[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-rising-in-1979":3,"chapter-rising-in-1979-rising-in-1979-chapter-172":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},2260880,4412,"Chapter 172: A Ming, A Min, Ming Min (Guaranteed Second Update)","rising-in-1979-chapter-172",172,"\u003Cp>This time, Zhou Hui didn’t rush to reply to Wei Ming; she decided to finish the task he’d given her first.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before the 1970s, almost no one in Hong Kong listened to Cantonese songs; Mandarin and English songs dominated.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In just ten years, thanks to the efforts of singers like Xu Guanjie and the rapid rise of Cantonese-drama productions, Cantonese songs became deeply popular.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In 1980 Hong Kong, although Cantonese songs were mainstream, the high popularity of so many Taiwanese singers showed that Mandarin songs still had some market—only after a few more years, during the Tan-Zhang rivalry, would Cantonese songs enter their golden age.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet almost all local Hong Kong singers focused exclusively on Cantonese songs, and fewer and fewer released Mandarin albums.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The next day at noon, Zhou Hui spent hours at a music store near her school, asking the owner about Mandarin songs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The owner recommended several tapes by Taiwanese singers, but Zhou Hui wasn’t satisfied.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Aren’t there any Hong Kong singers’ Mandarin albums—even obscure ones?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Actually, she preferred lesser-known singers, since she had no clear sense of the song’s value and feared famous singers might dismiss it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The owner thought for a moment, then dug out a cassette from a dusty corner.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Here, this one.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The album was titled “Country Road,” a song Zhou Hui knew—it was by Qi Yu—but this album wasn’t Qi Yu’s; it was a cover version by a Hong Kong singer.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The album also included a few other covers like “Ballad of the Great Wall” and “Waves of Penghu,” plus a few original tracks Zhou Hui had never heard of—clearly, sales were poor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The singer’s name was Zhang Mingmin, and the label was Eternal Records.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though she’d never heard of either, the name gave Zhou Hui a warm feeling—Wei Ming and Hui Min—wasn’t that Mingmin?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So Zhou Hui bought the cassette and planned to listen to it at home that night.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When she returned to the public housing estate, she saw many neighbors gathered together; approaching closer, she found they were surrounding Ghost Uncle, who seemed to be preparing food to sell.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing Zhou Hui, Ghost Uncle smiled: “Wait a moment, Hui Min—I’ll make you a pancake to take home.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Pancake?” Zhou Hui had never heard of this northern delicacy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When she took it, it was warm; after one bite, it was delicious—she hadn’t expected Ghost Uncle to have such a skill.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Ghost Uncle, do you need help?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No, I can manage. Go home and finish your homework.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Hui wanted to ask why Ghost Uncle had suddenly started selling pancakes—had he quit his hospital security job?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Only when she got home did her mother tell her.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Yes, Ghost said he quit that job—it paid too little—so he switched to food service.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Hui looked at the pancake in her hand—was this really food service?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After packing up and returning home, Ghost counted his earnings for the day, subtracted expenses—good, he’d made nearly a hundred dollars, even without opening early—definitely better than being a security guard.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His public housing unit was tiny, barely enough for two people; he worried that if he never returned to the mainland, and his son or grandson ever came to visit Hong Kong, he couldn’t let them suffer.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So he used his savings, plus his grandson’s manuscript fee, to buy this set of equipment and became a street vendor specializing in Tianjin jianbing guozi.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>During his underground work, he’d once disguised himself as a pancake seller; after decades without practice, he hadn’t forgotten the skill.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Too bad he was alone—if he had help, he could add soy milk and millet porridge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He planned that once he earned more, he’d rent a storefront, hire someone, and add drinks.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He might never give his descendants great wealth, but he couldn’t let them suffer in Hong Kong like he had.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That’s why, nearing sixty, Ghost Uncle had quit his job to try something new.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lying in bed, he still thought about how to improve his technique to better suit Hong Kong tastes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The next morning, as Zhou Hui was about to leave, she saw Ghost Uncle already at his stall.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This time he offered her a pancake for free, but Zhou Hui refused outright and insisted on paying.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>One dollar for one with egg—Ghost added an extra egg on purpose.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In those days, an average Hong Kong worker earned one or two thousand per month; white-collar workers earned anywhere from one or two thousand to four or five thousand—all in Hong Kong dollars.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A one-dollar jianbing, even eaten daily, wouldn’t cost more than a hundred a month—and it included egg, vegetables, and carbs, making it extremely affordable; even then, Ghost made at least fifty cents profit.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The only thing missing was meat; Zhou Hui suggested: “It’d be better if there was a grilled sausage inside.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hearing this, Ghost had a sudden idea—brilliant!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Grilled sausages had good profit margins too!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Since school was off today and she had piano lessons, after her morning lesson Zhou Hui didn’t go home—she headed straight to Eternal Records to pitch her song.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Last night she’d listened to Zhang Mingmin’s songs and felt he had real talent—he could sing “Slippery Her.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>During class, she even asked her piano teacher about the current music market for songwriting and composition.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though not an insider, the teacher worked in music and surely knew more than a middle school student.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Eternal Records wasn’t on Hong Kong Island; Zhou Hui first took a Kowloon bus to the Kowloon Peninsula, then switched to the newly opened Kwun Tong MTR line, and finally walked a few minutes to the office building.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Standing outside, Zhou Hui finally felt nervous—she was only thirteen, and this was her first time doing something like this. “Uncle, excuse me, do you know which floor Eternal Records is on?” She stopped a passing man with glasses—he looked kind.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing the girl’s height, Zhang Mingmin felt wounded—he touched his face—I’m only twenty-four! Already called “uncle”?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Come with me,” Zhang Mingmin kindly led her upstairs and asked, “What brings you to Eternal Records? Are you a newly signed singer?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Oh, no—I’m here to sell a song.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You write songs?” Zhang Mingmin was even more surprised—she was so young—was she from a musical family?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Like his teacher Dai Sicong’s family—his daughter Yunhui, though only twelve, had been immersed in music since childhood and had strong musical grounding—but even she hadn’t written any decent songs, only sung well.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Hui waved her hand: “My friend wrote the song—I’m just asking for him.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The elevator reached the eighth floor, where several companies were located; Eternal Records was one of the larger ones, and Zhang Mingmin led her straight inside.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Hui noticed he hadn’t left—he smiled and explained: “I’m the singer here. Let me introduce myself—I’m Zhang Mingmin.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Oh! You’re Zhang Mingmin!” Zhou Hui was stunned.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Yes, I’m Zhang Mingmin.” Zhang Mingmin was even more surprised—someone actually recognized him?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though he’d won two championships last year in the “Hong Kong Workers Singing Contest” and the “Hong Kong Amateur Singing Contest,” his debut album had drawn almost no response.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Because “Country Road” sold poorly, the company now planned to send Zhang Mingmin to sing in nightclubs—only after his day job, of course.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhang Mingmin wasn’t yet a full-time singer; luckily, he hadn’t quit his job at the electronic watch factory, or singing alone wouldn’t have fed him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Hui pulled out Wei Ming’s song: “I actually wrote this song for you to sing.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Oh?” Zhang Mingmin was delighted—the girl had come specifically for him. “May I see the song?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Hui handed it over.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hey—it was a Mandarin song. Zhang Mingmin’s musical literacy far surpassed Zhou Hui’s; he skimmed it once and began softly humming.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Hui felt he sang it far better than she could—this uncle was clearly the right choice.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After finishing the first verse, Zhang Mingmin sighed: “Great song. Truly great.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This sudden song was far superior to the original compositions the company had previously offered him—even rivaling the Taiwanese covers, with a distinctly Taiwanese melodic flavor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Is your friend from Taiwan?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No,” Zhou Hui shook her head, but didn’t say where he was from. “Can you buy it? How much will you pay?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She couldn’t wait to tell Ming the good news.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhang Mingmin knew capitalists were greedy; this girl clearly knew nothing—she’d easily be cheated by their boss.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So he advised: “Have your friend join the Hong Kong Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers first—then his song will be protected. Then come back to us and I’ll introduce you to our boss.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hong Kong hadn’t previously valued music creators’ rights, but since the “Hong Kong Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers” was founded in 1976, things had improved greatly—plagiarism dropped sharply, and lyricists and composers now earned royalties from hit songs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Hui had never heard of the society before; she was overwhelmed: “But my friend isn’t in Hong Kong—can I register for him?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Probably.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Does registration cost money?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Yes, but not much—around a hundred dollars.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Hui was stuck—she didn’t even have a hundred dollars.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing her distress, Zhang Mingmin hesitated, then pulled out a hundred-dollar note.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I’ll lend it to you.” After all, she’d come all the way to give him a song—she must be a fan; lending money to a fan felt safe.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then he wrote down the society’s address for Zhou Hui.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Hui quickly left her home address—hundred dollars was no small sum to her.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Because she had to register with the Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers, Zhou Hui was late getting home.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When she arrived, Ghost Uncle had already packed up; luckily, her mother worked late and hadn’t noticed her tardiness—she hurried to cook dinner and waited for her mother to return.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though delayed, she’d finally succeeded in registering—but not without complications.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She only knew her friend’s real name, “Wei Ming,” and his stage name, “A Ming”—no birth date, no photo, no address—strictly speaking, registration wasn’t possible.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fortunately, the clerk, seeing she was just a girl, made an exception—she could submit the missing documents later, but the address listed was Zhou Hui’s home.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now she had a chance to ask Ming for his photo and birth date!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thinking of this, Hui Min felt a quiet anticipation—how old was Ming? What did he look like?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(Please vote for monthly tickets!)\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",1731,"2026-06-19T16:30:57.111Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","8ca22d12317c1921dc6cc52d04fe8d9c470b63a7fa3e2fc05ded711cffbebbe7","rising-in-1979-chapter-173","rising-in-1979-chapter-171",509,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Frising-in-1979-cover.jpg"]