Chapter 112: A Letter from Hong Kong (Guaranteed Second Update, Requesting Monthly Votes)

Zhu Lin’s news traveled from Mu Rong to Qiao Feng, then passed by word of mouth until it reached Wei Ming’s ears.

A film by the Xi Film Studio called “The Traitor” was casting actors at the Health Research Institute, and Zhu Lin signed up; after a period of auditions, she was selected.

“It’s not even the lead role, and it’ll take up several months—what’s she even getting out of it?”

For Qiao Feng, this Shandong man who valued institutional status above all, Zhu Lin’s choice was utterly incomprehensible.

But Wei Ming knew: she wanted to test whether she could walk another path—she still had an artistic heart.

This film, this event, was untouched by the flutter of Wei Ming’s butterfly wings; Zhu Lin officially accepted her debut film role, stepping one foot into the film industry.

Wei Ming felt nothing special—only regret that his several bootleg cassette tapes were now completely worthless.

Qiao Feng added: “I heard she’s heading to the southwest to shoot soon—she’s already left her unit, but thankfully they kept her position open so she can return to work.”

Wei Ming smiled: “She won’t be coming back.”

Film Academy.

Ma Jingwu, a performance department teacher, took leave from the dean before class—the male lead in “The Traitor” was him.

Although filming wouldn’t start until after this semester ended, the shoot would last longer than winter break, so he’d return to campus late.

Dean Zhong Jingzhi chuckled: “No problem—have your wife, Teacher Li, cover your classes then.”

Ma Jingwu and his wife Li Ranran were both core faculty members of the Beijing Film Academy’s performance department.

Afterwards, Ma Jingwu visited the classroom of the 1978 performance class to discuss final exams; this class had produced countless celebrities—Zhang Tielin, Zhang Fengyi, Zhou Lijing, Xie Yuan, Fang Shu, Shen Danping, and Liu Jia were all classmates.

After class, Zhang Tielin met Chen Kaige in the cafeteria and rushed over: “Kaige, when’s your dad’s ‘The Herdsman’ starting? Can you get me a role? Even a bit part’s fine.”

Chen Kaige grinned: “Are you going to play the lecher?”

“Get lost—I’m a proper leading man!”

The cafeteria buzzed with joy, but when Chen Kaige returned home, his cheer vanished.

His father told him Wei Ming had chosen Xie Jin of the Shanghai Film Studio.

This enraged Chen Kaige—why reject a local studio and crawl to Shanghai’s doorstep? Was he insane?

And everyone at school assumed his father would direct “The Herdsman,” the hot novel—now it was ruined!

Chen Kaige felt deeply humiliated; the more he thought, the angrier he grew, turning from fan to hater.

“What garbage ‘Ideal’—it’s nothing compared to my buddy Bei Dao’s ‘Answer,’ or even ‘Far and Near’—neither matches Gu Cheng’s new ‘The Generation.’”

“The night gave me black eyes, yet I use them to search for light”—so short, yet so powerful—that’s true classic.”

“Wei Ming? Pfft! He’s just a peasant!”

…

Before Wei Ming could find Liu, the school bus driver, Wei Anping called him over and said: “Get ready to handle the paperwork—you’re becoming a Beijing resident.”

“What? Already?!” Wei Ming exclaimed—he’d only been employed for half a year and hadn’t even joined the Writers’ Association.

Wei Anping beamed: “Your recent works have had such massive impact that Peking University has recognized you as a rare talent; the school is accelerating the process—your household registration will now be under Peking University.”

That meant a collective household registration—unless he ever owned property of his own.

But buying a house now was nearly impossible: first, there were no suitable options, and finding one took time; second, he hadn’t saved enough—three thousand yuan wouldn’t buy much.

“Also, prepare to review your studies—next autumn, the library science correspondence course begins!”

Wei Ming sighed—could he get a favor? He remembered every novel, song, and film clearly, but every math formula was wiped clean—he’d have to ask Xiao Hong to tutor him during summer break.

For the next three days, Wei Ming kept traveling into the city—Peking University was too remote; each government office visit took a full day, and even then, the paperwork wasn’t finished—he’d have another procedure to complete during winter break when he returned home.

This made Wei Ming all the more eager for an efficient mode of transport—something to save his precious time for more meaningful things: reading, attending class, writing, and women.

“You want to buy a motorcycle?!” Liu Wenjie, the veteran mechanic repairing his car, exclaimed in astonishment—was writing novels really that profitable?

“Yes, Master, do you know where I can buy one—with RMB?”

That last phrase shut down Liu’s planned reply: “Ask your red-haired girlfriend for foreign exchange.”

He put down his wrench: “Buying one’s not easy—imports require overseas remittance vouchers and foreign exchange; domestic models are mostly reserved for the post office and military, especially the post office—many already have the Happy 250s, bright red and festive. If you have connections in either area, you might get some retired models and swap parts to keep them running.”

Wei Ming did have military connections—air force, at that—but that would be too much to ask; it’d feel like leveraging favors.

“Is there no other way?”

“Then only unofficial channels—but you’d need ties in the south.” Like Liu Rulong’s grandfather, who got his Suzuki motorcycle through Rulong’s father—but now Rulong’s father was in prison.

Wei Ming sighed—so he’d have to wait until he earned foreign exchange. Back to writing novels.

Even when he eventually bought a house, foreign exchange would give him better leverage.

Wei Ming had recently read reports: the number of people leaving Beijing was rising—1,700 in 1978, over 2,100 last year—all emigrants or returnees claiming to visit relatives or inherit property, mostly heading abroad or to Hong Kong and Macau, and most never returning.

This underscored the positive influence of “The Herdsman”—but Wei Ming cared more about the housing they left behind.

“Wait!”

Liu suddenly remembered something.

“Last year, two nearby communes—Sijiqing and Sino-Japanese Friendship Commune—sent farmers to Japan to exchange vegetable-growing techniques; when they returned, they brought back plenty of Japanese motorcycles. I know people from those communes—I can ask for you.”

“Oh, that’s perfect! Master, you really know your way around!”

Master Liu waved his hand: “Don’t get your hopes up—good stuff isn’t easily given up.”

“I just need transport—even a broken one’s fine, as long as it runs. Just ask around for me—I’ll treat you to dinner.”

!

Wei Ming then stayed in the library until nearly five, as Meilinda’s departure drew closer—he had to hurry.

At lunchtime, Biaozi brought Wei Ming his meal and also delivered a letter from Shanghai’s “Story Weekly.”

Then Biaozi went off to the foreign students’ TV room to watch TV.

The central station was airing NBC’s American sci-fi series “The Man from Atlantis”—a cultural feast for a nation starved of entertainment, and it quickly swept through major cities.

Biaozi and Mei Wenhua were both addicted; only one episode aired per week, so the 17-episode series would take months—thankfully, there were reruns.

Too bad Beijing had no vendors selling frog-eye sunglasses—if someone imported some from the south and brought them back, they’d make a fortune, though with some risk.

Wei Ming opened He Chengwei’s envelope: a remittance slip for “Heroes Born in Youth”—450 yuan, ten yuan per thousand characters!

There was also a separate 50-yuan payment for Liu Rulong’s illustrations.

Editor He was truly generous—no wonder “Story Weekly” had grown so strong.

His payment meant the magazine had been officially published.

…

Wei Ming’s hometown, Gouzi Village.

At the village primary school, Qi Kexiu entered the office clutching a magazine, just as Teacher Hu Qiuyang passed by.

Qi Kexiu had thick skin, but Teacher Hu wouldn’t even meet his eyes.

The naked run incident was long past, yet its shadow remained; Teacher Hu had wanted to transfer, but as a temporary instructor with no connections, she had no choice but to keep working awkwardly alongside Qi Kexiu.

After sipping water, Qi Kexiu pulled out the magazine and resumed reading—it was the January issue of “Story Weekly.”

Qi Kexiu read aloud with admiration: “This Wei Kuangren writes brilliantly!”

He’d seen the previous issue elsewhere and found it decent—short stories were all compelling, especially “Such Love”—so he subscribed. Now, this issue was even more captivating.

Especially the martial arts novel “Heroes Born in Youth”—at this time, all they’d seen were ancient wuxia tales; here was something fresh and original.

Qi Kexiu even declared: “Same surname Wei—Wei Kuangren’s work is far more grounded than Wei Ming’s. What’s he even writing? I wouldn’t even read it.”

But as Qi Kexiu eagerly read the scene where the young wife’s divine weapon descended to save her husband, the story ended abruptly!

“To be continued”—two more months to wait!

After school, as Qi Kexiu walked home, he passed the village office and saw the postal worker—his bicycle had been upgraded from an old 28-inch model to a bright red Happy 250.

“Old You, nice upgrade! Gun to cannon!”

“Teacher Qi, heh—he’s all thanks to the government. But we take turns riding—tomorrow I’ll be back on my old 28-inch.”

With that, Postman Old You rumbled off toward the village edge, arriving at Wei Jiefang’s house.

He could leave other letters at the village office, but this one had to be delivered personally—to the recipient’s hands.

After all, this was the home of Wei Ming, the famed writer of Hengzhou!

Wei Jiefang admired the motorcycle and joked: “You selling it?”

“Brother Jiefang, you’re joking—it’s public property. By the way, this package was mailed from Beijing by the great writer Wei Ming.”

Old You handed over the parcel and added: “Also, there’s a letter from Hong Kong—it’s addressed to your mother, Fan Erxiu, who passed away years ago. Since it’s from Hong Kong, you need to sign for it.”

Old Wei froze: “What? Hong Kong?! For my mother?!”

(End of Chapter)