Chapter 00050: Immersion (Part 2)
# Immersion (Part 2)
Chapter 50
Novel: 1979 Golden Age
Chapter 50: Immersion (Part 2)
Chen Qi was reluctant to practice singing, but once he was on stage, he didn’t care anymore.
What kind of scene hadn’t he seen before? So, there they were, two tall guys standing in the middle.
The older one was handsome with fair skin, while the younger one was dashing and carefree.
What a pair of pretty boys!
As the music started, Chen Qi stretched out his arm dramatically, his eyes filled with emotion, his lips twitching slightly, his toes lightly tapping, and his chin raised high.
He looked like he was channeling Pavarotti himself.
"Fragrant wine and flying songs, my friend, let’s raise a glass!"
Good grief!
Tang Guoqiang’s eyes widened.
You’re such a show-off! Weren’t you just complaining about this?
"Ha ha ha ha!"
Everyone in the room was laughing so hard they could barely stand.
It felt like elementary school calisthenics, where everyone was just going through the motions, but then one student took it way too seriously, and everyone couldn’t help but laugh.
"Come, come, come, come... In October, spring thunder roars, and millions raise their golden cups..."
Tang Guoqiang thought he was outgoing, but meeting Chen Qi made him realize he was actually an introvert.
This guy was belting out the song at the top of his lungs, complete with dramatic facial expressions, not even letting his heels touch the ground.
"Bravo!"
"Xiao Chen, you’re amazing! Not a single note was on key!"
"You should just stick to storytelling!"
After the song ended, everyone teased him, but Chen Qi wasn’t fazed.
He cupped his hands and said, "Thank you, thank you!"
He returned to his seat, calmly picked up a potato, and started eating.
No big deal!
...
The party started at 5 and ended at 7, so it didn’t last too long.
The sky outside wasn’t completely dark yet, and it was far from bedtime, so everyone went about their own business.
With two days off, everyone was feeling relaxed.
Chen Qi went back to his room for a while but got bored and decided to go out for a walk.
He headed northeast along Hexi Road until he reached the movie theater.
Next to the theater was a small grove with a big rock where he liked to sit.
He didn’t have anything specific to do—just sat there, staring at the grass and trees.
The crew had arrived in August and would return by mid-October.
Then they’d shoot the indoor scenes at the Beijing Film Studio, which would take another month, totaling about three and a half months.
Movies back then were usually 90 minutes long, and they couldn’t afford to waste film, so there were very few wasted shots.
They made sure to use every resource efficiently.
They’d finish by the end of the year, do post-production, and if everything went smoothly, the movie would be released next year.
"Love on Lushan Mountain, huh..."
Chen Qi suddenly smiled.
The real challenge was yet to come.
This was, after all, a highly controversial film that would inevitably face a storm of criticism.
But he was more than willing to take on those critics—it was what kept him going.
"Rustle, rustle..."
As he sat on the rock, lost in thought, he heard footsteps.
A figure emerged from behind the dense foliage, revealing a pair of low-heeled, soft-soled leather shoes with brown perforated uppers, covering small feet in white socks.
"Xiao Chen??"
Gong Xue was startled when she saw him after passing a tree.
"What are you doing here?"
"Just cooling off. Out for a walk again? Where’s Zhang Jinling?"
"She went to ask the chef for some food. I wasn’t hungry, so I came out for a stroll."
After a brief exchange, she didn’t know what else to say, but she wasn’t worried because Chen Qi always had something to talk about.
Sure enough, he said, "You sang really well earlier. Did you practice in secret?"
"I practiced for two days... Well, you didn’t do too badly either."
Gong Xue couldn’t help but smile as she recalled his performance.
"I’m the type who performs best on the spot. Today was only about 70% of my potential. When I’m at 100%, I’ll give you all another song."
"Then everyone will..."
"Ahem!"
Just as she was about to speak, a cough interrupted them.
A crew member walked by slowly and said with a smile, "Chatting here?"
"Everyone’s pretty free today. I’ve run into a few people already. Out for a walk too?" Chen Qi greeted him casually.
"Yeah, just wandering around."
The man walked off with his hands behind his back.
"I... I should head that way. I’ll go now..."
Gong Xue suddenly felt a bit flustered and turned to leave, but for some reason, she stopped.
Her brows furrowed, and she looked conflicted.
She had something she wanted to ask, and this was a rare opportunity.
After hesitating for a moment, she turned back and said softly, "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course!"
"That day during filming, the scene where I was crying and running... Do you think I did a good job?"
"You did fine!"
"Really?"
"As true as pearls! Didn’t everyone praise you?"
"..."
Gong Xue lowered her head and said, "I’ve never studied acting, and I don’t have much experience. I’ve been lucky to have you and everyone else helping me. I’m not the smartest, but I want to do my best to make this film good. I hope you can tell me where I still need to improve..."
So serious?
Chen Qi was a bit surprised.
She looked delicate and beautiful, but deep down, she was quite stubborn.
"Alright, I’ll give you a quick rundown... Let’s walk over there?"
"Over there?"
"How can we talk here with so many people around?"
Chen Qi patted his pants and stood up, leading the way down a side path that was more secluded, unlike the busy Hexi Road.
"..."
Gong Xue looked at him, bit her lip, and silently followed.
She was wearing a white long-sleeved shirt and gray pants, her face free of makeup, looking completely different from her character in the film.
She held her hands in front of her, keeping a two-step distance from Chen Qi.
She had walked this path before, but today it felt unusually quiet.
After walking for a bit, Chen Qi spoke up.
"That scene of yours really wasn’t great."
"Why?"
"Did you cry during it?"
"Yes!"
"Were those real tears, or were you forcing them out?"
"I tried to get into the mood."
"Judging by the result, your mood wasn’t quite there. In acting, there are roughly three approaches: the Method, the Technique, and the Expression..."
The Method is about truly experiencing the emotions—seeing, hearing, and feeling everything, except for illegal or impossible things.
The Technique is about emotional substitution.
For example, if your character’s father dies and you need to cry, but you can’t actually experience that, you can think of other sad memories to achieve the same effect.
The Expression approach is about turning yourself into a storage device.
You practice a sad expression in front of a mirror until it becomes muscle memory, and then you can use it whenever you need to.
As long as the result is good, it doesn’t matter which approach you use.
This theory was common knowledge in later years, but Gong Xue, who had never studied acting, found it completely new.
"Zhou Yun and Geng Hua break up, and she’s heartbroken. Since you don’t have similar experiences, you need to substitute your emotions..."
"How do I do that?"
Gong Xue asked urgently.
Chen Qi stopped walking and stood by the roadside, gazing at the autumn scenery.
The sun was setting behind the mountains when he suddenly said, "I heard about your parents?"
"You!"
She froze, her gentle face showing a hint of anger for the first time.
"What are you trying to say?"
"Just making conversation. You wanted me to be honest, so I hope you can be too."
"Then why don’t you talk about yourself?"
"There’s nothing to say about my family. My parents work at the Xinhua Bookstore."
Gong Xue felt even more provoked.
She didn’t know how to argue, so she just bit her lip and stayed silent.
"You’re the one who asked me to talk. Now that I’m talking, you’re upset. Let’s just go back."
Chen Qi shrugged and turned to leave.
Gong Xue followed without a word.
It was October, and the mountain nights were cool.
Just as Chen Qi thought she wouldn’t say anything, she suddenly spoke.
"My dad was a photographer at a Shanghai photo studio. He often took pictures of socialites..."
"Then your childhood must have been pretty good."
"Not really. They just had higher salaries and knew more people..."
Gong Xue suddenly smiled and sighed.
"You know, if you had relatives overseas who sent foreign currency, you could get侨汇券 (overseas remittance coupons) and buy a lot of nice things at the华侨商店 (overseas Chinese stores). When I was little, I envied those kids, but my family didn’t have that."
"Then your life must have been tough."
She shook her head gently.
"It wasn’t too bad. I was always being told to do chores, and as soon as I graduated, I volunteered to go to the countryside."
"So you went to Yangqiao Commune?"
"Yes. I worked in the fields with the villagers. I was tired, but I didn’t dare complain because the villagers were even more exhausted. Luckily, I knew a bit of dance, so I joined a performance troupe and entertained them during our free time. Once, while dancing, I twisted my right foot. It hurt so much I thought it was broken, but the local doctor said it wasn’t, and the commune made me keep working. I endured the pain until it became unbearable, and only then did they let me go back to Shanghai for treatment. When I got there, it turned out to be a fracture. The doctor said if I’d waited any longer, my foot would’ve been ruined."
She had always seemed introverted and quiet, but now that she was opening up, it felt like a release.
She continued, "But in a way, it was a blessing in disguise. While I was hospitalized in Shanghai, the army came to recruit cultural performers. The person in charge knew my dad, so I was selected. That was in 1973, when I first joined the army. We had winter field training. The officers were kind to us cultural soldiers—they didn’t make us carry heavy packs, but we still had to walk 50 or 60 miles a day. I was small and thin, so I often lagged behind. When we reached a village campsite, I took off my shoes and found a huge blister on my foot, as big as a small egg. I don’t even know how I managed to keep going."
Gong Xue glanced at him.
"I’m not saying I had it hard. I’ve never dared to say I had it hard—so many people had it worse. I was already lucky. I just..."
"Just miss your parents?"
"Yes!"
Gong Xue nodded vigorously, and when she looked up again, her eyes were filled with tears.
She was the epitome of a delicate Jiangnan beauty, with clear, elegant features and a graceful demeanor.
Her eyes, in particular, seemed to shimmer, making her even more tender and pitiable.
"..."
Chen Qi looked at her face and couldn’t help but sigh.
She was supposed to star in a Shanghai Film Studio movie this year, followed by several collaborations, which would naturally lead to her being transferred to the studio.
In 1984, she would win both the Golden Rooster and Hundred Flowers awards for her role in Under the Bridge, becoming one of the most popular actresses of the time.
"I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have lost control like that."
Gong Xue realized she was crying and quickly wiped her tears, feeling both embarrassed and awkward.
She wasn’t used to exposing her inner thoughts and stammered, "I think I’ve said too much. I’ve made you uncomfortable."
"Not at all. You’ve done incredibly well!"
Chen Qi said sincerely, "Most people would’ve given up or even taken their own lives by now. But look at you—you’re still so positive, and you’ve even made a movie. You’re outstanding, you just need to be more confident, like your character."
"Then why did you criticize me?"
"That’s a separate issue. If the performance isn’t good, it just isn’t."
Chen Qi smiled and asked, "When you were crying just now, did it feel unforgettable?"
"Huh?"
"I’m asking if you remember how you felt when you were crying."
"Yes, I remember!"
"Good. Hold onto that feeling. You’ll need it."
(End of chapter...
I want to buy some green tea.
Any recommendations? Nothing over 50 bucks!)
(Chapter end)