Chapter 00213: Zhang Yimou
# Zhang Yimou
Chapter 213
Novel: 1979 Golden Age
Chapter 213: Zhang Yimou
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Inside the studio, a set had been built—earthen walls on both sides, a few wooden frames propped up, and a narrow passage only two or three meters wide.
Jet Li wielded a wooden staff, blocking and parrying, while Donnie Yen lashed out with a cloth whip.
The cloth whip had been soaked in water and twisted tightly, making it both flexible and rigid.
The flexible part was easy—it could be swung like a nine-section whip.
But making it rigid defied common sense—unless one truly possessed inner strength, no one could make a cloth whip as hard as steel.
So during filming, the flexible parts were shot as-is, while the rigid parts were actually props—a real wooden rod wrapped in cloth.
Right now, Donnie Yen was wielding it like a nine-section whip, coiling it around his neck twice before whipping it out with a sharp crack, punching straight through the earthen wall.
Dirt and debris flew everywhere, showing just how powerful the strike was.
After they exchanged a few more moves, Yuen Woo-ping called out, "Cut! That's good!"
"Next scene!"
The next scene had nothing to do with the previous one.
It featured Ge Chunyan playing the Yellow Lotus Holy Mother, suspended on wires as she flipped and twirled through the air, putting on a mystical, ghostly performance.
They took a break at noon, and in the afternoon, they moved to an ancient street outside to film the procession of the Two-Faced Bodhisattva.
He Qing and Tao Huimin stood on lotus pedestals, dressed in bright red robes.
The red cloth draped over their heads resembled both a veil and a bridal covering, partially obscuring their delicate faces—a mesmerizing blend of temptation and saintly purity.
Ahead of them, several women in red scattered flower petals and carried lanterns, while others played instruments, adding an eerie, unsettling atmosphere—like a ghost king marrying off his daughter, the mood thick and palpable...
After Tai Chi 2 began filming, it didn’t proceed as everyone expected.
Instead, it was all over the place, with no logical sequence.
After several days of shooting like this, Chen Qi felt he had enough footage and called a halt, instructing Li Wenhua to proceed with the normal filming process.
Meanwhile, he took the roughly five minutes of footage and went straight into post-production, saying he needed to edit a rough cut to take to Hong Kong.
No one understood what he was up to—except for the Yuen brothers.
That day, as the crew was filming, Chen Qi gradually began stepping back, only observing without speaking.
Li Wenhua and Yuen Woo-ping understood his intentions, and once the three of them aligned on the film’s style, he was able to fully let go.
"Little Chen!"
Suddenly, someone walked in from outside and approached him, calling out in a low voice.
Chen Qi turned his head, slightly surprised.
"Old Tian? What brings you back to the studio?"
"Summer break."
"Oh, right. I completely forgot—it’s been a while. Let’s grab drinks tonight."
The visitor was none other than Tian Zhuangzhuang.
He could only return during summer and winter breaks, and though he and Chen Qi had only interacted a few times, they got along well enough.
He still looked scruffy, with an unkempt beard, and said, "I brought a classmate with me. Mind if he comes in to take a look?"
"Sure, where is he?"
"Old Zhang!"
Tian Zhuangzhuang waved, and a man in his early thirties walked in—thick eyebrows, narrow eyes, dark skin, and a simple, honest face.
His posture was humble, and when he shook Chen Qi’s hand, he even bowed slightly.
"I’ve heard so much about you. I hope I’m not intruding."
"Hello. You’re from the directing department too?"
"No, I studied cinematography. My name is Zhang Yimou."
"Oh, feel free to look around. No need to be nervous—just don’t disturb the filming."
"Of course, of course!"
Zhang Yimou had only come today to accompany Tian Zhuangzhuang.
He never expected to actually get inside the Tai Chi 2 set to observe—such opportunities were rare.
He stood nervously at the sidelines, watching intently.
After a while, he even crouched down, completely absorbed.
Behind him, Tian Zhuangzhuang yawned and muttered, "Our '78 class doesn’t have any classes left—we’re all on internships now. I don’t need to intern, so I’m staying at school to prepare a short film as my graduation project."
"What’s the short film about?"
"The Courtyard. It’s about the daily lives of several families living in a shared compound. Eight cinematographers, eight sound technicians, one art director… Basically, we crammed in almost all the '78 class’s technical roles."
"Eight cinematographers? How do you even divide that up?" Chen Qi was stunned.
"Two minutes each. The school only gave us enough film for 20 minutes of footage. I brought Old Zhang today to scout locations—we’re looking for a suitable courtyard near the lake. Oh, by the way…"
Tian Zhuangzhuang looked up.
"I heard you bought a place over there?"
"Mine wouldn’t work."
"Why not?"
"My courtyard’s too nice. I can’t let you guys wreck it."
Tian Zhuangzhuang raised an eyebrow.
"After that comment, I have to see it now!"
"You can look, but no filming… Hey, why isn’t my big nephew involved?"
"Him? He’s interning at the Children’s Film Studio."
The Children’s Film Studio had just been established this year, with Tian Zhuangzhuang’s mother, Yu Lan—the actress who played Sister Jiang—as its head.
Chen Qi chuckled, imagining Chen Kaige fitting in at the Children’s Film Studio.
"Why didn’t he come to Beijing Film Studio?"
"Wherever you intern is usually where you get assigned after graduation. Kaige wants to get into Beijing Film Studio, but honestly… it’s tough."
Tian Zhuangzhuang shook his head.
Beijing Film Studio already had too many directors—more than they needed.
With so many seniors still waiting for their chances, it wasn’t easy to bring in newcomers.
But really, it came down to Chen Kaige’s lack of connections—he just couldn’t get in.
Zhang Yimou was in an even worse position.
Coming from a humble background, he couldn’t even stay in Beijing after graduation—he was assigned to distant Guangxi.
Tian Zhuangzhuang, being a loyal friend, had even asked his mother Yu Lan to try getting Zhang Yimou into the Children’s Film Studio, but it didn’t work out.
So he often traveled to Guangxi to visit Zhang Yimou—much better treatment than Chen Kaige ever got.
The great director had never really respected Old Zhang.
Rumor had it that when news of Red Sorghum winning the Golden Bear reached China, the great director was so bitter and jealous he could’ve used it as dipping sauce for dumplings.
He reportedly cursed, "Damn it! He’s just my cinematographer!"
……
Over on the set, Zhang Yimou watched for a long time, only coming over when the crew took a break, still reluctant to leave.
Tian Zhuangzhuang slung an arm over his shoulder and grinned.
"Little Chen has a courtyard near Shichahai, but he won’t lend it to us. Let’s pester him today—we have to see what kind of courtyard is so fancy that it can’t even be used for filming!"
"You sure? I’ve got to go look at furniture later. No idea how long that’ll take," Chen Qi said.
"Doesn’t matter. We’ve got all day. We’ll go with you, and by evening, we can grab drinks."
"Fine, let’s go… Hey, shouldn’t we call my big nephew?"
"He’s not part of this. Why bother?"
And so, after letting Li Wenhua know, Chen Qi left the studio.
Zhang Yimou had stayed quiet the whole time but now whispered, "Who’s his big nephew?"
"Kaige!"
"What?"
Zhang Yimou was shocked, but then it made sense—they were both named Chen, probably from the same family.
Chen Qi must’ve been the elder, hence the uncle-nephew dynamic.
Tian Zhuangzhuang saw his expression and laughed.
"Back when Little Chen first arrived, he got along well with Kaige’s father. They treated each other as peers, so the nickname just stuck…"
"Ohhh, scared me for a second!"
The three of them headed out—Chen Qi rode his own bike, while Tian Zhuangzhuang pedaled with Zhang Yimou on the back.
They rode for what felt like forever before arriving at a hardwood furniture factory.
A large courtyard surrounded by brick walls was filled with stacks of lumber, along with rows of single-story buildings serving as workshops and warehouses.
During the Cultural Revolution, Beijing had confiscated a massive number of cultural relics and antiques.
Furniture took up space, so it was usually stored in various furniture factories.
After the reforms, policies required returning these items, but many couldn’t be traced back to their original owners, leaving them unclaimed.
So people with connections often came to buy them up.
When Li Han-hsiang was in Beijing filming The Burning of the Imperial Palace and Reign Behind a Curtain, he spent 120,000 yuan to buy out an entire furniture factory under the guise of set decoration.
On the surface, it seemed like a steal—but back then, who the hell could cough up 120,000 yuan?
(End of Chapter)