Chapter 200: Return in Glory: Animated Film Has Great Potential (Guaranteed Dual-Chapter)

Why not stay overnight? After all, I've already bought everything I need—toothbrush, towel, all that stuff.

So after settling Wei Ming down, Zhu Lin went to cook herself some noodles.

But she still had something on her mind: what was the ending of *The Great Battle of the Terracotta Warriors*?

The thick stack of manuscript was unfinished—he'd read up to the second life, which was about to end tragically, clearly just missing an ending.

She glanced at the master bedroom and seriously wanted to drag the kid up and make him write the ending.

What's the point of sleeping? Are the readers sleeping?

Then Wei Ming woke up, saw Zhu Lin slurping noodles, and immediately leaned over.

"Give me a couple bites—help me sober up."

"I've never heard of sobering up with noodles. You're just hungry." Still, Zhu Lin affectionately handed him a pair of chopsticks and a bowl.

Wei Ming didn't use the bowl—he just grabbed two handfuls straight from Zhu Lin's.

"Just a taste."

Zhu Lin gave a light huff and asked, "Who did you have dinner with today—a Hong Kong filmmaker?"

"You know Xia Meng, right?"

Zhu Lin shook her head—it wasn't surprising; she was active in an era when Zhu Lin was still a child, and Xia Meng had retired in '66, not made a film in over a decade.

Wei Ming outlined Xia Meng's achievements and explained the "Three Princesses of Great Wall," mentioning Chen Sisi—Zhu Lin knew her; Chen's 1960s film *Three Smiles* was hugely popular on the mainland, and Zhu Lin had watched it more than once as a child.

"Chen Sisi was so beautiful and still just the third princess? The first princess must've been even prettier!"

"They were ranked by age," Wei Ming chuckled. "I've got a photo with her—I'll find it for you."

Wei Ming pulled out the group photo taken at last year's NPC meeting; Xia Meng was already forty-six then.

But Zhu Lin's first glance went straight to the grandmother in the center.

"You're incredible—how did you even get this photo?!" That was Deng Nainai!

Wei Ming demurred: "The elders were just kind to the younger generation."

In truth, he was just bold—and since they saw him as a kid, they didn't mind. This photo had helped Wei Ming immensely; he'd frame it later.

Then Zhu Lin focused on Xia Meng—she was indeed beautiful: "And to still look this elegant at her age? Truly rare."

Wei Ming: "You won't be any worse off at that age—I'll ask my Hong Kong contacts to send you some skincare products."

"No need. I've barely used the last batch." Zhu Lin thought again of that unscrupulous pen pal.

After dinner, though it was late, Zhu Lin couldn't sleep. She asked Wei Ming: "Have you finished writing *The Great Battle of the Terracotta Warriors*?"

"Finished. Just wrapped the grand finale today."

Zhu Lin hurriedly asked: "Where is it? Where? Let me see!"

"At school," Wei Ming said. He'd written the final two thousand words during work hours, then went to the Beijing Hotel for dinner. "You want to hear it? I'll tell you."

So the two settled on the sofa, beginning their late-night story. Feeling the night's chill, Wei Ming pulled a blanket over them both.

Zhu Lin felt strange—like they were sharing a bed. But the grand finale held all her attention.

Wei Ming asked where she'd left off, then continued from there. When she heard Lily die in Meng Tianfang's arms, Zhu Lin's tears flowed instantly.

Wei Ming seized the moment to wrap his arm around her shoulders, gently patting her. Zhu Lin didn't resist—she needed warmth. Under the blanket, they drew closer, almost glued together.

Then Wei Ming moved to the third life: decades later, in the 1980s, a Hong Kong tour group arrived at the Terracotta Warriors site.

By then, Meng Tianfang had become a cultural relic worker—and in the tour group, he spotted a young girl who looked exactly like Dong'er and Lily.

Their eyes met—one glance, ten thousand years. The story ended there.

Wei Ming expected Zhu Lin to be happy with this happy ending—but she asked: "Why did Dong'er's reincarnation become a Hong Kong girl?"

"Was it because of that Ah Min!"

Under the blanket, Wei Ming held Zhu Lin tightly and explained seriously: "Because I'm publishing this novel in Hong Kong—I need Hong Kong elements."

The original version had a Japanese tour group, and Dong'er's reincarnation was a Japanese girl; the Japanese tour guide was played by the same actor as Xu Fu, hiding a hint that Xu Fu might have taken the elixir and lived in Japan.

But Wei Ming changed it to Hong Kong for the market, and he didn't follow the film version exactly—he added his own innovations.

Zhu Lin found the explanation plausible. She yawned, ready to sleep—it was past eleven, and she had work tomorrow.

Wei Ming suggested: "So tired? Let me carry you to bed."

"Huh?" Zhu Lin's eyes snapped open. Before she could react, her whole body lifted into the air.

Wei Ming gauged her weight—about a hundred jin. For her height, she was perfectly proportioned.

This was Zhu Lin's first time experiencing a "princess carry." Wei Ming held her legs with one arm, tucked her under the other, his chest barely an inch from hers—could he feel her heart racing?

Luckily, Wei Ming only carried her back to her bed and didn't ask to stay.

But as he turned to leave, Zhu Lin kicked his butt with her foot—*for hugging your sister without being asked.

Wei Ming wanted to kick back or slap her—but Zhu Lin had already burrowed deep under the covers, fully fortified.

Wei Ming could only rub his butt and leave.

Hearing the door close, Zhu Lin peeked out—but couldn't sleep. In the dark, her long legs twisted the blanket, and by midnight she began oral exercises, hissing at the air.

The next morning.

Wei Ming slept well. He got up, went to the bathroom, and was peeing vigorously when he heard light footsteps behind him.

He turned—and saw Zhu Lin, half-asleep, walking toward him. She saw him and it.

"Shit!" Wei Ming quickly adjusted.

Zhu Lin's sleepiness vanished: "Why didn't you close the door?!"

Wei Ming: "Sorry, I forgot you were here. But don't be embarrassed—you're going to be an actress. Think of this as freedom-of-nature training."

"Go to hell!"

Zhu Lin shut the door for him. She'd read some medical books with pictures—any ordinary girl would've fled screaming.

Even so, the image was shocking, burned into her mind—even while making breakfast, it wouldn't leave her, especially when she saw the rolling pin.

Honestly, photos don't compare to reality. Textbooks are too conservative.

Over breakfast, Wei Ming told Zhu Lin he'd be busy the next few days.

"I'm hosting Hong Kong filmmakers. I'll also be involved in the co-production talks, so I might not be able to pick you up—you can come on your own. I'll definitely sleep at home at night."

"We'll see," Zhu Lin muttered, lowering her head to drink her porridge. She felt their relationship was becoming abnormal.

It was a dangerous signal. A rational person should cut it off. But Zhu Lin couldn't bring herself to.

Since she'd cycled over, Wei Ming didn't escort her—they went their separate ways.

On her way back to work, Zhu Lin passed a newsstand and considered checking for coverage of the Hundred Flowers Awards.

But she spotted the new issue of *People's Literature*. Someone had just bought it and told a companion: "This issue has Wei Ming's new poem!"

Zhu Lin guessed it was *Love for Life*. She opened it—there was Wei Ming's name. She bought a copy on the spot to keep.

Wei Ming took the manuscript of *The Great Battle of the Terracotta Warriors* to the school journal office, retrieved his finished finale, and asked Deputy Editor Zhou for leave—he wasn't sure if he'd even come to work these next few days.

Then he used the journal office's photocopier to make three copies. Since working at the journal, he no longer had to trouble Mei Wenhua to copy manuscripts.

He kept the original, sent one to *Story Magazine*, and mailed one to the old man in Hong Kong—he was counting on it to earn him Hong Kong dollars.

But it was only a novella—it wouldn't cover the loss from Qi Baishi's painting. So Wei Ming had prepared three songs, written over a long time, and sent them to Ah Min today too.

He guessed the letter would reach Hong Kong after Zhang Mingmin's album had already been released; "Ah Ming" had gained some fame, so Wei Ming advised Ah Min to submit to more prominent singers and companies—Zhang Mingmin wouldn't release a new album anytime soon.

This was still a custom commission. Ah Min had once mentioned that Tan Yonglin had done well after going solo and was now breaking into Taiwan's market, filming many dramas—he'd probably release a Mandarin album soon.

So Wei Ming advised submitting the three songs to PolyGram—they were likely already collecting songs for Tan Yonglin.

Passing the South Gate checkpoint, the guard told Wei Ming: "Brother Ming, your mail's piled up again!"

Wei Ming knew it was because *People's Literature* had reprinted *Love for Life* yesterday. After a poem goes viral, reader letters far outnumber those for novels—the passion of poetry readers was undeniable.

Wei Ming hadn't written many poems—only four in total—but among today's modern poets, he was already comparable to Bei Dao and Gu Cheng.

But Wei Ming worried these letters might contain money or grain coupons—he'd already become known for rewarding loyal readers, and many had written newspapers after receiving signed books.

As they talked, he saw Biaozi and Xiao Mei returning from the canteen, both exhausted—they'd just finished a night shift.

And they hadn't even rested this weekend; the end of the month was near, and they had to head south for supplies, so they'd taken compensatory leave.

Though they were tired, Wei Ming still asked Biaozi: "The Hong Kong director's here. He wants someone to show him around Beijing. Want to go?"

Biaozi gritted his teeth: "I'll go!"

If Yanzi got cast, he'd definitely join the crew too—wife's role, husband follows. So Wei Ming told him to change clothes and brought him along to Beijing Film Studio. Once there, he had Biaozi sit on the motorcycle and nap while he went upstairs to find Director Wang. Soon after, Xia Meng and the others arrived in a hotel car, and negotiations officially began.

But that was between the two institutions—investment ratios, profit splits—Wei Ming had no say, nor the authority. Still, his suggestions would be passed to Xia Meng and the others through Wang Yang.

His main task today was to entertain Yuan Xiangren around Beijing. Biaozi, a native Beijinger, would guide them; Wei Ming would take photos and explain.

For convenience, Beijing Film Studio provided a sidecar motorcycle.

A sidecar was a three-wheeled motorcycle, with a sidecar attached to the right of a standard two-wheeler. It was wildly popular during WWII, and many kids from military compounds would ride them around town.

But they were rare in Hong Kong. As Ah Xiang sat in the sidecar, he was awestruck, changing his address from "Wei Screenwriter" to "Liang Zai."

Too bad much of Beijing's ancient architecture was gone—caught between old and new.

Yuan Xiangren said: "My father told me Beijing's old city walls were wide enough for cars. Can you show me?"

Biaozi: "Torn down long ago."

He hadn't seen the old walls since childhood—only remnants like arrow towers and place names remained.

!

Wei Ming nodded: "Yes. To build more roads and subways, they had to be removed."

"Too bad. But the Forbidden City wasn't torn down, right?"

"It's still there. Still there." Wei Ming sighed inwardly—he'd have to tour the Forbidden City again.

While touring the Forbidden City, Wei Ming detailed Biaozi's "martial arts student" background. Yuan Xiangren became interested, chatted with Biaozi about their martial arts training, and even suggested sparring.

Biaozi looked at Yuan Xiangren's thin frame and feared he'd kill him—but he still grinned foolishly and agreed.

At midday, they arrived at Jingshan Park, ready to duel atop Jingshan's peak.

Biaozi felt he had underestimated Yuan Xiangren—this short man had real skill.

In combat ability, Yuan Xiangren was actually stronger than his brother Yuan Heping; Yuan Baba was truly frail and thin, but his action design was phenomenal.

Still, Biaozi had the advantage of size and clearly dominated in strength, but today wasn't about deciding a winner—it was about demonstrating himself and his school's prowess before the action choreographer, so Biaozi held back, sparing Yuan Xiangren's face.

After they stopped, Yuan Xiangren affectionately put an arm around Biaozi and asked, "Biao, where did you learn?"

Zhao Debiao: "Shichahai Sports School!"

Yuan Xiangren added, "Are there any younger students there?"

"Of course—we've all trained there since elementary school, built our foundation from childhood."

Yuan Xiangren slapped his thigh excitedly: "You must take me to your school!"

Before coming, he and Xu Xiaoming had already read the script of *Heroes from Youth* and loved the story, but one major challenge in filming it was finding a group of martial-arts-trained teenagers—or even children—which was hard to come by.

Now it seemed this problem was solved—surely among so many kids, a few suitable ones could be found.

Wei Ming smiled: "I originally planned to take you to Shichahai Sports School to cast actors, but no need to rush—tomorrow, come with the director to select."

"Alright, then where to next?"

Wei Ming: "Let's stroll through Dazhalan."

After a full day of play, tasting old Beijing delicacies, and taking many photos, Yuan Xiangren felt his old man back in Hong Kong would be delighted.

As dusk approached, Wei Ming and the others dropped them off at Beijing Hotel; Wei Ming casually asked if Director Xie Jin's crew had finished shooting today.

Learning they had just wrapped and hadn't left yet, Wei Ming went over to chat briefly—according to their progress, they'd finish shooting by early next month and could definitely release this year.

Finally, Wei Ming and Biaozi rode their sidecar back to Beiyingchang to swap their motorcycles, and outside the Beiyingchang guesthouse, they met an acquaintance.

"Director Wang?"

"Oh! Writer Wei!"

Wang Shuchen hurried over to shake Wei Ming's hand—he had just returned from Cannes, victorious, and would stay in Beijing for a while to give several lectures.

"Thanks to your tip, we found a French filmmaker who loves Chinese culture to help us—otherwise we'd have missed the main competition section."

Wei Ming asked again: "Did you win any awards?"

"We won—two of them!" Wang Shuchen exclaimed.

The two awards were the Jury Prize and the Technical Grand Prize; though not the most prestigious, they were a major breakthrough for mainland cinema.

Wang Shuchen also told him: "Because *Nezha Conquers the Sea* won, we sold the rights to several countries—including powerhouses like Britain, America, France, and Japan—earning the nation precious foreign exchange!"

"Great, great!" Wei Ming sighed, though it was a pity *The Book of Heaven* still had no finished footage—if only they could have shown it for promotion.

"By the way, the Hundred Flowers Awards are restarting this year, and *Nezha Conquers the Sea* won Best Animated Film—did you hear?" Wei Ming added.

"I didn't know, but I figured it wouldn't be surprising," Wang Shuchen said calmly.

Wei Ming thought that made sense—*Nezha Conquers the Sea* had no real competition; its vote count even exceeded that of *Little Flowers* for Best Story Film—it was a foregone conclusion.

This also revealed how low the output of domestic animated films was—only one feature every few years, a tiny fraction compared to live-action films; there were far too few talents in this field.

The future of animation is truly promising—nine days, six billion—how could you not be afraid?

Reports on this Cannes Film Festival might not appear in print for another couple of days, after their lectures, but today Wang Shuchen shared some Cannes news with Wei Ming.

For instance, the winner of the Palme d'Or for Best Picture.

"The winner was Akira Kurosawa's *Kagemusha*."

"Oh, that's not surprising—his status in world cinema is too high; Hollywood's Francis Coppola and George Lucas are both his fans," Wei Ming spoke confidently, and he remembered that *Kagemusha* was produced by these two Hollywood giants, making it Kurosawa's most globally influential work in his later years.

Wang Shuchen was astonished: "You know the names Francis Coppola and George Lucas? I only learned them at Cannes."

Wei Ming: "I once dated a British girl, so I'm more familiar with the outside world."

"Ah!" Wang Shuchen said for the first time, exclaiming, "Unbelievable!"

He had learned this phrase at Cannes—it was a compliment foreigners gave *Nezha Conquers the Sea*—and now he gave it to Wei Ming.

To truly open one's eyes to the world, you need writers like these!

"So what are you doing at Beiyingchang?" Wang Shuchen asked.

Wei Ming: "Beiyingchang is co-producing a film I wrote with Miss Xia Meng's Green Bird Pictures—I'm here for that."

Wang Shuchen sighed again at the boundless energy of the young.

After confirming Wang Shuchen would stay several more days, Wei Ming arranged to bring Liu Rulong, the character designer for *The Book of Heaven*, to visit him.

Wang Shuchen readily agreed—it had long been settled that the young man would intern at Shangyingchang over the summer.

On the way back, Wei Ming rode his motorcycle with Biaozi on the back; he was exhausted and needed to rest at Peking University before heading to his night shift.

When Wei Ming got home, it was already past ten—Zhu Lin wasn't there. Wei Ming felt disappointed, wondering if she'd stopped practicing in her dormitory—her tongue still needed training!

The next day, Wei Ming returned to Beiyingchang, but Miss Xia Meng was gone—she had returned to Hong Kong; all casting and location scouting on the mainland had been handed over to Beiyingchang and the director, who would return to Hong Kong to report after pre-production was complete.

Beiyingchang assigned a director to assist Xu Xiaoming—his name was Yang Qitian, nearly fifty, originally an actor who moved behind the camera after forty and had served as assistant director several times.

A few years later, he would direct the famous domestic martial arts film *The Thirteen-Clan Heroine*, the mainland's first 3D wuxia film.

3D film wasn't invented with *Avatar*—Hollywood had it long ago, but the technology never reached a shocking level.

Though Yang Qitian's title was co-director, Wang Yang had told him that Xu Xiaoming was the lead director; as the mainland director, Yang's main duties were communication, coordination, and learning—learning how they filmed martial arts scenes.

Director Yang Qitian was humble—he treated Xu Xiaoming, who could have been his son, with great courtesy, and was also very polite to Wei Ming and Yuan Xiangren.

They first discussed the script and reached consensus: for this film to succeed, the key was a martial-arts-skilled young wife and a husband who knew no kung fu.

So today they came to Shichahai Sports School to begin casting; yesterday Wang Yang had already alerted the school, which promised full cooperation.

Since *Shaolin Temple* had already cast once—with Li Lianjie chosen as the male lead—everyone was envious, so this time students were extremely eager to audition, making it impossible for Zhen Zidan to push through from the back.

Only when Wei Ming shouted "Danny!" did he get a chance to appear before the directors.

Since Zhen Zidan would eventually join the Yuan Clan anyway, Wei Ming had no objection to doing him a favor and introducing him to Xu Xiaoming and Yuan Xiangren.

Zhen Zidan didn't recognize Yuan Xiangren, but when he mentioned his mother's name was Mai Baochan, Yuan Xiangren's expression shifted slightly—his sister Yuan Su'e had once studied tai chi under a teacher named Mai Baochan.

After further inquiry, he confirmed Zhen Zidan's mother was indeed a tai chi master—thus establishing their connection.

He asked: "Do you want to act?"

"I do!"

Yuan Xiangren: "Show us a form you're good at."

Zhen Zidan performed a tai chi routine; though tai chi is known for softness, Yuan Xiangren sensed a certain ruthlessness in the boy's expression—he could assign him a role among the main villains.

But he was small in stature and lacked imposing presence—he couldn't play the primary antagonist.

Yuan Xiangren nodded in satisfaction; Wei Ming immediately had him stand beside them—clearly he was in. Zhen Zidan quickly whispered his thanks to Wei Ming—no, to Ming-ge!

(End of Chapter)