Chapter Sixty-Seven: Under Fire

Although Gu Zhi was still somewhat unwilling, in the end, China Film sold "The Butterfly Effect" to Columbia Pictures. He understood that his reluctance was futile since the decision was never his to make. Han Sanping's words made sense to him, but seeing his hard work sold off so cheaply to foreigners left a bitterness in his heart that refused to fade.

That evening, Gu Zhi sought out Ning Hao and told him about the matter. The news left them both in low spirits, so they found a quiet barbecue restaurant near the Beijing Film Academy and drank together until midnight. In the end, it was Ning Hao who called Xing Aina to come over, and together with the restaurant owner, she helped get the two drunken men back to Ning Hao's rented apartment.

Fortunately, no gossip reporters caught sight of them in the dead of night; otherwise, who knows what outlandish, fabricated stories would have appeared in the tabloids.

The next day, when they woke groggy and hungover, neither Gu Zhi nor Ning Hao remembered much of the previous night. But judging by the distinctly unfriendly look in Xing Aina's eyes, they could guess just how disgraceful they must have been. Still, they were old friends, and Gu Zhi was thick-skinned enough to laugh it off, letting the matter pass without fuss.

At noon, without needing Ning Hao to insist, he stayed for lunch and had the chance to taste Xing Aina's cooking. Simple tea and everyday dishes, yet they tasted far better than the boxed meals he had been eating on set. Watching the warmth between the couple across the table, much of the gloom in his heart faded away.

During the meal, Gu Zhi asked Ning Hao about his latest project—something they'd completely forgotten to discuss amid their venting and boasting the night before.

"I'm planning to shoot a film set in my hometown, called 'Incense.' The preliminary preparations are nearly done, and the crew is assembled, but the script still needs some polishing. We're scheduled to set off next month and take the team to Shanxi together.

With just over two months left until the New Year, I figure one month should be enough for filming. When it's done, it'll be just in time for the holiday, and I can bring Aina home with me—time for the 'ugly daughter-in-law' to finally meet the in-laws."

"Who are you calling ugly?!" Ning Hao had barely finished his sentence when Xing Aina shot back, and then he sat there snickering with Gu Zhi.

"Any problems with funding? If you need money, just say the word."

"Ah, don't worry about it. It's just a small rural film, won't cost much. If I really come up short, you know I won't stand on ceremony with you."

"Alright, if the crew needs anything, let me know. If I can't handle it, we can always ask Liu Qi for help."

Ning Hao took him up on the offer. After the meal, he pulled Gu Zhi aside to go over the script for "Incense." The three of them discussed and revised it for hours, and it wasn't until three in the afternoon that Gu Zhi finally left.

He didn't go straight home but instead found Lu Chuan and threw himself back into the editing work. There was still a mountain of post-production to tackle; rest was a luxury he couldn't afford. In December, Gu Zhi had hoped to dedicate himself entirely to finishing the film as soon as possible. The trailer and the music video for "I Believe" both needed editing, and the screening session and submission to the censorship board were necessary steps that couldn't come soon enough. With just a month left, time was tight—if he didn't hurry, the project would drag on until after the New Year.

However, only a couple of days later, a piece of news from Taiwan thrust him into the eye of the entertainment industry's storm.

On December 2, 2000, the 37th Golden Horse Awards ceremony was held at the Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall in Taipei. As the last Golden Horse Awards of the century, the event brought together nearly every major star from across China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan, with outstanding Chinese-language films gathering from all quarters.

The results of this year's Golden Horse Awards attracted the attention of the entire Chinese film world. Films from Hong Kong, Taiwan, and the mainland competed for every prize, but the most anticipated film of all was undoubtedly "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon."

As expected, "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" swept six major awards, including Best Picture, making it the biggest winner of the night. Next was the Hong Kong film "The Mission," which took Best Director for Johnnie To and Best Actor for Francis Ng.

Wong Kar-wai's "In the Mood for Love" also took home three prizes: Best Actress for Maggie Cheung, as well as Best Costume Design and Best Cinematography, though the latter two were of lesser consequence.

In comparison, mainland films fared far worse. Only two mainland films were nominated. One was "Shadow Magic," starring Xia Yu, which received several major nominations, including Best Picture and Best Director. Ironically, it won none of them, taking only the consolation prize of Audience Choice for Best Picture—a democratic award, at least in terms of votes.

The other was Gu Zhi's "The Butterfly Effect," nominated for Best Original Screenplay. Unsurprisingly, it too lost, with the award going to Hong Kong director and screenwriter Chan Guo for "Little Cheung."

It could be said that this year, mainland cinema came away from the Golden Horse Awards empty-handed, suffering a crushing defeat. If one insisted, with some thick-skinned justification, on claiming "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" as a mainland film, it wouldn't be entirely impossible, since it was shot in Hongcun, Anhui, and included Zhang Ziyi in the cast.

As for whether people from other regions would accept this claim, who could say?

Originally, Gu Zhi didn't care a whit about the Golden Horse Awards. Whether he won or not was irrelevant—he never had any expectations. He was content to stay focused on post-production for his new film.

Yet trouble found him at home, out of the blue.

When the Best Original Screenplay award was presented, Chan Guo went on stage to accept. Following custom, he delivered the usual tedious thank-yous, expressing gratitude to one and all—but midway through, he abruptly changed direction, stopping the thanks and launching into criticism.

"Everyone knows, the nominees for Best Original Screenplay this year are Wong Kar-wai's self-written and directed 'In the Mood for Love,' Yang Qianling's 'Driverless,' my own 'Little Cheung,' and finally, Gu Zhi's script for 'The Butterfly Effect.' Three Hong Kong films, one from the mainland.

All of you here can see clearly: of our three Hong Kong films, who was absent from the Golden Horse Awards? Every member of the main creative teams is present. Now look at the mainland film—from director to lead actor to screenwriter—not a single one showed up. Is this acceptable?

I know Gu Zhi. His 'A Road Without Hardship' was a big hit in Hong Kong, and I have read it myself. It has a strong Hong Kong flavor, which shows he likes Hong Kong and understands it well. But if he understands Hong Kong life so well, why hasn't he learned the etiquette and manners of Hong Kong people? Is his upbringing so lacking?

I've heard that 'The Butterfly Effect' did well at the mainland box office, surpassing many of the big directors' works there. But inside and out, it hasn't won a single award—I really don't know what Gu Zhi has to be so proud of.

It was hard enough to be nominated for the Golden Horse, yet he treats it with such arrogance. This is not only a lack of respect for the Golden Horse Awards, but also a lack of respect for every filmmaker nominated."

"The mainland film industry is still far behind. If you want to develop, you should humbly learn more from both sides of the strait. If this is the attitude of the next generation of mainland filmmakers, then even in another twenty years, you won't catch up."

Chan Guo's final words were directed at the spot where the "Shadow Magic" crew was seated. Because Gu Zhi was absent, the "Shadow Magic" team, as the other mainland representatives, bore the brunt of his criticism, completely undeserved.

The Hong Kong and Taiwanese filmmakers present laughed and joked, not taking Chan Guo's sudden attack seriously—after all, he wasn't criticizing them. Watching the mainlanders be embarrassed was just another source of amusement for their idle minds.

Only the mainlanders present felt their faces burn with shame, deeply embarrassed, but as they were a small minority in the entire Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall, no one cared what they thought.

Some people hated Gu Zhi for daring not to attend, wishing he would stand up and apologize at once. Some blamed Chan Guo for being tactless and spoiling the mood. Others didn't care at all—Gu Zhi was Gu Zhi; his actions had nothing to do with anyone else, let alone reflect on the entire mainland.