Chapter 00284: Shameless Sponsorship (Fifth Update Today)
# Shameless Sponsorship (Fifth Update Today)
Chapter 284
Novel: 1979 Golden Age
Chapter 284: Shameless Sponsorship (Fifth Update Today)
The Hong Kong Arts Centre was built in 1977, standing sixteen stories tall.
Inside, it housed cinemas, concert halls, exhibition spaces, restaurants, and more—a comprehensive cultural hub.
Among its venues was the Shoucheng Theatre, one of its many facilities.
Fu Qi had mentioned that this theatre was quite small, but when Chen Qi saw it in person, he found it passable.
It had two levels of seating with over four hundred seats in total.
The layout was well-designed, avoiding any sense of crampedness, and the stage up front met the necessary standards.
It could be described as "small but refined."
The first nine editions of the Hong Kong Film Awards had no fixed venue.
It wasn’t until the 10th edition that they moved to a larger theatre with over a thousand seats.
"Mr. Chen!"
"Pleasure to meet you at last!"
Two men approached, introducing themselves as Shu Qi, the editor-in-chief of *City Entertainment*, and his deputy, Chen Baisheng.
They were utterly astonished.
They had sent an invitation to the leftist faction on a whim, never expecting a meeting to be arranged the very next day—and to discuss sponsorship, no less! Good heavens, the leftists offering sponsorship? The gods must be smiling upon them!
But out of courtesy, they had to meet.
After some polite exchanges, Chen Qi asked, "Do you already have sponsors?"
"Radio Television Hong Kong is helping us organize it. The entire awards ceremony will be broadcast on the radio."
"No television coverage?"
"Uh, not yet."
Seeing the look on Chen Qi’s face, Shu Qi flushed slightly and quickly added, "We’re still in our early stages, so it’s inevitable that things are a bit small-scale. To be honest, Mr. Chen, if you’re thinking of sponsoring us, it might not be appropriate."You’re a film company, and a film company sponsoring a film award—it just doesn’t sound right if word gets out.""But your awards are already decided, right? There’s no behind-the-scenes manipulation, so what’s the issue?"Chen Qi chuckled."We leftists aren’t exactly rolling in money.
The sponsorship we can offer isn’t much.
We just want to lend a hand because we admire your pioneering spirit and your dedication to the development of Hong Kong cinema.
"Besides, we have no demands regarding the awards. I came here today specifically to assess the venue."
He stood up, surveying the theatre, and asked, "Do you have a red carpet prepared?"
"No."
"Background music?"
"No."
"Any fans cheering on-site?"
"No."
"You have nothing at all, and you call this an awards ceremony?"
Chen Qi didn’t mince words as he pointed out the shortcomings.
"In my opinion, there’s a small open space outside the building, followed by the road. You could lay out a red carpet from the roadside to the entrance, with barriers on either side for the media and photographers."To the left of the entrance, set up a signing area with a large backdrop.
Every guest walks the red carpet and signs there.
It’s a shame there’s no live television broadcast, or we could’ve had host interviews too.
But we’ll skip that this year.
"And this stage—the steps leading up to it should also have a red carpet. Play some music to set the mood. Reserve the first floor for guests and open the second floor for fans."Set up a media interview area backstage.
Every winner should give a short interview after receiving their award...""All these little details—the red carpet, security, music, transportation fees for journalists—we leftists may be poor, but we can fork out 150,000. That should be enough.
We have a few obscure subsidiary newspapers under our banner, so we can use their names for sponsorship.
That way, it won’t be tied to any film company.
"Please believe me when I say we have no political agenda. This is purely about contributing to Hong Kong cinema!"
"..."
Shu Qi and Chen Baisheng swallowed hard.
They were cultured men, and while cultured men weren’t above money, they had to be coy about it.
They couldn’t ask outright—it had to be offered willingly.
And here was Chen Qi, knocking on their door with a fully fleshed-out plan that sounded like a proper awards ceremony.
"You really have no demands regarding the awards?"
"The winners are already announced—can you even change them now? No!"
"Well... we’ll need to discuss this internally."
"Of course!"
With that, Chen Qi took his leave.
Once outside the Arts Centre, he couldn’t help but burst into laughter.
He had just raised the standards, and now he couldn’t wait to see the half-hearted attendees squirm in embarrassment.
The authority of an award wasn’t just built on the organizers and the awards themselves—packaging played a crucial role too.
A back-alley hair salon charged 200, a bathhouse 800, a high-end KTV 2000 just for drinking company—with extra fees for touching, and even more for taking someone home.
Throw in a student ID, and the price doubled again.
It was all about packaging...
As for why he was sponsoring the Hong Kong Film Awards?
Simple.
If you’re being kept, don’t talk about independence.
If you’re taking foreign money, don’t preach about self-expression—yes, we’re looking at you, Sixth Generation!
Of course, this was only the first edition, and everything was still rough around the edges.
Chen Qi planned to slowly infiltrate further.
…………
He had arrived in Hong Kong in February, and in the blink of an eye, a month had passed.
It was now early March.
The Hong Kong Film Awards were just a week away.
*The Shaolin Temple* had already premiered in mainland China, sparking its usual wave of enthusiasm.
But with *The Tai Chi Master* having come first, the fervor wasn’t quite as overwhelming.
Still, with two blockbusters under his belt, Jet Li was indisputably the rookie king.
Meanwhile, post-production for *The Tai Chi Master 2* and *The Orphan* had wrapped up, just in time for Cannes in May.
Chen Qi had also reached out to Anna Chennault’s assistant, inviting her to Hong Kong to preview *The Orphan*.
Originally, he had planned to make four films this year: *The Tai Chi Master 3*, a North America-exclusive film, *Ghost*, and an awards contender.
But he quickly realized it was too much.
Once the awards film entered full production, it would demand all his attention.
Given its scale, there was no room for carelessness.
After some thought, he decided to drop the North America-exclusive film and focus on just three.
After all, selling *The Tai Chi Master 2* and *The Orphan* would already secure this year’s profits.
The exclusive film could wait until next year.
"Mom, I’m heading out!"
In the morning, at Chungking Mansions, Cherie Chung dashed to her mother’s clothing stall to say goodbye.
Her mother quickly stopped her.
"Ah-Hung, when exactly is your film starting?"
"Soon, in about half a month!"
"Then what are you busy with now?"
"Ugh, it’s like I’ve enrolled in a cram school! Pottery, mixology, dancing—I have to learn everything. My character’s an artist, multi-talented and all."
"Why is the leftist filmmaking so complicated? Just hurry up and go. Come back early—it’s not safe."
"Relax, if those South Asian guys bother me, I’ll beat them up."
Cherie had always been a tomboy, no stranger to fights.
With a wave, she ran off, hopping onto a minibus to Clear Water Bay.
She gazed wistfully as the Shaw Brothers studio flashed by before stopping at the leftist studio’s entrance.
She used to think filming was just filming—nothing like a regular job.
But after taking on this project, it suddenly felt like clocking in for work.
She arrived and left on time every day, practicing skills, attending script readings—good heavens, she never knew filmmaking involved script readings!
Everyone sat together, including the crew, taking turns reading lines and narration to understand the story and atmosphere.
Honestly, it was kind of fun—and instantly revealed who had the best delivery.
The three newcomers were completely outclassed, while Josephine Siao dominated effortlessly.
The reason Chen Qi insisted on this? *Ghost* was a love story, and atmosphere was everything.
If the actors—especially the leads—lacked chemistry, the film would fall flat.
"Morning, Ah-Hung!"
"Morning!"
"Wow, looking extra pretty today?"
"Don’t I always?"
She stepped into the studio, which had been transformed into the male lead’s home—living room, bedroom, bathroom, all fully furnished.
A small bar counter had even been set up just for her mixology scenes.
In the original, Demi Moore’s character was little more than a pretty face with no defining traits.
Chen Qi’s version added depth—the male lead was upright, kind, and brilliant, while the female lead was multi-talented and full of passion for life.
Their love story would be far more compelling this way.
(One chapter down, four more to go...)
(End of chapter)