Chapter 267 - 255 Hong Kong, flaunt Cantonese
"A salary of 500?" Li Mei sneered. "That’s a fee only famous actors get. Have you ever seen a newcomer getting paid 500 now? Besides, this Zhao Chun is just a student from our school. Still a student, how is she supposed to make a film?"
"But..." The others seemed somewhat skeptical of Li Mei’s claim. Since it had been reported in the newspaper, it must be true—newspapers don’t lie, right? At that time, people thought of newspapers as highly authoritative sources.
Hearing the familiar name, Tian Sangsang raised her eyebrows in interest. Zhao Chun, in the newspaper, looking for actors. Was this going to be an open audition? Could it be they were planning to film "Lushan Love"?
After leaving the movie theater, Tian Sangsang, harboring a streak of curiosity, picked up the newspaper in her hands to check. What a coincidence—it really was that newspaper! And on it, a small casting call was printed. There was no mention of the movie’s name, only an address and the pay listed. Five hundred—quite decent pay for these times.
Of course, such an amount was nothing to Tian Sangsang. But what did catch her interest was the movie. Advertisements at this time were virtually nonexistent, and not plastered everywhere the way they would be in later years. Reflecting on future trends, there were only a few ways to advertise. One was to place branded props or products directly into scenes. For instance, on the female lead’s desk, you could casually feature a bottle or two of milk, highlight it with a quick zoom-in, and the audience would instantly know it was Anmuxi. This type of advertisement was tolerable.
Another method was weaving ads into the dialogue. If done poorly, it could achieve a comical effect but might also feel forced and out of place. Obviously, during a time when commercial films were flooding the market, this approach was grudgingly accepted—as you’d see it once and move on anyway, nothing memorable enough to linger on.
The third type of advertisement was the most widely used. A pause during the show’s progression to include a brief ad performed by the cast themselves. These mostly appeared in web dramas. Web dramas, well, people could deal with them. Sometimes playing ads was unavoidable—after all, they were funded by sponsors. Without sponsors, nothing would happen.
"Lushan Love" was destined to become popular; Tian Sangsang was certain. Zhao Chun had potential; she also knew that. The script? Tian Sangsang was completely clear about that as well—she had written it herself. And back then, she’d written it for free, simply to spite Li Yibai. But her mindset was different now. Knowing "Lushan Love" was going to be a prized project, why shouldn’t she grab a slice of the pie?
Start with the female lead—aim for the starring role.
If somehow she could insert an ad into this movie, it would have to be subtle, otherwise, it would ruin the classic. Advertising’s influence was immense, and in this era of limited communication, if her products could get such exposure, they’d instantly be known nationwide.
Suddenly, Tian Sangsang felt a surge of impulse. She wanted to join the audition. But she was equally apprehensive. She wasn’t professionally trained or experienced in acting. If she wanted to participate in the audition, she had to ensure she got chosen. Landing the role was only the beginning—she’d still have to learn how to act.
She asked herself, introspectively—can she act? Would she do the movie justice? After all, for its time, this film was fashionable. While it might not be considered an advanced piece of cinema, it held undeniable milestone significance.
This was one of the rare love films from that era—a movie boasting the country’s first on-screen kiss. Later, there was a summary about its legacy:
"The movie ’Lushan Love’ premiered in the Lushan Love Movie Theater on July 12, 1980. Since then, it has set three world records for films screened in the same theater: the highest number of viewers (over 1.36 million), the most screenings (7,000), and the most copies used (12 prints). On December 12, 2002, it achieved recognition in the Guinness World Records."
With thoughts weighing on her mind, after watching the film, Tian Sangsang resumed her street-side sales routine. Of course, Zhao Chun’s casting efforts were still underway, but satisfaction was elusive.
"That’s right, it’s the Yan brand!" Tian Sangsang had just closed a sale and ended it with a cheerful goodbye.
In time, she’d open a storefront—the "Yan" series focusing on beauty-related items. She could add flower teas and loose tea leaves as well, naming the shop "Chahua." Carrying her basket, Tian Sangsang thought blissfully about her future plans.
Suddenly, a whiff of smoke reached her nose. This smoke was unlike the usual smell from Jiang Jinghuai’s cigarettes; it had a distinctively fresh, cold edge. Today the scent was mingled with perfume.
Tian Sangsang involuntarily turned around. A black car was parked, revealing a glimpse of a woman inside wearing oversized sunglasses. Her hand extended out of the window to flick off some ash.
The car was black, but instead, exuded a rich golden aura. Drawing from her six years of post-college experience in society, Tian Sangsang could tell that the occupants were affluent. Smiling politely, she approached the car window and asked warmly, "Miss, would you be interested in some skincare products?" Without knowing someone’s marital status, it was best to address her as "Miss."
Wen Xia had come to the mainland for the first time—seeking solace. As a producer, she’d suffered an accident a year ago, leaving her with a large scar on her face. Ever since, she’d fallen into despair and was idle at home. Normally, she would ignore street vendors. But the other woman’s voice was melodious, and upon taking a closer look, her appearance surpassed many TVB starlets.
"What kind of skincare products?" Wen Xia asked. Hong Kong had no shortage of skincare items, mostly imported. She doubted mainland-made beauty creams amounted to much; things like face cream were notoriously awful.
Only then did Tian Sangsang notice the centipede-like scar on Wen Xia’s right cheek. But she didn’t linger on it; instead, she was captivated by Wen Xia’s Hong Kong accent. A native of Hong Kong? From the city? Judging by her attire—low-key yet refined—it certainly differed from those typical in mainland China.
"Whitening, hydrating products, and more," Tian Sangsang switched to Cantonese and added, "There’s also cream for removing spots and fading scars."
Wen Xia turned her face to look squarely at her. "You speak Cantonese?"
Tian Sangsang smiled. "Not only can I speak Cantonese, I can even sing in it. You’re from Hong Kong, aren’t you? I’ve secretly watched your films in those underground video halls."
In college, Tian Sangsang had been obsessed with Hong Kong cinema and music. Her idol back then was Zhou Runfa. When people spoke of Hong Kong stars, they’d usually mention Zhou Xingchi, Gutianle, Leslie Cheung, and the like. She liked those as well, but Zhou Runfa was her favorite. Individual taste, perhaps—Zhou Runfa possessed a commanding and grand charisma, perfectly aligned with her preferences. With a towering height of over 180cm, he was adored by countless women. Even though Zhou Runfa’s face now bore traces of time, his younger self remained unparalleled among modern-day young heartthrobs.
"Oh?" Wen Xia raised her eyebrow. Despite her facial scar, she radiated an air of confidence and dominance.
Tian Sangsang loved singing—wherever she was, she’d unabashedly belt out a tune. She saw that Wen Xia was slightly moved. The use of Cantonese had bridged their communication seamlessly. Singing a song for her might even persuade her to buy the skincare products. But really, the products weren’t the focus. The point was she’d come across someone from Hong Kong—it stirred an irrepressible urge in her to sing aloud!