Chapter 14: Beiying Studio

“Squeak!”

As the sun was just beginning to dip westward, Chen Qi pushed open the courtyard gate and clattered as he hoisted his bicycle out.

Yu Xiuli, perhaps fearing he’d starve, had not only packed him a large bag of clothes but also a hefty sack of miscellaneous food. For this, his parents had begged for plenty of extra tickets and slipped him thirty yuan in cash.

Before the workday ended, the Doorframe Alley was unusually quiet, with only an elderly man watching from a short distance.

Chen Qi glanced back. He had lived here for half a month, without forming deep attachments, yet there was still a faint, instinctive melancholy stirring within him. He sighed quietly, “I guess I’ve finished the beginner’s village; time to change maps!”

“Let’s go!”

No longer lingering, he mounted his bike and sped off. Once beyond the Great Barrier, his mood brightened, and he hummed a children’s song: “Big Head Son, Small Head Dad, a pair of good friends, happy father and son…”

Thinking back, as a child he always thought Big Head Son’s mother was called “Wronged Mom,” only later realizing it was “Apron Mom.” Blame the lack of subtitles.

Their neighbor was Old Wang.

Ten kilometers wasn’t near; it took a while to ride. Nowadays, beyond the Second Ring Road in Beijing was considered countryside, but Haidian was different—dense with universities, bustling with people, and the buildings looked respectable.

“Teacher Liang!”

At the entrance of the Beijing Film Studio, Liang Xiaosheng was waiting. He hurriedly cautioned, “Be careful, be careful. Carrying so many things?”

“My mom worries about me.”

“We actually have everything here. Get off first; I’ll give you a quick tour.”

Chen Qi dismounted and pushed his bike inside, shooting a glance at the gatekeeper. The old man didn’t recognize the guy who had once brought him a half pack of Da Qianmen cigarettes. He just looked on with a silly smile.

The Beijing Film Studio was sizable, first revealing three buildings.

At the center stood the main building in red and white Soviet style, three and a half stories tall. The Literature Department and the editorial office for “Film Creation” were on the third floor. There were two annexes: the editing building and the developing building.

“Behind the main building are the sound stages; all logistics facilities are over there. I’ll take you to the guesthouse first.”

Liang Xiaosheng led the way.

Chen Qi had visited the studio in a past life, but many buildings weren’t yet built back then—the Ming and Qing style street, constructed in ’81 for filming “Camel Xiangzi,” later expanded into a full street.

There was also the Rongning Mansion, built in ’86 for the “Dream of the Red Chamber” film; at the time, the TV series was also filming, with Chen Xiaoxu and Zhang Li’s romantic scenes…

Nearby was a row of single-story buildings behind iron railings, still not built yet. In ’97, Feng Xiaogang had temporarily stayed there while filming “The Dream Factory.”

“That side is the tube-shaped dormitories, over there’s the bathhouse and main cafeteria; north of the sound stages is the guesthouse.”

Liang led him to a seven-story building, smiling. “For any film, from pre-production onward, all the photography, art, costume, props, and so forth staff live here.

They cram eight people in a room. Guess who gets a single room?”

“The director?”

“Director counts as one. Anyone else?”

“The lead actor?”

“Regular actors share eight-person rooms; well-known actors get doubles. Only directors and screenwriters get singles. It’s a tradition in film studios nationwide!”

Liang Xiaosheng suddenly felt a sense of pride, even though he wasn’t a screenwriter. “There’s a saying in the arts: the director is the god of a film; the screenwriter is second only to god!”

“Oh~~~”

Chen Qi acted as if deeply honored.

In later film circles, the biggest power was the producer, then the producer’s boyfriends, girlfriends, godsons, goddaughters, and ambiguous friends. Having been hardened by this reality, Chen Qi remained unfazed.

Just as they entered the guesthouse, a young girl dashed down the stairs, calling out cheerfully:

“Teacher Liang!”

Chen Qi looked. She was thin and small, with naturally drooping eyes, a somewhat sullen expression, a prominent nose—not pretty, but recognizable. She seemed familiar somehow.

“Where are you headed?”

“Just finished a meeting, going home. And who’s this?”

The girl’s voice was a little sharp.

“This is Chen Qi, here to revise scripts…”

Liang Xiaosheng introduced warmly, smiling: “She’s our youngest actor here, only eighteen, named Cai Ming!”

Pfft!

Chen Qi almost lost his composure. No wonder she looked so familiar—this was Cai Ming! The same Cai Ming who performed skits.

Standing right in front of him, eighteen-year-old Cai Ming felt awkward no matter how he looked at her. But she seemed oblivious, extending her hand:

“Hello! You’re so young and already revising scripts—impressive. But I have to go now; we’ll chat another time.”

She hopped away.

“Doesn’t she stay in the dorms?”

“She’s a local Beijing girl. Her father’s a university professor, her mother a chief physician. How could she stay in the dorms? Those are for bachelors, like me—I have a small single room.”

Liang Xiaosheng was a little envious.

Chen Qi asked, “Has she acted in films?”

“She’s been in three, just signed for a fourth.”

“Oh, she’s pretty cute.”

He scratched his head. The female stars he’d seen were Zhu Lin, He Qing, Chen Hong, or from the Hong Kong circle like Brigitte Lin, Angie Chiu, and Rosamund Kwan. Why was he meeting Cai Ming? He was no Guo Da!

The room was number 302.

About ten square meters, with a single bed, a desk and chair set, a wardrobe. On the desk sat a thermos and tea cup; on the wall hung a “Dongfanghong” mirror, beneath which was an iron rack holding an enamel basin.

Every family had one of those enamel basins, decorated with a big carp or peony flower.

Each floor had a toilet, like a school dormitory’s, with old-style flush: a long trough for urinals with a pipe dripping water above, and a separate stall for the toilet. When using the bathroom, it was like sitting in a row, all lined up.

Of course, there was no private bathroom, but Chen Qi was quite satisfied. Nowadays, having a single room was a luxury—no more emptying bedpans, and the toilet was right outside.

Chen Qi opened his big bag and started unpacking clothes.

Liang Xiaosheng kindly helped and noticed Chen Qi hadn’t brought any books. He smiled, “I thought you’d bring some books to read, so we could discuss them.”

“My family’s books are too old; I’ve read them countless times. I’m planning to buy some new ones. Actually, I prefer watching films—I know every one like the back of my hand.”

“Really?”

“Of course. You name any movie, and I can tell you who the lead actors are,” Chen Qi smiled.

“Hmm…”

Liang Xiaosheng was clearly skeptical. “Do you know the film ‘Long Live the Wife’ from the 1940s?”

“Yes.”

“Who are the leads?”

“The guy is called Little Handsome, the lady is Little Beauty!”

“……”

This blast of internet culture decades later hit the intellectual Liang Xiaosheng like a freight train. His mind went blank for two seconds, unable to process the information. After a pause, he tried again, “How about ‘Our Land’—a Cuban film? The leads?”

“The man is called Big Strong, and the woman is still Little Beauty.”

Get lost!

Liang Xiaosheng wanted to curse.

Giving up on conversation, he said, “As usual, we’ll provide your food and lodging. But beyond the three meals a day, if you want snacks, you’ll have to handle that yourself. Your living allowance is two yuan per day until your task is complete.”

“Teacher Liang, may I ask how much my script fee will be?”

“That’s still being discussed—after all, the final draft isn’t ready yet! Tomorrow morning you can go straight to the cafeteria. After eating, come to the Literature Department in the main building for a meeting.”

Liang Xiaosheng arranged everything and then added, “By the way, there’s already a crew on the third floor. The director is your next-door neighbor—one of our studio’s veterans. He likes quiet, so be mindful.”

“Which veteran?”

“Director Chen Huaikai.”

Whoa!!!!

Chen Qi’s eyes lit up. The great director—his father!

(End.)