Chapter 161: Zhu Lin: So Your Name Is Gong Yu (Guaranteed First Update)

The next day, Zhou Hui went to school by detouring past Mary Hospital, hoping to tell Ghost Uncle about the move.

But Ghost Uncle wasn't working today—he had taken personal leave.

Zhou Hui went to school dejectedly and secretly wrote a letter to Ming during class, but didn't finish it by the end of the lesson.

During the next music class, she asked her music teacher, whom she got along with well, how to sing "Homesick Love."

In the afternoon, she continued refining her letter to Wei Ming, determined this time to uncover the mystery surrounding him.

While Zhou Hui wrote to Wei Ming, Gong Yu, far away in the northwest experiencing life, was also writing to Wei Ming.

Director Xie Jin had asked her to immerse herself in the character's life and write personal reflections, so she wouldn't forget them when filming officially began.

Gong Yu thought that since she was writing anyway, she might as well turn these reflections into letters and exchange them with the original author.

Although she knew the phone number for the south gate of Peking University, she still felt writing letters could express things more clearly.

When she went to the local post office to mail her letter, she accidentally spotted the March issue of "Mass Film" and quickly picked it up.

She bought every issue of this year's "Mass Film"; this issue's cover featured Zhao Erkang and Siqin Gaowa, the male and female leads from last year's film "Heart Longing for Home."

But Gong Yu didn't look closely—she flipped straight to the back cover photo.

Seeing that back cover image, Gong Yu gasped and covered her cherry lips in surprise.

It was a set of costume photos taken earlier this year with herself, Zhu Shimao, and Xi Zi—showing the three of them talking at home.

Director Xie said this photo would appear in a later issue of "Mass Film" after the New Year; it definitely wouldn't be on the cover since the film hadn't even been shot yet, but it might be on the back cover or inside pages.

Xie Jin was a renowned director, adapting a famous novel with nationwide attention; placing the photo on the back cover would satisfy audiences' curiosity about the creators and serve as promotion.

As the female lead of "Jihong," Gong Yu's crew had once appeared on the inside pages of "Mass Film," but the attention was certainly less than a cover feature.

Gong Yu held the magazine, wondering when she herself might grace the cover.

She immediately opened her letter and added a note, reminding Wei Ming to read this month's "Mass Film."

The first still from "The Herdsman" had leaked, drawing some attention—such as Zhu Lin's.

Her illness had long since healed, but she was still filming on Mount Ailao and occasionally visited Xu's clinic.

The entire crew knew she was friends with the writer Wei Ming; they treated her more politely, as if she'd gained some influential backing, and Na Renhua, the gossip queen, was desperate to learn every detail of how she met Wei Ming.

After the cast and crew of "The Herdsman" were revealed, those who heard the news immediately told her and lent her their copies of "Mass Film."

Zhu Lin stared at the three people on the back cover—all unfamiliar faces, none well-known actors.

"The female lead's pretty nice," the colleague who lent her the magazine said instinctively.

Zhu Lin nodded; though the costume was plain, her natural beauty couldn't be hidden—clearly a woman of refined grace.

Suddenly, Zhu Lin recalled a memory—this younger sister, she felt she'd seen her before.

The photo identified the female lead as "Gong Yu"; Zhu Lin remembered when she went to Peking University to find Wei Ming, a girl walked toward her—so beautiful, Zhu Lin had stared a few extra seconds while riding her bike.

Yes—it was her!

Zhu Lin suddenly suspected: Could this Gong Yu also be going to see Wei Ming? She must have just left Peking University!

Could her getting the female lead role be connected to Wei Ming?

The more Zhu Lin thought, the more plausible it seemed; and this girl looked older than Wei Ming—just how many good older sisters did this kid have?

Zhu Lin wasn't particularly angry—he wasn't hers to claim—but she felt a pang of disappointment, having thought she was unique to him.

Yet this disappointment eased when Wei Ming's letter arrived.

Wei Ming mailed the letter directly to their temporary village; the postman braved the mountains to deliver it into her hands.

What he sent wasn't just a letter—it was a package. Wei Ming kept his promise and mailed her the cassette of "The Children of Chorus," since Zhu Lin had said she hadn't read the novel; he also sent her a copy of the February issue of "People's Literature," signed, writing in his letter that he'd soon publish a book and would send her another copy then.

Seeing these things, Zhu Lin smiled quietly.

"Laughing? Laugh your head off!" Wei Ming glared at Biaozi and Xiao Mei.

Just now, a chubby girl had clung to Wei Ming the whole way, her eyes openly hungry for him.

Fortunately, the chubby girl had gotten off the train.

Wei Ming grumbled: "If I weren't accompanying you two, wouldn't I rather sleep in a sleeper berth?"

But sleeper berths were too expensive—these two were small-time operators, they'd never splurge.

Later, they compromised and agreed to get off in Wuhan, rest a bit, then buy tickets to Guangzhou.

Going straight from Beijing to Guangzhou would take over forty hours—you'd sit there with your butt split into three pieces.

Mei Wenhua smirked: "Brother Ming, if you're tired, you can lean on my shoulder to sleep."

Biaozi laughed so hard he slapped his thigh—it was the exact phrase the chubby girl had used.

"Get lost, get lost," Wei Ming adjusted his neck pillow and leaned against the window. "Good thing I'm not traveling with you guys on the return trip—I'll get to enjoy myself then." After arriving in Guangzhou, they'd part ways; the two planned to head to Shenzhen to import Hong Kong goods, while Wei Ming would retrace the Northern Expedition route.

Following Wei Ming's advice, they'd only import digital watches—small items that, thanks to thick winter clothes, could be hidden inside, yielding at least a hundred percent profit on return.

But considering how arduous their long journey was, Wei Ming felt they deserved to make the money.

A few more hours passed, and Wuhan finally arrived; they'd get off for a half-day break, then either take the afternoon train or continue south.

With this rare half-day rest, Wei Ming didn't want to go anywhere—he just wandered near the train station, and the three of them ate hot dry noodles together.

Before reboarding, Wei Ming spotted the new issue of "Mass Film" at a newsstand and bought a copy—he never missed an issue of this year's "Mass Film."

With money now, he'd finally achieved magazine freedom; he bought other major literary journals too. Luckily, books and magazines no longer required ration tickets, though quantities were still limited.

He wondered if "Ferocious Animals" would sell out the moment it hit shelves—he'd already pre-ordered two hundred copies from People's Literature Publishing House and added a hundred yuan extra.

"Hey, isn't that Xi Zi?"

While Wei Ming was reading the cover, Biaozi spotted the back cover and instantly recognized little Xi Zi.

!

Mei Wenhua's focus was: "Gong, Gong Yu!"

Wei Ming quickly flipped the magazine over and saw the still of "The Herdsman" family of three.

"Who? Who's Gong Yu?" Biaozi asked.

Mei Wenhua: "One of the two beautiful sisters who came looking for Brother Ming the day Mei Linda left!"

Biaozi studied it closely: "She's gorgeous! Even in coarse hemp clothes, you can tell she's stylish."

Wei Ming frowned; even this plain costume couldn't dull Xue's grace—she must be working hard to embody the role.

He snatched the magazine away.

"Enough. Get back on the train—we've still got over thirty hours to go."

After settling into their seats, Wei Ming opened the March issue of "Mass Film."

He never missed an issue now—not just because he followed film news, but because the Hundred Flowers Awards, suspended for seventeen years, were being revived—the Third Hundred Flowers Awards.

The news had been announced early this year, so since the first issue, each edition included a voting page; readers were to mail their votes to the awards committee.

This was entirely decided by reader votes, so since this year began, "Mass Film" sales had climbed steadily, increasing by hundreds of thousands per issue; a million copies per issue couldn't be far off.

Wei Ming had already cast his votes in the first two issues; he now handed this issue's voting rights over to Mei Biao and the others.

The two immediately flipped to the list of nominees.

Sixty-three titles meant 63 domestic feature films were produced last year.

These 63 domestic films, plus a small number of foreign-dubbed films, generated 27. billion viewings in 1979—averaging 70 million viewers daily, or 28 films per person annually (official data from "The Film Yearbook").

Many later generations used this to claim the late 1970s and early 1980s were cinema's golden age.

But a moment's thought reveals the problem.

Only 63 domestic films, even fewer foreign-dubbed ones—say 100 total films. 27. billion viewings means each film averaged 279 million viewings; even if foreign films were more numerous, each still averaged 200 million viewings.

That's impossible. Today, a film might have two or three hundred prints, or as few as dozens—how could it possibly generate hundreds of millions of viewings?

Even with only film, books, and radio as entertainment options, it's implausible.

Most films vanished without a trace, like "Jihong"; the vast majority on the 63-title list are unknown to later generations.

Last year, only a handful—"Little Flowers," "The Secret Bureau's Gunshot," "Look at This Family"—became nationwide talking points, reaching hundreds of millions of viewings.

Clearly, the 27. billion viewings were wildly inflated; even counting mobile screenings, they likely didn't reach that number—perhaps a single village screening counted every villager in the commune.

As Wei Ming pondered this, Biaozi and Mei Wenhua were already arguing over who to vote for.

He said "The Secret Bureau's Gunshot" was better; he said "Little Flowers" was more touching.

He said Liu Xiaoqing acted better; he said Chen Chong's performance was superior.

He said Tang Guoqiang deserved it; he said Sun Daolin was more skilled.

Their argument drew other passengers over; everyone debated who acted better, the carriage buzzing with lively discussion.

Wei Ming, amid the noise, quietly read the new March issue of "Contemporary"…

(End of Chapter)