Chapter 73: The Queen of the Kingdom of Women, Tempted (Seeking Monthly Tickets)

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With Feng Jiayou’s sudden outburst, everyone’s attention instantly shifted to Cheng Xuemin, the “live-in” son-in-law.

Two thousand yuan!

Just as Feng Jiayou thought, if Cheng Xuemin were to adapt “The Horseman” into a film and write the screenplay himself, he could earn a two-thousand-yuan adaptation fee.

When the woman asked Cheng Xuemin if he could do it, what choice did he have?

Of course he could—two thousand yuan was more than enough incentive.

Damn!

He’d toiled away for over a month, sweating over more than three hundred thousand words, and had yet to see two thousand yuan in manuscript fees. But adapting a single “Horseman” screenplay could earn him that much! So, writing screenplays paid better than stories?

In an instant, Cheng Xuemin was thrilled. His mind was filled with classic scripts—far more than he could possibly need.

There was “The Horseman” adapted from “Body and Soul,” and after that, the works he’d submitted like “The Female Student Dormitory,” “The Loess Plateau,” “The Story of Director Qiao’s Appointment”...

He could recall these scripts with ease, adapting them at will. And it didn’t stop there—he had film scripts, TV scripts, even stage plays!

“Xuemin, you can write movie scripts too?!”

With Feng Jiayou’s exclamation, no one’s face was redder than his brother-in-law, Feng Jiaozhao, who turned to Cheng Xuemin and asked.

If his brother-in-law could write the script himself, as the elder brother, it wouldn’t be right to take it from him.

“No need to feel pressured, Xuemin. If you can write the script yourself—as you’re the original author—it should be yours!”

“If I were to write it, according to our studio’s regulations, an in-house screenwriter adapting your original work could only get a bonus of a little over a hundred yuan, with no adaptation fee at all.”

“So, why not do it yourself? I can guide you from the side!”

He knew his little sister’s love for money all too well; she’d been so calm just a moment ago! But the moment she heard the adaptation fee was two thousand yuan, she lost all composure.

Still, he had to admit, her husband was indeed a talented writer, but screenplay writing was highly specialized—was her husband really up to the task?

Of course, as Feng Jiaozhao said, he’d guide Xuemin from the side. If the adaptation fee was available for the taking, why not grab it? If he wrote it, the most he’d get was a two-hundred-yuan bonus.

Two hundred versus two thousand—what was there to choose?

No contest!

“Then, big brother, let me give it a try first. If I finish it, you can help guide me a bit?”

With his brother-in-law so gracious, how could Cheng Xuemin not accept and go along with it?

Two thousand yuan for an adaptation!

With his current speed, he could finish the draft in a day or two—what a thrill.

Once he got the two-thousand-yuan script fee, plus Jiayou’s little savings, they’d have three or four thousand yuan—more than enough to start looking for a house!

Thinking back, he and Jiayou had planned to invite his parents over for the New Year, but were worried about limited space at the Feng house, planning to let his parents stay in their room and he and Jiayou would stay in a nearby guesthouse for a few days.

But now, perhaps they could buy their own place before the New Year, move out, and when his parents came, they’d stay in their own home—no awkwardness at all.

“All right, that’s great! Xuemin, you write the script yourself—that’s the best. When Xie Jin comes over, the three of us can discuss it together and get the cast assembled as soon as possible!”

Although Feng Jiaozhao missed out on writing the script, there was so much more to making a film—screenwriter and director were only part of it!

Having spent years in the film studio, Feng Jiaozhao was versatile—aside from scriptwriting, he could handle just about anything and be of great help.

Moreover, “The Horseman” was originally spearheaded by the Northern Film Studio!

So, more or less, the trio at the heart of “The Horseman” film crew was set.

Director: Xie Jin, seconded from the Shanghai Film Studio.

Screenwriter: No question—if Cheng Xuemin, the original author, could do it, then let him; if not, with guidance from his brother-in-law, he must still take the lead.

Producer: None other than Feng Jiaozhao. Even if the Northern Film Studio had other candidates, as long as Cheng Xuemin, the author, put in a word, his brother-in-law could be appointed.

“Big brother, bring a few original screenplays for Xuemin to use as references next time!”

Mother Feng nodded as well and spoke up.

She’d originally thought having her eldest son adapt the script would boost his standing in the studio. But her little money-grubbing daughter had her eyes set on the two-thousand-yuan adaptation fee and suggested her husband write it instead!

Fine, she put quite a bit of faith in her son-in-law—he could write anything, apparently. Let him try.

And if Xuemin wanted to try, so be it—better to keep everything within the family.

“Xuemin, don’t push yourself too hard. The most important thing right now is to revise the manuscript entrusted by the leadership and send it for review as soon as possible!”

Mother Feng reminded her son-in-law not to let the adaptation fee distract him from the more critical political tasks at hand.

“Your mother’s right, Xuemin. Your top priority is to finish revising the manuscript; it won’t be long before it’s needed!”

Father Feng nodded as well.

“Don’t worry, Dad, Mom—I know what’s important. I’ll revise the manuscript quickly and turn it in.”

Of course, Cheng Xuemin knew that “The Story of Director Qiao’s Appointment” was the most urgent.

But since they’d already discussed the revisions, he had a plan and could finish in a day or two. The medium-length piece was also nearing completion and could be submitted to Yanjing Literature for Zhang Dening.

Finally, there was the script for “The Horseman” his brother-in-law suggested, which, thanks to his prior knowledge, wouldn’t take long at all.

Now, with the money for a house almost in reach, he planned to slow down a bit.

His output over the past month had been truly staggering.

Writers like Feng Jiayou’s classmates Cha Jianying and Huang Beijia, all newcomers, would spend months on a single piece. Publishing one work every three months was already remarkable.

But Cheng Xuemin? He’d already received two payments for short stories from Yanjing Literature, and his current novella was nearly done. Over at Shanghai Literature and Art, another piece was set to be published with sample magazines and payment on the way.

The submission to Shanghai’s “Harvest” hadn’t received a reply yet, but he doubted it would be rejected.

After all, the works he was “paying tribute” to had all been national award winners in their day, most at least second prize.

Back home in Yanhe Literature, he had “The Loess Plateau,” and not to mention “The Story of Director Qiao’s Appointment,” now elevated to a political task!

All these had been submitted in his first month in the capital—an output so intense it was almost frightening.

If Jiayou ever caught on, Cheng Xuemin would have a hard time explaining his speed and prodigious output.

Assured by his words, Father and Mother Feng nodded and said no more.

“Uncle, Aunt, are you still eating?”

Suddenly, a figure burst in from the yard, looking flustered and greeting Father and Mother Feng.

“Eh? Linzi, what brings you here?” Mother Feng looked up and saw it was Zhu Lin from the Zhu family, and, a bit startled, quickly called out, “Have you eaten, Linzi? Come, come, if you haven’t, sit down and I’ll get you a bowl and chopsticks!”

“Linzi, you’re back?” Father Feng nodded as well in greeting, referring to her recent return from supporting the border in Yunnan.

Just a few days ago, her family had mentioned Zhu Lin, their eldest daughter, was back from Yunnan and they were busy helping her settle into a job.

“Auntie, I... I’ve already eaten!” Zhu Lin blinked at the table piled with meat and delicacies, stunned, even swallowing hard in spite of herself, forgetting for a moment the urgent reason she’d come to the Fengs.

“Linzi, come sit and have a bite! It’s been so long since we’ve seen you—come, let’s catch up!”

Feng Jiayou’s face lit up at the sight of Zhu Lin. She immediately got up and pulled her to the table. “Xuemin, make some room—this is Linzi, Uncle Zhu’s daughter!”

“Oh, and Linzi, this is my husband, Cheng Xuemin. We met in Shaanbei!”

It was rare to see her childhood friend again. Feng Jiayou was eager to introduce her husband to all her friends.

Let them see—this was the man she’d “snatched” from Shaanbei, the author of “The Horseman,” and soon-to-be-famous for “The Story of Director Qiao’s Appointment.”

“No, no, I shouldn’t...” Zhu Lin tried to demur, but after all those hard years on the Yunnan frontier, she couldn’t resist the feast before her—especially the Peking duck, whose aroma she hadn’t tasted in years.

Even after returning to the city, she hadn’t been able to afford a slice—it was simply too extravagant.

But what surprised Zhu Lin was how different the Feng family’s table was from her own.

When she first returned, her mother had secretly cooked half a pound of meat to welcome her home, but since then, life was no different from Yunnan—rarely a taste of meat.

“Jiayou, this is your husband?” Zhu Lin was taken aback when introduced to the unfamiliar man at her friend’s side.

She’d heard all the rumors about Feng Jiayou marrying in Shaanbei. Even after returning from Yunnan, neighbors would gossip, and even ask Zhu Lin if she’d gotten up to any mischief on the frontier.

The idea of proud, accomplished Jiayou marrying a local farmer in a remote village seemed absurd to Zhu Lin, who’d known her since childhood.

But as more people mentioned it, she began to wonder if it could be true.

So, tonight, almost by instinct, she came to the Fengs—partly to see her long-lost friend, partly to meet the legendary Shaanbei husband.

And here it was, true after all!

Now, with Jiayou beaming with pride as she introduced her husband, Zhu Lin could only marvel.

“Hello, hello, please sit here—Jiamei, make some room inside!”

Cheng Xuemin glanced over and realized that this Zhu Lin was none other than the “Queen of the Kingdom of Women,” and Feng Jiayou’s childhood friend and neighbor.

But soon he accepted it—after all, he’d crossed to this era, and to Beijing at that. Sooner or later, he’d be drawn into the local literary circle and meet more famous people.

Already today, he’d met the literary giant Old Mao—someone he’d only ever read about before.

So what if she was the “Queen of the Kingdom of Women”? Still, he found himself comparing her to his own wife, and concluded—with some satisfaction—that his own was prettier, younger, and more delightful.

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