Once, when Cathay Pacific launched its direct flight to San Francisco, USA, they invited us to film a special feature, accompanied by Lydia Lee, Carol Cheng, and Christy Chung.
"Is it true that Gu Long died from excessive drinking?" Carol Cheng asked.
Mr. Ni Kuang replied, "Well, you could say that. Gu Long and I often drank several bottles of brandy in one night, sometimes so much that we had to get IV drips the next day. But the real reason was this: one time, Gu Long went to drink at Xinghua Pavilion, and a group of gang members asked him to toast their boss. Gu Long refused. As he walked out, a few henchmen stabbed him several times with long, thin knives. He lost so much blood that he was rushed to the hospital. The hospital’s blood bank didn’t have enough supply, so they were forced to buy blood from drug addicts on the street. The blood wasn’t clean, and as a result, he received blood infected with hepatitis."
We all gasped in shock.
Mr. Ni Kuang continued, "Liver disease alone wouldn’t have killed him, but the doctors told him he must stop drinking hard liquor. If he kept drinking, he would fall into a coma, and if that happened three times, he wouldn’t survive. But Gu Long kept drinking anyway. When I heard he’d fallen into his third coma, I knew this time it was serious."
"Gu Long was obsessed with death—he liked to go out this way," I said.
"I heard he tried to commit suicide a few times before," said Carol Cheng.
Ni Kuang said, "Gu Long died at only 48. It was such a pity."
Ni Kuang then described a strange incident after Gu Long’s death in detail: "He loved drinking so much that a few of us friends bought 48 bottles of brandy and stuffed them into his coffin as a tribute. His family dressed him in funeral clothes and covered his face with a cloth. We said, since Gu Long loved drinking so much, why not have a drink with him? So we opened all those dozens of bottles and each took a few sips. Suddenly…"
"Suddenly what?" We were on the edge of our seats.
Ni Kuang said, "Suddenly, Gu Long spat out several large mouthfuls of fresh blood."
"Ahh!" we all screamed in shock.
"How could someone who had been dead so long, lying in the mortuary for several days, suddenly spurt fresh blood? Clearly, he wasn’t really dead yet! We quickly wiped his mouth with tissues—so many were soaked through. Sanmao and I insisted he was still alive, but the funeral home staff insisted on closing the coffin, fearing a corpse might reanimate. I kept holding onto the coffin, and the tung oil painted on it got all over my body."
"What happened then?" we pressed.
"Eventually, the funeral home called a doctor, and even the doctor confirmed he was dead. They managed to seal the coffin somehow, and there was nothing I could do," Ni Kuang said, shaking his head. The three beauties—Carol Cheng, Lydia Lee, and Christy Chung—were so frightened they were speechless.
"It’s all your fault for drinking so much fine liquor in front of Gu Long. He couldn’t drink any himself and died from frustration and internal bleeding," I joked, trying to lighten the mood.
Mr. Ni Kuang nodded, as if he actually believed it: "You may have a point."
Laughter erupted all around, until someone said, "If you speak Chinese, you’ll have to pay up!"