Chapter 45: The First Wuxia Novel

Chen Qi touched his nose, wanting to smile, but that would be impolite.

My dear brother, are you being serious? I was just making it all up; your empathy is off the charts.

"Pardon my emotion!"

After a long while, He Chengwei wiped his eyes and sighed, "The second half is even more brilliant. I thought it would be all action from start to finish, but I never expected the romance between the protagonist and heroine to be so touching. Especially the ending—it's simply wonderful.

It would certainly be delightful if they ended up together, but in life, some things are beyond one's control. It is this bittersweet imperfection that leaves one with endless aftertastes."

A literary youth!

Chen Qi mentally slapped a label on him. No one else spoke like that.

"Nowadays, people pursue serious literature, and almost no one writes popular literature. Those who write it well are even rarer. It is truly remarkable that you are willing to write a popular novel. Our magazine appreciates this greatly, and we hope you will submit your work to us on a regular basis."

"You flatter me. I am very willing to submit to you, but I'm not quite sure where the boundaries lie. Do you accept stories with a touch of feudal superstition?"

"Such as?"

"Such as Shen Wansan and the Treasure Basin."

Chen Qi gave a complete summary of the story he hadn't finished earlier in the day.

"The Treasure Basin? That is not merely feudal superstition; it promotes the bourgeois corrupt ideology of getting something for nothing. I suggest you keep it more conservative," He Chengwei said, startled.

"What about horror and suspense, then?"

"Are there ghosts and deities?"

"No, it's all human trickery or the delusions of a mentally ill person."

He was quite familiar with this formula, having invested in several domestic horror films filled with glamorous women who stripped off their clothes at the drop of a hat. Who watched domestic horror films for the scares? They were purely for the titillation.

He Chengwei listened, looking somewhat perplexed, and asked, "Could you give me an example?"

Chen Qi casually told a story that left the other man dumbfounded and chilled to the bone. He shook his head like a rattle-drum and said, "Conservative! Let's keep it conservative! Even though we do popular literature, we cannot disregard boundaries like that."

"Then your scope is far too narrow. There aren't many types of stories left that can be written."

"If you write something like *The Kapok Cassock*, that would be just fine. With more action scenes, any potential issues can be glossed over. As for other genres, one can only hope that ideological liberation picks up the pace!"

He Chengwei and Chen Qi hit it off and chatted deep into the night.

To his astonishment, He discovered that the other man was more formidable than any "story king" he had ever visited. The one from Chongming Island had rattled off a dozen stories in one breath and seemed like a celestial being.

Though Chen Qi hadn't told a dozen stories, his understanding of story genres, his grasp of pacing, and his extraordinarily rich reservoir of ideas far surpassed anyone else's. Much like Shen Wansan's Treasure Basin, his ideas seemed inexhaustible.

Even the briefest casual remarks he uttered sparked the imagination, signaling without a doubt that they would make a great story.

Before coming, the editor-in-chief had instructed him to buy fine horse bones at the price of a thousand gold pieces—sparing no expense to attract talent—and He Chengwei felt the time was right. "We would be more than happy to offer you a rate of seven yuan per thousand words. As a screenwriter, you must surely be familiar with industry standards."

"As a newcomer who has received such high regard, I am sincerely grateful!"

Chen Qi was well-known at the Beijing Film Studio, but he was a nobody at *Stories*, so some gratitude was naturally in order.

Secretly, he was thrilled. *Alright, my long-term meal ticket is secured!*

Writing around four thousand words a day for *The Kapok Cassock*, fifty thousand words would take about ten days, earning him 350 yuan. At this rate, ten stories would only net 3,500 yuan—seemingly not the highest cost-effectiveness, but it was effortless and enjoyable for him.

Since he planned to write film plots, adapt them slightly, and publish them as stories, it wouldn't tax his brain; it was merely manual labor.

The magazine wanted martial arts, so he would write martial arts. Besides, he happened to find it quite interesting himself.

***

He Chengwei headed back the next day.

*Stories* was a bimonthly publication. Counting from January, the next issue would come out in September, and Chen Qi's submission had arrived at just the right time.

In 1981, *Nanfeng* magazine serialized Liang Yusheng's *Bride with White Hair*, marking the first public appearance of Hong Kong and Taiwan martial arts fiction in mainland China. That same year, *Wulin* magazine briefly serialized Louis Cha's (Jin Yong) *The Legend of the Condor Heroes* before it was ordered to stop.

Throughout the 1980s, Louis Cha's novels were considered pirated literature, and no publishing house dared to touch them.

It was not until the early 1990s, when Louis Cha granted copyright to Joint Publishing, that an authorized complete set of his novels was finally released.

On the surface, it was a copyright issue; in reality, it was a matter of political stance. Louis Cha was a well-known rightist who had written many anti-communist articles in *Ming Pao*. The ban was lifted in the early 1990s only because he had resigned as the editor-in-chief of *Ming Pao*.

Why was Liang Yusheng acceptable, then?

Liang Yusheng was a leftist and had always maintained good relations with the mainland... Both Liang Yusheng and Louis Cha had originally worked at Hong Kong's *Ta Kung Pao*, where they even shared a desk.

Now, the mantle for the first public martial arts novel of the reform and opening-up era was about to change hands!

Filming for *Romance on Lushan Mountain* lasted a month, and in the blink of an eye, it was early September.

In the small hours of that morning, the printing plant was brightly lit. Freshly printed bundles of *Stories* were loaded onto trucks and dispatched to various newsstands and post offices. At present, the circulation of *Stories* was mainly concentrated in four neighboring regions: Shanghai, Jiangsu, Zhejiang, and Anhui.

Shanghai, railway station.

There was still some time before National Day, but the station was already making preparations. This year marked the 30th anniversary of the founding of the People's Republic of China, and milestone anniversaries were always treated with great importance.

Red flags fluttered, and portraits of the current leaders hung solemnly on the walls, just as they always did.

Yet, a closer look at the bustling crowds, the subtle touches of decoration in their attire, the literary newspapers and periodicals held tightly in their hands, and the occasional bold jest... revealed the stirrings of a desire breaking free between the confines of the old days and the new openness.

"Do you have *Huacheng*?"

"No!"

"What about *Harvest*?"

"Sold out!"

"Then what else is there?"

Liu Wanbao, wearing a grey short-sleeved shirt and carrying a leather bag, looked every bit like a traveler as he inquired in a strong Sichuan accent.

"We have *Stories*!"

"Never heard of it. How much is a copy?"

"Twenty-four cents!"

Liu Wanbao hesitated as he looked at the unassuming little magazine. Figuring it would have to do—otherwise, the train ride would be far too boring—he decided to buy it. He was heading back to the Southwest, a journey that would take over forty hours by train.

He bought a copy of *Stories* and found a seat in the waiting room.

Glancing at the table of contents, bold characters caught his eye: *The Kapok Cassock*!

"What on earth is this?"

Crossing his legs, he began to read with casual indifference. Within seconds, he unconsciously muttered under his breath, "Acting all high and mighty, writing martial arts!"

Instantly, his eyes lit up.

A moment later, he uncrossed his legs, leaned forward, and held the magazine with both hands to continue reading.

In this version of *The Kapok Cassock*, Chen Qi had intentionally embellished the text to increase its appeal. He added various martial arts action sequences, describing moves and stances in detail, and gave them absurdly grand names like Arhat Fist, Shattering Kick, the Thirty-Six Locking Techniques, and the Fatal Overlord Spear.

While he found these names utterly cheesy, to the people of the present day, they were like stepping into a fresh new world, devoured with ravenous hunger.

"..."

Liu Wanbao remained frozen in the same posture, motionless, repeatedly studying certain passages.

For instance, the psychological description when Ding Mo and Lin Ying first met, and Lin Ying's hidden romantic thoughts: *"What a handsome young master, and so skilled in martial arts, too. He seems honest enough. If our hearts are truly aligned and we wander the pugilistic world together, wouldn't that be blissful? Oh dear, I have no shame, how could I be thinking of such things..."*

In this day and age, a woman entertaining such thoughts was no different from Pan Jinliana—enough to make hearts race and cheeks burn in both men and women.

Before he knew how much time had passed, Liu Wanbao slapped his thigh fiercely and cursed, "Damn bastard! You cut it off right there at the cliffhanger! Whether he lived or died after falling, how is Laozi supposed to sleep tonight?!"

Anger surged within him. He sprang to his feet, seemingly wanting to unleash a torrent of curses, before abruptly smacking his own forehead.

"I'm done for!"

"My train!!!"