Chapter 155: Today I Bought a Motorcycle, Next I

The old man didn't seem willing to sell the bike—its brand-new condition showed how much he cherished it.

Wei Ming wasn't short on money; the key was getting a good bike, and among them, Master Liu knew bikes best.

"Can we take it out for a test ride?" Wei Ming asked.

Bu Dachun nodded and handed over the keys; Master Liu immediately took them—he'd seen the bike before, but the old man had never let him ride it.

Master Liu mainly tested whether the engine started smoothly and how comfortable the ride felt.

While Master Liu was testing, Bu Dachun pulled out the manual that came with the bike when he bought it, but it was all in Japanese, so they could only guess at the meaning.

Fortunately, the courtyard was large enough; Master Liu rode two laps, declared the performance good, then stopped for a more detailed inspection.

Wei Ming leaned over: "Can I try it?"

Bu Dachun worried: "Can you even ride?"

Master Liu also feared he'd flip it—the bike had serious power.

In his past life, Wei Ming had bought a motorcycle in the 1990s and ridden it for over a decade.

"Don't worry—if anything gets scratched or dented, it's on me, no haggling."

Bu Dachun muttered under his breath: Even if nothing gets scratched, you still can't haggle.

Once on the bike, Wei Ming's posture was far better than Master Liu's—he was ten centimeters taller, could easily plant both feet on the ground, and compared to him, the motorcycle didn't look nearly as imposing.

Biaozi and the others watched enviously, but they couldn't ride motorcycles yet, so they could only stare.

Wei Ming was quite satisfied with the bike; he got off and said: "Alright, this one. Let's go do the transfer today."

"Did you bring enough cash?" the old man asked.

Wei Ming patted his coat pocket: "I withdrew the money before I left."

Bu Dachun knew the bike was really going to be sold—he rushed to the bike, hugged it tightly, reluctant to let go, nearly crying.

"Who are you? What are you doing?!"

As the old man wept, a young man with glasses walked in and immediately demanded an explanation in stern tones.

Bu Dachun quickly blocked him: "Son, they're here to buy the bike—it's fine."

The newcomer was Bu Yun Suan, Bu Dachun's son about to study in America at Tsinghua; his original name was Bu Suanmiao, because his father had once been skilled at growing garlic—the new name was chosen by the boy himself after he grew up.

Bu Yun Suan clearly knew about this plan, but he had always opposed it.

"Dad, I've told you countless times—I don't need you to prepare money for me. My tuition and living expenses are fully covered by the state. Even if I'm short, can't I earn it myself?"

Bu Dachun: "You're going abroad to study—don't waste your time earning money."

Then he pulled his son aside and whispered: "If you ever decide not to come back, having this money will make life easier over there, won't it?"

Bu Yun Suan immediately exclaimed indignantly: "I've said it countless times—I will definitely return after graduation to help build our motherland!"

Bu Dachun tried to cover his son's mouth but was too late; he looked awkwardly at Wei Ming and the others.

Wei Ming suddenly understood—the old farmer had these hidden thoughts after all.

But he was more worried his son would stop the old man from selling the bike—then all his effort would be wasted.

So Wei Ming clapped and said: "This student speaks well—your patriotic devotion is truly moving. But your father's point is also right: poor home, rich journey. Having extra foreign currency as emergency funds is wise—the state can only guarantee the bare minimum for living and survival."

Bu Yun Suan stared at Wei Ming, suddenly steadying himself; he took off his glasses, wiped them, and exclaimed: "Wei Ming—you're the Wei Ming from Peking University!"

Wei Ming smiled: "That's me. You know me?"

"Of course! I love your poem 'Ideal,' and your novel 'The Herdsman' has always inspired me!"

Wei Ming shook his hand—he hadn't expected to meet a fan. Maybe the price could be…?

Bu Yun Suan turned to his father: "If Mr. Wei is buying the bike, then sell it. How much do you want?"

Bu Dachun replied dazedly: "Three… three thousand."

Bu Yun Suan smiled: "Too cheap—Mr. Wei the writer is rich. But since you've already said it, we'll stick with that price."

Wei Ming: What kind of fan is this?!

The deal was settled, but Bu Yun Suan added: "After you get the money, don't exchange it for foreign currency. Save it—you can buy a small sihe courtyard in the city later, preferably near a hospital, so when you're older, you can retire there."

Hearing this, Wei Ming's mouth hung open: Sir, what year did you come back from the future?!

Old Bu said nothing—once the money's in my hands, I decide what to do.

He told his son to watch the house while he went to handle the paperwork; Xiao Bu went inside, rummaged around, and brought out a basket of cucumbers and tomatoes for Wei Ming to take.

"Oh my, this is too kind—thank you!" These could be eaten raw; in winter they cost a fortune. This fan was generous indeed.

Then Bu Dachun remembered something and dug out an unused motorcycle helmet from his home—he'd never worn one himself; who'd know who was riding if your head was covered? That'd be pointless. But Wei Ming loved it—safety was most important when riding.

Bu Dachun's village bordered Xiangshan; they needed to get into the city quickly to complete the transfer, or the office would close.

Watching Old Bu ride off on the motorcycle, leaving the other men behind, they all drooled—especially Biaozi and Xiao Mei, who were already thinking of restarting their smuggling business.

Only the two of them followed; Feng Ge and Master Liu had returned to Changzheng Canteen for dinner.

At the vehicle office, Wei Ming first had Old Bu count the 3, 00 yuan—ten-yuan notes, three full stacks—leaving Old Bu trembling with excitement.

Wei Ming, seeing he didn't look wealthy, asked: "How did you afford buying a motorcycle from Japan?"

Old Bu chuckled: "My ancestors were once rich—I kept two little gold fish at home. I sold one in Japan and bought this bike. The other I'm saving for my son's wedding."

Wei Ming nodded—gold was still the real thing. When he returned to this era, the antiques and art markets had collapsed, but gold held firm.

The paperwork went smoothly—driver's licenses were hard to get, but motorcycle registration had few restrictions.

Back then, the registration was simple: only the first page listed the owner's info; transferring to a new owner just required writing the new name in pen on the second page and stamping it with the vehicle office seal—no new booklet needed.

Also, the fuel logbook—fuel was rationed then; gas stations only accepted fuel coupons. Motorcycles got 42 liters per quarter at 7–8 fen per liter. Though only one-tenth of later prices, the relative cost was higher.

!

Old Bu said the bike was fuel-efficient: "I never use up my quarterly fuel quota—I sell part of it to the commune."

Wei Ming figured even if he ran short, he could ask Master Liu—he was near the school's vehicle fleet, so fuel wouldn't be a problem.

"Biaozi, you two go back first. I'll drop off Brother Bu and fill up," the bike's tank was nearly empty; Wei Ming put on his helmet. "Brother Bu, I'll ride this time."

Old Bu sighed: "It's your bike—you ride it. But you don't need to drop me off—I can take the bus home."

He insisted on walking, so Wei Ming let him; but he added one last piece of advice: "I think your son's right—exchanging for foreign currency isn't necessary. Save the money and buy a courtyard in the city."

He didn't know if Old Bu listened, but Wei Ming's next step was buying a house.

Sihe courtyards hadn't yet hit their peak for sale—many confiscated due to historical reasons hadn't been returned to their original owners yet.

Once those owners reclaimed their ancestral homes, many planned to sell and leave, including large courtyards in prime locations—even selling the furniture inside. That'd be the perfect time to profit from the chaos.

If no suitable sihe courtyards were available, he could check if any overseas Chinese apartments were being sold—he still preferred private bathrooms.

He currently had over two thousand yuan, but it was far from enough—even without buying the bike, it wouldn't be enough.

Right after returning to Beijing, he'd mailed the script for 'The Book of Heaven' to Meiyingchang; it should've arrived by now.

Even adding the script fee for 'Heroes Born in Youth' still wouldn't be enough.

Now, besides selling scripts, there was no other fast, highly profitable business in China suited to him.

So he had to go abroad!

Wei Ming filled up, then rode the motorcycle slowly back to Peking University, parking it at the entrance of Changzheng Canteen.

Inside, Feng Ge and Master Liu sat calmly; other colleagues from the South Gate post immediately gathered to gawk at Wei Ming's new bike.

Wei Ming asked: "Haven't Biaozi and Xiao Mei returned yet?"

Feng Ge laughed: "You're riding a motorcycle now—how could they catch up?"

Wei Ming: "But I told them to go ahead. I waited over half an hour to fill up, and I didn't even ride fast."

He just wanted to save time and effort—he didn't want to race death. But the return route was uphill; even riding slowly, he'd left those two far behind.

Nearly another half hour passed before they trudged into Changzheng Canteen, Xiao Mei holding a basket of red and green vegetables.

Wei Ming smiled and called out: "Alright, everyone's here—bring on the food and drinks!"

One table wasn't enough—they took two, exhausting the canteen staff. Normally they had quiet holidays, but today they were worn out.

At the table, Wei Ming told Master Liu about the fuel issue; he said it was no problem—the school's fuel quota was still ample. Of course, quotas were quotas—Wei Ming would still have to pay out of pocket, which he certainly wouldn't mind.

They ate until nine, with one group leaving and another arriving, since shifts changed mid-meal.

Everyone was thoroughly satisfied, calling Wei Ming "Wei Gongming" or "Brother Gongming," feeling his influence was strong—he could probably rally the whole campus and become vice president.

After dinner, Wei Ming brought the motorcycle into the 24-hour guard booth.

When he returned to the dorm, only Wei Ming, Biaozi, and Xiao Mei remained.

The two of them had drunk heavily and fell asleep without washing up.

Wei Ming turned on his small desk lamp, spread out a sheet of paper, and prepared to write a letter to Hong Kong…

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(End of chapter)