Chapter 55: A Change in Attitude

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Liu Qingshan was quite surprised to be summoned by this person, but as soon as they met, before a word was spoken, he understood the reason why.

For in this tea house, transformed from a traditional courtyard in the city center, he saw someone—Zhang Jidong. His hair, with more white than black, hung in shoulder-length curls, and his thick, snow-white beard earned him the nickname “Old Bearded Zhang.”

He was a renowned director, known for works such as “A Century of Woes,” “The Legend of the Condor Heroes,” and “Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils.” Currently, the new drama “The Return of the Condor Heroes,” personally helmed by him, was the talk of the media, stirring up much excitement.

In the realm of literary and artistic creation, Zhang Jidong was a true talent, and widely recognized as the foremost director of martial arts dramas in the country to date.

Like his other adaptations of Jin Yong’s novels, “The Return of the Condor Heroes,” starring Huang Yiming and Liu Xiaofei, was already a sensation before its release.

Judging from the numerous promotional photos circulating online, this highly anticipated major series on national television, though embroiled in controversy and criticism, had captured the public’s imagination. Despite current debates over the age gap between the two leads, anticipation ran high.

The male lead, Huang Yiming, at twenty-seven, was considered the top among the new generation of four young actors, with numerous credits and awards to his name. Yet public opinion was that his habit of offering enigmatic but ultimately meaningless smiles in his roles did little to endear him.

A famous screenwriter had once commented, “I believe he may become a great performing artist in the future, but for now, he’s just a blue-collar worker in the entertainment industry—a physical laborer. He cries, he’s handsome, he makes a scene, he’s sad, but it’s all just physical labor.”

As for the female lead, Liu Xiaofei, she was a Chinese-American. In 2003, at the tender age of fourteen, she appeared in the Republican-era drama “Golden Powder Family,” where the media lauded her beauty, calling her “astonishing.”

Thus, Liu Xiaofei shot to fame overnight and became the leading ingénue of her generation. She later played Wang Yuyan in “Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils,” produced by Zhang Jidong, earning the epithet “Fairy Sister” for her ethereal beauty, which won over countless fans.

A few months ago, Zhang Jidong began preparations for another classic Jin Yong martial arts drama, “The Return of the Condor Heroes,” and intended Liu Xiaofei for the role of Xiaolongnu. He had her and Huang Yiming do some screen tests together, and everyone agreed she was the perfect choice for Xiaolongnu.

Before leaving for Tianzhu, Liu Qingshan had seen similar news. He too believed that, in both appearance and temperament, Liu Xiaofei as Xiaolongnu was the closest to the original, otherworldly character in the novel.

With Zhang Jidong present today, for a moment Liu Qingshan even suspected that Liang Guanghua had recommended him for a role in “The Return of the Condor Heroes.”

Unfortunately, after a few words, he realized he had been presumptuous; Old Bearded Zhang had no intention of casting someone of his unorthodox background, even though he had played a part in Chen Long’s crew.

To be honest, for a moment, Liu Qingshan felt a deep sense of discomfort. Yet, as if doused by a bucket of cold water, he suddenly became acutely aware of his true standing: without a solid body of work, no one would take him seriously.

The cold reality struck just in time, thoroughly quelling his enthusiasm and clearing his head.

As for the purpose of inviting him, it was none other than Liang Guanghua’s recommendation, having witnessed Liu Qingshan’s martial arts prowess firsthand on the set of “Detective Di Renjie.”

“Previously, I didn’t know you,” Zhang Jidong spoke with his trademark candor, “nor was I aware of the changes among martial artists in our mainland entertainment circle. Huazi says your skills are exceptional, but seeing you now, I’m a bit confused!”

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True to his reputation, Old Bearded Zhang’s forthright nature and blunt speech were legendary, and today he lived up to that fame.

Liu Qingshan, however, did not take offense at his directness.

“Director Zhang, are you doubting me because of my youth?” He was respectful, but not overly cautious. “It’s understandable if you do. I’ve only been through two crews, and many people have had the same doubts at first.”

He had no intention of appearing obsequious; beneath his slightly audacious tone lay the dignity of a martial artist.

His unexpected attitude drew an interested look from Zhang Jidong.

As previously mentioned, the man’s reputation in the industry was well-earned. Though he carried a scholarly air, one could not direct such spirited tales of the martial world without possessing a hero’s boldness at heart.

Zhang Jidong, however, turned his gaze to Liang Guanghua.

Liang, catching the cue, grinned and spoke: “Shanzi, originally, the crew for ‘The Return of the Condor Heroes’ was meant to bring in martial artists from Hong Kong, the same group Director Zhang worked with on ‘The Legend of the Condor Heroes.’”

He left it at that, and Liu Qingshan nodded, not pressing further.

Some things need not be spelled out, especially in the close-knit world of the entertainment industry across the three regions. If collaborators fall out, they simply go their separate ways—no need to rehash who was right or wrong afterwards.

After all, everyone moves in the same circles. Differences in philosophy are the most common public excuse; in this business, too much talk only leads to making enemies.

“It only happened yesterday,” Liang Guanghua continued. “I’d just invited Director Zhang here for some tea to unwind, not expecting this to come up in his crew. That’s when you came to mind!”

Liu Qingshan picked up the thread: “Uncle Liang, I can guarantee my abilities personally, but I can only help with some fight choreography. I’m not qualified to join the crew full-time. If you’re really short-handed, give me a spot as a freelancer—I can show up when needed.”

In the world of martial arts performers, there were three main roles: freelance stunt performers, in-house martial artists, and principal stunt doubles.

Simply put, these corresponded to day-laborers or extras, in-house crew, and stand-ins for the stars in dramatic scenes, except that martial artists needed actual combat skills.

Freelance martial artists were hired per gig, not attached to any one crew, and work was unpredictable, with no guarantee of daily employment.

It was best to have a martial arts background, especially for period dramas. You needed to be able to react to gunshots or explosions, take a hit or a fall—basic skills. In costume dramas, lacking martial arts made it hard to get by; you needed to know how to react, perform choreographed moves, even fly on wires for stunts, though freelancers rarely did wire work.

But coming from Liu Qingshan, these words carried a different weight. For an ordinary stunt performer, such a statement was expected—after all, freelancers had little status or say. But Liu Qingshan’s skills were well known. By placing himself among the freelancers, he was essentially refusing on the spot.

It was his way of politely declining out of respect for Liang Guanghua’s recommendation.

“Shanzi, that’s not quite fair,” Liang said, sounding mockingly indignant, though still smiling as among friends. “Other people may not know, but I do. With your mastery, to work as a freelancer—is that a slap in my face, or are you just holding a grudge?”

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Though Liang Guanghua’s words sounded angry, his smile never faltered, showing the easy candor of old friends.

Liu Qingshan hastened to apologize, bowing respectfully. “I didn’t explain myself well, Uncle Liang! Here’s the thing: while we were filming ‘Myth’ in Chang’an, Director Yip Wai-hing from the ‘SPL’ crew approached me, along with lead actor Donnie Yen. Even Lin Fengqiao—Sister Qiao—flew in from Hong Kong to persuade me to take a role.”

Both Liang Guanghua’s expression and Old Bearded Zhang’s leisurely demeanor changed at once.

Never mind Yip Wai-hing and Donnie Yen—who was Lin Fengqiao? She was Jackie Chan’s wife. Their surprise was entirely due to her presence.

If it had been Jackie Chan himself, they wouldn’t have been so shocked—after all, Liu Qingshan had been working on Jackie Chan’s set.

Everyone knew that after Lin Fengqiao retired from the industry to focus on family, she almost never appeared in public, keeping an extremely low profile.

But on the rare occasions she did, it was either to resolve one of Jackie Chan’s crises or for a charity event she couldn’t avoid.

For such a reclusive senior figure to travel so far, something truly urgent must have happened.

“Who would have thought Sister Qiao would personally step in for you—and not even on Jackie Chan’s behalf!” Liang Guanghua exclaimed after a stunned pause.

Liu Qingshan shook his head. “There was a reason. Sister Qiao would never go to such lengths just for me. In a few days, you’ll know more.”

“Oh? There’s something else? Is it because of the recent negative press?” This time, it was Old Bearded Zhang who spoke, clearly aware of the media’s attacks on Liu Qingshan.

Liu Qingshan chuckled. “Just some fools. I’m looking forward to shutting them up myself.”

Seeing he had no intention of elaborating, the subject was dropped.

Liang Guanghua spoke again. “‘SPL’ wants you as the lead? Don’t tell me it’s just another bit part. They wouldn’t go to such trouble just to cast you as some minor character who gets killed off halfway.”

“‘SPL’ is a new kind of film—there’s no single protagonist. It’s structured around both the righteous and the villainous factions. Mainly, it’s a pure adrenaline action film—a cop thriller that’s exciting from start to finish.”

“Oh? Surely it’s not just the two of you? Can you tell us who else is involved?” Old Bearded Zhang was clearly intrigued.

“Well, that’s more or less a commercial secret, but I can tell you.” Liu Qingshan first flattered him a little, “Ren Jiahua, Donnie Yen, and Liao Qizhi are the good guys. The villains are me and Hong Dabao.”