Chapter 182: Let

In April, Beijing's nights still carried a chill; Wei Ming slowed his speed, not caring himself, but there was an old man behind him.

Wu Lao's salary was very high; he didn't care about Wei Ming's share of lamb hotpot, but he rarely got the chance to eat meat heartily and chat loudly with so many young people—he was truly happy today.

Wu Zuxiang asked Wei Ming: "Did you feel heartache when paying the bill?"

Because there were so many people, Wei Ming spent his entire month's salary at Peking University on this one meal.

Wei Ming forced a smile: "Not at all—I'll earn it back eventually."

At the table, he'd asked every classmate about their hometown and workplace—wait till I get to Xi'an and see if I eat Jia Pingwa's lamb dumplings or not.

He doesn't just have to cover meals—he has to cover our housing too.

Wu Lao laughed heartily: "You little rascal!"

Then he added: "Save your royalties—you heard your uncle's been helping you look for a house lately, right? Are you in a hurry to get married?"

Surprisingly, this news had already spread through Peking University's faculty; Wei Ming smiled and replied: "No wife yet, but I do want a home—if you know any leads, please tell me."

"Fine, I'll remember this."

But it seemed unnecessary—the next day, Wei Anping came to find Wei Ming at work and told him to wait at the south gate after his shift.

"To look at houses."

Wei Ming's eyes lit up instantly.

With no work that day, he left early and waited a few minutes at the south gate—Uncle Anping arrived soon after.

Then the two went to pick up Lele at the kindergarten; on the way, Wei Anping told his nephew: "Your aunt called today—she said they're about to head to the northwest to shoot a drama. I plan to visit them during May Day, taking Lele along."

May Day wasn't a golden week back then—just one day off—but Uncle Anping had annual leave and compensatory days.

Wei Ming asked: "Has Xi Zi's role run out?"

Wei Anping said: "Yeah—just one scene sending off Dad, one picking him up. I'll stay to finish filming with them, then return to Beijing together by plane."

When mentioning flying, Uncle Anping got excited—he'd never flown before.

Since reform and opening, civil aviation had grown rapidly; though still not affordable for ordinary people and hard to get tickets, Uncle Anping wasn't ordinary—he could easily get them, and the two kids got half-price fares.

"Actually, I'd like to see how the set's progress is going—why don't we go together and come back together?" Wei Ming suggested.

He'd had enough of train speeds and wanted to try this era's air service—if he liked it, he'd make flying his first choice for long trips.

With someone to keep him company, he wouldn't need to watch Lele constantly on the way; Wei Anping was delighted—but he doubted his nephew's reason for going to the set.

After picking up Lele, the three headed straight to Huayuan Village Overseas Apartment, located at No. 30 Chegongzhuang West Road, West Third Ring Road; walking down the road, they arrived in less than fifteen minutes.

Behind the compound was Peking University of Labor Relations, a school not particularly prestigious, famous only for producing Gao Yuanyuan—though now it was still called "Labor Movement College."

At the guardhouse, they explained their purpose, registered, and parked their motorcycle at the entrance before entering.

Hmm—it felt safe; you could leave your motorcycle downstairs without worry.

The compound's landscaping was also good—after all, it had property management; the trees had been planted when the complex was first built, nearly twenty years ago.

There were only four four-story buildings, four apartment types, each between 150 and 220 square meters.

At just four stories high, even the top floor didn't require much climbing.

Inside the building, whether in materials or design, Wei Ming clearly felt it was far more upscale than Uncle Anping's unit.

Wei Anping said: "The owner who wants to sell lives on the first floor."

First floor meant poor privacy; Wei Ming frowned slightly.

After knocking and entering, Wei Ming's frown deepened at the sight of the apartment.

Wow, this living room is huge.

Lele was amazed—it felt as big as their own home, which was only about fifty square meters: two bedrooms and a small living room.

Wei Ming asked: "How big is this apartment?"

The middle-aged man, dressed in noticeably Westernized style, replied: "220 square meters—the largest type."

And no common area deduction—back in the future, this would count as a luxury penthouse, with four bedrooms, two living rooms, and two bathrooms.

But why would a single man need such a big place?

After a quick glance, Wei Ming cautiously asked the unit price.

The man said: "My father bought it with U. . dollars back then; I won't charge you in dollars now—no one can afford that much anymore—let's say 180 yuan per square meter."

Wow—220 square meters at 180 yuan per square meter—that's nearly 40, 00 yuan; Wei Ming couldn't even afford half.

Wei Ming pulled Uncle Anping and Lele aside: "Sorry for the trouble."

Outside, Uncle Anping looked equally frustrated.

"Teacher Song didn't say it was this big—and 180 yuan per square meter is steep; it's been lived in for twenty years, even if well-maintained, it's still an old house."

Then Wei Anping told Wei Ming about the owner: a second-generation overseas Chinese, parents divorced, mother in Canada, father died of illness—he wanted to sell the house to raise capital for business in Guangzhou.

"Forty thousand yuan can start a big business in Guangzhou—he's got good vision," Wei Ming remarked.

Guangzhou was full of opportunities; with forty thousand yuan as capital, even if he didn't become top-tier, he could easily buy ten such apartments later. Uncle Anping asked: "How much have you saved so far?"

Wei Ming calculated: RMB and HKD combined—about 15, 00 yuan.

"About 20, 00," Wei Ming added the money from the four songs.

Wei Anping thought: "Then the smallest unit—if we haggle hard enough—it's within reach! Very promising!"

But then he realized something odd: after "Beastly" was published, Wei Ming hadn't released any new work—he'd only had a little over 10, 00 yuan saved then; how had he reached 20, 00?

"You didn't secretly write another novel under a different pen name, did you?"

Wei Ming grinned: "Can't fool your golden eyes—I have another pen name: Wei Kuangren. One of his novels is being adapted into a screenplay, and 'Er Niu' also sold its screenplay—mainly the screenplays that earn the money."

Wei Anping asked for details about Wei Kuangren; when he heard it was wuxia, he felt slightly worried—until he learned it was a co-production.

Oh, then no problem.

It's contributing foreign exchange for the country—when Qingniao pays, it's in HKD; when filming in mainland China, they spend RMB.

Since it was late, Wei Ming treated Uncle Anping and Lele to dinner at Changzheng Cafeteria, then returned to the south gate and saw Liu Zhenyun waiting.

!

He was waiting for him.

"Teacher Wei, you're finally back—I've been waiting two hours."

Wei Ming: "You should've waited for me at Changcheng Cafeteria—I just came from there."

Hearing Wei Ming had eaten out again, Liu Zhenyun regretted it, but said: "No merit, no reward—I can't eat your meal without helping."

"Then what are you here for now?"

"Exactly the opposite—I'm here to ask for your help."

Wei Ming pushed his motorcycle inside, parked it, and sat on it: "Tell me."

Liu Zhenyun's gaze landed on Wei Ming's feet.

"The school track and field meet is in two days—I'd like to borrow your running shoes."

The National Olympic Committee had just officially withdrawn from the Moscow Olympics, but sports couldn't stop.

So the student meet was scheduled, and next month there'd be the faculty meet.

Wei Ming: "Will your feet fit my shoes?"

"We're about the same height," Liu Zhenyun said—he was nearly 1. meters tall.

Wei Ming took off his shoes: "I'm 1. 3—try them."

Liu Zhenyun tried them: "Perfect—made for me!"

They were a bit big, but he only used them once a year—he couldn't afford to buy his own, and his mother's cloth-soled shoes were still more comfortable.

He'd already tried Zhao Debiao's and Mei Wenhua's—Mei's were too small; Zhao's were about his height, but his feet were even bigger than Wei Ming's.

Since Liu Zhenyun found them suitable, Wei Ming let him use them—he had other shoes.

Two days later, the school's track and field meet officially began, with 22 departments and 540 students participating.

Wei Ming and Yang Hao took photos on the May Fourth Playground, and they could see hospital staff, including Mu Rong, whose belly was no longer flat.

Injuries were inevitable at such events—they were ready.

Zhao Debiao, Xiao Mei, and others from security also participated, serving as referees and maintaining order.

Yang Hao snapped a perfect shot of the sprint race and said to Wei Ming: "Next month, I'm counting on you."

"Counting on me for what?"

Yang Hao: "The faculty meet—teams compete by department. Our editorial team is full of elderly, weak, and sick people—except you, who else can run and jump like this?"

Wei Ming glanced at the strong young men from security—was there even any suspense in this race?

Wei Ming stretched his arms and legs: "I'll do my best."

Since Mei Linda left, without sexual needs, he'd become lax about exercise and fitness.

No good—I'll start running tomorrow!

Liu Zhenyun competed in long jump and high jump; the running shoes were definitely better than cloth shoes—he qualified for finals in both events, but didn't place—participation was what mattered.

The next morning, Wei Ming began jogging around Peking University; when he reached the newsstand, the old man had just opened up.

"Has this month's 'People's Literature' arrived?"

"Not yet—maybe tomorrow or the day after," the old man asked eagerly, "Did you publish something again?"

"No." He was waiting for the results of the National Excellent Short Story Awards.

When Wei Ming returned to the south gate guardhouse, he spotted the mailman and received a letter and remittance slip from Hong Kong…

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(End of chapter)