1978: Female educated youth, don’t want an illiterate husband

The Shao Mansion in Repulse Bay is situated on the hillside, facing the bay. Under the night sky, it is brightly lit, like a pearl set on black velvet.

The wrought iron gate slid open slowly, and Cheng Xuemin's black Crown sedan from Great Wall Motors spiraled up the winding, steep private driveway.

The driveway is lined with meticulously manicured lawns and lush tropical plants, and the faint sound of waves lapping against the shore can be heard in the distance.

The car was parked next to the wide circular driveway in front of the main building.

A waiter dressed in a white uniform and wearing white gloves stepped forward and respectfully opened the car door.

Cheng Xuemin took a deep breath of the damp, salty sea breeze, straightened the navy blue suit he had temporarily made in Hong Kong, and calmly swept his gaze over the magnificent European-style villa in front of him.

The swimming pool shimmered, the garden was adorned with sculptures, and the parking lot was already filled with no fewer than twenty luxury cars—Mercedes-Benz, Rolls-Royce, BMW…

It seems that half of Hong Kong's film industry has already been established here.

Fu Qi got out of the car first and whispered to Cheng Xuemin, "Teacher Cheng, judging from this scene... Sir Shao has invited quite a few people tonight."

His tone was somewhat uneasy, after all, this Teacher Cheng in front of him had been incredibly intense lately.

It can be said that he gave a sharp critique of the entire Hong Kong film industry.

Cheng Xuemin gave a faint "hmm," a barely perceptible smile playing on his lips: "Isn't this perfect, Mr. Fu? It saves me the trouble of meeting them one by one."

Guided by a middle-aged man who appeared to be a butler, the two passed through the high-ceilinged foyer and headed towards the huge seaside terrace in the backyard.

Before anyone arrives, the sound is heard first.

A wave of noise, a mixture of Cantonese, Mandarin, and English, rushed over, interspersed with a few excited shouts, clearly indicating that the topic was very hot.

The terrace was set up as a buffet reception, with a long table covered with a white tablecloth, and silver cutlery and crystal glasses shimmering under the lights.

Waiters in uniform carried drinks as they moved among the crowd.

Thirty or forty guests stood or sat, in small groups. The men were mostly dressed in suits or well-tailored shirts, while the women wore flowing skirts and were adorned with jewels.

Cheng Xuemin's appearance was like a pebble thrown into a pond filled with the croaking of frogs.

He had just stepped onto the edge of the terrace when the closest group of people were surrounding Hung Kam-po, who was spitting as they spoke.

Hung Kam-pao, wearing a floral shirt, with a protruding belly, waved a cigar in his hand and spoke in a loud voice:

"That northerner, he knows a little bit and acts like an expert! When I, Sammo Hung, was working hard on the film set, he was still playing in the mud in his open-crotch pants!"

They actually said my films are too commercial and lack culture? Seriously! Who isn't just trying to make a living? Do you think filming is all about winning awards?

Next to him stood a tall, thin, bald man, Karl Maka from Cinema City, who, with a pipe in his mouth, chimed in sarcastically:
"Brother Sanmao, calm down! He's in a high position now, so it's lonely at the top! How could we, who are just ordinary people, possibly meet his standards?"

The people around burst into laughter.

Elsewhere, Raymond Chow, holding a wine glass, spoke in hushed tones with Mona Fong, his expression grave.

Raymond Chow shook his head and sighed: "Mrs. Fang, it's not that I'm trying to boost others' morale, but Cheng Xuemin's words, though harsh, may not be entirely without merit."

As you know, things are more complicated in Hollywood than we thought.

Fang Yihua's expression was still not good, but she forced herself to say:
"Mr. Zou, why embolden others? Shaw Brothers may have misjudged this time, but the foundation of Hong Kong cinema remains! How can we allow an outsider to point fingers?"

The most excited person was Liu Jialiang.

He wasn't wearing a suit, but a short-sleeved Tang suit. Standing by the railing, facing Yu Zhanyuan, Di Long, Yuen Wah, and other veteran stuntmen, his face was red and his neck was thick, his fists clenched so tightly they cracked.
"Fuck the hell! They named me and said I make bad movies? To make quick money? I, Lau Kar-leung, have a set of genuine Southern Fist kung fu skills passed down from my ancestors!"
It was earned with blood and sweat! What does that northerner know? He made a movie called "Tai Chi" and luckily it became a box office hit, and now he thinks he's a master?

Yu Zhanyuan remained calm and patted him on the shoulder: "Jialiang, calm down. Why bother arguing with him? He's foul-mouthed, let him say whatever he wants."

"I can't stand it!" Liu Jialiang slammed his hand on the railing, making the wine glass next to him shake. "My 'Martial Arts School' is about to be released!"

I'm going to challenge his "Shaolin Temple" to a duel! Let's see who has real kung fu and who's just all show and no substance!

Just then, someone with sharp eyes exclaimed in a low voice, "Hey? Is that him?"

The noisy clamor subsided instantly, as if sliced ​​by a knife.

A barrage of gazes, filled with astonishment, scrutiny, curiosity, and hostility, all turned toward the tall, upright young man in a navy blue suit standing at the entrance to the terrace.

Cheng Xuemin walked in calmly, with a faint, just-right smile on his face, meeting everyone's gaze.

Fu Qi followed half a step behind him, a little sweat beading on his forehead.

The air seemed to freeze for a few seconds.

Hong Jinbao's cigar stopped in mid-air, his mouth agape, forgetting what he was about to say next.

Maka also took his pipe away from his mouth, squinted, and sized up the uninvited guest.

Raymond Chow and Mona Fong exchanged a complicated look.

Liu Jialiang seemed to have been struck by lightning, frozen in place, staring at Cheng Xuemin, his chest heaving violently, looking as if he was about to pounce on him at any moment.

Sir Shaw was talking with several old friends in a quiet corner by the sea when he saw this. A fleeting look of surprise crossed his face, but he quickly regained his usual composure.

He patted the arm of an old man next to him, whispered something, then, holding his wine glass and smiling, took the initiative to greet him.

“Mr. Cheng, welcome, welcome! I didn’t expect you to be so punctual.” Sir Shao extended his hand, his tone gentle, as if he were just greeting an ordinary junior guest, making no mention of the turmoil in the newspapers.

Cheng Xuemin stepped forward, grasped Sir Shao's hands with both of them, bowed slightly, and said respectfully, "Since Sir Shao invited me, I dared not be late. I apologize for disturbing the enjoyment of you seniors."

"Don't mention it. Mr. Cheng is young and promising, a fresh blood in the Hong Kong film industry. This is a good opportunity for us to exchange ideas."

Sir Shaw smiled, his gaze sweeping across the room with an invisible air of control, and explained:

"Come, let me introduce you all. This is Mr. Cheng Xuemin from the mainland. His film 'Tai Chi' caused a sensation in the global film market. He's young and promising!"

A few scattered, slightly awkward echoes rang out from the terrace. Most people were still in shock and hadn't recovered.

Cheng Xuemin seemed completely oblivious to the strange atmosphere, and following Sir Shao's words, nodded slightly to those around him.
"Sir, you flatter me. I am new here and young and impetuous. If I have offended you in any way during the previous interview, I hope that my seniors and colleagues will forgive me and give me more guidance."

His words were perfectly worded, sounding like an apology but without mentioning anything specific. He adopted a humble yet dignified stance.

This left those who had been criticizing him most behind his back somewhat bewildered.

Continuing to challenge them face-to-face would seem petty.

Pretend nothing happened? But I just can't swallow this anger.

Sammo Hung snorted, turned his head away, and took a deep drag on his cigar. Karl Maka gave a forced, insincere smile.

Liu Jialiang couldn't swallow this insult.

He pushed aside Yu Zhanyuan, who was blocking his way, and strode up to Cheng Xuemin, pointing almost at his nose, his voice trembling with excitement:
“Mainland boy! You’ve come at the right time! Explain yourself! The newspapers are saying that I, Lau Kar-leung, make bad movies to make quick money, is that what you said?”

The entire room fell silent instantly, all eyes focused on the two of them.

The sea breeze carried a hint of tense saltiness.

Looking at the furious Liu Jialiang in front of him, Cheng Xuemin's faint smile deepened.

Instead of answering directly, he asked in return, "Master Liu, is your 'Martial Arts School' scheduled for the summer?"

Liu Jialiang was taken aback, not expecting him to ask this. He stiffened his neck and said, "Yes! It's on the same day as your 'Shaolin Temple'! How about it? Do you dare to accept the challenge?"

"Great." Cheng Xuemin clapped his hands lightly, his tone relaxed, even appreciative. "The arena is set up for people to fight."

I, Cheng Xuemin, admire Master Liu's courage and confidence.

He changed the subject, his gaze sweeping over Lau Kar-leung, then over Hung Kam-po, Raymond Chow, and others present. He raised his voice slightly to make sure everyone could hear him: "I, Cheng Xuemin, speak frankly and say what I mean. When I say the Hong Kong market is small, I am stating a fact."

I said we need to expand outwards because I believe we have the potential. I said some films are taking the wrong approach because I hope to avoid making the same mistakes.

He walked to the long table laden with glasses, picked up a glass of champagne, and raised it:

"But I, Cheng Xuemin, have never meant to look down on Hong Kong films!"
On the contrary, I believe Hong Kong filmmakers are talented, hardworking, and quick-witted! It's just... sometimes they need to change their perspective and broaden their horizons.

He looked at Sir Shaw and said, "Sir Shaw's investment in Blade Runner is incredibly bold. Although it has suffered a setback for now, his courage to try international production is something we should all learn from!"

He then looked at Raymond Chow: "Mr. Chow sent Cheng Long to Hollywood. His vision is far-sighted and he's expanding the market. This foresight is admirable!"

Finally, he looked at Lau Kar-leung and said sincerely, "Master Lau's Southern-style kung fu is genuine and of the highest quality; it is a treasure of Hong Kong cinema!"
I, Cheng Xuemin, sincerely hope that your film "Martial Arts School" will be a huge success! Because only when everyone prospers can the Hong Kong film industry truly flourish!

These words, while seemingly gentle, were also firm, ambiguously praising and criticizing. They acknowledged certain efforts, implied the correctness of their own views, and cleverly steered a potential conflict toward the high-profile issue of "common development."

It's hard to refute for a moment, and it even seems... somewhat reasonable?
Liu Jialiang was a little stunned by his praise. His anger seemed to have a blocked outlet, and he turned red with rage. After a long while, he finally managed to stammer out, "You...you don't talk to me like that! In short, let's settle this in the ring!"

"Of course." Cheng Xuemin smiled and nodded, downing his drink in one gulp. "Box office results speak for themselves, and the audience decides. I look forward to competing against Master Liu in the ring."

The tense atmosphere, though still delicate, was at least somewhat eased by his intervention.

Sir Shaw stepped in at the opportune moment to smooth things over, inviting everyone to enjoy the food and wine.

Sir Shao personally led Cheng Xuemin to a quiet corner where several white-haired, distinguished-looking elderly men sat.

They are all legendary figures in the Hong Kong film industry who have long since retired.

Sir Shaw clearly intended to bring him into his inner circle for deeper conversations.

Watching Cheng Xuemin calmly chatting and laughing with several bigwigs, Hong Jinbao, Mai Jia, and the others exchanged glances, their hearts filled with mixed feelings.

This mainland guy is not only outspoken, but also daring in action. He's thick-skinned, quick-witted, and his methods seem far more sophisticated than they imagined.

The initial hustle and bustle of the party gradually subsided, and guests gathered in twos and threes, chatting in hushed tones, their eyes occasionally glancing towards the quiet corner by the sea.

Sir Shaw gestured to Cheng Xuemin, and the two left the noisy terrace side by side, passing through an archway and entering the main building.

The corridor was covered with thick carpets, completely absorbing the sound of footsteps. Huge stills and award certificates from classic Shaw Brothers films from their golden age hung on the walls on both sides, silently telling the story of their past glory.

Sir Shaw walked steadily, leading Cheng Xuemin to the door of a study.

Pushing open the heavy solid wood door, a mixture of scholarly air and faint cigar smoke wafts out.

The study was extremely spacious, with two walls lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with books and file boxes.

On the other side is a huge floor-to-ceiling window, outside which is the dark sea and the dazzling lights of the Kowloon Peninsula in the distance, like a dynamic oil painting.

In the center of the room was a set of dark brown leather sofas, around which sat a huge mahogany coffee table, on which were placed exquisite purple clay tea sets and an unlit Cuban cigar.

“Please sit, Mr. Cheng, there’s no need to be so formal.” Sir Shao gestured to the sofa, then sat down in the main seat, picked up a cigar cutter, and skillfully trimmed the cap of his cigar.

His movements were unhurried, carrying a calm strength that comes from weathering storms.

Cheng Xuemin sat down as instructed, his back straight, his hands naturally placed on his knees, and his gaze honestly met Sir Shao's.

The study is very soundproof, completely blocking out the noise from the terrace, leaving only the faint sound of waves outside the window and the crisp "snap" of a cigar cutter.

Sir Shaw lit a cigar, took a deep drag, and slowly exhaled the greyish-white smoke. His gaze, peering through the smoke, scrutinized Cheng Xuemin as he spoke:

"Mr. Cheng, we invited you here today, setting aside all formalities, because we want to hear your honest opinion."

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried an undeniable weight.
"Your words in the newspaper, though sharp, hit some sore spots in certain places. Especially your judgment about Blade Runner."

Cheng Xuemin did not shy away from the question and nodded: "Sir Shao, I speak frankly, please forgive me if I offend anyone."

My speculation about *Blade Runner* is not baseless. The Hollywood science fiction market, while seemingly open, is actually heavily guarded.

It has a mature industrial system and an inherent aesthetic paradigm.

It is extremely difficult for foreign capital, especially capital from the East, to simply use money to break through and gain control of the discourse.

They need investors' money, but they may not genuinely accept the investors' ideas.

Sir Shaw listened in silence, his fingers tapping lightly on the sofa armrest, his eyes deep and thoughtful.

He didn't refute, but instead asked, "Then where do you think the way out is? Is Hong Kong cinema destined to be confined to a market of only six million people?"

"The way out lies in participating in the game in a different way." Cheng Xuemin leaned forward slightly, his tone becoming more energetic. "It's not about going to Hollywood with money to beg for cooperation, but about using our own creativity and our understanding of universal values ​​to create works that can move international audiences."

Then, take the finished products to their market. Not to adapt to their rules, but to show them the high-quality products produced under our rules.

A glint of shrewdness flashed in Sir Shao's eyes: "Oh? It sounds like Mr. Cheng already has a plan?"

"I wouldn't call it a plan, just an experiment." Cheng Xuemin took a thin outline of a document, wrapped in a brown paper bag, from his briefcase and handed it to Sir Shao with both hands, saying:

"Sir Shaw, this is a new script I'm currently working on, tentatively titled 'Redemption.' It's set in Hong Kong during World War II and tells the story of people of different nationalities and backgrounds in extreme circumstances, about humanity, survival, and hope."

Sir Shaw took the document, but didn't open it immediately. Instead, he weighed it in his hand and asked, "Target market?"

"The mainstream markets in Europe and America, as well as international film festivals," Cheng Xuemin answered clearly. "All the actors are foreign, and the dialogue is in English, but the core is an Eastern narrative philosophy that focuses on universal human themes."

Sir Shaw finally opened the document and quickly browsed through the outline and some character settings.

He reads very quickly, but pauses briefly at crucial points.

The only sounds in the study were the rustling of papers turning and the occasional crackling of burning cigars.

Cheng Xuemin waited patiently, picked up the warm tea that had already been brewed on the coffee table, and took a small sip.

About ten minutes later, Sir Shaw closed the file, looked up, and stared sharply at Cheng Xuemin:

"The subject matter has potential. But using all foreign actors will raise production costs. What's your budget?"

Cheng Xuemin put down his teacup and calmly uttered a number: "Preliminary budget, two million US dollars."

Even though Sir Shaw was used to seeing all sorts of things, his eyebrows twitched violently when he heard the number.

He leaned forward slightly, staring at Cheng Xuemin, his tone filled with disbelief and confirmation: "How much? Two million? US dollars?"

“Yes, two million US dollars.” Cheng Xuemin said with certainty, without the slightest hesitation, “This includes all costs from pre-production preparation, filming to post-production.”

Sir Shaw leaned back on the sofa, took a deep drag of his cigar, and slowly exhaled a smoke ring, as if processing the shock of the number.

He invested $20 million in "Blade Runner," and almost lost it all.

And this young man in front of me actually wants to use one-tenth of the funds to leverage the same market?
Did he mishear, or is this young man just too crazy?

What can you do with two million US dollars?

You just said you'd use all foreign actors, but do you know how much a Hollywood peripheral actor with even a little bit of fame gets paid for a single appearance?

Say it without any hesitation!

With an investment of only two million US dollars, you can't even afford to hire the male and female leads!
Not to mention producing a finished film!

……

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