Chapter Fifty-Five: A Gathering of Stars

As time passed, more and more people arrived at the venue. Especially when Sammo Hung appeared, he immediately called Yan Xu over. Of course, Yan Xu wasn’t simply parting ways with Wang Jing and Nan Yan—they felt as if they’d known each other for years. They exchanged phone numbers, home addresses, and even made plans to meet up for tea when they had time.

“Come, let me introduce you to a few friends.” Sammo Hung led Yan Xu into a private room off the main hall, where a group of people were engaged in lively conversation.

“This is Wu Ma, and this is Lam Ching-ying, this is Chin Hui-yi, this is Chan Lung, this is Yuen Biao, this is Wu Yiu-han, this is Tsang Chi-wai, this is Fung Shui-fan, and this is Curly, my partner Shum Kin-shun,” Sammo Hung introduced each of them to Yan Xu.

Even if Sammo Hung hadn’t introduced them, Yan Xu could have named every person in the room. This was a gathering of true stars, each playing a pivotal role in Hong Kong cinema. Yan Xu had grown up watching their movies.

Wu Ma was a top disciple of Zhang Che—an actor, scriptwriter, director, and producer, a rare talent in Hong Kong film and Sammo Hung’s capable assistant.

Lam Ching-ying, respectfully known as “Uncle Ying” by a whole generation, had sparked a craze for vampire films. Together with Chin Hui-yi, they had been Bruce Lee’s right and left hands; Bruce wouldn’t even start filming action scenes without them, and the two had collaborated on several supernatural comedies.

As for Chan Lung, there was no need for introduction. The big brother of Hong Kong cinema, superstar of Greater China and international kung fu films—though at this time, he had not yet developed his own distinctive style and still relied on Sammo Hung’s guidance.

Yuen Biao, Sammo Hung and Chan Lung’s junior, might not have reached the same heights, but he had twice won the Best Action Choreography award at the Hong Kong Film Awards, and with the support of Golden Harvest, he, too, had established his own production company.

The last three—Wu Yiu-han, Tsang Chi-wai, and Fung Shui-fan—were currently working with Sammo Hung on the Lucky Stars series. The latest installment, “My Lucky Stars”, had just been released and was breaking box office records. In Yan Xu’s memory, this was the first film to break thirty million at the box office. And there would be another Lucky Stars film, “Twinkle, Twinkle Lucky Stars”, released that same year—this was the franchise’s most glorious period, simultaneously holding the top two spots at the box office.

Wu Yiu-han, who started at the BBC, had once founded his own film company and was a renowned comedian. He later left the industry, only occasionally making cameo appearances in friends’ films.

Tsang Chi-wai was a versatile actor who had always been active on the big screen, winning numerous awards for both supporting and leading roles. His father had been the top man beneath Hong Kong’s legendary Four Great Detectives. Tsang was also famously fond of women—he’d been married three times, and his children had also made their marks in showbiz. He was not only the owner of several companies but also president of the Hong Kong Performing Artistes Guild, and eventually served as a standing committee member of the political consultative conference in Guangdong’s JM City.

Fung Shui-fan, though rough in appearance, was known by those close to him as kind and gentle. He had started as a stage actor, working his way up from bit parts to become a respected character actor and had even served as a Golden Horse Awards judge before devoting himself to directing. Yan Xu still remembered his role in “Immortal Father” vividly.

As for Shum Kin-shun, known as Curly, he was a famous film figure—one of the bosses at D&B, as well as an actor, appearing in numerous films in 1984 alone. In the major Win’s production “Big and Little Bad Guys” this year, he was one of the leads. His marriage to the reigning Miss Hong Kong, a true beauty-and-the-beast pairing, had taken everyone by surprise.

This group was the core of Sammo Hung’s team—their collective efforts would ensure the coming years of glory for D&B and Golden Harvest.

“And this is Yan Xu, the year’s biggest dark horse in the industry, whom I’ve told you all about,” Sammo Hung introduced Yan Xu to the group.

“Hello, brothers,” Yan Xu greeted. He was only in his twenties, and the men before him were genuine big brothers—the future giants of the industry. Getting along well with them would greatly benefit his career, a clear sign of Sammo Hung’s support. Without Sammo Hung, Yan Xu would have had little chance of entering their circle.

Thanks to Sammo Hung’s introduction, Yan Xu quickly became acquainted with everyone. He was proactive in conversation, they were approachable, and, of course, Sammo Hung’s reputation paved the way. He was, after all, a figure of immense standing. Especially with Chan Lung—Yan Xu’s deliberate friendliness quickly turned into brotherly camaraderie between them, something he’d never imagined possible. Only those who had witnessed the industry’s future knew just how influential Chan Lung would one day become.

“Bro, your film was a real thrill—no big stars, nothing flashy, yet you managed to rake in nearly twenty million,” Chan Lung said, taking a bottle of wine and sitting beside Yan Xu, slinging an arm around his shoulder.

“You’re the real master, Brother Lung. Every film you’ve made lately is a massive hit—from ‘Young Master’ to ‘Project A’ to ‘Wheels on Meals’, one blockbuster a year, all with real action,” Yan Xu replied.

“I heard you collaborated with Hollywood this year on ‘The Protector’?” Yan Xu asked.

“Don’t mention it,” Chan Lung shook his head. “The director was serious enough, but there was nothing distinctive about it. I wasn’t satisfied myself—just breaking even would be a win.”

Indeed, “The Protector” was one of the less successful of Chan Lung’s films. Though credited as director, the Hollywood director had final say. Despite the attempt to break into the US market, it only made a few hundred thousand dollars there. Still, Chan Lung’s golden reputation ensured that, despite the formulaic plot and harsh criticism, the film still made over ten million in Hong Kong—not as bleak as Chan Lung made it sound.

“How could it not? As long as your name is on the poster, it’ll never earn less than ten million in Hong Kong,” Yan Xu said, clinking bottles with Chan Lung and taking a hearty swig.

“Let’s hope so,” Chan Lung replied, drinking as well. “If it falls short, I’ll have nowhere to show my face.” Since “Young Master,” after a brief lull and the patched-together “Fearless Hyena II,” every film he’d starred in was a box office hit—he’d become Golden Harvest’s box office guarantee.

“Yuen Biao, cheer up, don’t look so down. Didn’t Mr. Chow say it himself? No matter how this film does, he’ll still support you in opening your own company. All you need now is to decide on a name and the first project. What’s done is done—a couple of failures mean nothing. I’ve got a script—when we get back, I’ll give it to you to shoot for me first,” Sammo Hung said. Only he, as the eldest of the Seven Little Fortunes, could speak to Chan Lung like this. Without his support, Chan Lung wouldn’t have come this far.

“Brother Lung, you’re starting your own company?” Yan Xu was surprised at the news. He knew that Sammo Hung, Chan Lung, and Yuen Biao would each eventually set up their own companies with Golden Harvest's backing, but he didn’t know the exact timing.

“Yeah,” Chan Lung nodded. “Mr. Chow has only given a verbal promise—nothing’s set in stone yet.” What worried him was that if “The Protector” didn’t do well, Chow Man-wai might not bring up the company again.