Chapter 175: Zhou Hui

Mei Wenhua handed the package to Wei Ming and went off for her patrol duty.

Wei Ming was the only one left in the dorm; he sat on the bed and opened the package.

There was quite a bit inside: a pile of snacks—chocolate, char siu pastries, horse hoof cake, beef jerky, cookies, candies—and even a can of coffee!

How did the old man meet such a generous and greedy girl? It felt like all this was just her favorite stuff.

Wei Ming opened a pack of beef jerky and started eating, then noticed a few magazines.

One was Film Weekly, which later helped launch the Hong Kong Film Awards and served as the main platform for the New Wave cinema movement.

Another was Hong Kong Film & Picture, even older, focused mainly on movie stars and film news.

As Wei Ming was about to flip through them, several banknotes tumbled out.

Hong Kong dollars!

Wei Ming's first thought: the song sold!

He pulled out all the bills and counted them—2, 50 Hong Kong dollars total!

Not bad! That's the same price as a 40, 00-character wuxia novel!

Music really pays!

Then Wei Ming spotted a contract: the song "Liu Liu De Ta" had been sold to a company called Eternal Records for 2, 00 Hong Kong dollars.

It also clearly outlined future royalty splits from record sales.

He'd never heard of Eternal Records—probably a small company—and he didn't know who would end up singing it.

But that wasn't the point; the point was the signature.

It was signed with his real name, "Wei Ming," and his pen name, "A Ming."

Wei Ming leaned closer—the signature looked exactly like his own!

As a company boss in his past life, he'd signed documents constantly; his signature was the two characters he wrote best, unmistakably unique.

He quickly pulled out paper and pen and wrote "Wei Ming" again; only after comparison did he notice subtle differences—he'd never spotted the imitation without direct comparison.

After checking everything else in the package, Wei Ming finally opened the letter.

"A Ming, mission accomplished—I sold the song for 2, 00 Hong Kong dollars, hope you're not disappointed! I signed the contract for you too—how's the handwriting?" A Min started with the key point.

You're awfully proud of yourself, A Min!

Wei Ming chuckled; he hadn't expected her to have this special talent. Thank goodness they were just pen pals—better keep some distance from someone like this.

A Min continued: "To avoid getting scammed, I also enrolled you in the Hong Kong Society of Composers, Authors and Music Publishers—the membership fee came out of my ten percent, and I used the leftover to buy you some Hong Kong specialties. I don't know if you'll like them—don't drink too much coffee, it'll keep you awake."

Wei Ming gave a thumbs-up—A Min was truly generous.

Then A Min went into detail about each snack's flavor and her own reviews, subtly hinting which of the snacks Wei Ming had sent she liked best—obvious enough; clearly a greedy little girl.

Then A Min returned to the Hong Kong Society of Composers, Authors and Music Publishers.

"Actually, the paperwork isn't finished—they need your date of birth, home address, and a one-inch passport photo. I put down my address; you'll need to provide the rest next time—remember to send them to me."

Wei Ming did have such photos—he'd needed them for household registration and joining the society, and he still had a few—but he hesitated to send his photo to a stranger.

Whatever, if she wants it, give it to her.

She'd moved to a new place, living in the same neighborhood as Lao Gui, and they knew each other—maybe she'd already seen his photo before.

After reminding Wei Ming to send the photo, Zhou Hui asked if he had any other creative plans.

"The singer who'll perform your song is called Zhang Mingmin—how funny, you're A Ming, I'm A Min, and he's Mingmin."

Wei Ming's eyes widened—what an absurd coincidence!

It was this guy! Wei Ming admired him greatly—who among Chinese people couldn't hum a few lines of "The Yangtze River, the Great Wall, Mount Huangshan, the Yellow River—they weigh a thousand jin in my heart"?

Zhou Hui said: "This uncle said if you have more works, just give them to him—he's really nice, and it was he who suggested I enroll you in that society."

Zhang Mingmin's character was unquestionable—he'd been labeled a "red singer" after singing "My Chinese Heart" on the Spring Festival Gala, blacklisted, forced back to work in an electronics factory, then later donated all 600, 00 yuan raised during his nationwide tour for the Beijing Asian Games in 1990.

So Wei Ming decided to write a few more songs suited for Zhang Mingmin—but "My Chinese Heart" definitely wouldn't be one; that song would carry more meaning if composed entirely by Hong Kong musicians.

As he pondered what song to write next, he heard movement outside the door and slipped the Hong Kong dollars into his pocket.

It was Biaozi—he and Mei Wenhua weren't on the same shift; Xiao Mei had come to relieve him.

Tall as he was, Biaozi spotted the items on Wei Ming's bed at a glance.

"Brother Ming, what's all this stuff? Did Mei Lindar send it?"

"No, it's from my Hong Kong pen pal." Wei Ming had just finished chewing beef jerky and told Biaozi to help himself.

Biaozi's eyes locked onto the can of Nestlé instant coffee.

"What's this black stuff? Sesame paste?"

Wei Ming grinned: "This is called coffee. Ever heard of it?"

By now, Shanghai had its first coffeehouse open to all citizens, but in Beijing, you rarely saw this stuff except in Friendship Stores or foreigner neighborhoods.

"I think I've heard of it—is it tasty?"

"Not food—drink. After you drink it, you'll feel super alert," Wei Ming smiled. "Biaozi, want me to make you some?"

Hearing "super alert," Biaozi immediately said: "Sure!"

Wei Ming didn't like coffee—he'd seen it in the international students' dorm but never drank it.

He believed artificial stimulation from special foods always came at a hidden cost—he called it the Law of Excitement Conservation; from a health perspective, better to follow nature. Biaozi pulled out his rice bowl; Wei Ming scooped a spoonful.

"Give me a bit more."

"You've got to drink it all—this stuff's expensive. One spoon's worth at least a yuan," Wei Ming lied.

He poured hot water over it and pushed it to Biaozi: "Let it cool a bit before drinking."

Biaozi sniffed: "Tastes bitter."

Wei Ming: "That's how coffee is—bitter with a hint of sweetness."

Biaozi swirled the bowl, then took a cautious sip.

"Ugh! Pfft! What is this? Swill? Worse than swill! So bitter!"

Wei Ming: "That was two spoons—two yuan."

Thinking of two yuan, Biaozi pinched his nose and swallowed it all—felt worse than drinking Chinese medicine.

As Biaozi paused, savoring the taste, Wei Ming asked: "How's it taste now? Any aftertaste?"

!

Biaozi's eyes rolled, then he shoved the bowl toward Wei Ming's mouth: "Brother Ming, you haven't tried it yet—taste it! It's sweet after!"

About a quarter remained; Wei Ming sighed and took it: "You're wasting good stuff."

The plain coffee was indeed bitter; Wei Ming barely tasted it, then thought—why force myself to suffer?

He climbed onto the bed, rummaged through A Min's snack package, found a milk candy, and dropped it into the hot coffee, stirring until it dissolved.

After the candy melted, he took another sip—much smoother, sweeter, richer—he didn't stop, sipped slowly, and finished it all.

Watching this, Biaozi slapped his thigh: "Of course! Why didn't I think of adding sugar?!"

Wei Ming: "Too late—just drink that much. I'm afraid we'll both be up all night."

"That strong? I don't feel anything yet."

Wei Ming: "This stuff hits later."

Biaozi: "Then I'll read a book—I always get sleepy when I read."

He zeroed in on Wei Ming's Hong Kong magazines—though in traditional characters, he mainly wanted to look at the female stars.

Wei Ming handed him two copies of Hong Kong Film & Picture.

"Whoa, this woman's gorgeous! So sexy!"

Wei Ming glanced—oh, that's Xie the Fourth's wife, Xiao Xie's mom, Di Bola.

The photo was only mildly sexy—if Biaozi saw her film "Hong Kong Emmanuelle," he'd lose his mind.

She married Xie Xian last year—so is Xiao Xie about to be born?

Wei Ming checked the article—yes, it said Di Bola was pregnant and Xie Xian was about to become a father.

Biaozi kept flipping through Hong Kong's movie stars; Wei Ming climbed onto his bed, thinking about what song to write for Zhang Mingmin.

Writing lyrics was easy for him—he finished four in two hours—but composing melodies was harder; he'd never systematically studied music composition.

He thought about sending Le Le to Teacher Gu later and joining her for some self-improvement.

It was already late; he glanced down at Biaozi.

"Sleepy?"

Biaozi: "Brother Ming, I'm wired—I don't want to sleep at all!"

Wei Ming: "But you've finished all the magazines—what else do you want to look at?"

Biaozi's eyes lit up: "I want to see Yanzi!"

"No way. You can ride her during the day, but at night, there's no streetlight—what if you get hurt? What happens to Yanzi then?"

Wei Ming immediately realized Biaozi wanted to borrow the motorcycle to go back to Shichahai—he had no intention of taking on the responsibility of someone else's girlfriend.

"Forget it, even if I went, I couldn't do anything," Biaozi sighed. "When will I ever marry Yanzi?"

Biaozi and Wei Ming were both nineteen; in big cities, unlike the countryside, you couldn't marry before twenty-two—he and Yanzi were stuck at kissing, and Biaozi had always wanted to go further.

Wei Ming smiled: "If you and Yanzi moved to Hong Kong to settle, you could marry now—in Hong Kong, you just need to be sixteen and have parental consent."

"Really? That's amazing!" Biaozi got excited, then deflated—he had no idea how he'd ever get to Hong Kong.

"Brother Ming, I just remembered something," Biaozi said, bringing up Hong Kong. "Yanzi told me a Hong Kong director came to the sports school two days ago to cast actors—for a movie."

Wei Ming narrowed his eyes: "Did they pick anyone?"

Biaozi sighed enviously: "Yanzi said they picked Xiao Li."

…

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(End of chapter)