Chapter 42: The Gathering of Great Masters: Wu Zhi Wu

Meanwhile, around a ordinary circular table sat seven or eight people, most of whom were elderly.

A man in his fifties with gray hair set down his teacup and spoke with a strong, resonant voice:

“Thank you all for your tireless contributions over the past few months, but as the year-end draws near, we must still accelerate progress on this documentary!”

“What’s so tiring about it? This year marks the 100th anniversary of world cinema and the 90th anniversary of Chinese cinema—such a momentous occasion demands we do something meaningful for the art,” said a kind old woman with a smiling face.

The man smiled, then turned to a younger middle-aged man and asked: “Little Jia, what did Old Hou say?”

Little Jia put down his teacup and replied: “Director Zhang, Dean Hou sent a student over to assist.”

Director Zhang nodded and encouraged: “We’re all getting old—we can talk all we want, but when it comes to actual work, we rely on you young people.”

“Director Zhang, don’t say that—experience is wealth; us youngsters still need to absorb your invaluable insights!” Little Jia quickly replied.

Little Jia’s real name is Jia Leilei; he’s over forty and serves as a Senior Researcher and Director at their film and television research institute.

This year is special for cinema—the institute decided to produce a special documentary on wuxia films, titled “Wu Zhi Wu—A Comprehensive Survey of Chinese Wuxia Cinema,” and assigned Jia Leilei as the lead.

But the consultants on his project team are no ordinary people.

The man who just spoke is Zhang Baiqing, Director of their Film and Television Art Research Institute, a council member of the Film Association, President of the Film Criticism Society, and nominal executive producer of this documentary.

The kind old woman just now is Ruan Ruolin; before retirement, she was Deputy Director of China Central Television, Director of the Television Center, and led the productions of “Dream of the Red Chamber” and “Journey to the West.”

Sitting beside her are several others:

Luo Yijun, former President of the Film Criticism Society and Secretary-General of the Film Association;

Xue Ruolin, former Deputy Director of the Chinese Art Research Institute and former President of the Chinese Opera Society;

He Guangying—no need to list his other titles; he’s a former senior official of the Great Scissors.

All of them are elderly, yet still vigorous; they’ve enthusiastically accepted invitations to serve as consultants on this project.

Before these big shots, Jia Leilei naturally became “Little Jia,” and he could only treat them with cautious respect.

The documentary’s progress had slowed, so Director Zhang Baiqing reached out to Hou Keming and asked him to send someone over to help—preferably someone who understands wuxia and knows editing.

At one p.m., No. 17 Qianhaixi Street, Wu Yuchen stood before the gate of the Prince Gong’s Mansion.

Prince Gong’s Mansion was originally the residence of the infamous corrupt official Heshen, witnessing the Qing Dynasty’s rise and fall, and is known as “One Prince Gong’s Mansion, half of Qing history.”

Many outsiders might assume such an important cultural relic must be carefully preserved, but Beijing locals know the mansion has long been used as office space for government agencies—once housing up to eight units.

Even our beloved Premier Zhou, while bedridden, specifically instructed the relocation of the units inside and the restoration of cultural relics. But this was dragged on for nearly thirty years; it wasn’t until 2006 that all units were finally moved out of Prince Gong’s Mansion.

Wu Yuchen looked at the sign above him: Chinese Art Research Institute—one of the mansion’s long-term occupants. Don’t think it’s just some lowly research institute with no status; its director has always been held by the head of the Ministry of Culture.

But no matter how prestigious, it meant nothing to Wu Yuchen—he came today fully prepared to run errands and do menial work.

After entering the courtyard, Wu Yuchen saw an elderly man with streaks of gray hair practicing Baduanjin, while beside him an old woman tended to orchids in a flowerpot; he walked over politely and asked:

“Hello, Grandpa, is Teacher Jia Leilei here?”

The old man stopped his movements and looked at Wu Yuchen: “Inside. Who are you?”

“I’m Wu Yuchen—Teacher Hou Keming sent me!” Wu Yuchen replied with a smile.

“Oh, so you’re the one Old Hou sent over!”

“Young man, you look quite spirited!” The old woman beside him straightened up and smiled warmly at Wu Yuchen.

Without lingering in the courtyard, they led Wu Yuchen straight into the main hall.

“Little Jia, Old Hou’s man’s here!”

At this call, Jia Leilei, who had been organizing notes, and the others sipping tea or meditating all turned their heads.

Wu Yuchen immediately bowed respectfully:

“Hello, all teachers—I’m Wu Yuchen. Whatever you need done, just tell me.”

“What did Dean Hou tell you?”

“Teacher Hou just told me to come and follow orders—he didn’t specify anything else.”

Jia Leilei smiled, unconcerned, and introduced Wu Yuchen:

“Little Wu, we’re currently producing a special documentary on wuxia films—‘Wu Zhi Wu’...”

Hearing this name, Wu Yuchen froze, his mind swirling with memories. This documentary was his favorite—without exception.

Lin Qingxia as Dongfang Bubai slicing the water with a sword qi, drinking wine with unrestrained abandon; Tang Zhan, the killer, shouldering his blade and walking toward the blood-red sunset under the desert wind; Huang Feihong leading a band of brave youths in martial training as the sun rose over the sea; Princess Zhao Min turning her white horse with a sudden, radiant smile—each scene reappeared vividly in Wu Yuchen’s mind.

“Wu Zhi Wu” offered a fresh, unique perspective and cultural insight into the origins, characteristics, and style of Chinese wuxia cinema, compiling the finest shots from nearly all Chinese wuxia films made before 1995—grand in scale, visually striking, vivid in content, rich in knowledge and cultural depth.

When “Wu Zhi Wu” originally aired, Wu Yuchen was still in college; he was awestruck. He tracked down every wuxia film featured in the documentary and watched them all—a major influence on his later work in wuxia-themed films and TV.

Later, the documentary earned a 9.5 rating on Douban, yet no online resource could ever be found; even offers of ten thousand yuan per episode went unanswered—it remained an unattainable masterpiece, a lost classic.

Moreover, the documentary’s theme song, “Chinese Martial Soul,” was also extraordinary; Wu Yuchen still remembered its majestic melody and lyrics:

“A single drop of blood, never exhausted, the hero’s true nature;

Two feet, worn through the vast desert and rivers;

Three sighs, sighs, sighs—all for home and homeland;

People from all four corners, singing the song of enduring righteousness.”

He never imagined that Hou Keming had assigned him to help produce “Wu Zhi Wu”—it stunned him; joy and excitement surged through him instantly.