Chapter Eighty-Nine: What, exactly, is wrong here?

The first page

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A play for modern audiences. That was the crucial principle behind Wu Xiang’s direction this time.

Why this principle? Simple enough—the very proof was right there in front of him. Director Chen’s great production had been painstakingly crafted, even digging up exactly where Jing Ke had come from and insisting on using the local dialect there. What was the point of all that?

Research serves the film. It is only worth doing if it helps the film look good; otherwise, it is research for research’s sake.

Wei Shao’er, played by Li Bingbing, did not have a huge role, but it was not minor either. She was the image of an unmarried mother. Of course, any explicit fleshly scenes were impossible for Wu Xiang to include. His idea was to use Wei Shao’er’s affair with Huo Zhongru to reflect the hardship of the Wei family’s life.

The story of the Wei family was, in essence, a tale of rise from poverty to wealth. Though historically their prominence came from Emperor Wu of Han’s favor, Wu Xiang intended to film it as an uplifting version, full of struggle and aspiration.

By the plan, it was time to shoot the scenes centered on the men of the family.

“You sons of bitches! You bunch of bastards dare bully me?”

“Wei Qing! How dare you spout such insolence? You’re just a bastard son. We’re all your elder brothers. If you call us bastards, aren’t you calling your own father a bastard too?”

“He is a bastard! He never gives me food, treats me like a slave, and lets you little bastards bully me!”

“Beat him!”

“Kill him!”

“Make him insult his father!” ...

What followed was a brawl among several young men. This scene showed Wei Qing in his youth. His father was Zheng Ji, the magistrate of Pingyang County, but Wei Qing was born out of wedlock and was never truly acknowledged, so he could only take the surname of his nominal father. Life was far too harsh, though; his mother, alone, could not support so many children, and had no choice but to send him to Zheng Ji. Yet Zheng Ji treated this illegitimate son abominably, and those so-called brothers tormented him day after day.

How could such a life be endured? So this scene was Wei Qing’s resistance.

Wei Qing was an important character. But who would play him?

Originally Wu Xiang had planned for Kun Ge to play Emperor Wu of Han, but he also had a backup plan: Xiao Ming Ge would play Emperor Wu, and Kun Ge would play Wei Qing. That was because, in Wu Xiang’s version of "The Great Emperor Wu of Han," Emperor Wu was not the most important figure. Wei Qing’s screen time and significance were no less than the emperor’s, because Wu Xiang wanted to emphasize the northern campaigns against the Xiongnu, and Wei Qing was the absolute protagonist of that section.

But now Kun Ge was gone. So who could take the role? Wu Xiang had been worried sick. He could not possibly let that carefree rascal Huang Haibo play it, could he? People would say he was insulting a national hero.

Still, one had to admit Wu Xiang was in luck. The film’s female lead and assistant director, Zhang Jingchu, had helped him out.

The man now playing Wei Qing was tall, at least six feet, with handsome features and a high-bridged nose. Most striking were those eyes paired with thick brows, giving him an air of cocky swagger, and with that mouth of his he looked like he would never yield to anyone. He was none other than Deng Chao.

That’s right—the later famous first-tier star, the one who would marry a beautiful wife and have a pair of “just-right” children.

As a student from the class of ’98 at the Central Academy of Drama, he had been “sold” by his senior sister Zhang Jingchu to Wu Xiang for two hundred yuan. Well, this was not exactly human trafficking—at most, it could be called being headhunted. In any case, he had been brought into the cast of "The Great Emperor Wu of Han."

Wu Xiang took one look at him and made the decision on the spot: five thousand, room and board included. He had originally wanted to bargain, but once Deng Chao heard he would be playing Wei Qing, and such an important role at that, he agreed immediately. What he never imagined was that he had just fallen into a blazing pit.

“Cut!” Wu Xiang called stop again. The expressions, dialogue, and even the movements in the previous scene were all fine, but he still felt something was off.

What exactly was wrong? He could not quite say.

Just as Wu Xiang was pondering it, Deng Chao on the other side grew impatient.

“Director, what are you fussing about? Isn’t it shooting pretty well?” He was speaking in some regional dialect, and his complaint had a faintly sour edge.

“Fine, fine, just stay put a moment. I’m thinking.”

Wu Xiang knew something was wrong, but he could not pin it down.

“Aw, come on, this is all filmed exactly the way you said. What’s wrong with it?” Deng Chao felt wronged.

“Go cool off somewhere else for now.”

Wu Xiang still could not figure it out.

With no choice, Deng Chao went off to chat and joke with the others.

“Hey, brothers, have any of you worked with this Director Wu before?”

“Nope, but I hear he’s miserly as can be.”

“Do we need to hear it from someone else? We’re staying in those so-called ‘palaces’ every day now. This whole wilderness is crawling with mosquitoes at night, and they won’t even let us stay in a countryside inn.”

That was right. Deng Chao’s complaint was on the mark. To save money, Wu Xiang had simply arranged for the crew to stay inside the Qin Palace. If you don’t want to spend money, this is the cheapest way, isn’t it?

But this was the south, in a mountainous rural area. Hengdian had not yet become as popular as it would later. How could there not be mosquitoes? And since the place cost nothing to stay in, it must not be damaged. So Wu Xiang had laid down the rule: no mosquito coils. If you lit mosquito coils, what if the Qin Palace caught fire? We’re nowhere near as invincible as Xiang Yu, after all. The whole crew suffered for it.

Of course, Wu Xiang had his polished explanation: “I’m doing this so everyone can feel history, taste history. Living in an imperial palace helps everyone perform this drama well!” Also, bring your own mosquito nets.

“Ah, forget it. Endure it. He’s technically my fellow Northeasterner anyway. Just take it as doing me a favor.”

In that little circle, there really was someone shameless enough to rival Wu Xiang.

“Your face sure is worth a lot!” everyone sneered.

The second page

At that moment Deng Chao said, “With costume dramas, I thought there’d be some fighting scenes. Turns out, ah, there’s nothing at all.”

Wu Xiang heard their grumbling. He had not cared at first—there was no helping it, the mosquitoes really were vicious, and his own thighs were already covered in welts, which he was scratching at. But Deng Chao’s final words—fighting scenes...

“Right!” With a slap to his own thigh, Wu Xiang finally understood what was missing.

Fighting scenes!

Originally, Wu Xiang had wanted to make a grand historical picture, but as filming went on, he kept feeling that something was lacking, though he could not quite name it. His intention had been to respect history and bring out its weight and gravity. Yet gradually he discovered that there seemed to be no sense of beauty.

The beauty of movement, that was it. If one truly respected history, then Wei Qing, Huo Qubing, and the others were all great generals, but they were not martial artists. They could fight, yes, but only as riders and archers; their fame and fortune were not won through martial prowess.

But Chinese audiences—well, not just others, Wu Xiang himself had this notion too—believed that people in ancient times all knew some kung fu.

All right, it was a mistaken belief. Much like foreigners imagining that we all know how to do disassemble-and-reassemble kung fu, we also imagine that ancient people all knew martial arts. Whether right or wrong, the notion objectively exists; that is simply how young people think.

“I think I forgot to design the action!” Wu Xiang felt he had made a mistake. He should have studied the action choreography properly. But there was nothing to be done—he was a top student, after all. Wu Xiang had been thinking more about filming a historically true work, especially one with the weight of history, and so he had overlooked this issue.

“Add it or not?” That was the question. Action would only affect the film’s beauty, like "Hero," but "Hero" was in fact steeped in wuxia elements, while his own film was supposed to be history...

This was troubling. And there was another problem: Wu Xiang did not currently have such talent at hand.

Adding action was not a major change. The scenes already shot did not need to be altered; anything new could be handled with a few extra pickup shots, and the editing would take care of the rest. Besides, they had not filmed that much yet. So—add it.

“Who among you knows martial arts?” Wu Xiang asked the people around him. His meaning was simple: this film was not primarily about fight choreography, so as long as someone knew some martial arts and could make the movements a little more graceful, that would be enough.

As for whether there was such a person, Wu Xiang did not hold out much hope. Even if there were none, they could always go find a stunt team. It was no trouble at all. Unexpectedly, someone answered him.

“I do!”