Chapter 00072: Chapter 72 Every time a film studio produced a movie, the China Film Group would purchase it at a fixed price of 700,000
# Chapter 72
Every time a film studio produced a movie, the China Film Group would purchase it at a fixed price of 700,000 yuan and handle the nationwide distribution. How much the movie sold for afterward had nothing to do with the studio.
The advantage was a guaranteed income, but the downside was that it stifled growth.
The maximum cost for each film was 700,000 yuan. Anything higher would result in a loss! And with costs rising year by year, studios could only produce small-scale films, not daring to take risks.
The China Film Group took the lion's share of the profits, but this money was handed over to the state treasury. Only after the state received the funds could they allocate money to the studios, support rural screenings, restore theaters, and build cultural infrastructure.
In short, it all came down to being poor.
At this moment, Wang Yang was looking over the data.
The Beijing Film Studio had produced 11 films this year, as that was the quota set by the state. Among them was Romance on Lushan Mountain. He had a feeling that Romance on Lushan Mountain would be a hit, but unfortunately, the studio wouldn't see any of the profits.
And next year, there was Tai Chi.
According to Chen Qi's description, the film would require period-accurate costumes, sets, and props from the late Qing dynasty. They would need to build sets, scout for martial arts actors nationwide, and ideally hire a fight choreographer from Hong Kong. It sounded like a massive project, and the 700,000 yuan budget might not be enough.
Wang Yang was an ambitious man. If they were going to make a film, they had to do it right—otherwise, they shouldn't bother.
He had visited Europe for research and discovered that they were already studying box office numbers, market trends, and audience attendance. Meanwhile, back home, they were still stuck in the old system. This year, he had been in constant communication with the China Film Group, trying to negotiate better terms:
"Either give our studio the right to distribute our own films, or increase the purchase price. 700,000 yuan is too little."
Of course, the China Film Group refused.
Wang Yang was a typical reformist. He had a progressive side, but he was also limited by the times. For example, he couldn't imagine the potential negative consequences of completely opening up distribution rights. He only knew that reform was necessary.
"..."
Wang Yang slowly stood up and walked to the window. He happened to see Chen Qi wandering around the studio with a shabby camera, pestering Liu Xiaoqing for her thoughts. He couldn't help but chuckle.
This year, the Beijing Film Studio had undergone some subtle changes, all thanks to this kid moving in. Love stories, martial arts films—everything that was once considered taboo now aligned perfectly with his own tastes.
He was an old revolutionary, having gone to Yan'an in 1938. He had never been afraid of stirring things up.
"I'll keep negotiating with the China Film Group!"
"If that doesn't work, I'll write directly to the central government. We have to break through this barrier!"
"If anything goes wrong, I'll take full responsibility!"
…………
"Whew!"
"Whew!"
"Damn, I finally made it back!"
On the last day of 1979, Chen Qi, bundled up in layers of thick cotton clothing, pedaled his bicycle with great difficulty back to Dashilan.
It was over ten kilometers! His face was flushed red, and his ears were nearly frozen off. He hadn't worn a hat, and the cold wind kept blowing, making his nose run nonstop. It was a miserable journey.
Despite the cold, Dashilan was bustling with activity. It was New Year's, after all.
The streets were packed, and business was booming. Even if people couldn't afford much, they at least bought some candy for their kids to celebrate the holiday. As Chen Qi passed by Ma Juyuan, he glanced inside. It was an old hat shop that had been around since the Jiaqing era.
There was a saying from the late Qing dynasty: "Wear Ma Juyuan on your head, step on Neiliansheng with your feet, dress in Badaxiang, and wrap yourself with Sidheng." These were the top luxury brands of the time—truly authentic!
"A sheepskin hat would be nice. That thing's warm."
Chen Qi turned into Menkuang Hutong. As soon as he entered, he saw a crowd gathered at the entrance of the courtyard, shouting and making a commotion.
"Slow down! Slow down!"
"If you drop it, can you afford to pay for it? Open the door, open the door!"
He spotted his father and called out, "Dad, what's going on?"
"Son, you're back! Your Uncle Zhang bought a TV!" Chen Jianjun said.
"A 9-inch black-and-white color TV, top of the line! Xiao Qi, come over tonight to watch TV. It'll be lively!" Uncle Zhang's grin stretched from ear to ear. He was the first in the courtyard to own a TV.
"Wow, a 9-inch black-and-white color TV? I definitely have to see this!"
The group noisily entered the courtyard, carefully guarding the not-so-large box in Uncle Zhang's arms. Chen Jianjun followed along cheerfully, while Chen Qi headed home first.
"Mom, why didn't you go take a look?"
"Look at what?"
Yu Xiuli was cooking and didn't seem pleased. "If we had really bought a TV with the money you earned from your writing, we wouldn't have to put up with his bragging. He's acting like he's some kind of royalty!
Your dad's just as clueless. What's so great about a lousy TV? He even went over there to watch!"
"Mom, think of it this way: Uncle Zhang spent 400 yuan on a 9-inch black-and-white TV. That's a rip-off. The price might drop next year, and he'll lose money. Color TVs are expensive now, but in a few years, they'll be cheaper and bigger. We can buy one then, and it'll be a better deal."
"Now that's more like it!"
Yu Xiuli's mood improved, and she became her usual self again. She rubbed Chen Qi's red, frozen face and said with concern, "Look how cold you are. Go inside and warm up."
Chen Qi went inside and peeled off his layers of cotton clothing like shedding skin. He took off his cotton shoes and warmed his hands and feet by the stove.
It was actually kind of refreshing. He hadn't been this cold in years. In the future, winters would be much milder—just a sweater and a down jacket, with heated cars and warm homes. He never had to endure the cold like this.
After warming up for a while, dinner was ready, and Chen Jianjun came back in high spirits.
"That TV is really something. Let's all go watch it tonight."
"You go if you want. I'm not going!"
One of the secrets to their long marriage was Chen Jianjun's ability to keep quiet. Seeing his wife in a bad mood, he quickly changed the subject. "Son, now that your movie's done, are you going back to the tea stall?"
"Not yet. I wrote another script, so I'm still staying at the guesthouse."
"But hanging around the Beijing Film Studio all day isn't a long-term solution. Haven't they thought about hiring you?" Yu Xiuli asked.
"The director has mentioned it, but nothing's certain yet."
"The Beijing Film Studio is a great place to work. You should take it seriously. In the future, when people hear you're from the Beijing Film Studio, they'll look up to you. You won't have to worry about finding a wife, and they'll even give you a place to live. You can't expect that rundown tea stall to give you a house, can you?"
"Housing is tricky. I've seen their dormitory buildings. They're pretty crowded, and the employees are all waiting for their turn. How could they give me one first?"
His parents both looked worried.
Even though he had earned quite a bit of money, in the eyes of people from this era, it was all just "unserious work." Having a stable state-owned job was the real deal—a mindset that persisted for 40 years. Countless young people fought against it, only to realize later that it was indeed the truth.
Yu Xiuli silently ate her meal, then suddenly looked up. "What about private housing?"
"The policies are too vague. It's risky," Chen Jianjun said.
"Let's ask around first."
"..."
Chen Qi glanced at his parents. He knew there was a Overseas Chinese Apartments in Beijing, and later on, Fangzhuang. But when private housing sales were allowed, he wasn't sure. It wouldn't hurt to ask.
To be honest, he didn't like coming home much these days, partly because the living conditions weren't great.
There was a bed in the outer room, separated only by a door. Any noise could be heard clearly, which was awkward. Staying at the guesthouse for free was nice, but having his own place would be even better. In this era, private housing was mostly courtyard homes, right?
There would be plenty of space. He could plant some trees—a pomegranate, a jujube, a persimmon, a pear, a crabapple, and a lilac. They'd all bloom beautifully. How wonderful would that be!
…………
"Hurry up, hurry up! Come on!"
"It's starting!"
"Don't push!"
Uncle Zhang had become the star of the courtyard. Many people brought their bowls and stools to secure a good spot.
By around 7 p.m., the bed, the floor, the doorway, and the outer room were all packed with people, gazing reverently at the 9-inch black-and-white color TV on the table like pilgrims.
Yu Xiuli had her pride and didn't show up. Chen Jianjun eagerly squeezed in, while Chen Qi lingered by the door, half-interested. He mainly wanted to see what TV programs were like in this era.
"Hey, hey, it's on!"
"Stop moving! It's starting!"
"Good evening, viewers. Today is December 31st, the last day of 1979."
A familiar voice came from the TV, but the face was unfamiliar. The background was a striped wall, with a simple wooden table. A man in a gray Mao suit sat stiffly, holding a script that was clearly visible.
It was 39-year-old Zhao Zhongxiang.
News Broadcast had started last year, and he was the first anchor. At first, there was only audio, but this year, they added video. And it wasn't a male-female duo—just him alone.
"..."
The room fell silent. Over twenty pairs of eyes were glued to the TV. Zhao Zhongxiang mostly read from the script, with few news clips, but everyone still loved it.
Just seeing a person on TV was enough to excite them.
After the 30-minute News Broadcast ended, Zhao Zhongxiang made an announcement: "Next up is a small health education segment, followed by the beautiful scenic documentary The Legend of the Three Gorges..."
There was no weather forecast yet. After the health segment, The Legend of the Three Gorges began.
The content was simple—shots of the Three Gorges' stunning scenery, accompanied by narration and music. In this era, it was like a spiritual feast. Chen Qi leaned against the doorframe, listening to the gasps and whispers of the crowd.
"So this is the Yangtze River's Three Gorges. It's so beautiful!"
"I have to visit there someday!"
"Hey, stop talking! Listen to the song..."
The room fell silent again as a mesmerizing female voice filled the air, accompanied by an enchanting melody: "Your figure, your voice, forever etched in my heart..."
The crowd froze, as if hearing divine music, just like Chen Jianjun the first time he heard Teresa Teng.
"Tomorrow is coming, but it's rare to meet you again. Only the wind carries my deep affection..."
It was a segment from The Legend of the Three Gorges, featuring Li Guyi's song Nostalgia.
"..."
Chen Qi smiled, listened to the song, and then headed home.
His father came back late.
Chen Qi lay on the cold little bed in the outer room, covered with two thick quilts. His parents were still awake in the inner room, listening to the radio for their nighttime entertainment. He thought about various things, drifting in and out of sleep, unsure of the time.
Vaguely, he heard someone say, "As the New Year's bell rings, 1980 has begun! Happy New Year, everyone!"
(That's all for today...
The book will be available for purchase on the 2nd.)
(End of Chapter.)
Chapter 72
Novel: 1979 Golden Age
Chapter 72
Every time a film studio produced a movie, the China Film Group would purchase it at a fixed price of 700,000 yuan and handle the nationwide distribution.
How much the movie sold for afterward had nothing to do with the studio.
The advantage was a guaranteed income, but the downside was that it stifled growth.
The maximum cost for each film was 700,000 yuan.
Anything higher would result in a loss! And with costs rising year by year, studios could only produce small-scale films, not daring to take risks.
The China Film Group took the lion's share of the profits, but this money was handed over to the state treasury.
Only after the state received the funds could they allocate money to the studios, support rural screenings, restore theaters, and build cultural infrastructure.
In short, it all came down to being poor.
At this moment, Wang Yang was looking over the data.
The Beijing Film Studio had produced 11 films this year, as that was the quota set by the state.
Among them was Romance on Lushan Mountain.
He had a feeling that Romance on Lushan Mountain would be a hit, but unfortunately, the studio wouldn't see any of the profits.
And next year, there was Tai Chi.
According to Chen Qi's description, the film would require period-accurate costumes, sets, and props from the late Qing dynasty.
They would need to build sets, scout for martial arts actors nationwide, and ideally hire a fight choreographer from Hong Kong.
It sounded like a massive project, and the 700,000 yuan budget might not be enough.
Wang Yang was an ambitious man.
If they were going to make a film, they had to do it right—otherwise, they shouldn't bother.
He had visited Europe for research and discovered that they were already studying box office numbers, market trends, and audience attendance.
Meanwhile, back home, they were still stuck in the old system.
This year, he had been in constant communication with the China Film Group, trying to negotiate better terms:
"Either give our studio the right to distribute our own films, or increase the purchase price. 700,000 yuan is too little."
Of course, the China Film Group refused.
Wang Yang was a typical reformist.
He had a progressive side, but he was also limited by the times.
For example, he couldn't imagine the potential negative consequences of completely opening up distribution rights.
He only knew that reform was necessary.
"..."
Wang Yang slowly stood up and walked to the window.
He happened to see Chen Qi wandering around the studio with a shabby camera, pestering Liu Xiaoqing for her thoughts.
He couldn't help but chuckle.
This year, the Beijing Film Studio had undergone some subtle changes, all thanks to this kid moving in.
Love stories, martial arts films—everything that was once considered taboo now aligned perfectly with his own tastes.
He was an old revolutionary, having gone to Yan'an in 1938. He had never been afraid of stirring things up.
"I'll keep negotiating with the China Film Group!"
"If that doesn't work, I'll write directly to the central government. We have to break through this barrier!"
"If anything goes wrong, I'll take full responsibility!"
…………
"Whew!"
"Whew!"
"Damn, I finally made it back!"
On the last day of 1979, Chen Qi, bundled up in layers of thick cotton clothing, pedaled his bicycle with great difficulty back to Dashilan.
It was over ten kilometers! His face was flushed red, and his ears were nearly frozen off.
He hadn't worn a hat, and the cold wind kept blowing, making his nose run nonstop.
It was a miserable journey.
Despite the cold, Dashilan was bustling with activity.
It was New Year's, after all.
The streets were packed, and business was booming.
Even if people couldn't afford much, they at least bought some candy for their kids to celebrate the holiday.
As Chen Qi passed by Ma Juyuan, he glanced inside.
It was an old hat shop that had been around since the Jiaqing era.
There was a saying from the late Qing dynasty: "Wear Ma Juyuan on your head, step on Neiliansheng with your feet, dress in Badaxiang, and wrap yourself with Sidheng."
These were the top luxury brands of the time—truly authentic!
"A sheepskin hat would be nice. That thing's warm."
Chen Qi turned into Menkuang Hutong.
As soon as he entered, he saw a crowd gathered at the entrance of the courtyard, shouting and making a commotion.
"Slow down! Slow down!"
"If you drop it, can you afford to pay for it? Open the door, open the door!"
He spotted his father and called out, "Dad, what's going on?"
"Son, you're back! Your Uncle Zhang bought a TV!" Chen Jianjun said.
"A 9-inch black-and-white color TV, top of the line! Xiao Qi, come over tonight to watch TV. It'll be lively!" Uncle Zhang's grin stretched from ear to ear.
He was the first in the courtyard to own a TV.
"Wow, a 9-inch black-and-white color TV? I definitely have to see this!"
The group noisily entered the courtyard, carefully guarding the not-so-large box in Uncle Zhang's arms.
Chen Jianjun followed along cheerfully, while Chen Qi headed home first.
"Mom, why didn't you go take a look?"
"Look at what?"
Yu Xiuli was cooking and didn't seem pleased.
"If we had really bought a TV with the money you earned from your writing, we wouldn't have to put up with his bragging. He's acting like he's some kind of royalty! Your dad's just as clueless. What's so great about a lousy TV? He even went over there to watch!"
"Mom, think of it this way: Uncle Zhang spent 400 yuan on a 9-inch black-and-white TV. That's a rip-off. The price might drop next year, and he'll lose money. Color TVs are expensive now, but in a few years, they'll be cheaper and bigger. We can buy one then, and it'll be a better deal."
"Now that's more like it!"
Yu Xiuli's mood improved, and she became her usual self again.
She rubbed Chen Qi's red, frozen face and said with concern, "Look how cold you are. Go inside and warm up."
Chen Qi went inside and peeled off his layers of cotton clothing like shedding skin.
He took off his cotton shoes and warmed his hands and feet by the stove.
It was actually kind of refreshing.
He hadn't been this cold in years.
In the future, winters would be much milder—just a sweater and a down jacket, with heated cars and warm homes.
He never had to endure the cold like this.
After warming up for a while, dinner was ready, and Chen Jianjun came back in high spirits.
"That TV is really something. Let's all go watch it tonight."
"You go if you want. I'm not going!"
One of the secrets to their long marriage was Chen Jianjun's ability to keep quiet.
Seeing his wife in a bad mood, he quickly changed the subject.
"Son, now that your movie's done, are you going back to the tea stall?"
"Not yet. I wrote another script, so I'm still staying at the guesthouse."
"But hanging around the Beijing Film Studio all day isn't a long-term solution. Haven't they thought about hiring you?" Yu Xiuli asked.
"The director has mentioned it, but nothing's certain yet."
"The Beijing Film Studio is a great place to work. You should take it seriously. In the future, when people hear you're from the Beijing Film Studio, they'll look up to you. You won't have to worry about finding a wife, and they'll even give you a place to live. You can't expect that rundown tea stall to give you a house, can you?"
"Housing is tricky. I've seen their dormitory buildings. They're pretty crowded, and the employees are all waiting for their turn. How could they give me one first?"
His parents both looked worried.
Even though he had earned quite a bit of money, in the eyes of people from this era, it was all just "unserious work."
Having a stable state-owned job was the real deal—a mindset that persisted for 40 years.
Countless young people fought against it, only to realize later that it was indeed the truth.
Yu Xiuli silently ate her meal, then suddenly looked up.
"What about private housing?"
"The policies are too vague. It's risky," Chen Jianjun said.
"Let's ask around first."
"..."
Chen Qi glanced at his parents.
He knew there was a Overseas Chinese Apartments in Beijing, and later on, Fangzhuang.
But when private housing sales were allowed, he wasn't sure.
It wouldn't hurt to ask.
To be honest, he didn't like coming home much these days, partly because the living conditions weren't great.
There was a bed in the outer room, separated only by a door.
Any noise could be heard clearly, which was awkward.
Staying at the guesthouse for free was nice, but having his own place would be even better.
In this era, private housing was mostly courtyard homes, right?
There would be plenty of space.
He could plant some trees—a pomegranate, a jujube, a persimmon, a pear, a crabapple, and a lilac.
They'd all bloom beautifully.
How wonderful would that be!
…………
"Hurry up, hurry up! Come on!"
"It's starting!"
"Don't push!"
Uncle Zhang had become the star of the courtyard.
Many people brought their bowls and stools to secure a good spot.
By around 7 p.m., the bed, the floor, the doorway, and the outer room were all packed with people, gazing reverently at the 9-inch black-and-white color TV on the table like pilgrims.
Yu Xiuli had her pride and didn't show up.
Chen Jianjun eagerly squeezed in, while Chen Qi lingered by the door, half-interested.
He mainly wanted to see what TV programs were like in this era.
"Hey, hey, it's on!"
"Stop moving! It's starting!"
"Good evening, viewers. Today is December 31st, the last day of 1979."
A familiar voice came from the TV, but the face was unfamiliar.
The background was a striped wall, with a simple wooden table.
A man in a gray Mao suit sat stiffly, holding a script that was clearly visible.
It was 39-year-old Zhao Zhongxiang.
News Broadcast had started last year, and he was the first anchor.
At first, there was only audio, but this year, they added video.
And it wasn't a male-female duo—just him alone.
"..."
The room fell silent.
Over twenty pairs of eyes were glued to the TV.
Zhao Zhongxiang mostly read from the script, with few news clips, but everyone still loved it.
Just seeing a person on TV was enough to excite them.
After the 30-minute News Broadcast ended, Zhao Zhongxiang made an announcement: "Next up is a small health education segment, followed by the beautiful scenic documentary The Legend of the Three Gorges..."
There was no weather forecast yet.
After the health segment, The Legend of the Three Gorges began.
The content was simple—shots of the Three Gorges' stunning scenery, accompanied by narration and music.
In this era, it was like a spiritual feast.
Chen Qi leaned against the doorframe, listening to the gasps and whispers of the crowd.
"So this is the Yangtze River's Three Gorges. It's so beautiful!"
"I have to visit there someday!"
"Hey, stop talking! Listen to the song..."
The room fell silent again as a mesmerizing female voice filled the air, accompanied by an enchanting melody: "Your figure, your voice, forever etched in my heart..."
The crowd froze, as if hearing divine music, just like Chen Jianjun the first time he heard Teresa Teng.
"Tomorrow is coming, but it's rare to meet you again. Only the wind carries my deep affection..."
It was a segment from The Legend of the Three Gorges, featuring Li Guyi's song Nostalgia.
"..."
Chen Qi smiled, listened to the song, and then headed home.
His father came back late.
Chen Qi lay on the cold little bed in the outer room, covered with two thick quilts.
His parents were still awake in the inner room, listening to the radio for their nighttime entertainment.
He thought about various things, drifting in and out of sleep, unsure of the time.
Vaguely, he heard someone say, "As the New Year's bell rings, 1980 has begun! Happy New Year, everyone!"
(That's all for today...
The book will be available for purchase on the 2nd.)
(End of Chapter.)