Chapter 84: I No Longer Wish to Be the Big Brother

Chapter 84: I Haven’t Been the Boss for Many Years

Riding swiftly through the martial world, what is it but an inability to let go of fame and fortune? This line is undoubtedly the pièce de résistance, striking right at the heart of every wandering hero. The protagonist relinquishes both name and gain, leaving the martial world for the sake of the heroine, only to be endlessly entangled by those who cannot let go. This is the main thread of the film. Another thread, the political intrigue at court, is summed up by a different lyric: How can one who holds the empire in his heart ever be truly free and unrestrained?

Those who are always preoccupied with fame and fortune—how could they ever be happy? This single line from Zhang Le perfectly captures the inner turmoil of everyone in the film.

The same is true in the entertainment industry. People risk everything to sing, act, even resort to sensationalism just to attract attention. Zhang Le had taken his goddess, so naturally Yue Yang harbored little fondness for him. But upon seeing the theme song Zhang Le wrote for his own movie, “The Tavern of Mortal Dust,” Yue Yang had to admit his talent. Everything Yue Yang wished to express in his film was encapsulated in that one song.

A kindred spirit is hard to find. When you finally do, you discover he’s the man who won the woman you desire. Yue Yang felt a vague, indescribable frustration.

Zhang Le was, of course, unaware of Yue Yang’s distress. Even if he knew, he might have rubbed salt in the wound to end his hopes once and for all.

At that moment, Zhang Le was immersed in the filming of “No Retreat.” The storyline was not complicated—after all, this was not a drama. The real highlight was the action.

The action scenes were grand, featuring both gunfights and hand-to-hand combat. Chen Ke and Zhou Run had invited one of the country’s top action directors, Chen Dong. Chen Dong, in his fifties and nearly forty years in the industry, started as a martial arts stuntman. He had studied many forms of boxing and weaponry, but what set him apart among so many talented action directors was his flair for choreographing gunfights.

In his previous life, Zhang Le had been a martial arts stuntman. He had only just been promoted to action director when he arrived in this world, so he had little experience in that role. His only advantage lay in the countless classic fight scenes ingrained in his mind.

Zhang Le rarely offered suggestions regarding the movie itself, but when it came to the action, he was far more forthcoming. It wasn’t that he respected Director Chen Ke but not Action Director Chen Dong; their roles were simply different.

Besides, Zhang Le merely made suggestions. Whether or not they were adopted, he would follow the other’s design. Chen Dong, though proud, was not one to ignore good advice. Many of Zhang Le’s ideas opened his eyes. After some time working together, Chen Dong came to enjoy discussing action choreography with Zhang Le, even beyond the scope of this film.

“If I didn’t know you were a director—a very talented one with limitless prospects—I’d want to poach you for the Chen Family Stunt Team as an action director,” Chen Dong said, shaking his head and smiling at Zhang Le. “Now I finally understand why they call you ‘Genius Zhang.’”

“You’re too kind, Director Chen,” Zhang Le replied with a smile.

“He’s never been one for empty praise,” Chen Ke interjected, approaching them. “Of the younger generation of filmmakers, I have the highest hopes for you. You’re most likely to go international because you possess a unique advantage!”

Zhang Le laughed. “Director Chen, you’re not saying my advantage is speaking a couple of foreign languages, are you?”

Many outstanding directors have stumbled on their path to the international stage simply because they didn’t know any foreign languages.

“There are plenty of filmmakers who can speak foreign languages,” Chen Ke replied, shaking his head. “Your greatest advantage is your imagination. Sometimes, a casual remark or gesture of yours becomes a highlight of the film, sparking endless inspiration. Filmmaking requires imagination.”

Imagination? Zhang Le just smiled and said nothing. He did indeed possess imagination, but his was different from others’—his imagination drew on countless classics from his previous life.

“A-le, the theme song you wrote for ‘Dragon Inn’ is hugely popular now, and many musicians have heaped praise upon it. I’ve listened to it; the style is much like ‘Flowers Fade Easily.’ A-le, you can’t dodge the responsibility of writing the theme song for our film!” Zhou Run joined them, speaking up.

“Brother Run, as you said, ‘The Tavern of Mortal Dust’ and ‘Flowers Fade Easily’ share a style, but that kind of song definitely isn’t right for this movie,” Zhang Le replied with a wry smile and shook his head. “I’m not confident I can write something that will satisfy you.”

He had already considered that Zhou Run and Chen Ke might ask him to compose the theme. He had hoped to find a fitting song but had not succeeded. The theme song from “A Better Tomorrow” might work, but Zhang Le had little recollection of it, only that it was likely a Cantonese song.

Both “Flowers Fade Easily” and “The Tavern of Mortal Dust” fit their films perfectly, but that was pure coincidence. Zhang Le knew a bit about music, but he couldn’t expect to write such classics by himself.

Having found nothing suitable and not confident in writing one, he chose not to force the matter. Now that Zhou Run had brought it up, all Zhang Le could do was smile bitterly.

“Just give it a try!” Chen Ke encouraged. “I know you’re busy and don’t have much time to spare for this.”

“I did write a song before, inspired by a line from Brother Run’s dialogue in this film. I just don’t know if it’s appropriate.”

“Oh? Which line?” Zhou Run asked, curious.

“Officer, I haven’t been the boss for many years,” Zhang Le replied.

This line was spoken when Xiao Ran was relentlessly pursuing Ye Tianlong, who wanted to leave the criminal underworld and start afresh. Determined to find Ye’s weakness and send him to prison, Xiao Ran confronted him. In a moment of deep sorrow and bitterness, Ye Tianlong uttered that line.

“Wait!” Zhou Run exclaimed in surprise, then turned and walked away. Moments later, he returned with a guitar, motioning for Zhang Le to play.

Zhang Le didn’t hesitate. He took the guitar and began to play:

“I’m not afraid of sweating at work, not afraid to taste life’s bitterness... I haven’t been the boss for many years, I don’t love the cold edge of the bed, don’t make me remember, don’t make me cry, or I’ll lose my temper. I haven’t been the boss for many years, I just want to love once more. Time can’t go back, life holds no regrets, loving you in tomorrow…”

“I Haven’t Been the Boss for Many Years” was a song by Black Brother in Zhang Le’s previous life. Personally, Zhang Le felt it was less than ideal as a theme song, certainly not on par with the previous two. However, it did resonate with certain elements of the film.

In the story, Ye Tianlong leaves the underworld for Xiao Yan and Xiao Ran. It’s fitting to say he wants to love again, willing to sweat and suffer for it.

“My voice isn’t suited to this song—I can’t bring out the sense of someone who’s been through the vicissitudes of life,” Zhang Le said with a smile. “As a theme song, it still falls a bit short.”

Chen Ke and Zhou Run exchanged glances. They had to admit Zhang Le’s song had flavor, fitting parts of the movie, but as a theme song, it did lack a certain spark—just as Zhang Le had said.

A theme song represents the film’s essence; it is a vital component of cinematic art, playing a special role in highlighting a film’s lyricism, drama, and atmosphere.

What this song lacked was the “theme,” not its unique emotional resonance.

(This chapter was written a long time ago—it’s from my drafts. As for Ye Tianlong, please stop bringing it up. That a name can provoke such strong reactions is a skill in itself. I suppose I’m a victim too—good intentions gone awry. But some people aren’t truly bothered by the name; their motives are obvious. Fortunately, I’m no newcomer, so it hardly affects me. Rather than getting frustrated or tangled up about it, I’d rather quietly write more chapters, save up drafts, and prepare for a big release.)