Chapter 118: Preparing a New Work

One of the things that makes Hong Kong films appealing is their energy and passion, with scenes filled with intense intellectual exchanges. Xiao Ran didn’t want these characteristics to be ruined under his supervision, so he avoided Hollywood’s assembly-line-style script production method.

Just like when Gan Xingfan was revising the script, if he had any inspiration, he could add it to the script, but independent deletions were strictly prohibited. Xiao Ran did this to ensure that the writers’ creativity and talent remained sharp.

Gan Xingfan was the oldest among the contracted writers at Shadow, at forty years old. Yet he was a testament to lifelong learning—although his educational background wasn’t great, he had consistently attended night school, and as he aged, his talent only grew stronger.

Once a mere ordinary crew member, Gan Xingfan’s rise to being a contracted writer at Shadow represented a significant leap in status and income. He and his colleagues were extremely grateful to Xiao Ran; without his support, their talents might have remained undiscovered.

Previously, he had been an overlooked crew member, running around behind producers like a handyman. Now, even other writers showed him respect—not because he hadn’t yet produced any works, but because of his status as a contracted writer at Shadow.

So Gan Xingfan was deeply grateful to Xiao Ran. In just three or four months at Shadow, he had submitted three scripts. After reviewing them, Wei Jiahui showed two of them to Xiao Ran. After reading them, Xiao Ran spoke with Gan Xingfan. One writing principle that Gan Xingfan took as his motto was: “Creation isn’t about speed. A script that takes ten years to perfect—I won’t settle for nine.”

Xiao Ran said this to emphasize that speed wasn’t important; quality was key. Gan Xingfan understood his meaning and regarded this phrase as his guiding principle in his writing career. Currently, he was working on a science fiction script, hoping to express his gratitude with all his might.

Now that Xiao Ran, Hong Kong’s top writer, had taken an interest in it and wanted him to contribute, Gan Xingfan couldn’t contain his excitement. Taking the thick script from Xiao Ran, he saw two bold characters on the cover—“Espionage Conspiracy.”

Flipping through it, he grew more and more astonished. He couldn’t imagine how Xiao Ran could come up with such a concept. But then he remembered that Xiao Ran was Hong Kong’s best writer, which gave him an explanation. He nodded firmly at Xiao Ran: “Brother Ran, don’t worry. I’ll deliver one episode in a month!”

Xiao Ran immediately felt relieved. The rest of the revisions could wait; this first episode had to be released this year. So, finishing it as soon as possible and scheduling it for the summer release was the perfect choice.

After Gan Xingfan left, Xiao Ran waved at Wei Jiahui and they sat down together at the long, oval conference table with great familiarity, as if they did this often. Xiao Ran smiled relaxedly. Wei Jiahui was practically his mentor as a screenwriter, and now they were good friends too, so of course they could speak freely: “Xiaobao, when will your script be ready?”
Wei Jiahui’s face turned red instantly. Xiao Ran had mentioned earlier that they could be given a chance to direct. But after much thought, he felt he had too many ideas and couldn’t decide on a topic right away. After hesitating for a while, he said, “I did write a script, but are you sure you want me to direct it?”
“What’s the problem?” Xiao Ran laughed immediately. It would be a real shame if Wei Jiahui didn’t become a director. He took the script from Wei Jiahui, and his gaze froze the moment he saw its content—it was none other than “Peace Hotel.”
Some history really cannot be changed! Xiao Ran thought to himself. “Peace Hotel” was a classic, but unfortunately it failed at the box office. Wei Jiahui was very depressed because of this failure. Then he met Du Qifeng, an old friend from his TV days, who was also in a period of self-reflection. After discussing their film ideals, they hit it off and together raised funds to establish the famous Galaxy Studios.
Seeing Xiao Ran’s frozen expression, Wei Jiahui immediately thought of some unpleasant possibilities. He was actually quite confident in his own script, but he still believed that only a script approved by Xiao Ran could be considered good. After all, he was the first screenwriter to become friends with Xiao Ran and knew his “talent” best, so he grew increasingly impressed by this enigmatic man.
Xiao Ran certainly had no objections to the script, but the problem was that he was well aware of how poorly the film had performed at the box office and that it hadn’t won any awards. The question of whether to proceed with the project lingered in his mind.
He now truly understood why film companies always focused on box office earnings. As the boss now, he knew better than anyone that box office revenue meant company profits. In Hollywood, even two successful blockbusters a year might not make up for five losing films.
But in Hong Kong, such concerns clearly didn’t exist. The investment was low, but the returns were high, and even losses were minimal. At this thought, Xiao Ran was suddenly shocked. Didn’t he want to support Hong Kong cinema? This was clearly a good opportunity to give audiences more choices.
Even if it resulted in losses, as long as it could pave the way for the development of Hong Kong cinema, it would be worth it. Just like the success of “Infernal Affairs” wasn’t only due to its excellent quality but also because Galaxy Studios had blazed a trail over the previous few years, making people realize the importance of scripts and leading to its great success back then.
With this in mind, Xiao Ran made up his mind. The previous failure was due to publicity and other factors. Now, Shadow had a marketing department, which wasn’t very strong yet, but combined with other efforts, it could still have a significant impact. He looked up at Wei Jiahui, smiled, teased him for a while, and then said, “When do you want to start shooting?”

“Damn it, you’re messing with me again!” Wei Jiahui didn’t even know when he’d learned this anachronistic phrase from Xiao Ran. He punched Xiao Ran hard and said, “I thought the script wouldn’t get approved!”
Xiao Ran laughed heartily, but in his mind he was figuring out what to do about this. He definitely wanted to be the producer—otherwise, he’d worry that Wei Jiahui might lose control while shooting his debut film so many years ahead of time. “Who do you want to star in it?”
“It doesn’t matter!” Wei Jiahui shrugged. He didn’t think his nameless “director” could land any big stars. “It’s just an experimental project to test myself. As long as you’re not afraid of losses, that’s fine.”
Xiao Ran smiled. Losing money wasn’t something he was worried about. After all, if the company could produce five blockbuster movies like The God of Gamblers each year, it would be enough to help many newcomers succeed, with huge profits to boot. “By the way, has anyone been found to write the script for School of the Damned?”
Wei Jiahui nodded firmly. He was currently in charge of script review and also led the writing team, so he knew the members’ abilities well. Therefore, arranging such a task wasn’t difficult at all. “This time, it’ll still be Zou Jingcai. He’s good at this, and I think the style should be consistent!”
As they were talking, Yu Jiayu pushed the door open and saw Xiao Ran and Wei Jiahui acting so carelessly. He almost laughed. Fortunately, he managed to hold back his emotions and went up to Xiao Ran, saying, “President Xiao, Dark Flower is ready. When do we start shooting?”
After taking over the team chosen by Yu Jiayu, Xiao Ran increasingly admired Yu’s ability to handle things—he was a qualified and excellent producer. Zhou Runfa would still be the lead actor this time, but the other lead role made Xiao Ran hesitate for a long time—should he choose Ren Daha or Su Renyao?
Ren Daha was an outstanding actor who became famous after starring in Hong Kong Dance Boys and has since mainly acted in adult films. Some of his more well-known works include Naked Lamb and Lamb Doctor. Xiao Ran had always thought that Ren Daha was wasting the best years of his life on adult films. Now that there was such a good opportunity, he really wanted to have Ren Daha play the role of Yaodong.
But after much hesitation, Xiao Ran decided to have Su Renyao and Brother Fa work together. Ren Daha wasn’t without roles, as he was allowed by the company to act in films produced by other studios.
Actually, Ren Daha had been in the film industry since 1980. Films like Desire and Night Terror from that era were quite good, but unfortunately, they never became hits. Xiao Ran did have plans for Ren Daha—he intended to have him star in a film about mercenaries. It seemed possible that he could also play a role in Spy Change.
In any case, Shadow would start shooting in 1988, with significant investment in many films, otherwise, the company couldn’t fulfill the contracts it had with so many filmmakers. Ren Daha would surely have a role in these films.

His thoughts wandered for a while before Wei Jiahui, who was familiar with Xiao Ran, nudged him impatiently a few times, prompting Xiao Ran to return to his original train of thought and continue to examine the crew behind the scenes. The director, producer, and screenwriter were all Xiao Ran; the lead actors were Zhou Runfa and Su Renyao, with Feng Feier playing a supporting female role.

As for some of the other supporting characters in the film, such as Ji Ge and George Ge, Xiao Ran had considered various options before choosing two unknown middle-aged actors. These two actors had faces that were easy to remember, and compared to actors like Cheng Kuian and Huang Guangliang, who appeared extremely unpleasant at first glance, they were much more subtle in their appearance.

Regarding the editor, Xiao Ran considered Mai Zishan, who was particularly skilled in action sequences. However, it is widely recognized in the film industry that an editor and director must have a good understanding of each other to achieve the director’s desired effects.

Yet “Dark Flowers” somewhat resembled a cult movie—“cult” can be translated as “heretical,” and in the context of films, it refers to a movie that is extremely strange and unconventional, with a strong magnetic appeal and a small group of die-hard fans.

In fact, “Dark Flowers” couldn’t even be considered a cult movie; it was more of a film with a distinct style, showcasing intense and unconventional elements. To achieve such effects, Xiao Ran needed an editor who shared some understanding with him to produce the best results. That’s why he chose Zhang Yaozong.

For the composer, Xiao Ran had many options. Huang Zhan and Dai Le, known as “Shadow,” composed music for “The Legend of the Ghostly Beauty,” while Lu Guanting composed music for “A Fairy Tale in Autumn” and “Prison Storm” for “Shadow.” Nevertheless, Xiao Ran chose Lin Yundao, wanting to give this talented young man more opportunities.

For action choreography, Xiao Ran cunningly chose Guan Xin, believing that Guan Xin’s abilities would definitely suffice for the role. Still, he assigned Guan Xin a few assistants—more like those who were there to steal his techniques.

The cinematographer, of course, was Huang Yongheng, a top-tier expert especially skilled in action films. For other films that didn’t prioritize cinematography, Xiao Ran would have chosen Huang Letai. Through Huang Letai, he could meet his disciple Ao Zhijun, and from there, meet Ao Zhijun’s disciple—Liu Weiqiang, the director of “Infernal Affairs.”

For costume design and art direction, Xiao Ran chose Zhang Shuping. While he couldn’t claim this was the strongest crew in Hong Kong, it was already considered the strongest for “Shadow.” The only regret was that the budget was quite low—only five million—making it difficult for Xiao Ran to promote the film under the guise of high production values.

Xiao Ran was well aware that although his previous two films had achieved great success, most industry professionals still believed they were only successful because of their good scripts. He needed a film with a completely stylized approach to establish his reputation as a director. He wanted to be a true director—at least until “Shadow” had its own leading director, he could take charge.

At least Wei Dongling shared Xiao Ran’s view on this. Now, he was complaining to Xiao Ran, “You leave again, and no one knows how long you’ll be gone. You always leave all the responsibilities to me. I’m starting to think you’re slacking off. By the way, what about the finances while you’re away?”

Wei Dongling meant expenses by “finance” – any expenditure over ten million required Xiao Ran’s signature. Xiao Ran chuckled. He had long wanted to visit Old Master He, the king of Macau, but never had the chance. “What’s the problem with the finance? Oh, I remember now. You’re referring to that magazine acquisition plan proposed by Tang Yan, right? Just call me when you need my signature.”

Movies are a form of cultural entertainment that always relies on support from other related industries. At Wei Dongling’s suggestion, Xiao Ran agreed to the proposal to acquire a magazine. Sometimes, making movies alone isn’t enough; it’s also necessary to control sufficient promotional channels.

If Shadow Company also acquired a television station and online platforms, aembryo of an entertainment empire would essentially take shape. However, Xiao Ran could hardly imagine the speed at which Shadow Company might grow. At this rate, it might dominate Hong Kong’s film industry within three years. Once that was achieved, they could solidify their position and gradually expand into the Asian market while simultaneously targeting European and American markets. By then, almost anything might be possible.

*****

Novel title: Mai Zishan
Real name: Mai Zishan

Mai Zishan is one of Hong Kong’s four most famous editors, among the top cutting masters. He collaborated frequently with Tsui Hark in the 1980s and 1990s, known for his sharp style and expertise in wuxia and action films, many of which became classics. He has won the Golden Horse Award for Best Editing multiple times. In recent years, disappointed with the market and struggling to find projects that suit his tastes, he has taken on directing himself. However, he clearly lacks the talent for directing. Still, the editing in “Black and White Battlefield,” especially the climax chase scene, is exceptionally smooth and fluid! Truly worthy of being one of the four great editors!

Recommendation: Shi Zhangyu’s new work, “Three Palaces, Six Harems, Seventy-Two Concubines,” http://www.feiku.com/showbook.asp?bl_id=42289