Arrival in Jiangmen

History is like a garbage bag full of random coincidences, ruthlessly torn open by a strong wind.

—Joseph Heller, *Good Like Gold*, 1979

……

Looking at the young Huang Wenbin, and then at the manuscript in his hand.

Wang Ying couldn't help but exclaim in amazement, "Truly, heroes emerge from among the young!"

In just over five thousand words, it has already revealed the feelings of patriotism, the dangers of the world, and the collusion between officials and businessmen. The writing style is so mature and the understanding of the world is so profound that it is not something that a college student could write.

The thrilling plot, the ingenious setup, and the vividly portrayed fight scenes all keep the audience on the edge of their seats and unable to put the show down.

Wang Ying had a premonition that this novel would definitely be a hit, and if it were made into a movie, it would surely achieve amazing box office success.

He was very fortunate to have secured the rights to this novel, believing it would revive Foshan Literature and Art and even propel it to its peak.

Next, Huang Wenbin got to see the page where Wang Ying was the editor.

They were constantly urging me to submit the manuscript.

Huang Wenbin went to wash up, eat, and go to the toilet... whenever he came back, he would see Wang Ying sitting beside him, full of energy, with paper and pen ready.

The others also wanted to see what happened next, so they helped Wang Ying keep an eye on Huang Wenbin.

In the early hours of the third day, the train finally arrived at Guangzhou Station.

However, there is still some distance from Guangzhou to Jiangmen, which requires traveling by water and taking a boat.

After leaving the train station, Wang Ying said goodbye to Huang Wenbin and the others, and happily returned to Foshan with her 25,000-word manuscript.

Because the planning of Guangdong Province at that time was quite complicated, the book uniformly adopts the zoning that has been established in later generations.

For example, the filming locations of "Let the Bullets Fly" include Taishan, which now belongs to the Central Guangdong Special District, and Kaiping City, which belongs to the Foshan area. By 1983, both of these places had become county-level cities and were administered by the Foshan Municipal Government.

Director Chen Huaikai had already arranged for the film surveyor and staff to come to Jiangmen.

After meeting at the train station, we headed to Dashatou Wharf together.

In those days, filmmaking was a national mission, so the Guangzhou government was very cooperative and arranged for several larger passenger ships to take them to Jiangmen.

In Jiangmen, they were accommodated in the largest guesthouse in the area, and two staff members from the Cultural Bureau were assigned to accompany the film crew to communicate with the local villagers.

Although it was already broad daylight, everyone was exhausted from the long journey.

Director Chen gave everyone a day off, and we'll officially start work tomorrow.

However, he himself went to inspect those scenic spots under the guidance of the geomancer.

The guesthouse was only of average quality and could not compare to the Beijing Film Studio.

The best conditions were two people per room, including director Chen Huaikai, who shared a room with assistant director Yu Yang.

Whether it was due to time travel or something innate, Huang Wenbin found himself to have unusually abundant energy.

"Why don't you hurry up and get some sleep?"

Huang Wenbin quickly washed his face and came back to find Zhang Guoli reclining and reading a book.

"I do want to sleep, but I snore quite loudly."

Zhang Guoli smiled awkwardly at Huang Wenbin: "I was afraid of disturbing you. You are a screenwriter and a great writer. If I disturb your inspiration, then I would be a big sinner."

"It's alright," Huang Wenbin said with a smile. "Back in my hometown, my dad's snoring is louder than a train. I'm used to it. You can rest if you want. You might have a scene to film tomorrow."

Zhang Guoli thought for a moment, then said, "I'll read for a while longer, and we'll talk when I get tired."

Huang Wenbin smiled, spread out his manuscript paper, and continued writing.

……

the other side.

Editorial Department of Foshan Literature and Art.

As the head of the magazine, Lung Cheng-hui was extremely worried, but he was at a loss for what to do.

Readers simply don't like reading the recent issues of the magazine, and they receive a large number of letters every day, filled with insults and complaints.

The magazines assigned to various grassroots cultural departments were also taken away in bundles and used as toilet paper.

As a municipal-level literary and artistic journal, it was utterly disgraceful, and it had no face to show in front of the leaders of the cultural department.

"What should we do?" Long Zhenghui held a cigarette between his fingers and looked out the window.

The biggest problem is still the difficulty in securing high-quality articles.

Without good novels, who would buy your lousy magazine?

But there are too many serious literary journals, so it's impossible for them, Foshan Literature and Art, to stand out.

Although he asked his deputy editor, Wang Ying, to use her connections to solicit articles in person in Beijing, he didn't have high hopes; it was purely a last resort.

The next issue is due for printing soon, but the manuscripts we received are... well, let's just say they're not good enough.

Long Zhenghui sometimes thought about just giving up, but he was a revolutionary, how could he give up because of this little difficulty!

"Xiao Wang, Xiao Li, give it your all and urge the authors on your list to hurry up!"

Long Zhenghui finished his cigarette, stubbed it out, and said to the young editors sitting among the piles of books, "If we can't get any more manuscripts, don't publish this issue."

A young man wearing glasses said with a long face, "Editor-in-chief, I've called several times already, but no one is willing to give me the manuscript."

"Don't you have an author who writes crime novels?"

Long Zhenghui then asked, "Ask him if he has any unpublished manuscripts left."

"He refused, and kept insisting on a higher fee!" Xiao Wang replied, "It has to be 7 yuan, otherwise I won't contribute anymore."

"..."

Long Zhenghui, looking annoyed, said rudely, "Those few lousy novels of his are better written by me. He wants a raise? No way!"

After venting his anger, he paced a few steps and sighed, "Ask him again. If it really doesn't work, raise the price to 6 yuan per thousand words."

He then looked at the other editors: "Have any new manuscripts been submitted? Lower quality is fine, and even erotic content is acceptable."

Those people all shook their heads.

"Damn it!" Long Zhenghui cursed, slamming his hands on the table.

"I've got it! I've got it!"

Just then, a loud voice rang out from outside, "Old Zheng, I've got it!"

"What did I do wrong?" Long Zhenghui was furious. After seeing who it was, he said irritably, "Wang Ying, you're the deputy editor-in-chief. How can you be so impulsive at your age, acting like a young person?"

Wang Ying pulled a stack of manuscript papers out of her bag and said with a smile, "We have manuscripts! Our magazine is saved! This novel is definitely going to be a hit!"

"What novel? Let me see it!" Upon hearing this, Long Zhenghui's eyes lit up, and he immediately reached out his hand.

The young editors also got up and slowly squeezed through.

"The invincible benevolent Wong Fei-hung?"

"Volume One, Top Ambition?"

"Author, is it Young Abin?"