Chapter 140

In fact, Wei Ming could find his uncle and aunt on his own; after all, they had already visited in his previous life.

But since it is the early 1980s, an era where even finding lodging in a different place is a problem, having a local help out can indeed simplify complex issues.

Originally, Wei Ming had intended to visit the elder Ma Shitu; they had met once at the Literature and Art Congress, and he had even sent him a group photo, which had been verified by his buddies.

However, the man is, after all, the chairman of the Provincial Federation of Literary and Art Circles and the Writers Association, as well as a high-ranking local official at the ministerial level; it is better not to disturb him if possible.

Having Liang Ping's help should be enough, but how is he supposed to repay this favor later?

Night fell, and the Wei family spent their second night on the train.

While they were still asleep, the train had already passed through Yangping Pass and entered Sichuan from Shaanxi.

Xu Shufen woke up early. She got out of bed, wiped the steam off the window, and looked at the scenery outside, feeling both lost and expectant.

Almost home. Father, Mother, eldest brother, eldest sister, little sister—are you all still there?

Just like the mountains and rivers of her hometown, the faces of her loved ones had become very blurry in her mind. She spent her first 18 years in Sichuan and the next 20 in Hebei; relatively speaking, the memories of her later life were clearer and more vivid.

Her deepest memory of Sichuan and Chongqing was hunger—hunger to the point of despair—and her final memory was hopping a train to leave this place in search of a way to survive.

At first, the three siblings were with their parents, but she got lost when they reached Rongcheng.

She knew there was no future in returning to her hometown, so she could only head outward. She had secretly ridden many trains—coal trains, stone trains, livestock trains—but none were as comfortable as the sleeper car her son had bought.

Just as she was reminiscing, a pair of large hands rested on her shoulders.

She turned back and smiled, "Go back to sleep for a while."

Lao Lao Lao Wei chuckled, "We're about to see my mother-in-law, so I'm a bit too excited to sleep. Can my father-in-law and brother-in-law hold their liquor?"

"I don't seem to have ever seen them drink," Xu Shufen shook her head.

"*The Herdsman*, Director Xie Jin's new film."

Afterward, Wei Ming, Wei Hong, and Editor Liang also woke up. The Wei family still had some dry rations and meat, so they invited Editor Liang to eat with them.

Editor Liang didn't hold back. Along the way, he introduced the local customs and traditions of the various places they passed. Wei Ming could also chime in, sometimes mentioning things even Liang Ping didn't know, which made him sigh at Wei Ming's profound knowledge—no wonder he could write such rich and wonderful stories.

Wei Ming claimed he had read it all in the Peking University library, but in reality, most of his knowledge came from the experience he gained while traveling with film crews in his previous life.

It wasn't until noon that the train finally stopped in the Land of Abundance—Rongcheng.

With Liang Ping in charge, they took a bus directly with him to the Writers Association guesthouse.

The person in charge asked in a Sichuan-Chongqing accent, "Liang Ping, are these your relatives?"

"More important than relatives! This is the writer Wei Ming from Peking University, bringing his mother to find her family!"

"Wei Ming, who wrote 'Ideal' and 'The Herdsman'!" The guesthouse manager also became serious; it had been a long time since such a big name had visited the guesthouse.

"That's right, treat them well. Put the food stamps and room and board on my tab," Liang Ping said righteously, though, of course, he would definitely have to seek reimbursement from the Poetry Journal.

But with him saying that, Wei Ming felt he had to leave something behind no matter what.

The guesthouse arranged two rooms for them: Wei Ming and Lao Lao Lao Wei in one, and his mother and little sister in the other.

Liang Ping arranged lunch and then left temporarily to help rally some people.

In the office of Ma Shitu, chairman of the Sichuan Writers Association, the old man was buried in his writing.

On his desk lay several booklets with titles like "Record of the Broken City," "Record of Reimbursement," "Record of Stealing an Official Post," "Record of Taking a Concubine," "Record of Banning Opium," and "Record of Sinking in the River."

The 65-year-old Ma Shitu is the leader of the current Sichuan literary scene. He, along with Ba Jin, Zhang Xiusu, Sha Ting, and Ai Wu, are known as the "Five Elders of Shu."

It was Ba Jin who had introduced Wei Ming to him at the Literature and Art Congress.

Moreover, he is also an old revolutionary who risked his life working underground in the "Kuomintang-controlled areas" back in the day.

Because he frequently changed professions, Ma Lao often dealt with people from all walks of life, listening to them spin yarns and tell tall tales.

Infected by these vivid stories, Ma Lao felt a strong urge to create. Finally, in 1942, he chose ten of the most interesting "yarns" and began writing "Ten Tales of the Night," a project that has lasted 40 years.

Due to the War of Resistance and subsequent movements, his manuscripts were destroyed three times, and he had to rewrite them three times. Now, most of the content is complete, and some have already been published in literary journals.

Later generations, including Wei Ming, know him because of the masterpiece "Let the Bullets Fly," the original work of which is his "Record of Stealing an Official Post."

However, those who know Jiang Wen's films understand that they are all "plastic surgery-style" adaptations, and the connection to the original work is not very strong; "In the Heat of the Sun" and "Hidden Man" are the same.

After writing for a while, he got tired, took a sip of tea, strolled around, and then read books and newspapers.

The few newspapers at hand were all new issues from today. He had scanned the first two briefly with little interest until he saw the "China Youth Daily."

The front-page headline was a bold title: "No Matter How Poor, Don't Skimp on Education; No Matter How Bitter, Don't Skimp on the Children."

He nodded. This title had substance and could be used directly as a propaganda slogan.

Continuing to read, it turned out to be about the deeds of the newly popular writer Wei Ming, who donated 1,000 yuan to his hometown primary school. The headline was a quote of his own words.

Seeing this, Ma Lao thought of "Spring of the Sheep-Herding Class," which he had just read a couple of days ago. That novella was quite stunning and also about education. Combined with Wei Ming's donation, it seemed he was a comrade who valued education very much. Further down were Wei Ming's own words: "It is precisely because I didn't go to university, yet work in one, that I deeply realize the goodness of university life. I hope my hometown can produce more university students; their emergence will surely change the face of my hometown!"

Ma Lao nodded. At the Literature and Art Congress, he hadn't expected that the young friend Ba Jin introduced would rise so quickly and achieve such great success today.

Among those currently writing novellas, there is almost no one who can compete with him. Of the three novellas highlighted by "People's Literature," the one people discuss the most is this "Sheep-Herding Class."

Putting down the newspaper, just as he was about to continue writing, someone came to the door. It was Bai Hang, editor-in-chief of "Stars" poetry journal and also its founder.

"Ma Lao, I've come to the Federation to borrow a car. Requesting approval." Bai Hang said.

Ma Lao looked at the editor-in-chief, who was ten years his junior, and asked, "Xiao Bai, do you need to use a car?"

"It's not for my own use; I'm doing it to help someone," he smiled. "You still remember Wei Ming, right? You mentioned him when you returned from Yanjing before."

"I remember. I just saw a report about him. What's the matter?"

So Bai Hang recounted how his editor had encountered the Wei family, who had come to Sichuan to find their relatives, on the train.

"I feel that as fellow literary figures, we must help with this matter."

!

Besides being fellow literary figures, although Editor-in-Chief Bai is rooted in Sichuan and Chongqing, he is actually a Hebei native just like Wei Ming—they are fellow townsmen.

Ma Lao smiled, "I didn't say I wouldn't help. How about this: dispatch a jeep and find a comrade who is a local. It would be even better if they know how to drive."

Hearing that Ma Lao was also so enthusiastic about Ma Xiaowei, Editor-in-Chief Bai smiled, "With your support, that's enough. I'll go arrange it now."

Ma Lao added, "Also, you can arrange for Wei Ming to tour Rongcheng. Who knows, he might find some inspiration."

Editor-in-Chief Bai gave a sly smile, "We thought of the same thing!"

At the guesthouse, Lao Lao Lao Wei and Ma Xiaowei were both lying on the beds. The sleeper berths were so narrow; they were ultimately not as comfortable as a proper bed.

After eating and lying down for just half an hour, Editor Liang came again.

Fortunately, Wei Ming hadn't fallen into a deep sleep. He went out to ask, "Editor Liang, how did it go?"

Liang Ping smiled, "Our Editor-in-Chief Bai specifically went to the Writers Association to ask Ma Lao for a jeep, and there's also a driver-guide. We'll set off tomorrow morning. Writer Wei, what do you think?"

"Oh my, that's perfect!" Wei Ming grasped Liang Ping's hand and expressed his solemn gratitude.

Editor Liang added, "Writer Wei, look, there's still some time this afternoon. Would you like to stroll around the famous historical sites of our Rongcheng?"

In his previous life, Wei Ming liked the city of Rongcheng very much. He often filmed short dramas there and had even almost bought a house there.

Wei Ming went back to get his camera, "Alright. My parents are tired, so I'll call my sister to come along."

Although they had been jolted for more than 30 hours, the two young people recovered extremely quickly, and Wei Hong was also quite enthusiastic and active.

She even asked, "Will we be able to see giant pandas!"

Editor Liang laughed out loud, "The giant pandas in Rongcheng don't run wild in the streets, but your mother's hometown, Baoxing in Ya'an, is rich in giant pandas. You might just see one."

The most noteworthy attraction in Rongcheng today is definitely the Wuhou Shrine, which also has the highest current visibility.

Places like Kuanzhai Alley have some fame among locals, but outsiders are still relatively unfamiliar with them, unlike the Wuhou Shrine and Du Fu Thatched Cottage—both were among the first batch of national key cultural relic protection units in 1961.

Sitting on the bus, from the citizens he encountered, Wei Ming could already feel a trace of the future slow-paced life of Chengdu. Everyone didn't have the hurried feeling of a big city like Yanjing; their expressions were all very leisurely.

Knowing they were going to visit the Wuhou Shrine, Wei Hong had already prepared the "Chu Shi Biao," just waiting for her brother to check it so she could amaze him by reciting the whole thing.

He really envied places like theirs where the dialect of the entire province was about the same. His mother's dialect leaned towards the Chengdu side, but there was no obstacle in communicating with people from Shancheng, whereas in Hebei, it was difficult to communicate even after leaving the county.

"Editor Liang, please take a group photo for us."

Of course, Wei Ming didn't neglect Editor Liang. Later, he asked a passerby to take a group photo of the three of them, which he would wash and mail to the "Stars" poetry journal.

Within the Wuhou Shrine scenic area, there is also an ancient street called Jinli. Wei Ming and Xiao Hong strolled around, but there wasn't much for sale, which couldn't satisfy Wei Ming's desire to consume. It would be better to come back in a few years.

We sometimes reject commercialization, but a scenic spot that isn't commercial at all is also quite boring.

However, the bluestone slabs paved here now really have that kind of classical beauty, as if they were passed down from the Three Kingdoms period.

Afterward, there was still some time, and Wei Ming experienced Kuanzhai Alley in the early 80s.

The next morning, Editor Liang and the driver-guide came to the guesthouse to pick up the Wei family. He wouldn't be going along.

Looking at his expectant expression, Wei Ming laughed and took out an envelope...

(There will be another chapter later, asking for monthly tickets!)

(End of chapter)