Chapter Four: I Want to Make Films Too

"Ninth Brother, is this your girlfriend?" Yan Xu glanced at the woman beside him and asked with a smile. He was the manager, Yan Xu the deputy manager, and a senior member of the gang—calling him 'brother' wasn’t out of place.

"What? This chick owes Brother Li a lot in high-interest loans. Just so happens we’re short one actress for a film. She does it once and she’s cleared. She’s getting off easy—she pays off her debt in comfort. If the film sells well, she might even become famous. It beats working as a dance hostess for a living."

Looking at the dance hostess’s face, clearly showing her unwillingness, Yan Xu could only sigh inwardly. He knew exactly what kind of small film company this was—their specialty was these little movies. Even those so-called racy Category III films were rare; most went straight for the real thing.

Shooting a Category III was one thing, but going for the real deal—few had the guts for that, not even those who sold themselves for a living. Even dance hostesses had their pride, afraid of being recognized by acquaintances or family. Unlike in later times, when some people, just to get famous, would film themselves for real and leak it online. Yan Xu had even joked with some friends that many "celebrities" of that era were nowhere near as bold as the dance girls of the eighties.

"Ah Jiu, when is this Director Liu you mentioned coming? It’s been over half an hour since our agreed time." Scarhead Qiang glanced at his gold Rolex—a new habit of his. A watch worth tens of thousands, a luxury he'd never have dreamed of before.

"He should be here soon. I’ve already sent someone to fetch him. You know he’s in high demand lately; all the triad companies want to hire him," Jiu replied.

"Damn it, who does this Director Liu think he is? Keeping our boss waiting like this—does he have a death wish?" Ji Mao jumped up, his temper flaring.

"He’s the one who just filmed that 'Seven Days of Lust and Mistake,'" Scarhead Qiang gestured for calm, then addressed everyone. "When Director Liu arrives, you all better be on your best behavior. Gui Dong, tell the men outside—nothing can go wrong. No matter how big a shot he is, serve him well. This is the first film I’m producing since taking over the company. It has to be a hit."

Scarhead Qiang knew many in the company weren’t convinced by his leadership, so he was desperate to prove himself.

"Seven Days of Lust and Mistake?" Yan Xu, who’d been sitting quietly, was taken aback. Was he hearing right? He knew of "Seven Days of Wrong Love," but what was this "Lust and Mistake"? Had his crossing over stirred the butterfly’s wings after all? But he hadn’t done anything in these past days that could have affected history. Or was this not the Hong Kong of the eighties he remembered?

"Seven Days of Lust and Mistake? Isn’t it supposed to be Seven Days of Wrong Love?" Yan Xu leaned over to Ji Mao and whispered.

"They’re just borrowing the name. The content is way racier than 'Wrong Love.' The actresses are built like tanks—way hotter than that Yip Tong. And it’s the real deal, not like in 'Wrong Love' where they never quite dared. The film only played midnight shows, but pulled in over four million in fifteen days. The videotape sales were solid too, nearly a million. And the whole production only cost a little over a hundred thousand," Ji Mao explained, his earlier anger gone now that he knew who they were waiting for.

So that was it. Hearing Ji Mao’s explanation, Yan Xu nodded. He knew that in Hong Kong, many small films piggybacked on popular titles—if there was “Royal Sister,” there’d be “Wet Royal Sister”; if there was “Beware of Pickpockets,” there’d be “Beware of Ghosts”; if there was “Lucky Dragon,” there’d be “Double Lucky Dragons.”

But in this era, for a knockoff film to gross over four million in midnight shows, there had to be something to its story and plot—it couldn’t be pure trash. For these small film companies, a film grossing over a million was rare. Their budgets were tiny—sometimes just a few thousand, rarely over three hundred thousand—and their shooting schedules were even shorter. Churning out a film a day wasn’t unheard of. Making four or five hundred thousand at the theaters was already impressive. Most of their profits came from videotapes and pirated copies of popular movies.

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"My schedule’s tight, so I’ll get straight to the point. I've read the script—it’s not bad. You can choose the cast, but I’ll pick the female lead myself. How I shoot is none of your business. The shooting schedule is no more than a week. For this film, I want one hundred thousand, and the total budget can’t be less than half a million," Director Liu said, crossing his legs as he sat across from Scarhead Qiang. If he’d been in front of the triad leader, he might have been more cautious, but Scarhead Qiang was just a white-collar front—nothing to fear.

Thanks to his recent hit, every small film company was inviting him, and even some mid-sized studios were starting to take notice. His presence here was already a nod of respect.

He wasn’t about to ruin the reputation he’d just built, either. There could be no skimping on the budget—half a million was the price of a mid-tier production. For a small film, that meant a big budget, which meant more explicit scenes and more beautiful actresses. If handled well, riding on the coattails of his last film, even an average product would at least recoup its costs.

"Fine, no problem. Everything will be as you say, Director Liu. We won’t interfere with your direction, and the half-million budget is yours," Scarhead Qiang agreed. Though the sum was high—a major investment for a small film company, especially for someone just stepping into the role—he clenched his teeth and agreed. If he wanted to secure his position, he couldn’t afford to hesitate. He had to be decisive.

"Here’s the contract, Director Liu. And here’s thirty thousand as your advance. The rest will be settled when the film wraps." The contract was quickly drawn up. Scarhead Qiang checked it over and placed it before Director Liu, handing him an envelope from the drawer.

"Good," Director Liu signed without hesitation, pocketing the envelope. "I've got another shoot to finish, so I won’t stay. Once you’re ready, call me. My current film wraps in two days—use the time to prepare everything you need."

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"Boss, this is half a million for just one film. Is it worth the risk?" After seeing Director Liu off, Ji Mao turned urgently to Scarhead Qiang.

"We’re going all in. Besides this project, the company still has a bit over three hundred thousand. I’ll find a few directors and produce a few more small films. This is my gamble," Scarhead Qiang replied resolutely. The eight hundred thousand or so was all the working capital the company had.

Hearing that a few more films would be made, Yan Xu’s eyes lit up. Wasn’t this the chance he’d been looking for? If he could get a film made, it might be his ticket out of the gang. Even with just a three hundred thousand budget—and knowing he’d never get all of it—if the story was good, there was still a chance to make a quality film.