[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-rising-in-1979":3,"chapter-rising-in-1979-rising-in-1979-chapter-104":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","Rising in 1979",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2260812,4412,"Chapter 104: Wei Ming","rising-in-1979-chapter-104",104,"\u003Cp>On the same day, after seeing off the editors of October, Wei Ming received Bai Shurong from Contemporary at Shaoyuan.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She double-checked: “This is really a girls’ dormitory?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Of course it is, Editor Bai, have a seat, don’t be formal.” Wei Ming poured her a cup of tea—he’d started drinking tea too, mostly because the water quality was poor, and tea masked the taste.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“It seems Peking University’s leadership trusts you a lot,” Bai Shurong smiled.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming felt ashamed—he’d stolen from his own dorm on his very first night, and he couldn’t stop.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Did you come this time to deliver the manuscript fee?” Wei Ming asked.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Yes, and the sample issue is out—I brought you a copy.” Bai Shurong handed Wei Ming the sample and an envelope.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming never hid his hunger for money, so he checked the fee slip first.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He hadn’t fought for payment back then—he’d just jumped the queue—and hadn’t cared about the details.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now he saw it: 240 yuan, six yuan per thousand characters—the highest rate. Wei Ming was very satisfied.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing no dissatisfaction on Wei Ming’s face, Bai Shurong sighed in relief and added: “The editorial team has full confidence in Contemporary’s third issue—first print run is 200,000 copies. Your contribution was the greatest.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming waved his hand: “I just offered some confidence. The people are starving for literature—everyone has reading hunger. Even without me, I’m sure 200,000 copies would sell.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Bai Shurong laughed more happily—what a modest young man.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>What’s the point of being humble? Does arrogance raise your fee?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming opened the magazine’s table of contents and saw his “The Horse Herder” listed first, followed by the first installment of Mo Yingfeng’s serialized novel “The General’s Chant.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming remembered this issue of Contemporary was supposed to include a story by Wang Meng—but it was gone. He’d cut ahead and pushed him back. He hoped the senior writer wouldn’t hold a grudge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Probably not—they’d taken group photos at the Writers’ Congress. They were friends.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Huh.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Flipping to the back, Wei Ming was mildly startled by the final illustration, “The Song of Jaya Prana”—it showed nudity.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The illustrator, Gu Gan, was an art editor at People’s Literature Publishing House. Wei Ming knew Gu Gan because he later illustrated the comic version of Journey to the West.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though just a single ethnic-style illustration, it showed the Writers’ Congress had truly helped people loosen up and shed their ideological burdens.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming now felt free to indulge in casual romantic entanglements with foreign friends.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Afterward, Editor Bai asked Wei Ming about his new work ideas.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Hmm, I have vague ideas~” Wei Ming replied vaguely, then mentioned how Xie Dajun from October had visited at noon and offered the top rate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Arrogance won’t raise your fee—but competition will.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hearing October was also chasing Wei Ming, Bai Shurong felt urgency—but soon relaxed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Your next piece won’t go to October.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Oh? Will Editor Bai raise my fee?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Bai Shurong shook her head: “Because People’s Literature wants you.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Ah?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Wait a bit—their commission letter should arrive soon,” Bai Shurong said with a mischievous, resigned smile.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming sighed too—he’d have to prioritize People’s Literature. October’s wounded world was once again restored.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Bai Shurong added: “By the way, you wanted to help your mother find her relatives. Why not use the publication of ‘The Horse Herder’ as an opportunity to write an article introducing your mother—where she fled from, who her family members were, their names—and publish it on a larger platform, leaving your address as a missing-person notice?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming’s mind stirred—that was a good idea.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He knew his mother’s hometown, but in his past life, he’d only found her two older siblings—her younger sister remained missing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though they might not matter much to him, they mattered deeply to his mother, who’d never stopped thinking of her little sister before she died.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If he could use his influence to reunite the siblings, it would make his rebirth as her son worthwhile.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming recalled that China Youth Daily had sent him a commission after their interview—fiction or essays accepted. The platform was big enough; he’d written blogs in the 2000s, so a short article was no problem.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He thanked Bai Shurong for the suggestion and said he’d welcome future collaboration.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Bai Shurong had been waiting for that—writers with Wei Ming’s explosive creativity must be held tightly; writing several pieces in a year was no issue.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming immediately wrote a letter home and mailed it the next day, along with a 200-yuan remittance slip—he kept only 40 yuan for pocket money.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though he’d previously saved 200 yuan, that was for building a house, and two months had passed—he guessed it was mostly spent.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Soon, Wei Jiefang received his son’s letter. Looking at the 200-yuan remittance slip, he was deeply troubled.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was standing right in front of Wei Ming’s former residence.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He’d used that 200 yuan to build the west room—intended for his son’s future use, perhaps even turning it into a tourist attraction someday.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He listened to the radio daily and knew celebrity residences could become tourist spots. With his son’s trajectory, maybe the whole Gouzitun village could become one.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>To make Wei Ming’s former residence more impressive, Old Wei collected nearly every newspaper mentioning Wei Ming and displayed them inside.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He also hung the photos of his son with famous figures—when the county revolutionary committee director visited the village, he specifically toured the place and even affectionately called him “Old Wei,” which made Zhao Chun so jealous he developed hemorrhoids. Though Old Wei had tried his best to improve the house, it was still just a single room—200 yuan hadn’t even been fully spent.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Somehow, rumors spread that Wei Ming had left his father a huge sum of money, and villagers—even from neighboring villages—started coming to borrow money.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>To quickly spend the remaining cash, Old Wei built a courtyard wall.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now everyone thought he was even richer.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In truth, he had almost no money left. Old Wei wasn’t afraid of people borrowing—he was poor with integrity.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But now, with this 200 yuan in hand, he felt like a hypocrite, a miser.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No—he couldn’t become that kind of person.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He unfolded Wei Ming’s letter again and his eyes lit up—his son seemed to understand his moral dilemma and had given him advice.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Besides urging his mother to write down details about her siblings—names, whereabouts—Wei Ming told Old Wei he knew where to find underground ration-ticket exchanges in town: use cash to buy tickets, then use tickets to buy necessities, especially grain.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“This year’s harvest is poor, but don’t let yourselves go hungry. If you run out of grain, go to town and trade for grain tickets—even if it costs double, don’t hesitate. We don’t care about the money anymore. If you need cash, write.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Since he was heading into town to pick up students, Old Wei gave the letter to his wife and asked her to write a reply.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“How should I reply?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Just list your brothers’ and sisters’ names—your son wants to help you find them.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Ah!” Xu Shufen’s eyes instantly welled up. Old Wei pulled her into his arms, ruffled her hair, and pinched her buttocks.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Xu Shufen playfully punched him. Old Wei grinned and took the remittance slip into town.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When Wei Hong and her village friends saw Old Wei at the school gate, he was sitting on a donkey cart, smoking Da Qianmen cigarettes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His Da Qianmen supply was nearly gone—each cigarette had to be used wisely.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Old Wei smoking at the school gate wasn’t the most startling sight—the real shock was a sewing machine lying on the cart.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Dad, whose sewing machine is this?!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Old Wei flicked ash: “I hauled it. It’s ours. Get on.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He’d used the 200 yuan to buy a sewing machine ticket, the machine itself, grain tickets, and a sack of white flour—with a little left over.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If he hadn’t bought so much and run out of time, he might’ve visited his younger brother too.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Dad, can we stop by the post office? My brother’s new work might be published again!” Wei Hong said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming had written to Wei Hong too, sending study materials and updates on his published stories.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So Wei Hong had later read the more risqué “The Tale of Two Donkeys” and knew Contemporary’s third issue would feature “The Horse Herder”—the one about her parents’ love.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Old Wei said: “I went straight to the post office. They said it arrives tomorrow. We’ll pick it up when I drop you off.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Oh, okay.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Once the students boarded, the donkey felt a heavy load on its shoulders—this was a big job.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Old Wei felt bad for his old companion, so he made the sewing machine and students ride while he walked ahead, resting when tired before climbing aboard.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When they got home, Xu Shufen had already written the reply and asked her husband and daughter to add a few lines—then she spotted the sewing machine.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Ah! How did you buy this?!” She was stunned and delighted.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Old Wei took his wife’s hand: “Winter’s coming. Now we won’t have to sew by hand—it hurts your hands.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Xu Shufen was overjoyed, already imagining sewing a new pair of underwear for her husband.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Hong couldn’t watch anymore and rushed inside to see her brother’s new room—nice, nice. She’d write him a “Ode to a Humble Abode” on the wall later.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As she looked around, a shrill, high-pitched middle-aged woman’s voice rang out.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Ohoho! Bought a sewing machine? Brother Jiefang, you’re lucky! Now your son will find a wife easier—I tell you, next door at the Lin shop, old Sun’s family…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This was the village’s famous matchmaker, Aunt Cui. She’d come before to propose brides for Wei Ming.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before, Old Wei begged her for introductions. Now, he didn’t care for her candidates—even if they were heavenly beauties, they had nothing in common with his son.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So he listened politely, then politely showed her out—after all, they had to consider little Wei Hong.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>What if she didn’t pass the exam? They might still need this matchmaker.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Hong said they were overthinking—she was practically guaranteed admission, and even if she failed, she’d just go live with her brother!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But what kind of woman would her brother choose? Had he already found one?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After being spiritually awakened by “The Tale of Two Donkeys,” Wei Hong suspected her brother might no longer be pure.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Meanwhile, at Wei Anping’s house, he watched Wei Ming, his nephew, and wondered the same thing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Had his big nephew already lost his virginity to some foreign girl?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",1779,"2026-06-19T16:30:57.111Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","8ade1aab7e41e781044aa54567e408cbd1de38cc38f1fb8ef3d4ef4c18c1bc68","rising-in-1979-chapter-105","rising-in-1979-chapter-103",509,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Frising-in-1979-cover.jpg"]