Chapter Thirteen: Kung Fu Superstar Chen Long

Liu Qingshan hurriedly shook his head. “I’d be grateful to even be chosen without pay; this is a tremendous opportunity for me!”

“Good, as long as you understand that,” replied the director. “However, I may assign you more odd jobs—stand-in work, fight choreography and such—so your position in the stunt team stays.”

Director Zhu Yanping was kindly reminding him, “What Director Qian means is, the more you do, the more your pay can be increased. It may be tiring, but as you said yourself, this is a rare chance.”

With the matter thus settled, Liu Qingshan’s heart was still restless on the way back, though he had expected as much. He hadn’t walked more than a few dozen meters before Ma Shengli, Wu San, and the others appeared from who knows where.

A few words were enough for them all to reveal their anxious concern, and in that moment, he felt a deep sense of friendship.

Surrounded, Liu Qingshan returned to the group, only to find Li Qi had been waiting for quite some time. Judging by the looks on everyone’s faces, Li Qi must have already guessed the outcome. As soon as they met, he rushed forward and embraced Liu Qingshan.

“Brother Shan, you’ve finally made it through. When you strike it big, don’t forget your brother!”

Liu Qingshan gripped his hand earnestly. “I could never forget you, Qi-ge. All these years, you’ve helped me get work.”

Wu San laughed heartily. “No drinking during work, but tonight, as usual, we’ll have a good time at my place!”

Liu Qingshan declined. “Qi-ge always says I’m stingy, never willing to spend money to maintain our friendship. Tonight’s on me. See you all at Happy Gate at seven!”

At his words, everyone burst out laughing.

Happy Gate, despite its grand name, was actually a humble eatery by the roadside, with just three or five tables, but it was known for its unique flavors.

Ma Shengli didn’t forget to explain for him: “Shan only had his grandfather, who’d been seriously ill. All his earnings these years went to the hospital. It’s only since his grandfather passed away half a year ago that he’s been able to save a little money.”

Wu San and the others hadn’t known this beforehand, and at hearing it, their expressions froze.

Liu Qingshan quickly waved it off with a smile. “That’s all in the past. I suppose I’m an orphan now, no family or property, living freely on my own!”

Though he spoke lightly, a few pairs of eyes grew red. Luckily, someone came in to call them back to work, breaking the mood.

The day passed in a flurry of busyness.

Filming hadn’t officially begun yet, so the stunt team mostly gathered to design fight choreography. Liu Qingshan, now recognized as an expert, found his opinions became the focus.

Two days passed in much the same way. On the day they set out for Dunhuang, he was invited to a sleeper berth on the train—a privilege reserved for main actors.

The journey from Hengdian to Dunhuang was over 3,100 kilometers. High-speed trains didn’t exist yet; their train ride would take two days and two nights.

By the time they arrived at that little city at the far western end of the Hexi Corridor, three days and two nights had passed.

Switching to a car, they traveled the highway with the vast, boundless desert and Gobi to the south. Only by dusk did the ancient city of Dunhuang come into view.

Passing through the city gates, the sight of the old grey-yellow walls and the ancient city towers struck him as especially solemn and majestic, the sense of time-worn history palpable.

Here, the architectural style combined the rich flavor of the Western Regions with the natural features of the frontier, shaped by climate and history. As a result, both Chinese and foreign productions favored it, attracting a steady stream of film crews.

After a hurried check-in, the crew wasted no time in gathering everyone for a meeting in the hotel’s first-floor hall—a sort of pre-filming get-together.

The restaurant’s decor was distinctive: rustic tables and benches, colorful auspicious charms hanging from the beams. Behind the faux-antique counter, large and small wine jars and vats were arranged, filling the air with a strong aroma of liquor.

The waiters were dressed as old-fashioned inn servants, speaking in an ancient, theatrical style: “We have a century-old brew, and the finest Tieguanyin tea. Would you care for tea or wine, esteemed guests? Perhaps a few signature dishes to go with it, guaranteed to satisfy.”

Liu Qingshan was seated at the main table, alongside the lead actors and representatives from the production and investing companies. This treatment had clearly been arranged in advance, as none of the various parties on the train had seemed surprised at his presence.

Even the waiter’s inquiries were part of the act; even if the table had pre-ordered a set meal, he would still recite his signature lines.

The pre-filming gathering was simple and straightforward, with Director Qian and a few representatives making brief remarks. The dinner itself was subdued and, after the long journey, ended quickly.

No one expected, just before the meal ended, a small group would enter the hotel, among them none other than the legendary Hong Kong action superstar, Jackie Chan.

Such a true celebrity normally wouldn’t pay attention to those in the hotel’s main hall. Though the actors and directors present were well-known domestically, few had any connection to commercial films.

Most likely, Jackie Chan recognized few of them. But unexpectedly, Liang Guanghua had met him at a Spring Festival Gala a few years prior, and stood up to greet him.

Jackie Chan, seeing a familiar face, paused, turned, and walked down the stairs into the hall.

It’s not that Jackie Chan was snobbish and ignored domestic crews—nowadays, every film studio was crowded with countless productions, most of them obscure and packed with unknown actors. If he paid attention to each one, it would drive him mad.

In truth, he was quite sincere with people, always smiling and never putting on airs.

Liang Guanghua, of course, didn’t just sit and wait for him to come over; he quickly stepped forward.

Jackie Chan was ten years his senior, so his tone was more casual. “Fancy that—a big guy like you coming all the way out here to earn a living. At least you’ll lose some weight!”

“Brother Long, fancy meeting you here. Has it been two years since we last met?”

“Two years? Feels like you’ve always been hovering around me!”

The two laughed heartily, shaking hands as they returned to the table.

Jackie Chan was accompanied by only one person, whom most didn’t recognize. But Liu Qingshan, a long-time denizen of Hengdian, knew him at once—it was the renowned Hong Kong director Tony Tang, six years Jackie Chan’s junior.

He, too, had a background in martial arts and had worked as a fight choreographer. When Liu Qingshan greeted him, he immediately saw that Liu had real skill.

After a brief exchange, Liang Guanghua explained, “Director Tang, this kid’s martial arts are no joke. According to Zhu Yanping, if he sticks with it for ten years, he’ll be a true master.”

“Oh?” Not only Tony Tang, but Jackie Chan himself was intrigued. “How old are you? You don’t look more than eighteen or nineteen.”

“Brother Jackie, I’m twenty-one this year.”

“No kidding? You’d only be thirty after ten years. Are there masters that young?”

“Brother, don’t listen to them. I only just started a few months ago. I’m just a bit nimble, that’s all.”