Chapter 41: White Rabbit

"3, 2, 1, action!"

The words had barely left the director’s lips when Gong Xue walked over, map in hand, looking this way and that. Suddenly catching sight of the stone bridge, her eyes lit up. She began to trot forward, her steps rhythmic and light. Her red bell-bottom trousers swayed back and forth with her nimble gait, trailing behind her like two blooming flowers—a truly lovely sight.

With a skip in her step, she trotted onto the bridge. Below, the creek murmured, and the famous "Pillow Stream Stone" lay nestled in the water.

"Oh!"

Gong Xue’s small mouth parted slightly, a look of "I’ve finally found you" washing over her face. She tucked the map under her arm and hurriedly fumbled through her bag to retrieve her camera, snapping away with a flurry of clicks.

"Good!" Wang Haowei finally called out, satisfied.

"Director!" Gong Xue hurried over, her face full of anticipation. "How was that?"

"Not bad. You finally captured the feeling I wanted. Those days of leisure weren't wasted on you."

"That’s only because you were patient with me; otherwise, I would have been worried to death."

Wang Haowei believed in slow, meticulous work; she would rather not film at all than settle for a sub-par result. She had taken Chen Qi’s advice to let Gong Xue stop overthinking and instead just go sightseeing and take photos, and it had clearly paid off.

"Comrade Gong Xue, you’ve made great progress!" Tang Guoqiang walked over with a cheerful smile. He had been bored for the past few days, too, and asked, "Director, are we ready to film now?"

"We are ready!"

"Everyone, get prepared!"

The scene was finally set. Having completed her first successful take, Gong Xue felt a joy so overwhelming it threatened to spill over the moment the director called cut.

Chen Qi watched from the periphery, his expression unmoved. He saw that she hadn't truly merged with the character; she was merely using a shortcut. By focusing on external technique rather than internal cultivation, she was relying on stylized movements and expressions to highlight the character.

There are two ways of acting: the star’s method and the actor’s method.

Take Andy Lau, for example. He has used the star’s method his entire life—not that it’s a bad thing; it’s quite good, audiences love it, and he can win best actor awards.

Having seen Gong Xue’s films in his past life, Chen Qi felt she was well-suited for the star’s method. Only when he met the likes of "Empress" Gong Li or Maggie Cheung would he have the interest to discuss what true acting really was.

Of course, Gong Xue had no idea she was being looked down upon by a certain someone. She remained immersed in her happiness, only occasionally sneaking a glance in his direction.

...

"Gong Xue, there’s a package for you!"

"Thank you!"

A few days later, just after finishing work, Gong Xue returned to the hotel and received a parcel along with a letter. Lushan wasn't too far from Shanghai. She opened the letter; it was from her father.

"Little Xue, hope this letter finds you well.

We were surprised and delighted to learn you are filming in Lushan. To think you are so close to home! Unfortunately, it is quite difficult for us to travel, and with work being so busy lately, we cannot come to visit. Please don't blame us.

Take care of yourself. We are all doing fine here.

As a token of our regret, I have enclosed a bag of White Rabbit candies. Enjoy them slowly..."

She smiled, though a touch of sadness lingered. In previous years, her father, a photographer, had been investigated for "unfounded overseas connections," and her mother, an artist, had been labeled a "capitalist’s daughter." She herself had been subjected to daily reprimands, which led her to volunteer for rural labor after graduating from middle school.

She had endured the hardships of farming in the countryside, and later, the rigors of life as an arts soldier, walking dozens of miles a day until her feet were covered in blisters, never uttering a word of complaint. She had no choice; given her family background, she wasn't entitled to complain. It was precisely because of this that she strove to excel wherever she went, always aiming to be a model worker, hoping it would make life a little easier.

Later, when her parents were reinstated in their jobs, she joined a drama troupe in Beijing. A decade had passed in the blink of an eye, and she had rarely been by her parents' side, only able to visit occasionally by requesting leave.

She had always dreamed of being a professional actress, ideally transferring to the Shanghai Film Studio, but the drama troupe was extremely resistant to her filming movies. If the Beijing Film Studio hadn't stepped in this time, they likely wouldn't have let her go.

"Beijing Film Studio..."

Gong Xue held the letter, lost in thought. She had never expected to have any connection with the Beijing Film Studio, let alone star in such a major production.

She opened the package, which indeed contained a bag of White Rabbit milk candies and a copy of *Story Monthly* magazine.

White Rabbit candies were famous. Their predecessor was a candy factory founded in Shanghai in 1943 called "ABC Mickey Mouse Candy," with Mickey Mouse on the packaging. Later, after being nationalized, Mickey Mouse was seen as "worshiping foreign things" and had to be changed—the White Rabbit was chosen, much to the relief of Disney’s legal department.

Initially, only 800 kilograms could be produced per day. It was marketed as "seven White Rabbits equal one cup of milk," making it a luxury item. When Nixon visited China, he was gifted a bag. They were hard to find, so her parents must have gone to great lengths to send her a bag.

Gong Xue loved White Rabbit candies. She unwrapped one and popped it into her mouth. As she savored it, a thought occurred to her. She stood up with the bag, hesitated, blinked, and then headed out.

*Knock, knock, knock!*

"Little Gong, is something the matter?" Wang Haowei opened the door.

"My parents sent me a bag of White Rabbit candies. I want to share them with everyone, but I’m not sure how. Could you help me?"

"Oh, White Rabbit is a rare treat!" Wang Haowei immediately understood that she was worried about handling the interpersonal dynamics of the crew and had come for advice. She said readily, "Since it’s a rare treat, just focus on the core staff. One for each person is plenty; no one will hold that against you."

"I see. Thank you, Director!"

"Don't mention it. I find you’re just too polite. Everyone on the crew is quite nice, so don't worry about petty things. Oh, by the way, Little Chen helped you so much; you should set aside a few for him. It’s the thought that counts."

"I understand. Thank you, Director!"

"Alright, off you go!"

Dismissed by Wang Haowei, she pursed her lips and hurried downstairs, knocking on a door again.

"Eh? Comrade Gong Xue, is something up?" Chen Qi opened the door.

"My father wrote back, and he even sent a copy of *Story Monthly*, that magazine you mentioned."

"They sent a magazine too? That’s great! Thanks!"

"No, no, I should be the one thanking you. Without your guidance on the scenes, I might still be struggling to find the feeling... By the way, my parents sent some candy. I hope you don't mind."

"White Rabbit? Good stuff. I'll just take two; you should share the rest with everyone else."

"Okay, I’ll be going then." She turned and left, fearing being seen.

Chen Qi shrugged and went back into his room. He unwrapped one and tasted it; perhaps it was just a psychological effect, but it tasted better than in his later life.

He picked up the copy of *Story Monthly*. The origins of the magazine were quite interesting. In 1962, the Chairman proposed socialist education for the masses, stating, "From now on, we must talk about it every year, every month, and every day, so that we have a clearer understanding of this issue."

Consequently, many lecturers appeared across the country, turning revolutionary struggles and red history into short stories to tell to the peasants. Shanghai alone had 2,000 such lecturers. Against this backdrop, *Story Monthly* was born.

During the turbulent period, it was renamed *Revolutionary Story Monthly*, but it had been changed back earlier this year, with the title calligraphed by the famous Shanghai calligrapher Zhou Huijun. The iconic cover featuring the "Storyteller Figurine" hadn't appeared yet.

At its peak, *Story Monthly* hosted columns for famous authors like Jin Yong, Xi Murong, Pai Hsien-yung, Feng Jicai, Su Tong, Mo Yan, and Chen Zhongshi. Jin Yong had once submitted a story, but the editorial board rejected it. He then picked an unpublished short story, *The Monk of Ruzhou*, which was accepted. *The Monk of Ruzhou* was a story from the Qing Dynasty’s *Thirty-Three Swordsmen*, which Jin Yong had adapted into vernacular Chinese. His *Sword of the Yue Maiden* also drew inspiration from the same source.

Chen Qi flipped through it; the content was mediocre, consisting mostly of copied manuscripts. During the era of the human flood, many banned books had circulated in handwritten form. Now that the bans were lifted, mainstream magazines looked down on such material, but *Story Monthly* was willing to publish it. It was, indeed, popular literature.

Following that, he found a call for submissions: "Short stories, no more than 15,000 words; 3,000 to 4,000-word stories are preferred."

"Medium and long stories, no word limit, serialized as appropriate."

"Hmm..."

He thought about it. He didn't care to write anything too long, maybe around 50,000 words—the length of a literary script. At 7 yuan per thousand words, that would be 350 yuan!

Chen Qi arched an eyebrow. Although it didn't pay as much as a film script, his head was full of stories, the payment cycle was fast, and it was a long-term meal ticket!