Chapter 193: Strike While the Weakness Is Exposed, Pick Them Off One by One (Long Chapter—Seeking Monthly Tickets!)

On his first night in Huajiao Apartment, Wei Ming first put all the books and letters on the shelf, then, unable to bear the loneliness, decided to write a love story.

Otherwise, going too long without writing would make his hand rusty—he needed to keep his touch sharp, and it could also earn him some manuscript fees.

The monthly property fee here was eight yuan; once he got the phone, he'd have a fixed monthly expense of about twenty yuan, plus he had to support his family—he couldn't just sit and eat through his savings.

Back in the dorm, he'd always written sitting cross-legged on the bed, where posture and environment both interfered; this was his first time feeling completely undisturbed, fully in flow, so his state was excellent—he wrote over four thousand characters before sleeping.

If not for some historical knowledge giving him slight pause, he could've written faster—he'd need to borrow two books from the library tomorrow.

Also, the desk was a bit shabby; he'd look into buying a better one later.

The next day, Wei Ming rode his beloved little motorcycle to work, then switched to a bicycle at the South Gate—riding a motorcycle on campus was too flashy and wasteful of fuel.

After arriving at work, Yang Hao glanced at Wei Ming, who was bent over his desk studying.

"Oh, diving into Qin history again?"

"Just browsing, just browsing," Wei Ming smiled. "Any special news lately?"

Yang Hao flipped through the newspapers and magazines beside him.

"Nothing much—'Nezha Conquers the Sea' made it into the Cannes Film Festival, and Tang Guoqiang represented 'Little Flower' there."

The Cannes opening was on the 13th; the article he'd read was a report on the Chinese film delegation's departure, with Wang Shuchen, director of both 'Nezha' and 'The Book of Heaven,' as head of the delegation—they should've arrived in France by now.

This time, 'Nezha Conquers the Sea' successfully entered the main competition category; whether it won or not, it was an uplifting message for domestic animation and Chinese-language cinema.

Sixteen years earlier, Meiyingchang's ink-wash animation 'Little Tadpoles Look for Mom' had already won an honorary award at Cannes, stunning the world.

Wei Ming took the issue of 'China Youth' and, besides the Cannes news, saw an intriguing headline: 'The Road of Life—Why Is It Getting Narrower and Narrower…'—signed by 'Ordinary Female Worker Pan Xiao.'

In his past life, even in the countryside, he'd known about this massive debate on 'What Is the Meaning of Life'—he'd even written letters to participate.

From May to December, over half a year, with 'China Youth' as the main platform, confused youth across the nation debated this issue; Pan Xiao's experiences resonated deeply with many, making them highly representative.

The reason it resonated so powerfully, as if striking every contemporary youth's pain point, was that 'Pan Xiao' wasn't a single person.

Editors had merged the experiences of two readers, Pan Hui and Huang Xiaojue, into one persona, possibly adding editorial embellishments, making 'Pan Xiao's' story so relatable that it sparked a nationwide debate.

Gong Yu, at the General Political Department Drama Troupe, was also reading this article; it had a strong impact among many young actors in the troupe who never got lead roles.

The opening paragraph was suffocating: 'Dear Editors: I'm twenty-three, just beginning life, yet all the mysteries and allure of life have vanished for me—I feel I've reached its end…'

Then 'Pan Xiao' recounted her experiences; many of them mirrored Gong Yu's own past.

In fact, before she turned twenty, Gong Yu had been just as lost and desperate, unsure which path to take, convinced she'd spend her life stuck in a Jiangxi village.

Luckily, she later became a cultural soldier; compared to the educated youths around her, she was fortunate—but even after joining the army and the General Political Department, she sat on the bench for five years, and even playing the female lead in a film didn't change her fate.

It wasn't until she met Wei Ming, until he strongly recommended her for 'The Herdsman,' that her life finally accelerated.

While working with Director Xie Jin, he'd 'accidentally' revealed that Wei Ming had trashed Chen Chong and Zhang Yu from Shanghai Film Studio to secure her the lead.

She owed this precious opportunity entirely to Wei Ming—he was her greatest benefactor.

Now she faced new confusion: would she even be able to return after going to Shanghai Film Studio to shoot?

She even considered hoping her unit refused her transfer, so Song Chong could pick someone else.

But as she thought, a young colleague came to her dorm.

'Sister Xue, the boss wants to see you!'

Gong Yu knew it was about her application—she put down the magazine.

The young colleague, barely twenty, walked warmly beside her: 'Sister Xue, when you become a movie star, if you get a good chance, don't forget me.'

Gong Yu smiled and nodded: 'Of course.'

The troupe was a small society—Sister Xue had learned to be insincere; she knew she'd never help this girl, who'd mocked her mercilessly after 'Jihong' failed.

If a good opportunity came, she'd definitely prioritize Gong Ying.

At the boss's office, Gong Yu received an approval document—meaning she could buy her ticket back to Shanghai as early as tomorrow; everything was ready there, waiting only for her as the female lead.

After thanking the boss, Gong Yu left the office building, thinking to call Wei Ming to say goodbye—only to find he'd come to her.

Wei Ming, straddling his motorcycle, said: 'Come on, I'll take you somewhere.'

'Where?' Gong Yu asked, but climbed on without hesitation.

This time Wei Ming rode faster, the wind stronger; Gong Yu helplessly hugged his waist lightly, afraid to grip tightly.

Even so, they drew attention riding down the street—if an old lady from the Little Feet Detective Squad stopped them, they'd have to lie and say they were dating.

Thinking of this, Gong Yu's cheeks flushed again—thankfully, her helmet hid her face.

'To my place—I've moved already. Let me show you the door.'

Hearing she was going to Wei Ming's home, Gong Yu grew nervous: 'Maybe we should go during the day.'

It was already night—too inappropriate.

Wei Ming: 'I have to work during the day. Don't you?'

Gong Yu remembered she'd be leaving Shanghai tomorrow—perhaps even today—so she stopped objecting.

Xiao Wei was upright; what was there to fear?

She greeted the guard at the gate; Wei Ming said he was bringing a friend to see the place, and the guard let them in.

Most residents here were overseas Chinese or elites; Old Sun had seen the world and wasn't easily surprised.

Wei Ming parked downstairs, took the stairs to the third floor, and Gong Yu finally removed her helmet.

Wei Ming introduced: 'The neighbor over there is Mr. Wu Zuoren and his wife, Old Lady Xiao Shufang.'

'What!' Gong Yu gasped.

Her father and brother were painters; she'd studied art since childhood—though not a professional, it was her greatest passion outside acting—and she'd certainly heard of Wu Zuoren's name.

She'd heard Wu Zuoren was Xu Beihong's favorite student, well-versed in both Eastern and Western art, and had even brought a foreign wife back from abroad—something he and Wei Ming might share.

Then she stepped inside and saw one of Wu Zuoren's paintings.

Wei Ming pointed to the 'Panda Hugging Bamboo' painting: 'This is the gift Mr. Wu gave me, his new neighbor—he regretted it afterward, saying he redrew two panda paintings, neither as vivid as this one.'

Gong Yu, who loved painting, stood before it, studying intently, deeply moved: 'Truly the hand of a master!'

Comparing it to her father's similar ink-animal paintings, the gap was immense; then she admired Old Lady Xiao Shufang's lotus painting—she too was a professor at the Central Academy of Fine Arts, with extraordinary skill.

At that moment, Wei Ming brought a large red thermos: 'Tea or coffee?'

'You have coffee?' Gong Yu exclaimed—coffee was a Shanghai person's soul-deep craving.

'So you like coffee—I'll let you take it; there's still half a can of Nestlé left.'

As Wei Ming brewed the coffee, Gong Yu realized how big his home was—just the living room exceeded the total area of her family's apartment.

In Shanghai, they were an ordinary family; every time she went home, she had to squeeze onto her sister's single bed—seven family members across three generations lived in fifty to sixty square meters.

So she could imagine how much Wei Ming had sacrificed for this place.

Yet though Wei Ming's home was large, it was also empty; she realized she should bring gifts to fill it.

'What gifts? Your coming is the best gift,' Wei Ming added more rock sugar to her coffee—easier to swallow.

There were no coffee cups; they'd use glass ones—just a container.

Gong Yu held the warm glass, then toured Wei Ming's study; with its bookshelf and desk, it was the fullest room—especially the beautiful bookshelf, packed with books, and the cabinet beneath overflowing with readers' letters.

She also saw on the desk a copy of 'Records of the Grand Historian' and 'The Qin Bamboo Slips from Shuihudi.'

She asked curiously: 'Why are you researching history again?'

Wei Ming: 'I need it for a novel I'm writing.'

She was even more puzzled: 'Aren't you writing a story set before the founding of the PRC?'

Wei Ming gestured to the vast, empty house: 'That's a long novel—I haven't even started it yet, and I don't know when I'll finish. But buying this house emptied my savings, and I still don't have a phone—so I need to write a novella to earn some manuscript fees.' With that, he pulled out the manuscript for 'Heroes Emerge in Youth' and handed it to her.

'Take this to your mom when you go back to Shanghai—this royalty money is mine too; it might ease the burden.'

Gong Yu solemnly took it and said: 'I plan to leave tomorrow—Director Song is in a hurry.'

Wei Ming sighed in relief: 'Good thing I came today—if I'd waited, I'd have missed you.'

Gong Yu sipped two mouthfuls of coffee, eyes closing in delight—it tasted richer than the one-yuan coffee by Zhang Ailing's former residence in Shanghai.

Wei Ming smiled: 'Good?'

'Very good.'

Wei Ming extended his hand: 'Let me try.'

'You never drank your own?'

Wei Ming: 'I find it bitter, but since you're enjoying it so much, I want to taste it too.'

!

Gong Yu wanted to say, 'Brew your own,' but it seemed impolite—so she handed him the cup.

Wei Ming was even ruder—he drank straight from the spot where her lips had been, wiped his mouth, and handed it back for her to continue. He'd overthought it—still the same old vibe.

Gong Yu blushing, took it back and drank again—this time, the feeling was different.

Gong Yu had only come to see the place; she couldn't stay long—she feared the guard might misunderstand, so after coffee, she wanted to leave.

Though he hated losing her warmth, Wei Ming didn't stop her—she'd seen enough; he couldn't let her tour his bedroom bed.

Before leaving, Gong Yu borrowed the bathroom—but Wei Ming didn't hear the flush.

Because she was just taking out money.

She'd just received her troupe allowance and hadn't had time to deposit it—she'd tucked it into her underwear pocket.

'Here's fifty yuan—it's not much, but it'll help in a pinch. Take it.'

Wei Ming didn't refuse—he felt the warmth in these fifty yuan.

'Alright then—I can't refuse a gift from an elder.'

Gong Yu raised a tiny fist, speaking in dialect: 'I'm gonna hit you!'

Wei Ming leaned his face forward, replying in Sichuan-Chongqing dialect: 'Go ahead, hit me, hit me!'

Gong Yu pouted, mimicking the way Wei Ming had touched her face the other day—and she reached out and touched his cheek.

Xiao Wei seems to have the potential to be a pretty boy—his skin is excellent, his features superior, and the short stubble on his chin feels fantastic.

Afraid she might grow addicted to touching him, Gong Ying quickly pulled her hand away and broke the tender atmosphere: "Let's go, take me back."

"Oh."

Wei Ming also restrained himself, enduring it with great effort.

If he knew only Gong Ying right now, even with the age gap and the likely unfavorable outcome, he felt he would launch a direct assault.

But he also knew Zhu Lin, another equally wonderful woman, and now that she was single, he chose to treat her as if she were meant for him.

So he dared not advance toward either of them, fearing he would upset the balance.

Yet letting her leave like this left Wei Ming unwilling.

"Sister Xue, you came all this way—don't you owe me something?"

Gong Ying pouted: "I already left you fifty yuan."

Wei Ming: "That was a loan—I'll pay you back. Wait a moment."

Wei Ming went next door and knocked on Wu Lao's door. Soon he returned, holding several ink brushes, sheets of xuan paper, an inkstone, and pigments.

"Sister Xue, leave me some talent."

So he wanted her to paint—she breathed a sigh of relief, then felt guilty.

"You already have Mr. Wu and his wife's paintings hanging in your living room—do you really want to hang mine too? Don't you care about your reputation?"

Wei Ming urged: "I can hang it in my bedroom or study—no guests will see it."

Seeing him begin grinding ink, Gong Ying reluctantly agreed. The house already had bamboo and lotus paintings; she glanced at the color palette he brought—green and purple.

"Then I'll paint some grapes."

Thus Gong Ying left her "Purple Grapes" at Wei Ming's home, along with her signature.

She confessed apologetically: "This one's not good—I'll practice more at home, and when I paint a better one, I'll come replace it."

Wei Ming thought: I won't swap it with you—this hastily painted piece means more to me. I'm going to have it framed.

On the way back, it grew colder. Wei Ming said: "If you're cold, hold tighter."

"No, I'm not cold," Sister Xue insisted, but seeing Wei Ming take a quiet route, she wrapped her arms around his narrow waist and pressed herself against his broad back.

Gong Ying: I feel so safe!

Wei Ming: I feel so flat~

The next day, Wei Ming arrived at Peking University's south gate. The guard told him a package from Hong Kong had just arrived, adding with slight disappointment: "Brother Ming, will you still need us to collect your mail from now on?"

Wei Ming patted his shoulder: "There'll still be some letters sent to the school—you'll still have to work hard for me."

"Oh, and I just got a call from Uncle Wei back home—he said he heard about the house purchase and will come after Xiao Hong finishes her college entrance exam."

Wei Ming froze: "What? Xiao Hong's taking the college entrance exam?!"

Wei Jiefang had called Wei Ming from the county post office.

Early that morning, he'd driven his donkey cart to County No. 1 High School to deliver milk to his daughter, then met Teacher Zang Kefou, who told him the preliminary college entrance exam results were out.

"Congratulations, Principal Wei! Wei Hong scored first in the entire county—over forty points higher than second place. All the senior class teachers agree she has the strength to compete for Qingbei!"

Old Wei immediately wanted to tell Wei Ming the good news and ask about the house details—he couldn't wait to write a letter, so he called, but his son wasn't in his dorm.

Old Wei imagined his son had already moved into the new house—good heavens, it was three times the size of the Ping'an family's home. The thought made him happier and happier.

When he returned to the village and to the village school, watching the students study hard, he felt even more satisfied.

With just over a month until final exams, only the graduating class could win scholarships, but the top three in every other grade could go on a trip to Yanjing—these mischievous kids were all competing fiercely.

When he entered the office, Qi Kexiu was sighing heavily. Seeing "Principal Wei" arrive, he quickly hid a letter and put on a smile for his brother-in-law.

There was no choice—he was now the honorary principal, equivalent to a vice principal, and in July he'd hoped to join the outstanding students on a trip to Yanjing. One must bow when under someone else's roof.

Old Wei still had to tend his cattle; he sat briefly and left. As soon as he was gone, Qi Kexiu pulled out the rejection letter from "Story Weekly."

Inside was his hundred-word short wuxia story, "Heroes Emerge in Midlife."

He'd assumed that with "Heroes Emerge in Youth" ending, "Story Weekly" needed a new flagship work—and his story was perfectly timed. If they had the eyes to see its value, he could keep writing, turning the short story into a novella, even a full-length novel.

But he had no eyes—he was just another dusty pearl.

Outside the Institute of Hygiene, Medical Sciences Academy.

Wei Ming removed his helmet and put on his sunglasses.

He came here after lunch, hoping to meet Zhu Lin if she stepped out to eat.

If she ate in the cafeteria, he'd come back tomorrow—until he saw her.

But Wei Ming wouldn't go to her door—breaking up with her had already stirred gossip and controversy at her workplace.

He didn't want to cause her trouble.

As he waited, a familiar, beautiful figure appeared in Wei Ming's black-and-white world!

…

(Anybody still have monthly tickets? Help me out! Lao Fo keeps writing!)

(End of Chapter)