Chapter 15: Ambition and Aspirations

Within less than three minutes of the film starting, the audience below burst into laughter! What followed was something everyone wanted to see, and the laughter hardly ceased. Everyone knew they had succeeded!
When the ending credits appeared on screen, Situ pulled Xiao Ran by the arm and whispered, “It’s time to stand up and accept the audience’s feedback!”
Xiao Ran almost fainted. He had never heard of such a rule—having to stand up voluntarily so that the audience could gaze at them like rare animals. But since all the other creators had stood up, Xiao Ran had no choice but to stand up like a hippopotamus.
When the final words appeared on screen, the audience turned to look at the creators behind them. Had anyone ever seen this before? Hundreds of people standing up and staring at them—it was truly intimidating.
As soon as this thought crossed his mind, applause erupted in the cinema, a sound that money could never buy. Xiao Ran’s eyes almost narrowed from smiling so wide. He finally understood why the directors were both afraid and delighted. The fear was obvious—if the film wasn’t good, angry audiences would attack them without saying a word.
But if it was good and the audience liked it, it was like this. Xiao Ran knew what this feeling was—a sense of great excitement and honor. In that moment, he felt fearless about doing anything for the film, just for this collective applause from the audience.
What happened next surprised Xiao Ran. Some audience members left right away, while others came forward to pat the creators on the shoulder or say a few words of praise.
Even more interestingly, one man rushed up to Situ, patted his shoulder, and said, “Situ, the script you wrote this time is great! But isn’t there also a guy named Xiao Ran who didn’t show up?”
Situ seemed familiar with this man. He smiled and pointed at Xiao Ran, saying, “He’s here. Actually, he wrote the script. I just helped add some details! If you want to admire someone, admire him!”
Without a word, the man patted Xiao Ran’s shoulder hard twice, causing a dull pain. The man praised him endlessly, saying, “You must be Xiao Ran. The script is excellent, and the story is great! Amazing!”
“Thank you!” What else could Xiao Ran say? He could only endure the pain in his shoulder and smile in thanks. Later, he learned from Situ that this man was an enthusiastic and loyal film fan who had met many directors and screenwriters at midnight screenings. That’s how Situ got to know him.
After leaving the cinema and breathing in the night breeze, Xiao Ran noticed the high humidity in Hong Kong, but the sea breeze still felt refreshing. He saw Lin Zhengying about to leave and suddenly remembered something. He hurried over and called out, “Third brother, wait for me!”
He and Lin Zhengying had become quite close while filming. Since Lin Zhengying was the third son and was only in his early thirties, Xiao Ran called him third brother. Lin Zhengying wasn’t particularly handsome, but his square face gave him a dignified appearance on screen, though he was very kind in private.

Lin Zhengying was about to get into a taxi when he heard Xiao Ran call out, so he stopped. Xiao Ran walked over, pulled Lin Zhengying aside, and whispered, “Third brother, I just thought of something I must tell you!”
Seeing Lin Zhengying’s confused expression, Xiao Ran remembered his background. Lin Zhengying had started his career in the 1970s and had even served as a martial arts instructor for Bruce Lee. He designed a particularly impressive fight scene between Bruce Lee and Sammo Hung in “The Dragon Must Die,” which led to Sammo Hung’s support for him.
As a child, Lin Zhengying was sent by his father to a drama school, where he studied under the renowned teacher Fen Juhua. He trained there for five years, with Zun Long, Hui Tianchi, and the future famous action director Dong Wei being his peers. After working in drama for a few years, he entered the film industry but never became famous.
Later, with Sammo Hung’s backing, he became one of the key members of Sammo’s team, yet he never found his niche. It wasn’t until “Mr. Zombie” was released that he became widely known. Thanks to this film, he found his path and devoted his entire career to zombie-themed movies.
Everyone knew that among all zombie films, he was the most professional and creative actor playing Taoists, and the most respected in that genre. In short, he became famous because of zombie films and dedicated his life to them.
But Xiao Ran knew that after the success of this film, many imitations followed. This caused Lin Zhengying to experience a slump for several years until he recovered with “The Taoist Priestess.” However, when zombie movies became popular again, countless shoddy copies emerged, killing off the genre entirely. As a result, Lin Zhengying lost opportunities to act on screen and often became depressed, eventually dying of liver cancer.
Lin Zhengying was undoubtedly a highly creative talent. Xiao Ran didn’t want him to leave so early, nor did he want the zombie genre to die out. So, he had to say something. After thinking carefully and choosing his words, he said, “Third brother, seeing how popular this film is, the box office must be good. More people will surely imitate it in the future. If possible, I think you should take fewer of these films. Otherwise, if we kill off this genre, there will be nothing left to make!”
“Kill it off?” Lin Zhengying didn’t understand. As long as a genre existed, how could it die? “How is that possible?”
“Anyway, if you take these films, be very cautious. Make sure to read the script carefully before agreeing. Build your own reputation—don’t take any role just for money, or you’ll ruin your name!” Xiao Ran sighed deeply, unsure if Lin Zhengying would accept his words.
Sure enough, Lin Zhengying refused. He hadn’t become famous for years; if he could become famous thanks to this film, it would be foolish not to make as much money as possible. He shook his head and patted Xiao Ran’s shoulder. “Younger brother, you’re overthinking it. Nothing will happen. I’m going now!”
Lin Zhengying got into the taxi and soon disappeared from Xiao Ran’s sight. Only Xiao Ran remained alone on the street, feeling frustrated. Could the future really not be changed? Would Lin Zhengying still suffer from liver cancer due to unhappiness?

As he thought about it, Xiao Ran’s emotions grew increasingly chaotic. He didn’t want to rely on plagiarism all the time, nor did he like the feeling of waiting at all. He stood there on the street, lost in thought for a long time. For some reason, he felt the urge to talk to someone.

He called Wei Dongling. This guy wasn’t asleep yet and was still expanding his knowledge of cinema. Upon hearing the call, he immediately hailed a taxi and went to find Xiao Ran, who was sitting in front of a street food stall, looking dejected. Wei Dongling couldn’t believe this was the usually composed Xiao Ran. After a moment’s hesitation, he asked, “A Ran, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just want to talk to someone!” Xiao Ran replied indifferently, his gaze unfocused as he looked at Wei Dongling. “Why do people’s perspectives always be so short-sighted?”

Of course, Xiao Ran wasn’t referring to Lin Zhengying. It was just that this incident reminded him of the declining state of Hong Kong cinema in the 1990s, which stirred his emotions. Wei Dongling was stunned. He felt confused right away. Still, he carefully followed Xiao Ran’s tone and asked, “What do you mean by short-sighted?”

“Hong Kong cinema, these filmmakers!” Xiao Ran hadn’t drunk, so he wasn’t drunk enough to reveal everything. He simply expressed his deep feelings. “I drew it in a notebook. From the reactions at the midnight preview, everyone seemed to like the film!”

“Isn’t that great?” Wei Dongling grew more and more puzzled. Good feedback was surely a good thing.

“I didn’t expect you not to notice either!” Xiao Ran let out a long sigh, looking desolate and tired. “This film will definitely become popular. Once it does, others will follow suit! Too many shoddy films of this kind will be produced. Once audiences see too many, they’ll feel deceived. Who would fall for it over and over again?”

There were some things Xiao Ran couldn’t say out loud. After two waves of zombie movies, audiences’ interest in this genre had dropped to its lowest. By the 21st century, almost anyone who made films in this genre was sure to lose money. This genre was completely ruined until it could be revived. And the main reason for ruining this genre, and even Hong Kong cinema as a whole, was the reckless imitation by others.

Why imitate? Xiao Ran had a vague idea. In the following decade, making movies in Hong Kong could yield even more profit than robbing banks, so people flocked there to make money. The reason Xiao Ran wanted to establish a film company quickly was to take advantage of the easy profits and accumulate capital fast.

Wei Dongling, of course, didn’t know what Xiao Ran was thinking. He was carefully pondering what Xiao Ran had said. The more he thought about it, the more surprised he became. He thought Xiao Ran was just an excellent screenwriter, but he never expected him to have such business acumen as well.

After some deliberation, he slowly said, “A Ran, what you say makes sense, but some things require experiencing setbacks. Right now, it’s the market adapting to them. When it’s their turn to adapt to the market, they’ll understand!”

The future? Was there still a future? Xiao Ran asked himself with a bitter smile. By the time Hong Kong cinema adapted to the market, the market would have mostly been lost to Hollywood. Talents would either leave for abroad or move to television, leaving the industry in a state of irreversible decline.

He slowly raised his head to look at the sky, which was pitch black with only a few stars twinkling occasionally. Xiao Ran suddenly felt that this scene resembled future Hong Kong movies—no brightness, just one or two faint stars shining from time to time. In that moment, his mind grew somewhat confused: “If they mess everything up, I won’t even have time to start my own film company, and then Hong Kong cinema will be doomed.”

Wei Dongling was stuffing food into his mouth when he heard Xiao Ran’s involuntary words and was shocked beyond measure. The food in his chopsticks fell onto the table due to the shock. In that instant, countless thoughts raced through his mind as he considered many things.

Years later, Xiao Ran finally asked Wei Dongling why he was willing to help him at all costs. After all, with Wei Dongling’s abilities, starting his own company shouldn’t have been a problem. Wei Dongling, just like Xiao Ran now, gazed blankly at the sky and told him that it was his passion for cinema and his ambitious aspirations shown that night that moved him.

Of course, Wei Dongling didn’t know what would happen in the future, even though he had already thought about some things in his mind. Xiao Ran also hadn’t considered the future, because his future was no longer the familiar one it once was.

Wei Dongling remained silent for a long time before, unusually subdued, saying, “A Ran, I don’t know why you’re so disheartened. But I think, no matter what you plan to do, you must take things step by step. Remember, Rome wasn’t built in a day, and you can’t establish a film company overnight.”

Xiao Ran suddenly snapped out of his thoughts. Hearing Wei Dongling’s words, he felt confused once again. Yes, his goal was right, but before having his own film company, did he need to do something else first?

After pondering for a long time, he thought he had finally figured it out and was no longer confused. A person with nothing must learn to work for others before becoming a boss—it’s inevitable… Don’t dream of starting your own business without enough capital…