In September 2026, veteran Hong Kong actor Lau Siu-ming passed away, leaving behind a legendary life and iconic roles cherished by generations.
On September 2, 2026, the Hong Kong entertainment industry was rocked by the news of the passing of two veteran performers within just two days of each other—both familiar faces to audiences.First, 80-year-old Shaw Brothers action actor Chen Guantai passed away from a sudden cerebral hemorrhage. That same evening, 94-year-old Lau Siu-ming also passed away unexpectedly. When the news spread, the entire internet was shaken.
Just as the public had begun to come to terms with the news of the two individuals’ passing, a memorial post published by Chen Farong once again drew public attention to Liu Zhaoming. Many who read about his life in detail found that his life story was quite unlike that of ordinary people.
In his early years, Liu Zhaoming worked as a laborer in the hold of a cruise ship, spending years at sea until he reached adulthood. He later made his way to France, where he became a professional ballet dancer. It wasn’t until he was nearly fifty that he officially entered the entertainment industry, a career he has pursued for more than forty years.
Among the on-screen characters familiar to audiences, the scheming and sinister tree spirit “Lao Lao” from *A Chinese Ghost Story*,and the hypocritical Yue Buqun from *The Smiling, Proud Wanderer*—he brought both characters to life with such depth and conviction that even today, when these roles are mentioned, most people can instantly picture his face.
After his wife passed away, he took a five-year hiatus from work, ate only vegetarian meals, and lived alone in his old home, reminiscing about the past. On set, he always made a point of shielding the younger generation with his own body, and actors in the industry—regardless of their seniority—all respectfully addressed him as “Teacher Liu.”
Amid the outpouring of tributes across the internet, few people simply brushed it off with a casual remark like, “Another veteran actor has left us.” It suddenly dawned on everyone that the filmmakers and actors from the golden age of Hong Kong cinema—who had accompanied several generations as they grew up—are gradually bidding farewell to the public.
The public’s sense of loss stems not only from their respect for his lifelong dedication to both moral integrity and artistic excellence, but also from bidding farewell to the days of their youth—when they would camp out at video rental shops or stay up late watching black-and-white TV—and to the golden age of Hong Kong cinema, a time of vibrant energy and a constant stream of masterpieces.
What truly deserves to be remembered are never just cold, impersonal names, but rather the vivid, three-dimensional characters he brought to life on screen and the profound integrity he demonstrated throughout his life.These veteran artists deserve our respect, and the qualities they embodied—dedication, loyalty, and a spirit of daring and perseverance—are worthy of being carried forward by future generations.
In the future, when I have some free time and happen to flip through clips of old Hong Kong movies, I might suddenly remember that those pioneers who accompanied me as I grew up have long since woven the most sincere and down-to-earth lives they’ve lived into every frame of those films, where they’ll remain with me for a long time to come.
