[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-rising-in-1979":3,"chapter-rising-in-1979-rising-in-1979-chapter-157":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","Rising in 1979",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2260865,4412,"Chapter 157: Ferocious Animals and the Ten-Thousand-Yuan Household (Guaranteed Second Update)","rising-in-1979-chapter-157",157,"\u003Cp>\"Foreign exchange!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hearing those two words, Ah Long’s eyes lit up; since his father had been taken away, he hadn’t experienced the convenience of overseas remittance vouchers in a long time.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ah Long had lived for a long time in Foshan and Guangzhou, where he often secretly read Hong Kong comics, especially Huang Yulang’s wildly popular “Little Hooligan” (“Dragon Tiger Gate”), which greatly influenced him when he first started reading comics.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Liu Rulong asked: “Do you have overseas channels? By the way, Sister Meilida!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming shook his head; he hadn’t received any letters from Britain yet. True, the Hong Kong dollar exchange rate was too low—earning Hong Kong dollars wasn’t nearly as satisfying as earning U.S. dollars or British pounds—but Britain was too far away, beyond reach.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I mean Hong Kong. The comic industry there is more developed. If your drawing skills can match Huang Yulang’s, I can come up with a story even better than his.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hearing Wei Ming’s words, Liu Rulong swallowed hard; he was already eager to see a comic story more thrilling than “Dragon Tiger Gate.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ah Long asked: “Do you have connections in Hong Kong too?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming: “I just made two pen pals in Hong Kong, and isn’t there still your dad? If he gets out, I say forget the gang—let’s start a publishing house. We could do comic novels. If he likes it, we could even make a Hong Kong version of ‘Playboy.’”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Get lost, my dad’s a respectable man,” Liu Rulong laughed, then said seriously, “I’ll try drawing ‘Heroes Rise Young’ in a Rexue  fighting comic style. Your novel’s fight scenes have great visual impact.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Yeah, which publisher does our grandpa usually work with?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Hebei Fine Arts Publishing House.” This was one of the biggest publishers of linked-picture books in the north.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming: “Draw a few pages first. If they don’t like them, I know people at the Shanghai People’s Fine Arts Publishing House.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Linked-picture books and comics were usually done in collaboration with fine arts publishers—they were more professional.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming’s connections came from Xue Jie; her mother worked at the Shanghai People’s Fine Arts Publishing House.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Liu Rulong assumed Wei Ming had gotten his connections from the Shanghai Animation Film Studio and wasn’t surprised; he asked again about “The Legend of the Heavenly Book.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming smiled: “The Shanghai Animation Film Studio has approved it—only BBC’s consent remains. And you can start an internship there during summer vacation.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hearing this news, Ah Long was even more excited than when he heard “foreign exchange”—after all, that was the place he had always dreamed of.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After dinner, night was falling. Wei Ming didn’t stay long; he mounted his motorcycle, turned on the headlights, and rode off stylishly. They agreed Wei Ming would pick him up the next morning.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Riding back to the South Gate, Biaozi told him: “Old Liu’s back—he’s waiting for you in the dorm.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lantern Festival was coming soon; after the fifteenth, Peking University would reopen and students would return to campus.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming pushed the motorcycle inside and went downstairs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Liu Zhenyun’s hair had grown longer, and he looked even more like an artsy youth.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Aren’t you going to get a haircut?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Liu Zhenyun shook his head: “I’ll wait till after the first month. My uncle’s been good to me.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming chuckled: “Haha, I just found my uncle too.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I heard from Mei Wenhua—you brought back a fair-skinned, beautiful cousin from Sichuan-Chongqing. Too bad we never met,” Liu Zhenyun sighed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mei Wenhua’s eyes widened, looking like he wanted to protest but couldn’t, so he chose to flee.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming: Good thing you got away fast.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After Mei Wenhua left, Liu Zhenyun excitedly said: “I wrote two articles on ‘The Sheep Herding Class’—and both got published!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You’re practically becoming an expert on interpreting Wei Ming’s works now.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Liu Zhenyun grinned: “I tried writing fiction, but I still lack the skill, so I’ll stick to criticism.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What you lack is life experience,” Wei Ming analyzed. “When you break up with Sister Guo, you’ll probably transform.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Then I’d rather not transform,” Liu Zhenyun said sweetly. “I came all the way here on the same train as Meizi.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Judging by his smug expression, he’d probably held her hand plenty.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Don’t flaunt your romance to me—I’ve got more stories. A few days ago, I rode the same horse as Sister Zhu Lin—so close, our cheeks brushed, sparks flew.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Liu Zhenyun came just to check in, tell Wei Ming he was back, and say he’d help with anything—just remember to invite him for dinner.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Too bad—I just treated everyone to a big meal at the Long March cafeteria, two tables full.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Old Liu pounded his chest in regret: “It’s all Meizi’s fault—I said I’d come back yesterday, but she insisted on coming back today.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“But I’ll really need your help soon—don’t you dare refuse.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Just say the word!” Liu Zhenyun thumped his chest—he loved helping Wei Ming; Wei Gongming was generous and never let anyone help for free.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Liu Zhenyun also asked about Wei Ming’s new work and learned it was a long novel—he wouldn’t be earning any money from Wei Ming’s fiction reviews anytime soon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When Liu Zhenyun went upstairs, he noticed a sleek, beautiful motorcycle parked in the gatehouse.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“This, this is...”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mei Wenhua, who was chatting with the gate guard, grunted: “Yep, your Ming-ge’s new ride. Cost this much.” His expression was exactly like those netizens proudly showing off their Shanghai sports car-owning Young Master .\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Liu Zhenyun knew those three fingers couldn’t mean three hundred yuan—it had to be three thousand. My goodness, novelists are rich!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thinking of his two articles earning him only twenty yuan, he felt utterly crushed. Finally, he touched the motorcycle, then winced in pain, staggered off, and walked away in a daze.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Once out of Mei Wenhua’s sight, Liu Zhenyun returned to normal—he figured Culture Brother was satisfied now, haha.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That night, Wei Ming wrote a preface for his short story collection. The next morning, he rode his motorcycle to the Film Academy to pick up Ah Long.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This scene happened to be seen by Zhang Yimou, who had just returned to campus.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming stopped to chat with him. Old Zhang wasn’t particularly envious of the motorcycle, but when he mentioned it back at the dorm, Kai Zi overheard and became intensely envious, thinking he’d ask his dad if he could get one too.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming took Liu Rulong into the city and visited three editorial offices: “Beijing Literature and Art,” “Contemporary,” and “People’s Literature.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming didn’t just deliver manuscripts—he brought photos along too, which was incredibly thoughtful.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He also added: “If photos aren’t suitable for illustrations, I’ve got an illustrator on standby—we can adjust anytime.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhang Dening smiled: “You Xiaozi , you’re fooling us with essays—we can’t even complain.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhang Dening’s opposite, a new screenwriter who had read Wei Ming’s work, said: “Wei’s essays are consistently light and fluid—even on melancholy themes like searching for family, he writes with wit.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhang Dening introduced: “This is our new editor, Liu Heng.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She didn’t need to introduce him; even though he was still young, Wei Ming recognized him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Liu Heng—the famous screenwriter and author who wrote scripts and novels like \"Ju Dou,\" \"Autumn Chrysanthemum Lawsuit,\" \"Assembly,\" \"The Happy Life of Zhang Damin the Chatterbox,\" and \"The Young Emperor.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In the future, when Wei Ming joined the Screenwriters Association, this man would be the top figure seated center-stage—the country’s top-tier screenwriter.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But now he was just a new editor who’d written some obscure pieces, while Wei Ming was already a literary giant.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In the end, “Beijing Literature and Art” kept the article about the long-distance train. Though they thought “Panda Gangdan” was more legendary, Wei Ming clearly intended it as a call for the state to establish a better panda protection system.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Editor Zhang thought it better suited for “People’s Literature,” the publication with the largest circulation and broadest influence. At this point, “People’s Literature” already had three times the circulation of “Beijing Literature and Art.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Next, they went to see Bai Shurong at “Contemporary.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After leaving No. 166 Chaoyang Street, Wei Ming and Ah Long had lunch at a decent restaurant and arrived at the People’s Literature Publishing House in the afternoon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming handed the preface to editor Tu Guangqun, then, accompanied by another publisher’s editor, viewed the cover options.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Book covers these days had no design sense at all—nothing flashy. The only design was usually in the size and font of the title.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The book market hadn’t yet become so competitive that publishers started fighting over belly bands. As long as the author was famous and the content solid, sales were never a problem.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Liu Rulong wasn’t impressed by these covers—the only thing worth praising was the title Wei Ming had chosen for the collection.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Ferocious Animals.” Though each story’s title included an animal, remember: humans are animals too. Wei Ming’s protagonists are all humans—ferocious, resilient, unkillable even in adversity.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ah Long understood at a glance: here, “animals” meant humans.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming borrowed the title from a later short story by Wang Shuo—the same story that Jiang Wen adapted into “In the Heat of the Sun.” When Wang Shuo republishes it, he’ll just change the name.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He picked a slightly more attractive cover and suggested adding the subtitle: “A Collection of Short and Medium-Length Stories by Wei Ming.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Most authors chose their most famous story as the collection’s title to help readers find it easily. Wei Ming didn’t do that—so he’d make the subtitle do the work.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming asked: “When will the sample copies be ready?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Within a week.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming nodded; they also discussed royalties thoroughly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Five stories: “The Tale of Two Donkeys,” “Bullfighting,” “Spring River Water Warms First the Ducks,” “The Herdsman,” and “The Spring of the Sheep Herding Class”—totaling 200,000 characters.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming wasn’t a rookie anymore—he had clout. At the standard rate of ten yuan per thousand characters, that came to 2,000 yuan!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The first print run was one million copies—far bolder than “The Legend of the Heavenly Book.” This confidence came from Wei Ming’s track record of blockbusters.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Royalty rates for print runs had already been explained, so no need to repeat: roughly, the base royalty doubled for every 500,000 copies.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For one million copies, that meant doubling twice.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So: 2,000 yuan times three equals 6,000 yuan!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Add in the screenplay money, and Wei Ming’s cash reserves were about to surpass ten thousand yuan!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In this era, to encourage people to earn money, becoming a “ten-thousand-yuan household” was big news, featured prominently in newspapers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For Wei Ming, who often appeared in newspapers, it didn’t matter—but he knew he was one step closer to buying a house.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the way back, he took Ah Long on a tour of Beijing’s hutongs, thinking about where to buy one someday...\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(Requesting monthly votes!)\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",1820,"2026-06-19T16:30:57.111Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","e1cd6af6c5d130eb1c51c79309b5259bb4ce0f5f7bbe7e478b17eb0e7a4fb683","rising-in-1979-chapter-158","rising-in-1979-chapter-156",509,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Frising-in-1979-cover.jpg"]