong interest in “The Shepherd Boy’s Spring,” especially Xiyingchang’s director Wu Tianming, who’d called repeatedly trying to find Wei Ming.

Director Wu had previously been assistant to Director Teng Wenji and had just completed his first solo film, “The Quiver of Life,” which received strong critical acclaim—he was now a rising star.

How could Director Xie not be desperate!

Then came a piece of news that pushed the popularity of “The Shepherd Boy’s Spring” to a new peak.

!

Gong Yu read in the newspaper that Guangzhou Pacific Audio Company would release a stereo cassette of “The Shepherd Boy’s Spring,” featuring five original songs by Wei Ming and five classic old songs from the novel.

Upon hearing this, cultural youths rushed to local audio stores—this kind of literary-musical synergy was unprecedented!

Some didn’t even own tape recorders, but they didn’t care—they’d buy the tapes first and get the recorder later; the store clerks told them the stock hadn’t arrived yet.

The store manager laughed helplessly: “Wait a few more days—we’ll put up big notices outside when they arrive.”

Hearing this, Gong Yu, who’d been trying to push into the store, slipped away and walked into a department store, planning to use her savings to buy a tape recorder.

After spending a night in Kunming, the next morning Wei Ming and the two others went to Kunming North Station and bought tickets for the train to Yuxi.

Unexpectedly, they encountered a group of PLA soldiers heading to the frontlines against Vietnam; ordinary passengers on the train all stood respectfully as they marched past.

The railway this train traveled on—the Yunnan-Vietnam Railway—was over seventy years old, built and put into service during the Qing Dynasty; originally it ran straight to Vietnam, but now it only reached the border.

After getting off in Yuxi, they had to go to a nearby town to find someone.

“Uncle, Xiaoyang, I have a friend in Yuxi—I’ll go see her first; maybe she can help.”

But not only did she not help—they didn’t even see her.

The on-duty actress asked: “Are you looking for Xiao Zhu? May I ask your name?”

“Oh, I’m Wei Ming—a friend of Sister Zhu Lin’s from Yanjing. I came to Yuxi for some family matters, but I didn’t expect she’d just left—where is the crew filming now?” Wei Ming asked again, unwilling to give up.

Only after they left did the actress realize: wasn’t there a very famous writer recently named Wei Ming? Was it the same person?

Xi’an.

Director Wu Tianming had just hung up the phone; he’d first tried calling Beijing University to find Wei Ming, then learned Wei Ming had gone to Sichuan-Chongqing to search for relatives.

He’d then called the Sichuan-Chongqing Writers’ Association—and actually got news of Wei Ming!

Wei Ming had found relatives for his mother in Sichuan-Chongqing, but hadn’t found them all, and now he’d gone to Yuxi to look for someone else.

What a coincidence—the Xiyingchang film “The Traitor” was filming in Yuxi!

He immediately called the guesthouse in Yuxi where the crew was staying; it was the same on-duty actress who answered.

But after the call connected, Wu Tianming suddenly deflated—what was the point of this call? Could he really expect them to help him find the writer Wei Ming?

“Director Wu, is there something you need?” Yu Ping asked.

“Oh, nothing—just wondering how filming is going.” Wu Tianming asked.

Last year’s “The Quiver of Life” had greatly raised Wu Tianming’s reputation—he’d heard rumors he’d be promoted to deputy factory director.

Yu Ping replied: “The main crew has already gone to Ailao Mountain to film—they left yesterday. I and Xiao Shen are staying behind at the guesthouse.”

“Oh, anything else?”

Yu Ping found this strange—you were the one who called, and now you’re asking me if there’s anything else?

She racked her brain: “Oh, right—someone came to the crew looking for someone. He said his name was Wei Ming—same as the famous writer.”

Wu Tianming: “What?!”

…

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(End of chapter)