Chapter 451

Since the release of “Shaolin Temple” earlier this year, it’s been over half a year, and cinemas across the country are still packed—the attendance rates haven’t dropped below those of new releases—and mobile screening units have begun rolling out nationwide; when Wei Ming’s crew was filming, they even caught a village screening of “Shaolin Temple,” with neighbors and relatives from surrounding villages bringing elders and children alike, all buzzing with excitement.

Li Lianjie has essentially become the most famous, hottest, and most discussed male actor nationwide; even the Surprise Brothers have gained attention from other child actors on set simply because they’re Li Lianjie’s junior disciples.

At this point, other film studios have also begun to take notice, starting to plan their own martial arts films—entirely self-produced, without relying on Hong Kong’s resources.

Since they made “Shaolin Temple,” let’s make “Wudang,” and thus Changchun Film Studio produced this film, “Wudang.”

Moreover, this is a film with a female lead—Chen Xuejiao is the central character with the heaviest role.

Director Sun Sha and screenwriter Xie Wenli, when crafting the script, first thought of the beautiful, agile young wife from “Heroes Born in Youth,” and after inquiring, learned she had married and had a child after finishing the film—her daughter was now one year old—so they specifically invited her out of retirement.

In this era, Chinese women returned to work right after confinement; “women hold up half the sky” wasn’t just empty rhetoric.

Hearing this, Biaozi wasn’t ready to give up: “Then what about the male lead? Doesn’t this movie need a male lead?”

“Oh, we’ve cast Zhao Changjun as the male lead.”

“Him~” Biaozi sneered.

Zhao Changjun was indeed formidable in their circle; though he lost the Changquan event at the Fourth National Games to Li Lianjie, he’d won numerous gold medals over the past two years and was the most impressive fighter after Li Lianjie, even having taught Zhen Zidan some martial arts.

Biaozi didn’t dare hide this, so when he got home that night, he told Huang Jiaoyan and brought back the script.

The script is set in the Qing Dynasty, centered on revenge and fighting Japanese invaders, with romantic subplots barely touched upon.

Huang Jiaoyan was deeply absorbed in reading it; after filming “Journey to the West” for several days, her passion for acting had been reignited, and she hadn’t gotten to release her hunger for martial action—she’d only watched Biaozi fight.

Now that her junior brother Xiao Li was so successful, she didn’t want to let her own skills go to waste.

After finishing the script, Yanzi loved it—the female lead was multidimensional, and most of the key action sequences were hers, presenting a significant challenge for her.

She knew Tai Chi, but it wasn’t her specialty—she’d need to train harder.

Yet after the excitement faded, they looked at their one-year-old daughter Zhao Zifeng—the girl could now say “Mommy” and “Daddy,” and each time she spoke, her mother’s heart softened a little more.

But such opportunities were rare; thanks to Wei Ming and Zhu Lin, they’d watched plenty of Hong Kong martial arts video tapes, and Hong Kong action films were overwhelmingly male-dominated—women were either side characters or decorative props; if they missed this chance with “Wudang,” they might never get another.

“Husband, I don’t know how to choose,” Huang Jiaoyan said, looking helplessly at Zhao Debiao, who was holding their daughter.

Biaozi was also torn—if they filmed this, they’d have to leave Beijing; what would they do with the child? What would he do?

“What if…” they exchanged glances and simultaneously thought of Wei Ming.

When faced with a major decision they couldn’t resolve, they always turned to the smartest person nearby—no one but Wei Ming.

“Let’s ask Brother Ming—he understands film; he should see the value in this movie,” Biaozi said.

Implicitly, if Brother Ming thought it worth making, he’d fully support his wife and handle all the logistical backing.

He feared phone calls couldn’t convey everything clearly, and long-distance calls were expensive, so Biaozi went through Uncle Ping’an to buy tickets directly and flew to Chengdu.

He first visited Emei Film Studio to inquire about the crew’s current location and happened to meet someone else heading to the “Shepherd’s Class” set.

This man, a renowned director, and the other, a famous actor, prompted Emei Film Studio to dispatch a Jeep to transport both to Ya’an.

The man traveling with Biaozi was Zhang Huaxun, known for “The Mysterious Buddha,” and he had a son named Zhang Yang, who later directed “Love Hot and Spicy,” “Bathing,” and “Leaves Return to Their Roots.”

Zhao Debiao and Zhang Huaxun quickly bonded in the car, exchanging enthusiastic greetings.

The butterfly’s wings had quietly altered some people’s fates—originally, Zhang Huaxun had collaborated with Beijing Film Studio, but in this timeline, he switched to Emei Film Studio, so his new film, “Wulin Zhi,” would also continue its partnership with Emei.

In the car, Zhang Huaxun told Biaozi his purpose for going to Ya’an: primarily to meet his good friend and Emei Film Studio’s Art Center director, Han Sanping, to discuss the new martial arts film “Wulin Zhi.”

He’d always believed Han Sanping understood film deeply; when his movie nearly got canceled, it was Han Sanping who kept encouraging him to stay the course—and, of course, he also hoped to meet Wei Ming.

On the way to the set, Zhang Huaxun began discussing with Zhao Debiao: “Comrade Debiao, the action sequences in ‘Heroes Born in Youth’ were truly brilliant—I bow to you.”

Biaozi beamed: “My brother Ming’s script was great too.”

In terms of box office success among similar commercial genre films released around the same time in mainland China, “Heroes Born in Youth” had clearly won decisively.

Zhang Huaxun smiled: “Yes, yes—‘The Mysterious Buddha’ fell short in plot compared to Teacher Wei’s work, and its action sequences were clearly inferior; so this time, I plan to bring in real martial arts masters to choreograph the fights and close this gap.”

Biaozi spoke honestly: “Honestly, I don’t think you’ll succeed. Changchun Film Studio is also planning a martial arts film, hiring martial arts masters too. I believe our martial arts athletes can perform movements beautifully—perhaps even better than Hong Kong stuntmen—but in terms of action design, according to my brother Ming, being able to fight is useless without understanding film craft. So I don’t think you’ll surpass Hong Kong’s Dragon and Tiger Stunt Team.”

Zhang Huaxun caught the key detail: “Changchun Film Studio? What are they making?”

“Oh, they’re making ‘Wudang’—they’ve cast my wife as the female lead,” Biaozi said outright.

Zhang Huaxun inwardly groaned: How shameless! Shaolin is still hot, and now they’re rushing to make Wudang—purely riding the coattails!

Still, Huang Jiaoyan was beautiful, and her movements were even more stunning—they had good taste.

Zhang Huaxun’s eyes flickered: “Comrade Debiao, I suddenly think you resemble the male lead, Dongfang Xu, in the script. Why don’t you play him?”

“Me? The male lead?”

“Yes, you!” Zhang Huaxun said. “Want to challenge your wife and your junior brother? Let’s first exterminate Shaolin, then wipe out Wudang!”

Biaozi had seen this line from “The Heaven Sword and Dragon Saber”; later, Brother Ming bought him the complete Jin Yong collection, and hearing it here, his blood surged.

Of course—how could he be worse than them?

“You brought the script?”

“I did. Somehow, it feels like it was made just for you,” Zhang Huaxun laughed, pulling out a notebook.

But after reading a while, Biaozi felt something was off: “This Dongfang Xu’s age doesn’t match mine.”

“Oh, doesn’t it? He’s in his thirties?”

Biaozi frowned: “I’m barely twenty.”

“Ah?” Zhang Huaxun blinked, then hurriedly said, “Oh my, I thought you were so well-preserved—you look barely twenty! I didn’t realize you really were. It’s just that your role as Tie Biao was so deeply ingrained. No problem—we can adjust the script or use makeup.”

Biaozi kept reading—the protagonist practices Baguazhang; his wife’s “Wudang” fights Japanese invaders, but this “Wulin Zhi” battles Russian strongmen, centered on a boxing match format, which seemed intriguing—he got hooked immediately and didn’t even notice the sky had darkened.

The sky was now overcast; they’d been waiting for rain these past few days, yet Ya’an had gone so long without a drop.

Today, the rain finally came—the crew immediately packed up and returned to the elementary school to film the home of Teacher Zhong, located there.

The scene was simple: the house leaked during a downpour, and the male lead used basins and bowls to catch dripping water, noticing how each container produced a different sound.

By adjusting the height and water level of the containers and varying the drip frequency, he transformed the annoying raindrops into a pleasant melody, then lay down peacefully to sleep.

Hu Weili was fully involved in this sequence, and his collaboration with Wei Ming sparked many creative ideas.

After this scene ended, the rain hadn’t stopped, and the crew was stranded at the school.

For convenience, crew members had settled into Fan Village; the village party secretary had helped greatly, clearing out two courtyards—one of which became the village chief’s home in the film.

At this moment, Wu Jing, Wei Xi, and the other children were at home, playing cards by candlelight.

Wang Fei was the eldest; not only did Xi Zi love her, but Jing Zi did too—they didn’t care if they won or lost, but Xia Lin couldn’t lose.

As the children played, the village party secretary shouted: “Anyone home? Someone’s looking for you!”

The rain stopped. When Wei Ming and the crew returned, they saw a new Jeep—Han Sanping immediately recognized it as Emei Film Studio’s property.

Sure enough, Zhang Huaxun appeared, and Wei Ming was pleasantly surprised to spot Biaozi.

That night, Wei Ming learned the basic plots of both films from Biaozi’s narration—he didn’t even need to hear it; he could recite both stories himself.

Because both films had been wildly popular after “Shaolin Temple,” martial arts films were fully unblocked.

From 1983 onward, these films consistently had the highest number of prints and box office earnings: in 1983, “Wulin Zhi,” “Wudang,” and “Shaolin Disciples”; in 1984, “Little Shaolin,” “Southern Fist King,” and “Heroes Born in Youth”; in 1985, “The Cotton Robe” and “New Fang Shi-Yu”; in 1986, “The Divine Whip,” and so on.

Wei Ming had seen “Wulin Zhi” and “Wudang” countless times during village mobile screenings and on the film channel.

Objectively speaking, “Wulin Zhi” had better production quality and longer-lasting influence; its tournament format inspired films like “Huo Yuanjia” and “Ip Man,” though none matched the profound impact of “Shaolin Temple.”

“You want to make this?”

“Yes, but Yanzi wants to make ‘Wudang’ too—she’s so talented, and if she stays home to raise our child, it’s such a waste,” Biaozi sighed; he wanted his wife to shine brightly.

But the child is so young—someone has to stay behind to care for the household.

Biaozi had planned to ask Brother Ming which film was more worth making, then use his judgment to decide who should sacrifice.

But Brother Ming said: these days, the script isn’t that crucial—just shoot quickly while “Shaolin Temple” is still hot, and you’ll make a classic; the difference is negligible.