Chapter 254: Illustrated Edition (Unabridged)

The manager introduced the two to each other.

Wei Ming, a renowned young writer from mainland China.

Li Hanxiang, a veteran Hong Kong director.

Wei Ming had heard of Li Hanxiang's name far and wide, but Li Hanxiang genuinely didn't know who Wei Ming was—he'd been in Hong Kong shooting films for Shaw Brothers during the time Wei Ming rose to fame.

The manager added: "Teacher Wei Ming works at Peking University Library and is also a neighbor and close friend of Master Wu Zuoren."

Upon hearing Wu Zuoren's name, Li Hanxiang's attitude immediately improved, and he began criticizing the manager of Rongbaozhai.

"Two thousand five hundred Hong Kong dollars is indeed too expensive—far beyond the salary levels in mainland China."

The manager fell silent, regretting his own loose tongue—where was it expensive? This was clearly priced for outsiders like them, so naturally it reflected their income levels.

Li Hanxiang had dark skin, a tall and sturdy frame, and wore black-rimmed glasses; he was originally from Northeast China but later moved to Beiping.

As a teenager, he entered the National Beiping Academy of Fine Arts to study painting, under the tutelage of Xu Beihong and Wu Zuoren, so he had a teacher-student bond with Wu Zuoren; upon learning Wei Ming was his teacher's close friend, he immediately turned to speak with him.

Wei Ming bowed respectfully to Li Hanxiang and, seizing the opportunity of his support, made a request: "I can accept two thousand five hundred Hong Kong dollars, but I don't have cash—it's all in my account. Can I pay with foreign exchange coupons?"

The manager was troubled—given Zhang Daqian's niece's situation, foreign exchange coupons might not even fetch enough Hong Kong dollars in return.

Li Hanxiang clearly understood mainland China's policy of easy inflow but difficult outflow of foreign exchange, so he offered to help: he paid Wei Ming in his own Hong Kong cash and told Wei Ming to give him the equivalent foreign exchange coupons later—he needed to convert them anyway.

But he had one question: "Teacher Wei, where did you get so many Hong Kong dollars?"

Wei Ming: "Besides writing novels, I also write songs—I've written a few for Hong Kong singers."

"Oh, you understand music too?" Li Hanxiang was surprised; he thought such multi-talented people were precisely why Wu Zuoren had become his close friend.

Li Hanxiang wanted to ask Wei Ming which songs he'd written, but then Wu Zuoren arrived; as a student, Li Hanxiang hurried over to greet him and began chatting about his recent affairs.

Wei Ming listened nearby and learned that Li Hanxiang's main reason for coming to Beijing, besides attending Rongbaozhai's anniversary event, was actually the script for "The Last Empress."

Although Li Hanxiang was famous for romantic melodramas, he had already broken Hong Kong box office records multiple times in the 1950s with Huangmei opera films, once enjoying great glory and standing alongside major directors like Zhang Che, Hu Jinquan, and Chu Yuan—and he was the only one among them not known for martial arts action films.

But now Hong Kong cinema had changed hands; these four directors were no longer relevant—today's domain belonged to Xu Guanwen's urban comedies, and this year, Cheng Long's "The Young Master" had for the first time pushed Hong Kong's domestic box office into the ten-million-dollar range.

However, in recent years Li Hanxiang had needed heart surgery in the United States; fearing he might die abroad, he took the risk of returning to the mainland, met many mainland film colleagues, and even received an audience with Comrade Liao, which sparked his determination to make films back in mainland China.

He first considered adapting "Teahouse," but felt it was all dialogue and hard to make visually striking; then he thought of filming Puyi's "My Early Life," but encountered resistance; finally, he settled on "The Last Empress," centered on Empress Dowager Cixi.

But this project had been passed from Shanghai Film Studio to Changchun Film Studio without ever being realized.

With no progress and needing to earn money, Li Hanxiang returned to Hong Kong and renewed his contract with Shaw Brothers, while also asking veteran mainland screenwriter Yang Cunbin to revise and improve the existing script.

This was already his fifth trip to Yanjing; he attended this anniversary event only because he enjoyed collecting and happened to be here—his real purpose was to discuss the script with the screenwriter.

Wei Ming used Li Hanxiang's Hong Kong dollars to buy two paintings, then bought some brushes, ink, paper, and inkstone with RMB; he arranged to visit Li Hanxiang the next day to return the foreign exchange coupons—he was staying at Yanjing Hotel and would remain for several more days.

Li Hanxiang specifically said: "Bring me a copy of your book then."

Wei Ming nodded in agreement—he'd bring his camera and take a photo together; this experience would surely be written about by Li Hanxiang in his column "Thirty Years of Memories."

On the way home, Wei Ming recalled the films "The Burning of the Yuanmingyuan" and "The Last Empress"—among directors of Li Hanxiang and Zhang Che's generation, only Li Hanxiang had returned to his career's peak in the 1980s with these two co-productions.

These two films also established Liu Xiaoqing as the top female star of mainland cinema and helped the newcomer Liang Jiahui win his first Golden Horse Award and earn a ban in Taiwan.

When he got home, Wei Ming showed his mother his newly purchased paintings.

Xu Shufen usually had no feeling for such paintings, thinking them a waste of money since they didn't feed or clothe anyone—but today she was delighted, especially over the painting "Children at Play."

"Hang this one in the living room," Xu Shufen beamed—what mother wouldn't wish for grandchildren? This painting looked so festive.

Although this was a Zhang Daqian masterpiece worth tens of millions at auction, paintings are meant to be seen—what's the point of rolling them up and storing them away?

"Alright, hang it in the living room." But to maximize the painting's lifespan, Wei Ming hung it in a spot untouched by sunlight and far from the bathroom and kitchen.

The next day, Wei Ming visited Li Hanxiang at Yanjing Hotel; the guards still remembered him and let him pass easily, and he encountered Li Hanxiang downstairs seeing off a guest.

And Wei Ming recognized the guest.

The man recognized him first: "Writer Wei, what are you doing here?"

"Oh, Director Zhao," Wei Ming looked at Li Hanxiang. "We must both be here for the same person."

Zhao Wei was deputy general manager of China Film Co-Production Company; the collaboration between Beijing Film Studio and Qingniao on "Heroes Born of the Youth" had to go through this co-production company, and Zhao Wei had attended several meetings.

Zhao Wei was stunned; Wei Ming added: "Yesterday I borrowed money from Director Li—I'm here today to repay him."

Now it was Li Hanxiang's turn to ask: how did these two know each other?

Zhao Wei explained the situation of "Heroes Born of the Youth"; Li Hanxiang actually knew of it—the film produced after Xia Meng's comeback, which had been reported in Hong Kong newspapers—and he hadn't known Wei Ming was the screenwriter; he could write screenplays too?

After seeing Zhao Wei off, Li Hanxiang warmly pulled Wei Ming upstairs into his room.

Wei Ming first repaid the money; Li Hanxiang took it without counting, then accepted Wei Ming's gift—a signed copy of "Ferocious Animals."

Li Hanxiang flipped open the book and first glanced at the table of contents; then he pointed in surprise at "The Herdsman": "Is this the film directed by Xie Jin last year?"

He knew Xie Jin well and loved his films; two years ago, while passing through Shanghai Film Studio on a return trip, they'd even dined together.

Wei Ming nodded: "I wrote the screenplay."

Li Hanxiang's surprise deepened—writing action film screenplays wasn't much of a feat, since many such films needed no plot, just flashy fight scenes; but Xie Jin's major works had been prominently covered in Hong Kong's "Wen Hui Bao" and "Ta Kung Pao" cultural sections, demanding serious screenwriting skill.

He wrote this too?!

"Mr. Zhao just brought me the revised script for 'The Last Empress' by Mr. Yang Cunbin, but I'm still not fully satisfied," Li Hanxiang said after accepting Wei Ming's gift.

Wei Ming knew Li Hanxiang's two late Qing films as "The Burning of the Yuanmingyuan" and "The Last Empress," but this project had always been conceived as a single film titled "The Last Empress."

One film encompassing Empress Dowager Cixi's journey from entering the palace to the Anglo-French forces burning the Yuanmingyuan, to the Vanguard Commander Emperor's death, the Tongzhi Emperor's ascension, and Cixi's regency.

Wei Ming merely said "Hmm," not catching Li Hanxiang's implied meaning—you're dissatisfied? I can't help; I didn't write the script.

Li Hanxiang made it clearer: "Since you can write screenplays, could you take a look?"

Wei Ming quickly waved his hands: "I haven't studied late Qing history in depth—I only have a superficial understanding; lately I've been focusing on the Republican era."

"Why?"

"Because I'm writing a long novel set in that period."

Li Hanxiang nodded: "No matter. Take a look anyway—maybe you can offer some fresh perspectives."

He picked up the script from the table, and Wei Ming's eyes lit up—he clearly saw beneath the script another book titled "The Complete Jin Ping Mei."

Li Hanxiang was a famed master of romantic films; years later he'd even collaborate with Sammo Hung on a Jin Ping Mei film, so finding this here was no surprise.

But Li Hanxiang knew mainlanders were conservative and feared Wei Ming might mistake him for a lecher, so he explained:

"This is an antique—a finely bound Qing Kangxi-era edition, with rich, lifelike illustrations. That this survived the past decade and remains so well preserved is sheer fortune—I couldn't bear to waste such a treasure, you understand?"

Wei Ming nodded: "I understand. Peking University Library also has this book, though students can't access it. I've always believed its literary and historical value is extremely high and deeply worthy of study."

Hearing Wei Ming's view, Li Hanxiang was pleasantly surprised—he disliked how some mainlanders now were hypocritical, afraid to face their own desires; he hadn't expected Wei Ming to openly admit he'd read it, and even studied it.

"Did you see the illustrations too?" Li Hanxiang asked curiously.

Wei Ming smiled: "No, I didn't." He knew more positions than those in the illustrations.

Li Hanxiang immediately said: "Then help me review this script, and I'll lend you this book—the illustrated version."

Wei Ming shook his head with a smile: "I can help review the script, but I won't take the book—I don't have spare energy for it right now."

He had a girlfriend, far more beautiful than any illustration.

Li Hanxiang laughed: "Read it first, then stay for dinner."

The script was over thirty thousand characters; Wei Ming read it quickly, and Li Hanxiang thought the young man was just pretending.

But during dinner, Wei Ming offered many insightful suggestions.

"The script is rushed. Trying to fit Cixi's fifteen years—from entering the palace to her regency—into a ninety-minute film, while also covering major historical events, makes the plot superficial, like ticking boxes, with no room to develop characters. As a result, Cixi and Vanguard Commander feel vague and underdefined—they don't hold up."

Li Hanxiang nearly slapped the table—yes, exactly that feeling!

"Do you have any suggestions?" Li Hanxiang asked.

Wei Ming: "The best solution is to split it into two films: the first, 'The Burning of the Yuanmingyuan,' ending with the Anglo-French forces driving Vanguard Commander and others into flight; the second, 'The Last Empress,' focusing on Cixi's rise to power—this would allow much freer development."

This was precisely what Li Hanxiang did two years later—he was dissatisfied with Yang Cunbin's version, rewrote it himself, grew increasingly excited, and in just over ten days expanded it into a seventy-thousand-character script, deciding to shoot both films at once.

Li Hanxiang was deeply intrigued by Wei Ming's suggestion and asked where to deepen character development.

Wei Ming gave two examples.

"I think filming history strictly according to official records avoids errors but rarely stands out—so it's worth incorporating some unofficial histories to add drama. For instance, to portray Cixi's ruthlessness, you could show her turning her former rival, Lady Li, into a human 'pig' after seizing power, emulating Empress Lü."

Li Hanxiang's eyes brightened—but first he wondered: would this pass censorship in mainland China?

It seemed years of frustration over blocked projects had unconsciously shackled him.

Wei Ming added: "And Emperor Vanguard Commander—do you think he might have entertained killing Cixi in his final moments, or that his ministers might have urged him to emulate Emperor Wu of Han and Lady Gouyi, killing the mother to secure the son? The script's portrayal of Vanguard Commander is still too thin—this could make him feel more like an emperor, even if not a successful one, but still an emperor."

Li Hanxiang was even more impressed—how could you say you haven't studied late Qing history when you clearly know so much? Many obscure histories Wei Ming mentioned were things Li Hanxiang had just read.

But this time he didn't invite Wei Ming to write the script—he decided to ask friends for more information about this young man.

As he saw Wei Ming off after dinner, Li Hanxiang remembered something: "You said you wrote songs for Hong Kong singers—did you bring any records?"

Wei Ming smiled: "I didn't bring any, but you can buy them yourself—'The Slippery Girl' by Zhang Mingmin and 'Water Flower' by Tan Yonglin—those main tracks were all written by me."

Li Hanxiang, an old man, rarely experienced so many shocks in one day—but he was still startled.

"That Ah Ming is you?"

Wei Ming: "Yes."

Li Hanxiang said: "Then no need to see me off—I know you like Mandarin songs; a young man named Huang Zhan gave me two records—those exact two. I've listened to them, and I especially love Zhang Mingmin's songs."

Wei Ming thought: So you know each other—of course lecher appreciates lecher.

"What did he say about my songs?"

"Who?"

"The one who gave you the records—Huang Zhan."

"Oh, he said your lyrics aren't as good as his, and your melodies aren't as good as Gu Jiahui's." Li Hanxiang thought Wei Ming might not know the stature of these two in Hong Kong's music scene, so he teased him.

Wei Ming replied: "That's too high an evaluation—I can't accept it."

At least these songs weren't so great they could be mentioned alongside the Huang-Gu duo.

Li Hanxiang asked: "You know them too?"

Wei Ming smiled: "I've heard 'Waves Rush, Currents Flow.'"

This year's most popular Hong Kong TV drama is "Magic Beach," and its theme song is the hottest track—even though it hasn't been officially imported to the mainland, it's already gaining traction in Guangdong.

Li Hanxiang grew even more curious about Wei Ming: "You've written other music in the mainland, right? I'd like to bring some back for my friends in the music scene."

Then Wei Ming mentioned his mainland hits, "The Same Song" and "On the Field of Hope."

Li Hanxiang: "Can you buy them in domestic record stores?"

Wei Ming: "Why don't I just give you some? When are you leaving?"

"This Sunday—I still need to meet with China Film Corporation about a collaboration."

Wei Ming nodded, saying he'd visit again then. He'd heard the live album of "The New Star Concert" was about to be produced and released, and he might buy two copies to give to Old Li—the record stores had already started advertising it.

The next day, Wei Ming returned to school for work and heard from the gatekeeper that they were going to surround Weiminghu today.

So after lunch, he went to watch the spectacle: Brother Feng led the group fishing in the lake, catching plump fish one by one, which they'd weigh and then distribute evenly.

Before distribution, Wei Ming used Brother Feng's connections to get some small fish and shrimp that had slipped through, then went to see the cat at Feng Lao's place.

Today he noticed one cat was missing—it turned out Aunt Zong Pu had taken her tricolor cat away, so Wei Ming decided to take the Chief away today.

He didn't bring a box—he just tucked it into his coat. Mei Er saw it but said nothing; the cat probably had little maternal love left anyway—she had no milk and kept trying to suckle, driving him crazy.

Zhu Lin: "I feel the same way—it's annoying!"

Wei Ming rode his motorcycle back to the Overseas Chinese Apartment, opened the door, unzipped his coat, and surprised his mother: there sat a cat, its head swiveling around.

"Oh, Chief Black Cat!" She'd seen her son's work before.

They'd already agreed in November that she'd come over, so Wei Ming had earlier prepared a plastic tub filled with sand mixture as a litter box—though it was just a temporary fix.

In the city, especially in apartment buildings, keeping cats wasn't practical yet—after all, their waste stank terribly, and unlike dogs, you couldn't train them to relieve themselves during daily walks.

Even abroad, no one had yet invented clumping bentonite cat litter, let alone in China, where the concept didn't exist and there was no market for it.

So for now, ordinary sand would have to do. When it grew bigger, it could move into the sihe courtyard—after all, many valuable furnishings there were vulnerable to rat gnawing.

Wei Ming also planned to set up a small room as its "police station," and it could relieve itself in the vegetable patch.

"Chief" was its name. The kitten, wary in a new environment, immediately darted under the sofa.

Wei Ming ignored it, placing water and food nearby. When he and his mother ate dinner, they saw it peeking out, licking the egg Wei Ming had scrambled for it.

Feeding a cat eggs was extravagant these days, but it was still too young—it needed a transition before switching to regular food.

At night, it started meowing again. His mother couldn't sleep, so she asked Wei Ming for a book to read—something to help her fall asleep.

Wei Ming just plugged his ears and kept writing his novel—it was nearing its end, just a few more ten thousand characters to go, and he could already see the light.

So Wei Ming planned to take a few days off to focus on finishing it. The librarian gladly agreed, as long as Wei Ming handed the keys to a colleague in the rare books storage.

He meant to shut himself away—he ate his last meal at home that night and planned to move into the sihe courtyard. That same night, Wei Hong returned.

"I heard from Feng Lao that you brought Chief back—where is it? Where?!" Wei Hong dropped her bag excitedly. Before, the cat belonged to someone else, so she'd been polite—but now, she wasn't holding back.

Little kitty, prepare to die!

Xu Shufen: "It finally stopped hiding under the sofa, and now you're back—it's gone right back under."

Wei Hong crouched on her haunches by the sofa: "Chief, how can you be this cowardly? How are you ever going to catch mice?!"

Xu Shufen: "Catch mice? It's not even as big as a mouse yet."

Wei Ming had already told his mother about his writing retreat and spoke to Wei Hong: "Little Red, I went to the Friendship Store—no Rubik's Cubes for sale, but I've already asked my Hong Kong pen pal to get one for me."

"Thanks, brother. You know, today a classmate from Tsinghua's math department wants to join our Rubik's Cube Club—I think we can drop 'Peking University' from our club's name."

"Whoa, recruiting across campuses? Impressive," Wei Ming said. "Besides sharing Rubik's Cube tips, you could start writing a book—systematically explain how to solve it. I can recommend it to Melinda later."

Wei Hong's eyes lit up: "Can we make foreign exchange?!"

Wei Ming: "If it gets published, you can."

Wei Hong's sparkling eyes gleamed like Chief's in the dark—glowing!

Xu Shufen came out with a tray: "Let's eat first."

Wei Ming: "Mm. After I eat, I'm leaving."

Wei Hong: "Leaving? Where to?"

"To the sihe courtyard to finish my novel," Xu Shufen said. "I thought about it—why don't I move into the courtyard instead? You stay in the apartment—conditions here are better."

Wei Ming shook his head: "The courtyard isn't bad—it's fully equipped. When I get tired writing, I can walk in the yard and look at the stars. Living in the apartment doesn't allow that. It's settled."

Xu Shufen added: "Then I'll bring you meals."

Wei Ming thought—his mother needed a sense of achievement, of being valued.

"Just bring lunch. Dinner's unsafe—I'll eat at Yuebin Restaurant."

It was settled. Wei Hong: "Oh, almost forgot—turn on the TV! The U. . election results are coming out."

Peking University students were still obsessed with politics.

The evening news confirmed it: the good-natured Carter failed to win re-election, losing badly to Hollywood B-list actor Reagan—469 electoral votes to 45.

Wei Ming was deeply disappointed. Though the world loved Carter, Americans knew they needed Reagan.

On Saturday, Wei Ming remembered Li Hanxiang was leaving tomorrow, so he went to the record store, bought tapes, and paid another visit.

This time, Li Hanxiang spoke frankly: "Teacher Wei, would you be willing to help me write a screenplay? Based on the script I have right now."

(Yesterday's baseline)

(End of Chapter)