Chapter 102

Wei Ming wiped his face: “Don’t look at me like that—it’s just a normal greeting abroad, you know, the cheek kiss? You’ll get used to it after a few times, it’s perfectly fine.”

Biaozi: I’m just simple-minded, but I’m not stupid!

“Then why didn’t she give me a cheek kiss?” he shot back.

Wei Ming shrugged: “Maybe it’s because you haven’t shaved your beard.”

Biaozi touched his bushy beard again: “Then what did she put in your cabinet?”

“Uh…” Wei Ming was stuck, silenced by his own words: “Adult matters—kids shouldn’t ask.”

Biaozi stepped back two paces: “You—you’re already an adult now?!”

And with such a gorgeous foreign girl? This is just too awesome!

Wei Ming sent Biaozi off before he could dig deeper, stepped out of the dorm building, and stretched his limbs—making love truly brings joy to body and soul; he felt utterly refreshed.

Back in his past life, hadn’t he lost his virginity in his thirties?

Getting to enjoy sex a decade early, especially at the peak of his physical strength—Wei Ming considered this the greatest reward of his rebirth.

It was just a pity that this relationship could only last a little over a month.

His connection with Melinda—let’s call it affection for now—was from the start a relationship with a countdown, and both understood this clearly.

But with one being a foreigner’s mindset and the other a future person’s, neither dwelled on sorrow or angst—just enjoy the present.

When Aunt Wang came to relieve him, Wei Ming stepped aside and took his manuscript to the library to keep refining it.

As soon as he left, Aunt Wang prepared to clean the room, then suddenly crouched down and picked up a short, curled red hair from the floor.

She thought back—no girl in the female dorm had red short hair.

Now Wei Ming was starting to like this dorm supervisor job: mornings in the library, afternoons auditing classes, and lunch breaks back in his old dorm—he couldn’t afford to lose touch with the masses.

Luckily he’d returned to the South Gate post that noon, or Liu Zhenyun would’ve come for nothing.

“I first went to Shao Yuan, and they said you weren’t around during the day, so I guessed you’d be here.”

He placed the December issue of *Beijing Literature* before Wei Ming—the cover showed the Dai people’s Water Splashing Festival, just like the one at the capital airport.

The October and November issues of *Beijing Literature* had each published one of Wei Ming’s stories and a short poem; this issue still involved him.

Liu Zhenyun had written an article titled “From Two Donkeys to Two Cows: A Brief Discussion on the Similarities and Differences in Wei Ming’s Works.”

While *The Tale of Two Donkeys* sparked heated debates, Liu Zhenyun took a unique path—not simply discussing *The Tale of Two Donkeys*, but analyzing Wei Ming’s stylistic traits by comparing these two mid-length stories written in sequence.

In short, it was pure Wei Ming worship—and for Liu Zhenyun, it was applying what he’d learned.

*Beijing Literature* was struggling to capitalize on the *Two Donkeys* buzz, and Liu Zhenyun’s article arrived just in time—tying *The Tale of Two Donkeys* from *Harvest* with his own *Two Cows*, creating the impression that they were on the same level.

Wei Ming flipped open the magazine and saw Chen Zhongshi’s story *Happiness* in the table of contents—*White Deer Plain*, in his view, was the pinnacle of literature in the new era, the work that best embodied the prestige of the Mao Dun Literature Prize.

“Alright, I’ll keep the magazine and take a look.”

“Don’t forget to return it—I need to keep it in my collection,” Liu Zhenyun added, then shared good news: “The buzz around *The Tale of Two Donkeys* is still huge—it’ll keep going for a while. And have you heard? *Harvest* just did a reprint!”

“Huh?” Wei Ming was genuinely surprised—the first print run was already 400,000 copies; now they were reprinting?

“Another 150,000!” Liu Zhenyun relayed the news he’d heard from his professors.

Holy cow—550,000 total copies printed, outstripping *Huacheng* in both initial and reprint runs—*Harvest*’s golden age was coming, and now *Huacheng* would finally realize how far behind the elder brother stood.

The news of *Harvest*’s reprint had already spread through the industry; *Contemporary* had heard it even earlier.

Now they were in a bind—how many copies should they print for issue three?

The second issue had sold only 110,000 copies; originally, the third issue was planned for 130,000, but after securing *The Horse Herder*, they’d raised it to 150,000.

But *The Tale of Two Donkeys* was now wildly popular, and Liu Zhenyun’s article in *Beijing Literature* was still drawing massive attention.

Especially since he ended it with a question: After writing about donkeys, cows, and ducks, Wei Ming’s new work is said to involve another familiar animal—will it bring the same freshness and sensation as his earlier pieces? Let’s wait and see.

This question unconsciously heightened readers’ curiosity and anticipation for the new work—potentially setting the stage for a stellar print run.

To determine the initial print run, *Contemporary*’s key staff—Wei Junyi, Yan Wenjing, Meng Weizai, Qin Zhaoyang—and the story’s editor, Bai Shurong, held a small meeting.

Facing the veteran editors, Bai Shurong spoke calmly: “I believe Wei Ming’s creative ability keeps improving. Though only months have passed, I think *The Horse Herder* is even better than his donkey and cow stories.”

Qin Zhaoyang agreed: “And *The Horse Herder*’s theme is even broader—it could spark nationwide discussion.”

Wei Junyi, the elderly chief editor of People’s Literature Publishing House, asked: “Old Qin, how many do you think we should print?”

Qin Zhaoyang replied: “Given our weaker base, maybe stick with 150,000? We can adjust if needed.”

Wei Junyi turned to Yan Wenjing, who paused thoughtfully: “I think at least 200,000—take a big step up.”

A 200,000 initial print run would put them on equal footing with *Beijing Literature*. Finally, the youngest among them, Meng Weizai, spoke up: “I think everyone’s being too conservative—I say 300,000!”

Everyone stared in shock—even Bai Shurong, the biggest Wei Ming supporter: Boss, you’re stretching too far—you’ll pull something!

After further discussion, they settled on 200,000, with plans to track sales and be ready to reprint at any moment.

“Also,” Wei Junyi said to Qin Zhaoyang, “Old Qin, please send a formal request to Wei Ming on behalf of *People’s Literature*. Based on *The Horse Herder*, his stance and talent are both solid—this young man must be nurtured.”

Bai Shurong could only sigh inwardly—she’d hoped to keep working with Wei Ming, but now *People’s Literature* had its eyes on him; what could she say? May you both be happy.

Among literary journals, *People’s Literature* stood in a league of its own—higher than both *Harvest* and *Beijing Literature*.

Not only because its first editor-in-chief, Mao Dun, overshadowed Ba Jin and Lao She, but because of its political significance.

Early this year, Liu Xinwu, an editor at *October*, approached Ding Ling—who hadn’t yet regained her status—to commission a piece.

Grateful, Ding Ling handed over an old manuscript.

Soon after, Ding Ling’s status was restored; the Writers’ Association sent a senior official to take the manuscript from *October*—saying Ding Ling needed to debut in *People’s Literature*. At that point, *October* had already been typeset and was about to print.

That’s how domineering it was.

!

Wei Ming being noticed by *People’s Literature* could also be seen as a sign of political correctness—indicating he was acceptable.

After class in the afternoon, Wei Ming prepared to return to Shao Yuan for work, but on passing the Triangle Ground, he saw a group of foreign students putting up posters.

Wei Ming wondered: Had he and Melinda disturbed the students last night? Were they being condemned?

That didn’t make sense—they’d been quite restrained.

Closer inspection revealed the students were collecting signatures against Vietnam’s invasion of Cambodia, and planning to raise funds for Cambodian refugees.

The Cambodian people were truly suffering—internally tormented by the Khmer Rouge, externally threatened by Vietnam; reports said their population had dropped by a fifth in just a few years.

He wasn’t Prince Sihanouk—he could only silently mourn, then returned to Shao Yuan.

Aunt Wang was waiting to relieve him.

“Oh, Aunt Wang, does your grandson like candy?”

“What kid doesn’t like candy?”

Wei Ming immediately pulled out a few Dabaitu milk candies from the cabinet and handed them to her.

“Oh no, this isn’t appropriate, not appropriate.”

“For the child—take it, take it.”

Yesterday he hadn’t felt guilty, but after sleeping with Melinda here last night, he felt a bit…

Soon after class, Melinda returned, greeted Wei Ming, then went upstairs—but quickly came back down with her cassette player.

“If you get bored while on duty, you can listen to music or the radio,” she said, recalling how the previous dorm supervisor had a radio.

“What about you?”

“When I want to listen, I’ll just come here,” she remembered something, pulled a new cassette from her bag: “This is one I just borrowed—it’s South American music. Let’s listen together after dinner.”

Wei Ming took it—the cassette had no track names, only a single character: “Gu.”

“Want me to bring you dinner? Steak or hamburger?” Melinda leaned over, asking him.

He wanted a meat bun—he smiled: “No need, someone’s bringing me food—I can’t even stop them.”

That evening, Biaozi and Xiao Mei weren’t on duty—they came together and spotted the cassette player on Wei Ming’s desk.

They guessed it belonged to Melinda, but their hearts were now well-trained—they remained completely unfazed.

As Wei Ming ate, they chatted endlessly with the foreign female students.

Wei Ming ate with the radio on; listening, a news item from the other side caught his attention.

Oh, the Little General has already moved!

By the time Melinda returned, the two friends had already left.

As the samba rhythm played, not just Melinda but every female student passing by wanted to dance—as if they’d stepped into the Amazon rainforest.

Wei Ming asked: “Did you borrow this from a South American student?”

Melinda shook her head: “No, I borrowed it from a Chinese auntie—she’s some kind of musician, I think~”

(End of Chapter)