Chapter 00077: The Mantis Fist King
# The Mantis Fist King
Chapter 77
Novel: 1979 Golden Age
Chapter 77: The Mantis Fist King
"Rumble!"
"Rumble!"
A green train, departing from the capital and heading towards Jinan, raced across the land at a speed of several dozen kilometers per hour.
On both sides, the snow-covered fields stretched endlessly, dotted with the occasional village and wisps of smoke rising into the cold air.
The vastness of the northern plains was on full display.
"Comrade, two boxed meals, please!"
"Here's the money!"
Chen Qi handed over seventy cents and received two aluminum lunchboxes.
He passed one to Li Wenhua, who sat across from him, before opening his own.
Inside, a steaming mix of cabbage, potatoes, and broth lay atop a bed of rice, filling the air with a warm, savory aroma.
It was half a month before the Spring Festival, and the railway system was already bustling with activity, teetering on the brink of chaos.
Traveling at this time was a hassle, but Chen Qi had no choice.
He needed to secure a few actors before Zhang Xinyan could, so he could negotiate from a position of strength.
"Xiao Chen," Li Wenhua spoke up between bites, "in all my years at the Beijing Film Studio, I've never seen a script go from conception to preparation in just twenty days. This is the fastest I've ever seen."
"That's why I asked for your guidance. I'm just a young newcomer. How could I handle an entire film on my own? I’m relying entirely on your expertise."
"They say you're a smooth talker, and it's true. You know just what to say."
Li Wenhua chuckled, his tone polite but distant, with a hint of scrutiny.
He was the director Wang Yang had chosen for The Tai Chi Master.
At 51, he had started as a cinematographer before moving on to directing.
His works included Golden Dart Huang Tianba and Invincible Mandarin Duck Legs.
Wang Yang had already briefed him, but having to consult with someone so much younger clearly didn’t sit well with him.
Chen Qi, having navigated the complexities of the world in his past life, knew exactly how to handle such people.
The key was to give them face.
As long as they felt respected, everything else would fall into place.
"Would you like some hot water?"
"Maybe later."
"There aren’t many people around now. Let me get some for you... No, no, it’s fine. I’ll go."
Chen Qi took Li Wenhua’s enamel mug and fetched hot water.
After finishing their meal, he tidied up and returned the aluminum lunchboxes.
Yes, they had to be returned—they weren’t for passengers to keep.
With such considerate behavior, Li Wenhua couldn’t help but soften his tone.
"You know, I’d heard about you even before you joined the studio. I read that letter you wrote in the China Youth Daily."
"You flatter me."
"It was very well-written. Especially that line, 'Facing the sea, with spring blossoms.' My daughter loved it so much she wrote it down in her notebook..."
Before he could finish, a young woman in the neighboring seat suddenly perked up, as if she’d just connected to Wi-Fi.
"Wait, are you Chen Qi?"
"Yes, that’s me."
"Oh my gosh, it really is you! What a surprise! Hello, hello!"
The girl eagerly extended her hand, and Chen Qi shook it.
She immediately launched into a rapid-fire monologue: "I’m also a former educated youth. Last year, I joined a cooperative, and I was so lost at the time. Life felt meaningless. Then I read your article, and it gave me so much hope. I even wrote you a letter! Why didn’t you reply?"
"Maybe the China Youth Daily didn’t forward it to me. They handle all that."
"How annoying! Anyway, I want to thank you. Your words really encouraged me. My favorite part was that line, 'Facing the sea, with spring blossoms.' Is that just a standalone phrase, or is it part of a poem?"
"Well..."
Chen Qi scratched his head.
How did that poem go again? Reciting poetry on a train felt awkward, so he said, "It was just a spur-of-the-moment inspiration. A single line."
"But it already has the essence of a poem!" The girl, clearly a literature enthusiast, gushed, "The imagery is so warm and full of hope. You should really expand on it and turn it into a full poem."
"I’ll do my best," Chen Qi replied, feeling exhausted.
Here he was, squeezed into a crowded train, eating cabbage and potatoes, enduring all sorts of smells, worrying about casting, and even carrying the weight of the nation’s cultural endeavors on his shoulders.
And now he had to entertain a fan? The burden of the entire country seemed to rest on him.
The girl, still excited, pulled out a magazine—the Poetry Journal, which had resumed publication in 1976, with Zang Kejia as its first editor-in-chief.
"Have you read this? I buy every issue. My favorite is Shu Ting’s To the Oak Tree. I can recite it by heart. 'If I love you—I will never be a clinging vine, using your height to show off my own.' Such a strong and beautiful spirit!"
She actually began reciting the poem.
"Why don’t you submit your work to the magazine? You write so well; they’d definitely publish it," she urged.
"I’ve been focusing on popular literature lately—martial arts, romance, that sort of thing."
"What? How could you write popular literature?"
The girl’s disappointment was palpable, mixed with a hint of frustration.
But at least it dampened her enthusiasm, and she stopped chattering.
In this era, being able to write poetry, play the guitar, or dance the breakdance was like having a VIP pass to social success.
Don’t think of this time as entirely conservative—while society as a whole was restrained, there were pockets of wild openness.
From high-ranking officials’ children to ordinary folks, men and women who had been repressed for too long were suddenly bursting with energy, their passions unrestrained.
Chen Qi had no interest in joining that scene.
He had no patience for poets—99% of them were mentally unstable.
Gu Cheng was a prime example, a complete lunatic, as were his wife and mistress.
The whole family was a circus.
The journey to Jinan was much easier than going to Lushan.
They arrived in just a day.
They set out in the morning and reached Jinan Station by night.
The girl also got off there, leaving Chen Qi a note with what he assumed was her contact information.
After all, even if he wrote popular literature, he was still handsome!
Chen Qi tore up the note without a second glance.
Li Wenhua, who had been watching with interest, asked, "Why did you tear it up? She meant well."
"We’re just strangers who happened to cross paths. No need to complicate things."
"How is it complicating things? You have talent, and she admires you. It could’ve been a meaningful connection."
"We met on a train, but I’m not interested in her. That means our缘分 (fate) ends here. Once we step off this train, we’re back to being strangers in the vast world."
"That’s an interesting way to put it."
Li Wenhua nodded, his impression of Chen Qi improving slightly.
…………
The land of Qilu (Shandong) had always been a cradle of martial arts, producing many renowned masters.
One such figure was Cai Guiqin, who co-founded the "Jingwu Athletic Association" in Shanghai with Huo Yuanjia.
He knew Qiu Jin, served as an instructor at the Guangzhou Marshal’s Office, and even donated 200,000 yuan during the Korean War.
His son, Cai Longyun, made a name for himself in 1943 when a group of foreigners set up a擂台 (martial arts stage) in Shanghai, challenging the local martial arts community.
At just 15 years old, Cai Longyun defeated a Russian opponent, sending him tumbling thirteen times.
Born in 1928, Cai Longyun passed away in 2015. He had served as the captain of the national martial arts team.
Given his seniority and status as a grandmaster, Chen Qi knew he couldn’t possibly recruit him.
Instead, he had his sights set on another renowned figure.
The next morning, bright and early, Chen Qi and Li Wenhua arrived at the Shandong Provincial Sports Team, which would later become the Shandong Sports Technical Institute in 1984.
After showing their credentials at the gate, they were greeted by a middle-aged man with a high hairline and a kind, honest face.
His thick Jiaodong accent made his words a bit hard to follow.
"Hello! Hello! We’ve been waiting for you."
"You must be Coach Yu?"
"Yes, yes, I’m Yu Hai!"
Chen Qi shook his hand, immediately noticing how thick and sturdy his fingers were—like little radishes.
Especially the密肘 (mantis fist wrist area), which was particularly thick and hard.
A strike to the temple from those hands would leave a nasty bruise.
"We’ve been looking forward to your visit. We’ll do our best to assist, but you’ll have to understand—whether we can release anyone, and how we do it, is up to the higher-ups."
"Of course, of course. Just show us around for now."
As they walked through the compound, Chen Qi struck up a conversation.
"Coach Yu, what style do you practice?"
"Seven-Star Mantis Fist. My master was Lin Jingshan."
"A true grandmaster. They say the student reflects the teacher. I heard you’re also skilled with the staff?"
"I know a bit about staff and sword techniques, but I’m not that good."
"You’ve won championships and still say you’re not good? Us ordinary folks might as well dig a hole and hide. You’re too modest. You’re a master of our time."
"Ah, you young people... I’m not worthy of such praise!"
Yu Hai laughed, his face blooming like a rose.
Li Wenhua observed him closely, amazed.
With his achievements, age, and imposing yet gentle demeanor, Yu Hai was the spitting image of Chen Zhengying from the script—the head of Chenjiagou, Yang Yuqian’s master, and the female lead’s father.
It was as if the role had been tailor-made for him.
While others started with a character and then found an actor, Chen Qi worked backward.
He found the actor first and then crafted the character around them.
It was as precise as a state-owned enterprise’s hiring process.
(End of Chapter)