Chapter Sixteen: Routine and Scheduling

Filming had concluded, and the movie had entered the intense post-production phase. Fortunately, it was a modern drama with minimal special effects, but the music score couldn’t be taken lightly; a good soundtrack truly elevates a film’s caliber.

“Brother Gong, won’t it feel out of place to use ‘The Wind Rises’ as an insert song? It seems like the song and the film are telling completely different stories,” Zhang Qianjun said.

In the capital city, at a music studio, Zhang Qianjun and Liu Chang were confirming the details for the insert song and the end credits track.

The first time Zhang Qianjun met Gong Ge’er, he couldn’t help but marvel at the inclusiveness and diversity of early Chinese entertainment talent shows.

This thirty-something senior from the Beijing Film Academy resembled Mao Shiba, wearing glasses and sporting a scruffy beard. In the winter chill of the capital, he wore a collared khaki wool sweater layered under a blue zip-up knit vest.

He looked like a small-town scholar who had come to Beijing to study in the late 1990s. And yet, this appearance belied the fact that he was among the top eighteen nationwide in the inaugural season of “Happy Boys.”

The moment Zhang Qianjun saw Gong Ge’er, he knew Liu Chang’s praise was not exaggerated; this senior must have exceptional musical talent.

“Qianjun, you don’t get it. I’m about ten years older than you. Have you ever watched a movie clip montage online? Whether the song fits the film depends entirely on how the video is edited. If the editing is good, any song can be matched. Plus, songs have broad interpretative flexibility. Trust me, no problem.”

“But what about the end credits song? Do you have any ideas? I heard from Liu Chang that you write and release your own songs. I listened online, your level is quite impressive. Have you considered whether the end credits should be pure instrumental or a song?”

Zhang Qianjun pondered briefly. “For the end credits, I actually have a suitable piece. I just finished recording it these past couple of days; I’ll send it to you.”

Gong Ge’er was slightly surprised and thought to himself, “I was just being polite, but this junior actually has something substantial?”

“Qianjun, although you’re paying me for the score, if your song doesn’t fit, I won’t just force it in. If the effect is poor, it’ll damage my reputation.”

Zhang Qianjun smiled slightly. “Don’t worry, trust me, it’ll be fine.”

After leaving the studio, Zhang Qianjun and Liu Chang stood by the roadside, flagging down a taxi.

While waiting, Zhang Qianjun asked, “When will post-production be finished?”

“By the end of the year at the latest.”

“The end of the year? The Gregorian calendar year?”

“Yes, definitely before the end of 2010, after which comes the review and release scheduling.”

“The review shouldn’t be an issue. Our film is quite positive and uplifting, portrays the police in a good light, and both the school and Aunt Jiang have promised support.”

Liu Chang looked puzzled. “Aunt Jiang?”

Zhang Qianjun glanced at him. “You don’t know? Jiang Wenli, Ma Sitong’s aunt, her own aunt.”

“Wow, I really didn’t know! Ma Sitong never mentioned it.”

Liu Chang was both shocked and a little regretful. If he had known during filming, he could have built a better relationship.

“Why would anyone mention their aunt casually? I thought you knew a lot about Hao Lei’s marriage situation, figured you were well-informed about the industry gossip, but for serious matters you’re clueless. Yet, gossip and scandals, you’re an expert.”

Zhang Qianjun shot him a disdainful look before grumbling, “It’s so inconvenient not having a car. Shooting commercials always means hailing taxis—what a hassle. These days, with year-end discounts, I’m thinking of buying a car. Otherwise, those two company quotas just sit unused.”

Liu Chang wanted to say something but held his tongue.

“If you have something to say, just say it. Don’t keep me guessing,” Zhang Qianjun said, disliking when people around him acted like that. Either say it or keep quiet; don’t tease me.

Finally, Liu Chang spoke. “Qianjun, you still have money?”

“Huh?” Zhang Qianjun looked confused. How did he come to that conclusion?

Seeing his expression, Liu Chang slowly explained, “Since you came back from the Fog City, you’ve been asking me to help find commercial shoots, and you’ve been constantly calling contacts. You’ve become famous in the local advertising circle, known as the ‘ad workhorse.’ We thought you were broke and taking every gig out of desperation.”

Zhang Qianjun realized why his friends always had some issue when going out to eat with him — they thought he was tight on cash and didn’t want to add any burden.

“I shoot commercials mostly to build camera presence, not really for money. You know how it is in this industry: if you want others to keep sending you gigs, you have to pay a cut. For a five-thousand-yuan commercial, getting two thousand to keep is already generous; otherwise, who would deal with you?”

“Qianjun, shooting commercials and films are different. Camera presence can’t really be trained that way. They’re not the same, and you might even develop bad habits,” Liu Chang cautioned.

“Don’t worry. After the movie releases next year and work picks up, I’ll quit this,” Zhang Qianjun said.

“Do you think our film will succeed? The edited cut looks good to me, but will the market accept it? I’ve been so stressed lately, I feel like I’m going bald,” Liu Chang confessed, his face full of worry.

Zhang Qianjun found it both amusing and annoying. “Man, with that beard and your tall, burly frame, you’re worried about going bald? Better watch out—programmers might come beat you up for saying that.”

“A full beard and baldness aren’t mutually exclusive,” Liu Chang muttered. Zhang Qianjun didn’t care and jumped into the taxi to rush off to the commercial shoot.

After finishing the commercial, returning home, Zhang Qianjun opened the door and was both surprised and delighted to find Kan Qingzi there.

Since returning to Beijing after filming “Better Days,” she had officially signed with Rong Xinda and immediately gotten busy. Though not the lead, she consistently landed roles as the fourth, fifth, or sixth female lead, constantly shuttling between sets.

“Oh, the big star’s finally home!” Zhang Qianjun approached and playfully patted her, causing a ripple of laughter.

Kan Qingzi showed a helpless smile. “Every time we meet, you have to pat me. Do you have some kind of fetish?”

“No, it’s just that you have good padding here—it absorbs impact well,” Zhang Qianjun answered seriously.

“How long is this famous actress taking a break?”

“What kind of fame do I have? If I were famous, would you be able to hold me and kiss me wherever we are?”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“You’re just boasting. When you get famous, you’ll definitely keep your distance. Maybe you’ll even avoid me.”

Zhang Qianjun adopted a serious expression. “I won’t do that.”

Seeing her man so earnest, Kan Qingzi felt a rush of sweetness, hugging him and giving him little pecks. After a while, they separated, and she began complaining about work.

“You have no idea how awful the drama I’m shooting is. I’m embarrassed to even mention it during auditions. Shooting all these cliché roles, if I don’t become famous soon, I’ll be driven mad.”

Zhang Qianjun guessed she was talking about “New My Fair Princess: The Graceful Swallow.” His only memory of that show was a horse-riding scene with Er Kang and Zi Wei and the infamous line, “You’re full, but I’m overflowing,” which he had once seen on Bilibili. Beyond that, he knew nothing.

“Is it really that bad?”

“Worse than bad—there’s no way it could be worse!” Kan Qingzi exclaimed. “Have you seen my roommate’s drama ‘Meteor Shower’?”

Zhang Qianjun shook his head. “No, but I know it’s a notorious remake. People online joked that the rich families there shop at Metersbonwe.”

“Even worse than that—more ridiculous, tackier, and nonsense all around. From the lines to costumes and props, everything’s laughably bad. And yet, it’s in these awful dramas that I get cast as a minor ‘third party’ role, beyond the top ten credits. And this is after I signed with the agency.”

“So, when will our film be released? Give me a breakthrough role. Otherwise, I’m stuck playing the evil third party or the brainless fourth lead in the company’s TV dramas,” Kan Qingzi lamented, her grievance spilling over.

“Didn’t your company’s Yang Mi terminate her contract? Why haven’t you gotten any resources yet?”

“Even if there are resources, they don’t come to me. Look at ‘New Dream of the Red Chamber’—Baochai and Daiyu are lined up ahead of me.”

“I haven’t seen the new Red Chamber,” Zhang Qianjun shook his head, signaling he had no idea who these characters were.

Kan Qingzi was surprised. How had he never watched anything? Reflecting carefully, she realized she’d never seen him watch TV dramas, though they often went to the movies together.

“So, what have you watched, excluding films? Just TV dramas.”

“What counts as watched? If it’s just fragments, then maybe a few.”

“Say, dramas you’ve watched from start to finish.”

“Bai Gu’s ‘The Return of the Condor Heroes,’ Huang Rihua’s ‘Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils,’ and the 2001 ‘The Smiling, Proud Wanderer’ with Zhang Dahuzi.”

Kan Qingzi waited a moment, and seeing no further response, asked:

“That’s all?”

“Yep.”

Kan Qingzi inwardly thought, “What kind of weirdo did I end up with?”

“You haven’t watched ‘Struggle’?”

“A few episodes. Once I realized the protagonist was an idiot, I stopped.”

“Surely you’ve watched ‘My Fair Princess’?”

“My parents would catch glimpses when the TV was on. I was very young then and thought the show was noisy, disrupting my cartoons.”

“You like martial arts dramas. You haven’t watched the two ‘Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils’ and ‘Return of the Condor Heroes’ with Zhang Dahuzi?”

“Not a single episode.”

“How about ‘The Legend of Sword and Fairy’?”

“Liu Tianxian’s? I saw a clip where Zhao Ling’er dies. I never watched any of the third series.”

Finishing, Zhang Qianjun looked at his girlfriend and said, “Don’t ask anymore—I don’t watch TV dramas.”

This piqued Kan Qingzi’s curiosity.

“If you don’t watch TV dramas, how do you join in when classmates discuss plots?”

Zhang Qianjun looked puzzled. “Who the hell discusses TV dramas at school?”

Kan Qingzi was suddenly emo, as she was precisely the “fool” enthusiastically discussing TV drama plots at school.

“There are plenty. When I was in middle and high school, boys and girls alike would talk about them.”

“Really?” Zhang Qianjun suddenly realized how vast the gap was between their perceptions.

“Besides, don’t you get isolated or bullied if you don’t join in?”

Zhang Qianjun couldn’t understand this logic but explained to ease her worries.

“By my eighth birthday, I was already 1.4 meters tall and once punched a student two years older than me until he cried. I’ve always been strong. At twelve, when I started middle school, I weighed 50 kilos, could bench press 70 kilos eight times, and squat 85 kilos twelve times.”

Seeing Kan Qingzi’s blank expression, he summarized: “Your husband was born strong and developed early. He’s only the bully in his grade. But I’m a kind kid—I don’t bully others.”

Kan Qingzi snorted, thinking, “You bully me plenty, and with plenty of tricks too.”

“Who’s your husband? Have you proposed to me? Have you bought the diamond ring yet?”

Zhang Qianjun answered seriously, “Diamond rings are more of a luxury tax than an investment. Luxury goods at least have resale value. Have you ever seen anyone resell a diamond ring? I prefer gold jewelry.”

“Ahhh, you’re such a typical straight man. Go to sleep with your gold, and take your hands out of my fleece. Standing up you pat me, sitting down you touch me—what kind of habit is that?”

“Just a normal man’s normal habit~”

They teased each other a few more times, about to escalate when Kan Qingzi’s stomach rumbled loudly. Seeing she was truly hungry, they decided to head downstairs for dinner.

Zhang Qianjun suggested, “How about some lamb spine stew downstairs?”

“No, it smells gamey.”

“Then the neighboring Chaozhou hotpot—let’s do the yin-yang pot.”

Once seated and ordering, Kan Qingzi only picked vegetables, scooping greens from the spicy pot into the clear broth to rinse before eating.

Zhang Qianjun found this odd. “Why do you eat like that?”

“This way, I get the spicy flavor but wash off the chili oil. It’s good for the skin, prevents acne, and helps avoid gaining weight. Smart, right?” Kan Qingzi looked at him expectantly.

Hearing this, Zhang Qianjun decided it was time for some knowledge sharing.

“Food affects skin mostly because of sugar, not spice. If spice caused acne, Sichuan and Hunan would be covered in pimples. Also, eating meat and fat rarely makes you fat because they’re filling. The real culprit is carbs—ultimately sugar.”

“Shut up and eat. Why do you always have to lecture me?”

“Alright, you asked when our movie will be released. No release date yet. Don’t expect it for May Day, National Day, New Year’s, or Spring Festival.”

“Yeah, scheduling is complicated. Sweet Sweet told me her movie didn’t get a good slot either, even with a big production. It was finally set for April 12.”

A spark of inspiration suddenly flashed through Zhang Qianjun’s mind.

“Sweet Sweet?”

“My roommate, Jing Tian. Don’t you know her?”

“Of course I know Big Sweet Sweet, just didn’t know you two were roommates.”

“Why would you know her?” Kan Qingzi smiled mischievously. “That’s your strong point—you never pay attention to other girls. Heh heh heh, I’ll surprise you later~”

“What movie of your roommate’s is set for April 12?”

“A historical film, a hundred-million-yuan production. Lead actor Sun Honglei, second lead Wu Zhenyu, even the supporting cast are big names. Sigh, even if I star in a film of that level ten years from now, I’d wake from my dreams laughing. People just can’t be compared.”

That’s it! The huge flop “The Warring States” finally has a release date! Zhang Qianjun thought firmly: Big Sweet Sweet, don’t blame me for being ruthless. For my big screen debut, this stepping stone called “The Warring States” is mine to claim!