Chapter 80: Conversation by the Hot Springs

Escorted by a convoy of black sedans to the hot spring resort hotel, Yan Xu was experiencing such grandeur for the first time. He had never seen such an audacious display of gangster power, neither on the Mainland nor in Hong Kong.

Although many of the main figures of the Bamboo Syndicate had been arrested, they were, in fact, taking the fall for the government. Chen Qili and the others involved in the case were even considered to have performed a service. The crackdown on the Bamboo Syndicate was partly a public gesture to appease external pressures, and partly a means of protecting these individuals.

Most of the Bamboo Syndicate leaders would be released by 1986, and even those convicted in the assassination cases, sentenced to life imprisonment, would be let out between 1988 and 1991. Their detention quarters resembled apartments, with suites, reception rooms, studies, and living rooms; family members could even live with them.

After nine o’clock, unlike Zhou Huimin and the others who could immediately rest, Yan Xu, escorted by A Can, went straight to meet Mr. Liu, the boss of Dayong.

Yan Xu had researched Mr. Liu before coming to Taiwan. Liu had once been the right-hand man of Wu Dun, the formidable producer feared by all in the film industry. He was a notable figure both within the Bamboo Syndicate and the film world. After Wu Dun was arrested in connection with the Jiangnan case, his men were left leaderless. The Bamboo Syndicate was gravely weakened by the scandal, many branches dissolved, leaving them unable to protect their own people. The group splintered, founding several film companies, among which Mr. Liu’s Dayong was one.

Dayong, under the stewardship of Bald Qiang, was the first Taiwanese company to collaborate with Baizhan Studios. Recently, Dayong had handled the screenings and videotape releases of several Baizhan films in Taiwan.

Yan Xu never expected to meet Mr. Liu in the hot springs behind the hotel. He had seen such scenes countless times in later gangster movies, always puzzled why gangsters preferred to conduct meetings in hot springs and bathhouses. Now, he was to experience it himself.

Stripped down to nothing but a large white towel wrapped around his waist, Yan Xu left the changing room and, following A Can, entered the misty indoor hot spring.

In the vast pool, a burly man reclined with his head tilted back against the edge, his arms resting on the smooth stones. A towel covered his face, as if he were resting.

Through the clear, faintly sulfurous water and drifting white steam, Yan Xu could clearly see the tattoos on the man’s body: a depiction of Wei Tuo, the fierce guardian deity, hair bristling and wielding a vajra scepter, poised as if to charge into battle, exuding the ferocity of a mountain tiger descending. The tattoo covered most of his skin, and scars crisscrossed his body, adding to the impression of formidable strength.

Beside the pool, four impeccably dressed men stood like bodyguards.

“Boss, Mr. Yan Xu has arrived,” A Can announced to the man in the water.

“Oh?” Mr. Liu removed the towel from his face and sat up, looking at Yan Xu. “I’ve heard a lot about Baizhan’s ten-million-dollar young director. Seeing you now, I must say you’re every bit as impressive as they say. Last time, Chicken Feather came here and couldn’t stop praising you. Come on, get in—soak a while. This hot spring is excellent.”

Mr. Liu, apart from slightly small eyes, looked quite energetic, not the brutish type Yan Xu had expected. The only flaw was his thinning hair; he was already balding in his thirties.

“Hello, Mr. Liu.” Yan Xu stepped into the hot spring, removed his towel, set it aside, and reached out to shake Liu’s hand.

“Chicken Feather mentioned you to me. He asked me to pass along his regards and thanked you for your generous hospitality last time, as did our boss. He hopes sometime he can host you in Hong Kong.”

“I’ll definitely go when I have time.” Liu was surprised by Yan Xu’s reply—few Hong Kongers he knew spoke Mandarin so fluently. “Your Mandarin is excellent, Brother Yan.”

“My ancestral home is Shandong. My father was the first to move to Hong Kong.” Yan Xu smiled. His Mandarin had been top-notch since school, more than sufficient for a broadcaster.

“Oh? Then we’re from the same place! My ancestral home is also Shandong, though I have little memory of it. I grew up in the military villages,” Liu said, a hint of nostalgia.

“I’d love to visit my hometown someday. My old man is always reminiscing about home. I heard it’s open now. You Hong Kongers are lucky—you can go back and see it.”

“We can’t just go whenever we please. There’s still some scrutiny, but it’s much easier these days. The region is developing quickly, and the international climate is changing. Maybe in a few years, Taiwanese will be able to visit the Mainland to see their relatives.”

There were many historical and political reasons behind this, which Yan Xu couldn’t comment on. But he knew that, by 1987, some Taiwanese had already visited the Mainland, breaking a thirty-year isolation.

“Let’s hope so,” Liu said, clearly without much optimism.

“I’ve arranged your itinerary in Taiwan. Here, you’ll be well taken care of—food, drink, entertainment, everything will be to your satisfaction.” Liu shook his head and shifted the topic.

“Thank you, Brother Liu.” The shared hometown made the two feel closer.

“It’s nothing. Baizhan and Dayong are great partners. We share the women, and we share the money—brothers in every way.” Liu patted Yan Xu’s shoulder.

“In fact, it was at my request that Bald Qiang sent you here. There’s something I’d like to ask you face-to-face,” Liu continued.

“If you need anything, Brother Liu, just say the word. If I can do it, I will.” Yan Xu couldn’t imagine what Liu might need from him, but he promised anyway. He knew that Taiwanese gangs were capable of anything—even storming rival film crews to snatch actors at gunpoint.

“Straightforward—I like that. My request isn’t too much. I know you’re about to start shooting your next film, and your time is precious, but I hope you can spare a little to write a script for Dayong.”

“You know, our company is getting some recognition now, but it’s still new. We mostly distribute films and make a few action flicks, but we don’t have a signature work yet. You’re a ten-million-dollar director, brimming with talent. I’ve heard about the Doctor of Lambs you wrote for Baizhan.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t ask you to do it for nothing.” Liu clapped his hands. A Can strode in, carrying a black leather case. At Liu’s signal, he set it by the hot spring, pressed a button, and opened it before Yan Xu.