Chapter 18: The Star Sends Money

1992 was the Year of Stephen Chow, with the top five spots on the Hong Kong box office chart all dominated by him.
"Justice, My Foot!" claimed the championship with HK$49.88 million, followed closely by "All’s Well, Ends Well" at HK$48.99 million.
That year, Wang Jing was no less impressive. With an almost superhuman speed of filmmaking, he held up half the sky of Hong Kong cinema.
Teacher An was very familiar with Wang Jing’s renowned name; after all, he read the newspapers regularly.
So when he heard a knock on the door, he laid down his paper and politely welcomed the visitor in.
The elderly lady peeked secretly, seeing her son show such respect to the guest—it must be an important visitor. She didn't understand the fuss about directors; to her, Wang Jing was simply a plump man with a prosperous appearance.
“Mom, that lady is so beautiful. I think I’ve seen her before,” Sisi said, abandoning her rice dumpling wrapping to peer into the living room from the kitchen doorway.
“Sisi, have you been sneaking a look at Mutou’s photo album again? Where does he keep that album?” Aunt Liu quickly asked. Her son treasured that album so much she could never find it.
Sisi just shook her head, silently signaling that she wouldn’t be able to see it anymore anyway.
A month earlier, she had discovered Liu Jing’s peculiar hobby—he liked to collect photos of beautiful women, asking for them and storing them in an album. There was Maggie Cheung, He Qing, Chen Hong, Li Jiaxin, Kathy Chow...
So she had scolded him a bit.
After that, the album disappeared.
“Wenqiong, your boyfriend looks very talented,” the elderly lady’s attention shifted away from Maggie Cheung to Wang Jing.
“Aunt Wenqiong, is he your uncle-in-law? He looks so fat. Your taste isn’t as good as Mutou’s. Mutou’s photo collection is all pretty ladies,” Sisi’s attention followed suit.
“Auntie, he’s not my boyfriend; he’s a Hong Kong director,” Wenqiong quickly explained, the grandmother and granddaughter both quite gossipy.
“Is he pursuing you? He doesn’t look very reliable,” the elderly lady warned.
“Auntie, if Fatty Wang came here, it’s definitely to see Mutou,” Wenqiong said with a wry smile. The old lady seemed to think everyone was after her, and had often tried to introduce suitors to her.
“He sure is fat,” the elderly lady said with conviction. “Wenqiong, an old friend of mine has a son developing his career in the US...”
“Auntie, Fatty’s here to bring us money,” Liu Jing called from the living room.
Hearing this, Wenqiong was delighted, quickly washing her hands. “You dead fatty, you don’t need to bring such heavy gifts just for Dragon Boat Festival.”
She was on familiar terms with Fatty Wang and spoke casually.
“No worries, without you here, you don’t have to feel awkward,” Fatty Wang said lazily.
“I have to keep an eye on my nephew. How much did you bring? Don’t try to fool Mutou with a few cents, or you’ll lose your big director status,” Wenqiong was blunt.

“Wenqiong, Director Wang brought twenty thousand Hong Kong dollars,” Teacher An said, looking at the two stacks of crisp new bills on the table, while the four elders seemed to be scrutinizing him.
He was stunned, his emotions mixed and still reeling.
He had translated many scripts before, but usually the fee was only a few hundred, rarely exceeding a thousand.
Yet this five-year-old child, no, a three-year-old child, had earned twenty thousand dollars from a single story.
Wenqiong was unaware of these details and put her hands on her hips. “You dead fatty, Mutou will never accept you as his godfather. Not two thousand, not two hundred thousand. You’re full of bad habits; being with you will only corrupt him.”
At the end of last year, she had taken Liu Jing to visit Maggie Cheung on set.
Maggie was filming "Fight Back to School 3: The Dragon Passes the Year of the Rooster," and they once again encountered Fatty Wang.
Wang Jing had wanted to make Liu Jing his godson, but before Liu Jing could object, Wenqiong had firmly refused.
She thought the fat man was persistent, which annoyed her.
Fatty Wang sat on the sofa, smiling broadly. “Twenty thousand isn’t enough? How about one hundred thousand? Two hundred thousand? If that’s still not enough, I can add more.”
The elderly lady could no longer sit still. Several million was no longer about godparenthood; it was clearly child trafficking.
She grabbed a rolling pin and came out. “Fatty, let me tell you, trying to buy my grandson with a few lousy bucks? No way. Hong Kong people or not, you don’t have any say here.”
“Mom, Mutou is so mean. He always bullies me. Let’s sell Mutou,” Sisi whispered.
“Old lady, how much for Mutou? Such a bad boy is a curse. Sell him to me, I’ll treasure him for sure,” Fatty Wang laughed.
“Liu Jing is indeed a bad boy—mischievous, unruly, mischievous, willful, and stubborn. But once he’s in our An family, he’s one of us. No amount of money will make me sell him,” the elderly lady declared.
Liu Jing showed no expression; he didn’t know whether to feel touched or angry.
Teacher An chuckled helplessly. “Mom, Director Wang wants to sign Liu Jing. What are you saying?”
Only then did the elderly lady realize her mistake, blushing slightly. “I said, what do you want to eat? I’ll cook a few dishes.”
She returned to the kitchen, while Aunt Liu pulled Sisi out from the kitchen.
Of course, she had to be involved in Liu Jing’s contract.
Sisi was not shy at all. While introductions were underway, she picked up the two bundles of cash on the table. “Is this real money? More than my New Year’s red envelope.”
“Couldn’t be more real. Just took it out of the bank,” Fatty Wang smiled.
“What does this money mean?” Aunt Liu patted Sisi’s small hand. “Don’t be such a loser. Twenty thousand isn’t much.”
“Stephen Chow wrote a script based on Liu Jing’s story. This twenty thousand is the creative fee he gave,” Teacher An explained.
“Rest assured, the tax has been paid. It’s all clean,” Fatty Wang added.
“Tsk, tsk, I can tell stories too. Fatty, want to hear mine?” Aunt Wenqiong was surprised. She had heard that story.
To her, it was ordinary and unremarkable—less entertaining than a cartoon.
“Your stories are just stories. Mutou’s stories? They speak life,” Fatty Wang mocked.
Aunt Wenqiong was unfazed, beaming. “Mutou, you earned twenty thousand at such a young age. Shouldn’t you treat your aunt to a meal?”
Liu Jing pulled out two bills and handed them to her generously. “Here, spend this as your tip. Eat something good to nourish yourself—you’ve got no meat on your bones, American food must not be that great.”
“Pah! I’ll hit you!” Aunt Wenqiong pretended to strike him.
“What tip? Save that money. It’ll be for your future bride,” Aunt Liu took the bills, visibly touched. She had always known Mutou was exceptional, but not to this extent.
A child earning money for the first time was a memorable milestone; she intended to keep this money for a long time.
“Sis, you don’t even bother to be polite,” Aunt Wenqiong complained.
“Alright, enough joking. Let’s talk business,” Teacher An pushed up his glasses, his expression serious.
“Hmph! Fatty never has anything serious,” Aunt Wenqiong muttered.
She was curious about what had been discussed earlier—the atmosphere had been somewhat tense.
But seeing her brother-in-law’s solemn face, she dared not ask and quietly sat aside to listen.
Teacher An grew serious, and it was indeed an important matter.
Not only Aunt Wenqiong, even Aunt Liu felt a tightening in her chest, and Sisi obediently sat up straight.
The clattering sounds from the kitchen suddenly quieted.
“Director Wang, you speak so highly of Liu Jing, which is an honor for him and a joy for me. But the child is still young; entering the entertainment industry so early is premature. If you’re sincere, why not wait until he goes to university to sign him?” Teacher An spoke calmly, though everyone seemed anxious.
“Professor An, you must have heard of Mr. Yang Dengkui from Taiwan,” Fatty Wang replied unhurriedly.
“In that case, I absolutely cannot agree.”