Chapter 123: Melinda

That night, Wei Ming finished drafting the two-thousand-word preface for "The Book of Heavenly Secrets."

To pad the word count, he started from "The Toothless Tiger," detailing his entire creative journey writing children’s stories over the past half-year, giving readers a fuller understanding of Teacher Wei What.

The next day, Wei Ming called the Meiying Factory using the number provided by Aunt Xiao Yan; this was not the factory director’s number, but that of Production Director Wang Bairong.

Wei Ming knew this man—he’d heard of him from Liu Long, and later, when Meiying Factory underwent leadership changes, he became deputy director, primarily responsible for introducing Japanese animation production lines and outsourcing to benefit the factory.

But he eventually left Meiying Factory to join a private animation company.

According to Ah Long, he was a highly adaptable and capable man; works like "The Impostor" and "The Rat’s Wedding" were his creations.

“Director Wang, hello, I’m Wei What.”

“Oh, Writer Wei, hello.”

Wang Bairong held the phone, his expression uneasy—You people always make me the bad guy, hmph!

He continued, “Has your editor explained clearly? We at Meiying Factory are collaborating with the British Broadcasting Corporation on an animated feature film.”

Wei Ming: “Mm.”

“Based on their script, we found the segment involving the fox spirit—oh, the fox spirit from 'The Tale of the Pacifying Demons'—quite interesting, so we plan to adapt it. We also discovered that 'The Book of Heavenly Secrets' is itself adapted from 'The Tale of the Pacifying Demons,' aligning closely with our screenwriters’ ideas, so we intend to use 'The Book of Heavenly Secrets' as the blueprint.”

“Fine.”

Wang Bairong: “Then it’s settled. We’ll have our screenwriters draft the script and send it to you for review…”

Huh?

Wei Ming narrowed his eyes—Damn, they never intended to hire me to write the script!

Wang Bairong thought: Of course—this is an international collaboration, a joint Sino-British endeavor, such prestige, countless screenwriters and directors are vying for it. You’ve already written novels so well; just adapt it. No difficulty. Obviously, priority goes to our own staff.

The logic was sound, but Wei Ming wouldn’t yield so easily—he interrupted: “Actually, there’s no need to complicate it—I’ll write the script myself. It’s my story; I know it best.”

Wang Bairong advised: “Writer Wei, this isn’t a short film script—it’s a ninety-minute feature film script, and an international collaboration with high standards. It requires approval not just from Meiying Factory but also from the British side.”

Wei Ming: “I understand British tastes well—I once dated a British girlfriend.”

Wang Bairong: “…”

He froze—who asked about your girlfriend? Why are you showing off?

Still, dating a foreign girlfriend? This Wei What has some substance!

“Writer Wei, listen to me,” Wang Bairong pressed on, “the decision to have factory staff handle the adaptation is a collective one. We can’t entrust such a heavy burden to a newcomer who’s only written one short film script.”

Wei Ming: “I’m not just the author of 'The Toothless Tiger'—I’ve written feature film scripts too.”

“You have?”

“Yes. Don’t believe me? Ask Director Xie Jin at Shangying Factory—he’s the most renowned director in China today, and he praised my writing.”

“What? You collaborated with Director Xie Jin?” Wang Bairong was stunned, then skeptical—“Impossible, I’ve seen all his films, I don’t remember…”

Suddenly, Wang Bairong recalled a recent news item: Shangying and Beiying were competing for the adaptation rights to a wildly popular novel, and Shangying won, with Xie Jin as director.

What was the novel called? Right—"The Herdsman"—author: Wei Ming!

“May I ask, Writer Wei, what is your real name?” Wang Bairong asked hesitantly.

“Wei Ming.”

“The Wei Ming who writes novels?”

“Yes,” Wei Ming said, “now can we talk seriously?”

Wang Bairong felt they could talk—but he needed to consult factory leadership.

If this were merely an inexperienced children’s writer—even one recommended by Jin Jin—even if unfairly treated, they could afford to ignore him.

But now standing before them was the most rapidly rising new literary figure in China’s literary scene over the past half-year—each of his novellas sparked a reading frenzy.

The children’s writer Wei What was also the serious literary author Wei Ming? Who could have imagined that?

Meiying Factory’s finance department said they knew—because they had to process the payment, they knew “Wei What”’s real name.

But it was only a fleeting thought—after all, the name was common; there were too many Xiao Ming and Xiao Hong these days.

After confirming “Wei What”’s real name from finance, Wang Bairong reported the matter to factory leadership.

The original author wanted to adapt his own work—and he was currently the hottest literary figure, his name appearing frequently in major newspapers.

Though they operated in different systems, reputation carried weight—they now had to treat Wei Ming’s wishes with greater care.

In the end, they decided: first, let Wei What write the script. If it turned out subpar, they wouldn’t ask him to revise it—instead, veteran screenwriters would revise it, and both would be credited as screenwriters, with Wei What’s name listed first.

Wang Bairong thought this plan acceptable, so he called back—but Wei Ming didn’t answer.

But Wei Ming said he’d call Meiying Factory again tomorrow.

Meanwhile, at Wei Anping’s home, the couple had already heard the news.

Lu Xiaoyan was furious: “How could they do this? So unfair—they’re trying to push Xiao Ming aside!”

Wei Anping was unfazed: “If this film succeeds and wins international acclaim and profit, that’s a huge achievement. Meiying Factory naturally wants its own staff to share the rewards.”

Wei Ming remained calm—it was human nature—but when real stakes were involved, he wouldn’t back down.

Fortunately, he wasn’t unknown—if he were, they’d have completely controlled him, since nationwide, Meiying Factory was the only studio capable of producing animated features—he had no alternatives. But later? Thinking ahead to the coming market reforms, when more Meiying Factory staff would resign and move south or to Japan, Wei Ming’s mind began to stir.

Still, he needed money first—he wondered if Melinda might have some good news.

As the saying goes: persistent thoughts inevitably bring response.

Back in his dorm, Qiao Feng smiled and pointed to the desk: “There’s a telegram from Britain for you—go check it out.”

Only Feng Ge was level-headed—if those two idiots were still here, they’d have crowded over to see what Melinda wrote.

You could guess by instinct—only she would send a telegram from Britain.

She’d been gone nearly ten days.

After flying through Hong Kong to London, she first returned to her hometown in Edinburgh, then quickly settled in London.

Though international telegrams remained expensive, Melinda didn’t spare words—her telegram filled three full lines.

She told Wei Ming her new London address, that she’d been hired as an editor by a publishing house, and that she’d begun translating "The Game of the Brave," making good progress.

Finally, she joked: “What if I submitted this novel to myself?”

Wei Ming: You’re such a clever little thing!

The next day, Wei Ming didn’t immediately call Meiying Factory—he went to the post office first and sent Melinda an international telegram.

!

He didn’t know what to say—miss you? Can’t sleep thinking of you?

Too much.

In the end, he told her about his upcoming collaboration with the BBC on "The Book of Heavenly Secrets."

Wei Ming didn’t dare elaborate—it cost him over twenty yuan, his entire monthly salary gone. No urgent matters, he’d stick to letters from now on.

Immediately after, Wei Ming called Shangying Factory’s Director Wang.

His attitude had softened—he agreed the script could be written by Wei Ming himself.

“If Director Xie Jin approves of you, we trust your ability,” Wang Bairong chuckled.

Wei Ming asked: “How much is the British side investing?”

Wang Bairong: “I’m not sure.”

Wang Bairong: Even if I knew, I couldn’t tell you.

Wei Ming: “Have they paid a deposit?”

“Deposit?”

So they hadn’t—Wei Ming said: “If they don’t pay a deposit and just ask us to write the script first, what if they pull out after we finish? I’ll have written for nothing.”

“Even if the script isn’t used, you’ll still receive compensation.”

Usually no less than one-tenth of the standard fee—essentially a token payment for effort after rejection.

“I still think it’s safer if they pay a deposit. Right now, they just say one thing, but Meiying Factory must fully cooperate. What if they suddenly quit?”

Wang Bairong: What’s this “Meiying Factory” business? This kid’s trying to cozy up.

Still, Wei Ming had a point—leaders were too lenient; asking for a deposit would actually help the project move forward.

Hearing Wang Bairong say he’d consult leadership, Wei Ming asked: “If Meiying Factory receives foreign currency deposit, how will you pay my fee?”

“Of course in RMB.”

“Aren’t there any foreign exchange vouchers as rewards for bringing in foreign currency?”

Wei Ming had no use for foreign currency—he couldn’t get it anyway—he wanted foreign exchange vouchers, which had superior purchasing power domestically, to buy things RMB couldn’t cover.

Wang Bairong fell silent—it seemed there really were such vouchers, but they were usually staff welfare benefits.

But remembering “Wei What” was Wei Ming, Wang Bairong admitted: “There might be some, but we can’t guarantee the amount or timing—we’ve never attempted this kind of collaboration before.”

“Then please mention to them—if there are foreign exchange vouchers, I’d like to exchange part of my fee for them. Of course, I’m not a Meiying Factory employee, so if you can’t give them, I understand—I’m just mentioning it casually.”

Wang Bairong: You don’t sound like you’re speaking casually at all.

Still, he replied: “I’ll discuss it with the factory director.”

“And the deposit.”

Otherwise, Meiying Factory won’t get a single penny of foreign currency.

But Wei Ming wasn’t reassured—they could always claim foreign exchange vouchers were staff benefits and deny him, and he’d have no recourse.

So Wei Ming decided he needed to increase his own importance.

That evening, he went to Uncle Anping’s home and discussed with Aunt Xiao Yan—he might write children’s stories for other magazines…

(End of Chapter)