Chapter 108: The Queen Becomes a Nun (Guaranteed Second Update—Seeking Monthly Tickets!)

Teacher Gu Jianfen’s suggestion was crucial; otherwise, this song would have been written in another two years.

Wei Ming confirmed the address of “Ci Kan,” and the next day he mailed it in.

This was a music literature journal sponsored by the Chinese Musicians Association, published monthly, primarily releasing lyrics along with some research articles on lyrics.

At the time, copyright awareness was chaotic, so authoritative magazines like “Ci Kan” effectively confirmed copyright ownership.

Wei Ming published under his real name—what was strange about writing lyrics when he could already write poetry?

But it was a children’s song; everyone would probably assume it was just someone with the same name.

During the day, Wei Ming revised his script while learning composition from Gu Jianfen, starting from the basics: do, re, mi, fa.

She hoped Wei Ming would eventually complete the lyrics and melody of “Where Is Spring?” himself.

At night, Wei Ming worked night shifts and engaged in diplomatic activities with Melinda—his days were full enough.

Before “Ci Kan” received “Where Is Spring?,” “Gushi Hui” had already received Wei Ming’s submission.

Before submitting “Heroes Emerge in Youth,” Wei Ming had already called He Chengwei to ask if he wanted wuxia novel manuscripts.

“As long as you speak, I’ll send it over.”

“Yes yes yes!” He Chengwei was ecstatic; Wei Ming nearly replied, “Check it out.”

Here was a rising literary star submitting to our little magazine—how could we pick and choose? That would be overstepping.

And what’s wrong with wuxia novels? Though this genre had vanished from the domestic scene for a long time, its audience base remained vast; old classics like “Water Margin” and “Three Heroes and Five Gallants” belonged to this category, and stories of martial artists like Huo Yuanjia, Da Dao Wang Wu, and Du Xinwu had once been widely circulated.

Before receiving the manuscript, He Chengwei planned to accept it no matter how it was written—and offer the highest possible payment.

He also wanted all the illustrations Wei Ming mentioned.

The moment he got the manuscript in the morning, He Chengwei canceled the morning meeting and started reading the novel immediately.

The novel was set in the Qing Dynasty, beginning with the escape and transfer of a survivor from the Tiandihui…

The opening scene was intensely tense: two factions gathered at this tiny riverside dock, some openly, some covertly, like a spy thriller.

Wei Ming was a master at building atmosphere; with just a few strokes, he pulled He Chengwei in, effortlessly weaving in professional jargon and underworld slang—truly authentic to the Jianghu spirit.

Shortly after the story began, a wealthy young gentleman calling himself “Da Zhangfu” appeared—he wasn’t from the Tiandihui, but had admired their heroic deeds since childhood and voluntarily joined, partly to escape his domineering wife.

When He Chengwei read this, he assumed “domineering wife” meant his strict mother.

But when the villains Sima Li and others showed up and a knife was pressed to his throat, this self-proclaimed upright man whimpered: “I haven’t even joined yet!”

Just as the children and an old woman were about to be captured, a mysterious woman—cold-faced, silent, and immensely skilled—appeared out of nowhere and temporarily defused the crisis.

And this woman was the ten-year-old wife of “Da Zhangfu”!

At this point, He Chengwei burst out laughing like a pig—he realized it was a child bride.

Moreover, Da Zhangfu and his little wife had incredible chemistry; the tense story became even more entertaining after their arrival.

Interestingly, Wei Ming had thoughtfully marked “chapter break points.”

Considering the novel’s length and “Gushi Hui”’s monthly capacity, it would likely be serialized over three issues.

So Wei Ming’s first chapter break came right after the little wife made her dazzling debut.

He Chengwei thought how lucky he was not reading it in serialization, and eagerly continued comparing the text with Liu Rulong’s illustrations.

At 11 a.m., after passing through Nanmen Gang, Wei Ming received a note from a colleague—it was from “Gushi Hui” in Shanghai.

“Big Brother Ming, I’m afraid I’ll forget, so I wrote it all down.”

“Thanks, Da Zhuang.”

“No big deal—I’ve smoked plenty of your cigarettes.”

Wei Ming was a major buyer at the school snack bar, often buying entire cartons, turning his colleagues into chain-smokers—yet he himself avoided even secondhand smoke by hiding in Shao Garden, prioritizing his health.

But this was a necessary investment; the Nanmen phone had nearly become his exclusive contact line, with frequent letters arriving—anyone trying to sabotage him could easily make him miss vital information.

But Wei Ming had principles: he only answered calls here; he paid to make calls from the snack bar.

The note read: Please convey to Writer Wei: This manuscript is excellent and perfectly suited for our magazine. We will serialize it in the January 1980 issue. Rumor has it the payment standards will change; when they do, we will pay the highest rate in one lump sum.

Seeing the last line, Wei Ming smiled calmly—he knew he’d soon earn several hundred yuan.

Immediately after, he rode his bike away from Peking University.

He hadn’t delivered tapes to Sister Zhu Lin in a while; she must be itching for them again—he’d go into the city to satisfy her.

It was lucky timing—today was Zhu Lin’s birthday.

Looking at the tape in his hand, Wei Ming grinned: “So this is a ready-made birthday gift.”

Zhu Lin refused: “This gift is a bit too expensive.”

Wei Ming: “I only brought this—and my old car. Don’t look down on it; it’s even more expensive, and I’m even less willing to part with it.”

Zhu Lin laughed uncontrollably, finally accepted the tape, and said: “What do you want to eat? I’ll treat you.”

“You’re celebrating your birthday and you’re treating me?” “Don’t argue—if you don’t eat, I’m taking the tape back.”

Wei Ming gave in: “Fine, for a birthday, noodles will do.”

“Alright, next time you come, I’ll treat you to something better—Jingde or Donglaishun, pick your favorite.”

As they left, Mu Rong in her white lab coat was peering out the lab window.

Oh my, they ate together! They ate together!

Seeing Wei Ming made Zhu Lin happy—this little brother always brought joy effortlessly.

When she heard he was learning music, Zhu Lin was astonished: “You’re already a famous writer—why are you studying music? Are you switching careers to become a musician?”

“I doubt I’ll become a musician, but learning more never hurts—if one day my inspiration dries up, I’ll have another path, won’t be completely stuck.”

Zhu Lin felt envy—her days spent running tests had made her forget how to dance, once her very livelihood.

“Besides music, what else are you learning?” Zhu Lin asked.

Wei Ming: “Let me tell you—I’ve taken all kinds of classes at Peking University. Once I accidentally walked into a physics class and sat through a whole lecture on quantum entanglement.”

!

“What’s quantum entanglement?” Zhu Lin sucked in a noodle, curious.

Wei Ming explained: “Our world is made of countless tiny particles, too small to see. When two particles become quantum entangled, no matter how far apart they are, the state of one instantly affects the other—change one, and the other changes too.”

Zhu Lin struggled to understand, then realized—it sounded a bit like love!

“How do two particles become… you know, quantum entangled?”

Wei Ming swallowed a big mouthful of noodles: “How should I know? Ask Einstein.”

Zhu Lin burst out laughing.

Wei Ming frowned: “Is Einstein some kind of funny guy?”

“Nothing—just remembered an old slogan.”

“What slogan?”

“That one: ‘Einstein, if he’s got milk, he’s your mom~’” Zhu Lin laughed harder.

Wei Ming suddenly added: “Of course, no milk? Then he’s your dad.”

Zhu Lin quickly covered her mouth—she couldn’t hold it; the noodles were about to shoot out her nose—she had to maintain her dignity!

After leaving Zhu Lin, Wei Ming immediately went to the General Political Department Drama Troupe.

He’d never mailed her the photos from the Summer Palace—he wanted to deliver them in person.

This was his first time at Gong Yu’s workplace—security was tight; he couldn’t enter, so he had to call her out.

Then Wei Ming grinned—Gong Yu still had blush on her cheeks and two childish pigtails.

“Don’t laugh—it’s for the role,” Gong Yu blushed, shielding her face with her arm—she was rehearsing.

So embarrassing—I’m not faking youth; I was just cast as a little girl. What can I do?

Wei Ming stopped laughing and handed her the photos. Gong Yu looked at each one in front of him, praising his photography: “You’re almost as good as my mom.”

“No way—your mom’s a professional.”

“Don’t be modest. By the way, I’ve already seen ‘The Herdsman’—it’s brilliant. When I was sent to the countryside, I thought exactly like Xu Shengfang—that’s how I got through those years.” Gong Yu asked, “Is your father really like Xu Shengfang?”

Wei Ming: “Don’t misunderstand my father—he’s nothing like the character. But my mom is very much like Wei Fenfang.”

“Yes, a gentle, virtuous wife and mother,” Gong Yu gave Auntie a thumbs-up.

Since Wei Ming had to return to work, they briefly met at the gate and parted, promising to meet again soon.

After finishing her work, Zhu Lin couldn’t wait to get home and listen to the music Wei Ming had brought.

But when she got home, she found several people already there.

Her boyfriend, his parents, his aunt, and the matchmaker.

Zhu Lin’s father was a professor, her mother a doctor—her father smiled warmly, her mother served a steaming bowl of longevity noodles.

Amid the chatter, she and her boyfriend agreed on getting married next year.

It couldn’t be delayed any longer—she was already twenty-seven; if she waited longer, she’d be thirty.

The matchmaker’s words cut deep: men could afford to wait—even after thirty, they could still have children; the older a woman got, the higher the risk of childbirth.

In short, she was an aging woman who could no longer afford to wait.

That night, listening to the American music Wei Ming had given her in her room, Zhu Lin danced—gracefully, yet sadly—the same dance she’d once performed in the Cultural Troupe, utterly mismatched with the music.

The next day, Zhu Lin arrived at work with dark circles under her eyes, just as a film crew’s assistant director came to the Health Research Institute seeking actors to portray a medical researcher in a documentary-style role.

Zhu Lin shot up instantly~

…

(Brothers, you’re amazing—keep voting! Don’t stop!)

(End of chapter)