Chapter 483: Wei Ming Becomes the Third Party

Following the instructions of Yuan Wenshu, the former chief of Shangyingchang and chair of the Golden Rooster Awards Committee, Wei Ming carried the Golden Palm trophy onstage so everyone could see it.

But as the recipient, he felt inexplicably embarrassed; if not for the fact that the trophy had to be returned to the Children’s Film Studio and was quite valuable, Wei Ming thought smashing it on stage would better suit his speech’s theme.

“Hello everyone, I’m the new director Wei Ming.”

Applause.

“At the invitation of Lan Chang, chief of the Children’s Film Studio, we aimed to create a film beloved by Chinese children, which led to the cinematic adaptation of ‘The Children of the Sheepfold.’”

“I miss watching ‘Little Soldier Zhang Ga’ and ‘The Chicken Feather Letter’ under open-air screens as a child, and I deeply hope today’s children can see something worthwhile—this was my original motivation for writing children’s literature. I’m delighted that last year we had ‘The Legend of the Heavenly Book,’ ‘The Bubbling Spring,’ ‘Saihu,’ and other excellent children’s films, and that the Children’s Film Studio was established. I hope ‘The Children of the Sheepfold’ will also be loved by the little ones.”

“Lao Yuan asked me to share what I gained from Cannes. First, the Caméra d’Or awarded to me personally is given to first-time directors.”

“Then there’s the Best Artistic Contribution Award, reportedly for the film’s outstanding score—I was also fortunate enough to participate in the music production.”

“There’s also the FIPRESCI Prize from the International Federation of Film Critics, representing the critics’ recognition of this film.”

“Finally, this—the Golden Palm. Only one is awarded each year, occasionally two; in 1980, Kurosawa’s ‘Kagemusha’ shared it with the American film ‘All That Jazz.’”

“This award carries no cash prize, but the trophy is made of gold and crystal and is very valuable. More importantly, winning makes it easier to sell distribution rights and promotes wider dissemination.”

“‘The Children of the Sheepfold’ has now sold global distribution rights across all five continents—all to major companies—and will soon be released in the United States, France, Japan, Germany, and the UK. To recoup their high acquisition costs, they’ll promote it vigorously. This may make it the Chinese film shown in the most countries, second only to Hong Kong’s Li Xiaolong.”

Wei Ming paused. Applause rose again.

He spoke the truth, but it sounded like boasting—yet it only inspired admiration and reverence, leaving no one with any room to complain.

Though reform and opening-up have lasted many years, the combined overseas achievements of the major film studios still fall short of ‘The Children of the Sheepfold’ alone.

“The overseas success of ‘The Children of the Sheepfold’ is indeed remarkable, but I also worry that studios will begin tailoring films to foreign festival preferences, neglecting domestic audience tastes. I hope ‘The Children of the Sheepfold’ doesn’t set a bad precedent.”

“While foreign judges’ approval is certainly pleasing, what truly makes us proud as filmmakers is satisfying our own country’s audience.”

“What kind of films satisfy audiences? Is it ‘Shaolin Temple,’ with its visual spectacle? Is it ‘The Happy Gate,’ grounded in rural life? Is it ‘Mom, Love Me Once More,’ conveying pure maternal love? I’d be happier to see more films like these.”

“Next, ‘The Children of the Sheepfold’ will be officially screened domestically. I hope it, too, becomes a film beloved by the broadest masses. Thank you all—my speech ends here.”

Applause rose again from the audience—some agreed, others scoffed: “You won an award, became famous—now you’re telling others not to strive for awards? Why?”

Sitting in the front row, Yuan Wenshu whispered to Lin Shan, editor-in-chief of ‘Masses’ Cinema,’ suggesting the full text of Wei Ming’s speech be published in the next issue—it was insightful.

Wei Ming had many more things to say—about film studio reforms, technological innovation—but from what he’d heard from Bao, no major changes were likely for at least several years. So he’d better focus his energy in Hong Kong, exploring whether co-productions could yield results.

The awards continued—now it was time for the Golden Rooster Awards.

The Golden Rooster had many categories, meaning more front- and back-stage staff could be honored—even a nomination was recognition.

But the jury was unusually selective; many awards mentioned only one or two films.

Some categories had no nominees at all, such as Best Actor.

Wei Ming wanted to curse: Why wasn’t Yan Shunkai from ‘The True Story of Ah Q’ even nominated?

What about Lao Yezi Yu Shi from ‘Teahouse’?

And Zhang Fengyi, who played Hu Niang in his debut ‘Rickshaw Boy’—he’d launched his film career at an extraordinary height.

Wei Ming even worried that giving a tie might be acceptable—but the Golden Rooster wouldn’t even nominate them.

Some awards, even with nominees, still went unawarded.

For Best Costume Design, ‘Memories of Old Beijing’ and ‘Rickshaw Boy’ were both nominated; their Republican-era costumes were indeed outstanding—but neither won.

For Best Screenplay, only Chen Rong of ‘Midlife’ received a nomination; she was present in person.

Seeing she was the only nominee, Chen had assumed she’d win—but she left empty-handed. This crushed morale.

No one knew their criteria—wasn’t it supposed to be the best of the past year?

Surely there had to be a winner?

After several baffling minor awards, the most prestigious ones were announced. Best Actor remained unawarded, as expected.

In three years of the Golden Rooster, Xi Zi remained the only Best Actor.

Then came the most anticipated category: Best Actress. Only Siqin Gaowa for ‘Rickshaw Boy’ and Zhu Lin for ‘Midlife’ were nominated.

In his past life, Siqin Gaowa and Pan Hong tied, creating the Golden Rooster’s first shared Best Actress award.

But in this life, Lin Jie’s talent and timing were still lacking—the award went to Siqin Gaowa, and Lin Jie’s dream of winning both Golden Rooster and Hundred Flowers Best Actress within a year was dashed.

This loss made her even more determined to pour her heart into her next film, ‘Man, Ghost, and Love’—next time, she’d reclaim her honor.

But Wei Ming suddenly thought of a question—he’d ask Lao Yuan later.

The award for Best Director went to Wu Yigong for ‘Memories of Old Beijing’—a leading figure of the Fourth Generation, future chief of Shangyingchang.

The famous line “Are you here to defecate?” came from this film; its original author was now in Taiwan.

‘Memories of Old Beijing,’ ‘Midlife,’ and ‘Rickshaw Boy’ were all nominated for Best Story Film—but only the latter two won, leaving ‘Memories of Old Beijing’ out.

This was deeply awkward—even adding more nominees wouldn’t have made ‘Memories of Old Beijing’ look so isolated.

The Sixth Hundred Flowers Awards and Third Golden Rooster Awards ended. Wei Ming immediately asked Yuan Wenshu a question.

“Lao Yuan, ‘The Children of the Sheepfold’ is a mainland-Hong Kong co-production. Will that affect its eligibility for the Golden Rooster and Hundred Flowers?”

He recalled that neither Siqin Gaowa for ‘Like Water for Chocolate’ nor Liu Xiaoqing for ‘The Last Emperor’ had ever been nominated for domestic awards via co-productions.

Even ‘Shaolin Temple’ and ‘Heroes Born in Shaolin’ were completely ignored by the Golden Rooster and Hundred Flowers.

Yuan Wenshu paused. He hadn’t considered this before; during judging, controversial films were simply ignored for harmony’s sake.

But now, ‘The Children of the Sheepfold’ was a mainland-Hong Kong co-production—yet aside from funding, it was 100% mainland-made. If next year’s Golden Rooster and Hundred Flowers ignored it outright, neither superiors nor ordinary audiences would accept it.

Yuan Wenshu said: “I don’t think this is an issue. We’ll draft a formal guideline to clarify.”

Hearing this, Wei Ming nodded—he could now invest in ‘Man, Ghost, and Love’ without fear of blocking Lin Jie’s chances.

He then approached Xu Sangchu, chief of Shangyingchang. Xu wanted to say yes immediately—he was passionate about market reforms and open to new ideas; in the early 80s, he had spearheaded the highest-grossing films: ‘Lushan Love,’ ‘The Happy Gate,’ and ‘Murder Case 405.’

But he was also a retiring chief, so he needed to consult his colleagues first.

Next came local-arranged activities. Wei Ming treated Chen Rong to Fuzhou’s finest Min cuisine, to cheer her up.

She shared news about her son Liang Zuo.

“Xiao Zuo is dating now—probably getting married next year. But he finds his job at the Education Bureau boring and wants to transfer.”

“Is he still writing novels?”

“He’s written some short stories, but most aren’t good enough—he keeps them in his drawer.”

“Liang Zuo is clever, his writing is down-to-earth and humorous—he should try writing TV scripts or crosstalk scripts,” Wei Ming said.

Since Liang Zuo would later achieve great success in both fields, Wei Ming suggested he pursue them—if he entered earlier, he might leave more masterpieces. But Wei Ming hoped most of all that he’d live longer.

Chen Rong listened. Her husband wanted their son to teach at university, but she knew her son preferred creation. With their connections, helping him meet crosstalk performers and TV directors wouldn’t be hard.

After another day in Fuzhou, Wei Ming, Zhu Lin, and Gong Ying slipped away from the group and flew back to Beijing.

Two months later, back home in Nanshuogu Alley, Zhu Lin showed Gong Ying the alarm system on the door between the front and inner courtyards.

“You stay outside—I’ll go in first,” Zhu Lin entered and locked the door from inside. “Alright, try knocking.”

Gong Ying knocked: “No reaction.”

Zhu Lin: “Too light. Imagine you’re a burglar.”

Gong Ying knocked harder—suddenly, sirens blared, and colorful lights flashed across the outer courtyard. She was terrified.

Seeing the effect, Zhu Lin quickly turned it off and opened the door.

“Cool, right?” she beamed. “All made by Peking University students. Even Beichi has one.”

Gong Ying tiptoed into the inner courtyard, afraid to touch the door.

“Don’t worry—it only activates when locked from inside. Normal touching is fine. Just remember to replace the batteries regularly,” Zhu Lin explained. It was simple.

“Amazing,” Gong Ying praised.

Zhu Lin touched the pool water: “Ha, perfect temperature—want to swim?”

Gong Ying: “Aren’t you going home first? I’m sure your parents are waiting.”

“Oh, I almost forgot—Mom bought several copies of ‘Masses’ Cinema’ to support me, but she voted for ‘Midlife’—wasted,” Zhu Lin laughed. “I’ll come back tonight. Lock the door—I’ll ring the bell.”

Gong Ying: “Right, Xiao Wei should be back by then.”

The trio could reunite—king and two queens again. This time, truly two Best Actresses.