Chapter Eighty-Seven: Uncle Ping

Dongyang’s film and television city is a vast integrated resort devoted to screen tourism, leisure, and sightseeing.

At its busiest, it would receive more than three hundred production crews in a single year, with dozens filming simultaneously on any given day.

These days, period martial arts dramas and costume films rule the place. Often, a single glance at the list of productions getting underway is enough to tell the shape of Chinese film and television for now, and for the year or two ahead.

Here, ancient and modern, orthodox and rebellious, the most expensive and the cheapest, stars and producers at the summit of the pyramid, and extras who could not even scrape together a hundred yuan all appear everywhere.

It is said that even an ordinary employee who has spent ten or twenty years without once leaving Dongyang may know the most important producers and art directors in the country.

Liu Qingshan was one of them. Though he had only spent three years here, he had drifted through more than a thousand crews.

Here, there was no need for appointments in the style of Beijing, Shanghai, or Guangzhou; surprise visits, broken promises, and constantly shifting schedules were all understood and accepted.

For a production’s timetable changed from moment to moment. No one dared make a promise about time, and the whole town had the temporary air of living only for today, with no tomorrow.

“While I was here, I saw quite a few old-fashioned traditions on sets. For example, a launch ceremony could burn through more than a thousand incense sticks. When I was an extra, I was often called in to play a dead man!”

This was Liu Qingshan, chatting as he walked, while telling Chen Zuming some old stories.

Kunale had gotten out of the car halfway, and Chen Zuming had become his temporary attendant.

“Did you really play a dead man? Was there extra pay?”

“They’d add ten or twenty yuan. If a character died, they’d also press a red envelope under the pillow. The money couldn’t be too much, because it had to be spent that same day. Some crews would keep the incense burner going after the opening rites, and even carry it along when moving locations, until the shoot wrapped. Even taxi drivers believed that Bafeng Mountain, with its Mount Fuji shape, was Dongyang’s guardian mountain. Some producers were Buddhist and would bring a shrine along every time they came here to start a production.”

“Before, I used to shoot over in Zhuozhou or Xiangshan. This is my first time in Dongyang, and honestly, it’s not much!”

“Oh? You can even talk like someone from the northeast now? It’s all more or less the same anywhere. You were born with a silver spoon, so you don’t understand how much harder it is for the extras at the bottom. You haven’t experienced gangs banding together to fight others for work and territory, have you?”

“Mm. On set, the hierarchy is strict. Who can stand with whom is all carefully regulated.”

On this trip, there had in fact been someone sent to meet them, but perhaps because there was no one from the production management side, the person who came was only responsible for leading the way and helping haul the heaviest suitcases.

Not far away, another official bus had arrived. The moment it stopped, several large black umbrellas hurried forward.

The umbrella bearers could also tell by instinct who was in charge, and the broad canopies were placed precisely over the heads of the older people among them.

Actors with even a little name recognition would not ride the bus, and that was common knowledge at every film city. So the people who had come to receive Liu Qingshan and the others had not paid much attention to Chen Zuming, who wore a mask.

Led by the guide, they arrived at the production site for The Return of the Condor Heroes. Outside the entrance, small clusters of people were waiting for something.

As they passed, a quarrel was in progress among one such cluster.

“What are you doing? I saw you taking my picture.”

“I’m a fan of Huang Yiming. I’m just waiting to catch a glimpse of him when he comes out. None of your business.”

“Give me your phone! I saw you taking my picture. I’ve had my eye on you, little girl. You’ve been here every day these past few days.”

At first the man would not let it go, and this only angered the other.

“Taking your picture? Why would I waste time taking your picture? Who do you think you are? And what gives you the right to check my phone? Besides, when you sneak photos of celebrities, do you ask their permission? If you can take secret pictures of a star, why can’t I take secret pictures of you?”

This was probably the first time Shi Hui had ever encountered fan-chasing scenes of this sort. Her steps slowed involuntarily, and she seemed to have developed a sudden taste for gossip.

Liu Qingshan quickly grabbed her by the arm. “Hurry up. It’s not a good place to linger. Can’t you see how many phones and cameras there are?”

Only then did Shi Hui understand, and she hastened to catch up.

This hotel could not exactly be called luxurious, but it had one advantage: a large open courtyard.

With crews coming and going every day, there would inevitably be large pieces of equipment, props, and the like to move in and out, and having a spacious yard made everything much easier.

Zhang the Big Beard was currently waiting on the second floor in the meeting room. The rest of the production team had also reported in today, and before long Liu Qingshan saw many familiar faces.

More people, though they did not know him, were exceedingly familiar with the face beside him. That was Chen Zuming, the son of Brother Dragon.

At once, many wondered in their hearts why this man had appeared on a production outside Hong Kong.

And thus, even Liu Qingshan, standing beside him, gradually began to draw attention.

But as more and more familiar people appeared, word that Liu Qingshan would be playing Guo Jing spread swiftly, and all kinds of speculation about him began to stir with a fair amount of clamor.

That was no exaggeration. The Return of the Condor Heroes was a truly major production, with more than two hundred people qualified merely to enter this meeting room.

Fortunately, the formal cast-and-crew introduction soon began, and under the hosting of assistant director Guan Xingchi and investor representative Tian Mingzhu, the truth was quickly laid bare.

By then, Liu Qingshan was seated in the row reserved for the action design team, with the long-famous Uncle Ping beside him, whom he had heard of for years but had never met.

Uncle Ping was hugely respected in Dongyang, on a level no less than some major stars, mainly because he had worked on so many productions, and in most cases alongside renowned Hong Kong action veterans.

Though he had never founded any particular troupe or special-effects unit, everyone knew that many of the country’s local action talents had been introduced by him.

“Over the past two years, I’ve gotten older, so I rarely show up in person like this anymore. Li Qi and Shengli can stand on their own now, which has given me plenty of free time. Still, this time counts as the real chance for us mainland amateurs to take the lead, so I couldn’t help coming to take part!”

Uncle Ping was a capable old man who always held his head high and his chest out. Though past sixty, the exposed joints of his hands and elbows still bore thick calluses.

When Liu Qingshan shook his hand, the grip was astonishingly strong, clearly the hand of someone trained in Eagle Claw, joint locks, or some other grappling skill.

Though Liu Qingshan had drifted through Dongyang for three years, he had only ever heard the name, never met the man himself.

“Brother Qi and Brother Shengli both have real strength. They’re well suited for this, and you can tell they’ve learned plenty from their Hong Kong counterparts. Everything about them, inside and out, is thoroughly authentic.”

There was deference in every word of Liu Qingshan’s reply.

“Mm. They’re both good, but I admire you even more, because you’ve finished something I always wanted to do and never managed to accomplish!”