Chapter 152: A Min

Mei Wenhua looked at the guesthouse with great reluctance: “Ming-ge, have Uncle and Aunt had dinner yet? Should I go get some food?”

Wei Ming: “They ate at the train station.”

Still being honest, Biaozi asked what he was really thinking: “Ming-ge, aren’t you only got one sister? Then why are they saying you brought back two sisters?”

“Oh, one’s my biological sister, the other’s my maternal cousin,” Wei Ming said—and suddenly realized why these two were so eager.

He gave a light scoff: “My sister’s only fourteen. My cousin’s eighteen, but my maternal uncle’s got a violent temper. There was a local guy who had designs on my sister—he used to be a sturdy lad, now he’s barely over one meter sixty.”

“Why?” Biaozi gasped.

Mei Wenhua wore a look of supreme wisdom: “How could you not know? His legs were definitely broken.”

“Scared the hell out of me—I thought his head was gone!” Biaozi quickly assured: “Ming-ge, you know me—I’ve already got Yanzi!”

“Oh? How’s your relationship going then?”

Biaozi: “We’re doing great. While you were gone, we’ve kissed plenty.”

Seeing his smug grin, Mei Wenhua’s teeth clenched with envy, then he too declared: “Ming-ge, you know me too—I like girls older than me.”

Wei Ming: Why do I feel like you’re mocking me?

Wei Ming then added to Biaozi: “Even if you’re close, don’t let anyone see you. Watch out—you’ll get labeled a pervert.”

It’s not 1983 anymore, but still, be careful.

Biaozi nodded: “We’re careful. But Li Xiao saw us twice.”

Wei Ming chuckled. He loved watching that much? One time wasn’t enough?

Later, as they passed the convenience store, Wei Ming bought more envelopes, letter paper, and stamps—he had many letters to reply to.

Back at the long-absent Nanmen Gang, Wei Ming was immediately surrounded by colleagues who gushed over his novel and music, asking about his New Year travels—everyone adored legends.

Wei Ming focused on his panda-capturing story, leaving the group utterly envious.

“I’ll get the photos developed and show you all later—they’re color photos.”

When the crowd dispersed, a colleague handed him a small notebook.

“Ming-ge, this is the log of calls and visitors who came to Peking University looking for you during this time.”

“Oh my, you’ve gone to so much trouble,” Wei Ming glanced at it—dates, phone numbers, names, and events listed.

Editors from major literary journals had contacted him; calls came from across the Pacific; crucially, several film studios wanted to collaborate.

Among them, Wu Tianming of Xiyingchang was the most eager—he’d called multiple times, left long messages, and expressed sincere interest in adapting my “The Shepherd Class.”

Beiyingchang and Meiyingchang mainly chased for manuscripts—I still owe them two long scripts and one short one.

“Too thorough—you guys have worked hard. Once I’m free, let’s all eat together!” Wei Ming always kept his word—he’d invite everyone at this post.

They went downstairs to the dorm. Feng-ge and his wife had returned to Shandong for family visits after the New Year—only the three of them remained.

Wei Ming’s bed was piled high with letters—he worried. Could he really buy another cabinet? That’d overcrowd the dorm.

Biaozi said: “Ming-ge, these are readers’ letters, these are editors’ letters—maybe there are royalty slips inside. You can check them later.”

Wei Ming glanced over and spotted a letter from the Pacific, one from “Teenage Literature”—both likely contained money.

He nodded: “What about the two from Hong Kong?”

Mei Wenhua pulled them out from under Wei Ming’s office cabinet: “Here—they’re hidden.”

Wei Ming took them. One letter’s handwriting matched his first letter—clearly from a young woman, light and elegant.

The other’s script was far more rugged—its writer was clearly older.

Both were mailed from Sai Wan, Central and Western District, Hong Kong Island—but the exact addresses differed.

The first sender wrote “A Min”; the second, “Old Ghost.”

Wei Ming cared most about letters from Hong Kong—but never expected two.

He turned: “Alright, you two mind your own business—I’ve got things to do. I’m leaving.”

Wei Ming didn’t open them in front of them. He found a quiet, empty spot to read.

He opened the one signed “A Min” first—after all, she’d written the first letter.

“Wei Ming:

Hello, I’m a Hong Kong middle school student—you can call me A Min. Can we be pen pals?”

Just reading the first paragraph, Wei Ming frowned. What the hell? This was a letter asking to be friends?

Was this some kind of code?

He kept reading. “You’re probably an excellent student, but don’t underestimate me—I’m only in Form One, my grades are average, but living in Hong Kong, we have access to far more information. I know many things about the outside world you’ve never heard of. Ask me anything—I’ll do my best to help you understand the world beyond.”

Hmm, full of superiority—but also genuinely helpful.

“After all, pen pals should be open and supportive. If I ask you about your side, you’ll tell me too, right?”

Wei Ming immediately grew wary. Could this be a spy? Suddenly, the letter felt hot to the touch.

“I love music. What kind of music is popular on the mainland now? Do you have pop music? Any famous singers?”

Wei Ming rubbed his chin. The most popular music now must be the “The Shepherd Class” album.

He kept reading.

“You probably haven’t heard of the Top Ten Golden Melodies—just announced the second edition. Many songs are wonderful: Chyi Yu’s ‘Olive Tree,’ Cheng Shaoqiu’s ‘The Legend of the Condor Heroes,’ Wang Mingquan’s ‘Like Clouds, Like Breezes.’ I adore Sister Wang Mingquan—she sings, acts, and hosts. I love her show ‘Enjoy Yourself Tonight,’ but Mom won’t let me watch too much—says TV hurts your eyes…”

Wei Ming: Your mom’s right.

He finished reading patiently. The “spy theory” was ruled out—this was just a girl rambling. She asked nothing secret, and she was downright chatty. Was she seriously planning to be his pen pal?

He turned the page.

!

“What about movies? I read in the papers you can only watch eight films—is that true?”

False. Besides the eight model operas, classics like “The Red Star” and “Hai Xia” were made during the Movement; after 1976, many fine films emerged—but cinema had yet to reach its artistic peak.

Next, A Min briefly described a recent film that impressed her.

“This month, my classmates and I saw a movie called ‘Modern Country Bumpkin,’ starring singer Lin Zixiang. It was really good—funny and stylish.”

Then she switched to TV dramas. She clearly loved watching TV—she knew every famous drama from 1979 and early 1980 by heart.

Though “The Heaven Sword and Dragon Saber” was popular and “The Magic Beach” even more so, this little girl seemed drawn to urban dramas.

“Last year, my favorite was TVB’s ‘The Young Couple’…”

She gave a brief plot summary. Wei Ming vaguely remembered—it was written by Fat Wang Jing.

Finally, she suddenly realized something.

“Sorry—have you even seen a TV? You know radios, right? Radios receive sound through signals, but TVs receive images—you can watch dramas and variety shows. Our color TV is only 17 inches.”

So not a wealthy family, Wei Ming thought, smiling. She really underestimated him—who hasn’t seen a TV?

But his smile faded. If he hadn’t come to Yanjing—if he’d stayed in his hometown—he’d never have seen one either. At best, he’d only heard of it from Liu Rulong.

This Hong Kong girl, A Min, had an enormous desire to express and connect—she filled three pages. Wei Ming flipped to the last page.

“Although I was born and raised in Hong Kong, my parents came from the mainland with their ancestors. My mom often tells me about life on the mainland back then—but that was during the War of Resistance.”

“I’m very curious about the mainland. I’ve heard it has majestic mountains, beautiful rivers, and enchanting Jiangnan water towns. I hope we can write often—I look forward to learning the real mainland from a mainland friend.”

“Lastly, following Hong Kong custom, may I call you A Ming?”

Wei Ming flipped the letter over and over, confirming there was no hidden code—she truly wanted to be his pen pal.

And she knew his name and address—so she must have received his reply.

But had she read what he wrote inside?

That couldn’t be determined yet—he’d need another letter for an answer.

As for friendship? Forget it. I’m the new king of literature, ten cents per thousand characters—why waste time on you? My time is money!

Then Wei Ming opened the second Hong Kong letter, signed “Old Ghost.”

When he finished reading, he immediately stood up and rushed toward the guesthouse.

Wei Jiefang was in good spirits; Xu Shufen had already gone to bed. He was downstairs chatting with Manager Wang, boasting about his glorious exploits in Sichuan and Chongqing.

“Old Wang, you’ve taken photos with so many celebrities—have you ever taken one with a panda? Not the kind behind wire fences at the zoo—the kind you hold in your arms.”

Manager Wang shook his head: “Never.”

“I have!” Old Wei grinned. “Let me tell you the story—it was a dark, windy night…”

He was in full swing, Manager Wang hanging on every word, when Wei Ming suddenly returned.

“Dad, come with me—I need to talk to you!”

Wei Jiefang: What’s more important than my bragging?

Seeing Wei Ming’s serious expression, Old Wei told Manager Wang to wait a moment—he’d be right back.

…

(End of Chapter)