Chapter 194: One Step Away from Zhu Lin (Guaranteed Dual Chapter)

Zhu Lin wasn't as fragile as Wei Ming thought; when she left the unit, she was chatting and laughing with her colleagues.

So she's 28, single, no partner, no kids—what's the big deal? She's not dead yet, and as long as she's alive, there's hope.

Today she felt like eating fried soybean paste noodles, so she was about to head out when she spotted a motorcycle parked at the unit gate, the gatekeeper watching it warily.

Though there's no longer a stereotype of "ghost fire" riders, anyone who can afford a motorcycle usually belongs to the elite class, and such people tend to be arrogant and prone to causing trouble.

Yet under the guard's watchful gaze, Zhu Lin—the unit's flower—walked straight toward the rider.

"Little guy, think I won't recognize you with those aviators on?"

She also knew from Wei Ming's letters that he'd bought a motorcycle.

Wei Ming grinned: "Lijie, wanna hop on and give it a try?"

"You came here looking for me?"

"Of course. You came back to Beijing and didn't even tell me—I had to come find you myself."

"How did you know?"

Wei Ming: "I can't sell out Rongjie."

Zhu Lin chuckled, knowing he was teasing, then climbed onto his bike.

"Let's find somewhere to eat," Wei Ming said. He'd come straight here after work and hadn't eaten yet.

Zhu Lin hummed in agreement. Knowing Wei Ming's spending habits, she figured she wouldn't be eating fried soybean paste noodles today—probably Donglaishun or Quanjude.

But minutes later, Wei Ming pulled up outside a small noodle shop—the very place she'd originally planned to go.

As they walked in, she teased: "So, you've gone vegetarian lately?"

"Nope. They still add minced pork to the noodles."

Together they spent fifty cents—two bowls of fried soybean paste noodles plus a cold dish. A bargain!

Sitting across from each other, Wei Ming could clearly see Zhu Lin's face had darkened a few shades, giving her a tougher look.

"Your film crew hasn't finished shooting yet?" he asked.

"Not yet, but my scenes are done. I stayed with the crew another half-month, but since there was nothing left to do, I came back. Been away half a year—I was afraid I'd lose my edge."

"Aren't you planning to enroll in the film academy's part-time acting class? Why worry about losing your edge?"

Zhu Lin: So Rongjie really spilled everything—he knows all this. He must also know I just broke up with my boyfriend.

Zhu Lin slurped her noodles: "Part-time class means classes are only at night and on weekends—I still have to work during the day. Who's going to support me if I don't work?"

At 28, and on bad terms with her family, she couldn't afford to keep mooching off them.

"I…" Wei Ming started to puff out his chest, then added, "I can't support you either."

Zhu Lin smiled playfully: "Who needs you to support me? But this modesty doesn't sound like you."

Wei Ming: "It's not modesty—I just bought an apartment, and I'm tight on cash."

Zhu Lin's noodle-eating stopped abruptly. So you weren't being modest—you were showing off!

The conversation immediately shifted to Wei Ming's spacious apartment in the Overseas Chinese Apartment Complex. Though their voices were low, nearby diners were all eavesdropping.

Old Beijing men loved to brag—and loved hearing others brag even more. It was the best entertainment.

They didn't mention Zhu Lin's romantic life at the restaurant, but Wei Ming really wanted to ask—so he seized the moment to invite her over.

"When you've got time, come by my place. I'll be living there permanently—you should know which way my door opens." He'd comfort her once they were at his home.

Going to his place alone made Zhu Lin uneasy, but then she reminded herself she was a free woman—and it was broad daylight, what was there to fear?

"Alright. I'll come after my shift. I've heard so much about the Overseas Chinese Apartment Complex—I'd like to see it for myself."

They agreed Wei Ming would pick her up after work. After lunch, Zhu Lin returned to her unit; Wei Ming went home to unpack Ah Min's package.

The package contained many books—likely because Wei Ming had sent her his short story collection, and Ah Min was returning the favor.

There were also the skin-whitening skincare products he'd mentioned—two different brands. She was terrified his fair face would darken, so she even added some of her own money. After all, the royalties she'd earned from his songs hadn't been spent yet.

Wei Ming opened her letter. First, she answered the questions he'd asked about those songs.

The four new songs hadn't been released yet.

"I asked Mingmin Brother—he said the record will officially hit the market by month's end. The company's putting serious effort into it; they'll send me a copy, and I'll mail it to you." Under Zhang Mingmin's strong urging, Ah Min had finally started calling him "Brother"—though she was only in her early twenties.

Next, Ah Min shared her thoughts on "Ferocious Animals."

"I bought a simplified-traditional Chinese dictionary—I struggled through it. It'd be so much better if there were a traditional Chinese version."

Wei Ming: I wish I could too—earning foreign exchange would be sweet. But cultural exchange between the two sides is truly minimal, especially in literature.

The differences in contemporary social context are too great to connect on—so Wei Ming chose to write about the Qin Dynasty.

Ah Min: "Still, I finished it. My favorite story was 'The Shepherd Class's Spring'—it felt so warm, so uplifting. To meet a good teacher in life is a great blessing…"

Though both stories dealt with fate in that era, "The Shepherd Class's Spring" carried the surface theme of child education—so it made sense that Ah Min, as a child, understood and loved it.

In fact, Wei Ming believed this was the most likely story from the "Ferocious Animals" series to reach beyond the mainland.

Ah Min analyzed the story's core ideas like a student doing reading comprehension—it warmed Wei Ming's heart.

Whether she was right or wrong didn't matter—she was thinking seriously, meaning she'd truly read it, even copying some lines to use in her essays.

But her lack of deep familiarity with the historical context of that period in mainland China inevitably led to some misinterpretations.

Then Ah Min introduced some books she and her classmates read, and sent him a few.

"Right now in Hong Kong, martial arts and romance novels are popular. I prefer romance, but you're a boy—you probably like martial arts more. I bought you Jin Yong's 'The Legend of the Condor Heroes.'"

Condor Heroes? The great hero? Wei Ming shook his head, amused.

When he opened the brand-new traditional Chinese edition of "Condor Heroes," he found a sketch tucked inside.

If he guessed right, it was Guo Jing and Huang Rong—drawn by Ah Min herself, her own vision of them: Guo Jing was simple and sturdy, Huang Rong delicate and charming. He hadn't expected the girl to have such good drawing skills.

Wei Ming glanced at the unframed "Purple Grapes" on his desk and missed Xuejie—he wondered if she was still on the train.

There were also three other books, clearly well-worn by the girl.

Qiong Yao's "Misty Rain," Yan Qin's "Green Villa," and Cen Kailun's "White Prince."

Of the three, Wei Ming knew Qiong Yao best—"Misty Rain" was later adapted into "Love in a Fallen City," with characters like Ruping, Yiping, Shuhuan, and Dufei.

Yan Qin and Cen Kailun were both wildly popular romance novelists in Hong Kong and Taiwan, but their works had far less staying power than Qiong Yao's, and their prose offered little merit—though at the time, they still held their own against Qiong Yao in Hong Kong.

Yan Qin was the daughter of a Kuomintang air force general who moved from the mainland to Taiwan; Cen Kailun's identity was mysterious—even gender was uncertain—but it was known this person wrote at incredible speed and produced an enormous volume of work. Ah Min couldn't afford them all, so she swapped books with classmates.

Wei Ming had little interest in these romance novels and didn't even bother flipping through them—but since Ah Min never asked him to return them, he kept them.

Finally, Ah Min asked about mainland university students—what they did in their free time, whether they studied nonstop with no entertainment.

Though she was still far from college, the girl couldn't help dreaming.

Wei Ming checked the time—he needed to get to work. He'd reply to her from the school publication office, and also give her his new address.

Oh, and he had to tell Grandpa too—his letters could now be kept at home instead of destroyed.

At the unit, Wei Ming wrote letters to both Ah Min and Old Ghost, informing them of his new address.

He told Old Ghost in more detail—the size, the price. In just over half a year, he'd earned a big apartment through writing. He was sure his grandfather would be proud.

He even boldly declared: "If you won't return to the mainland, I'll buy you an equally large apartment in Hong Kong someday—we'll visit you regularly."

To Ah Min, Wei Ming described how Peking University students courted each other, based on Liu Zhenyun's experience.

"A girlfriend secures a seat for her boyfriend in the library—they can study together all day. That's their greatest romance. They rarely go out. Peking University is in the northwest of Beijing, remote and barren; the only nearby attraction is the Summer Palace. But these couples prefer the Old Summer Palace—it's free."

Wei Ming also discussed with Ah Min the recent mainland youth debate over the article "The Road of Life—Why Is It Getting Narrower?" and asked her about her future plans and whether she ever felt lost.

After finishing both letters, Yang Hao came over and chatted with Wei Ming about the ongoing "Gwangju Incident" in South Korea—today's hottest international news.

What they could access were mostly secondhand reports from North Korea, making it seem incredibly intense—as if the entire South Korean regime was about to collapse.

But Wei Ming knew Chun Doo-hwan's tactics—he didn't just suppress it; he led South Korea's economic boom, creating the "Miracle on the Han River" alongside his predecessor Park Chung-hee.

Other colleagues joined the discussion when Deputy Editor Zhou Junfeng came over and called Wei Ming into his office.

Wei Ming thought Zhou was upset about his frequent absences and early departures—but Zhou wanted the famous writer to write something for the school publication on the recent hot topic of Pan Xiao's case, to guide lost youth.

Wei Ming was puzzled: "Fine if ordinary youth are lost—but are Peking University's elite really lost?"

The biggest confusion among youth today was employment—how to establish themselves in society, how to support themselves.

Our university students are supported by the state during school, receive monthly stipends, and upon graduation are guaranteed cadre status with assigned jobs. And as Peking University students, they're prioritized over graduates from ordinary universities.

Editor Zhou: "They're confused. So many ideologies are surging now—it's chaotic, too chaotic! Some students even worry the state will stop assigning jobs after they graduate."

Wei Ming thought: You guys won't live to see it.

This generation's special privileges were dictated by policy, which bred a strong political worship trait—every single one of them obsessed over national and international affairs; every new state change stirred their sensitive nerves.

They looked too far ahead, and couldn't see what was right before them.

Wei Ming accepted the task, promising to deliver a draft in three days.

"Editor Zhou, I've got something else to do…" Wei Ming wanted to leave early again.

"Oh, go ahead."

Editor Zhou was delighted—he truly didn't want Wei Ming to leave the school publication. Though Wei Ming wrote infrequently, every piece was of outstanding quality. What a brilliant pen! But even if he left, he wouldn't refuse to write for them.

Wei Ming left an hour early, mailed both letters first.

Then he went to Wangfujing Department Store and bought a new sofa cover, plus some groceries—he'd cook at home tonight.

Wei Ming was slowly replacing the previous owner's belongings with his own purchases—new home, new vibe.

He just didn't have enough money—if he did, he'd replace everything at once.

When he arrived at Zhu Lin's unit, he waited a few minutes before she came out.

This time, before he even took off his helmet, she came over. Wei Ming handed her the grocery basket and the sofa cover.

Now she had only one free hand, so for safety's sake, she gripped his waist tightly—she could clearly feel the defined muscles of his abdomen.

They were even more impressive than when she'd applied medicine to him before!

Zhu Lin swallowed hard. The bike roared to life, and she clung tightly to his waist.

On the way, Zhu Lin glanced at the basket of groceries—Little Wei was truly broke now—he had to cook for himself, and there wasn't even much meat.

!

She patted her pocket; though not wealthy herself, lending him some money for an emergency was still possible.

When they reached the entrance of the Overseas Chinese Apartment, night had fallen—it was no longer daylight.

Old Sun opened the door straight away, snorting: "You said she wasn't your girlfriend, yet here you are again—with a vegetable basket. Are you planning to stay the night after dinner?"

The old man mistook Zhu Lin for Gong Ying from that day—both wore identical helmets, and from the motorcycle seat, you couldn't tell their figures.

This residential compound looked pleasing to the eye: the tall trees, the lush lawns, the quality of the buildings—it felt like a bourgeois country at its best.

Wei Ming opened the door and turned on the light; the spacious living room took Zhu Lin by surprise.

As always, just this one living room was worth more than their entire home.

Though Zhu Lin had no interest in fine arts, her first glance upon entering was drawn to Master Wu's "Panda Embracing Bamboo."

She stared at the painting while Wei Ming swiftly replaced the sofa cover.

Then Zhu Lin stopped looking: "You didn't even wash the new cover before putting it on."

Wei Ming: "I don't have a washing machine."

"A washing machine? You're acting like some bourgeois playboy," Zhu Lin rolled up her sleeves. "I'll wash it."

People in their line of work often had a touch of OCD—cleanliness came naturally; they hadn't even begun touring the place yet and were already doing chores.

Wei Ming didn't stop her: "Then you wash the sofa cover, I'll wash the vegetables and prepare dinner."

"Can you even cook?"

"I'm decent. Not as good as my mom, but someday I'll let you taste her cooking—in my heart, it's better than any Sichuan restaurant."

Of course, that was a subjective claim; Sichuan restaurants were still excellent, staffed by today's top Sichuan chefs.

In the bathroom, Zhu Lin wondered: What kind of opportunity would ever let her taste Wei Ming's mother's cooking?

One washed dishes in the kitchen, the other rinsed in the bathroom; both left the doors open, chatting loudly.

This wouldn't work with Sister Xue—she spoke too softly.

Zhu Lin rinsed the sofa cover, hung it up, then went to help in the kitchen.

The kitchen was large enough to accommodate three or four people working at once.

They stir-fried a simple dish of cabbage and tomato with eggs, plus yesterday's cooked meat dishes—more than enough.

In two months, these meats wouldn't keep anymore; Wei Ming was already craving a refrigerator again.

The round table was a bit big; with only three dishes, they sat close, eating side by side, Wei Ming turning his golden left cheek toward Zhu Lin.

He first praised her tomato and egg stir-fry: "This dish perfectly embodies the essence of Chinese cuisine. If you can cook it this well, your other dishes must be just as good. How could your boyfriend possibly dump someone like you—so capable in the kitchen and elegant in the parlor? He must be insane."

Zhu Lin knew he'd say this. She stubbornly replied: "I dumped him."

"Oh? What did he do to hurt you?"

"Nothing. I hurt him," Zhu Lin paused eating. "He said I made him feel insecure."

Actually, his mother had said something even harsher—she'd directly asked if Zhu Lin had someone else while filming.

But Zhu Lin didn't want to expose such ugliness to a bright, wholesome boy like Wei Ming.

Zhu Lin picked up her chopsticks and resumed eating, calm as ever: "If he felt insecure, then we should part. He can find someone who makes him feel safe; I'll chase my dreams. Let's each be at peace."

Wei Ming watched her cheeks puff as she chewed, adorable, and smiled: "You're so beautiful—it's normal for an inferior man to feel insecure."

While complimenting her, Wei Ming also slipped in a subtle dig—he didn't say this, but let her think it: If it were little Wei, he'd never feel insecure.

Then he got kicked in the shin by Zhu Lin: "Stop flattering me. At root, it's just a lack of trust."

"Yes. It means you never truly entered each other's hearts."

"Enough. Let's not talk about him anymore." Zhu Lin didn't want to revisit the past. She rummaged in her pocket and pulled out six hundred-yuan notes, slapping them on the table.

"You just bought a house and need furniture. Take this for now."

Gong Ying: Wait, why are you giving sixty? I only got fifty!

Wei Ming praised: "Sister Lin, you're generous!"

But he took only five of the notes, slipping the sixth back into her pocket: "You're living in a dorm now—you've got expenses too. Keep some for yourself."

After some back-and-forth, Zhu Lin reluctantly accepted: "You don't need to rush repaying me—I've got savings."

After all, she'd worked for years, her family never made her contribute, and her bank account still held some reserves.

Wei Ming chuckled: "Alright, then when I earn money, I'll buy a color TV first, then a refrigerator, then a washing machine—modernize first, then repay you."

"How's your novel coming along?" Zhu Lin asked.

"Too many threads—it's hard to write a long novel. I'm still reviewing materials," Wei Ming sighed. Actually, he'd already started drafting the timeline outline and might begin writing over summer; before that, he'd earn some small money.

After dinner, Wei Ming brewed another pot of tea—no choice left, coffee had already been given to Sister Xue.

Besides, Sister Lin was a Beijing girl, her ancestral home in Shandong—coffee didn't suit her.

As they drank tea, Zhu Lin noticed Wei Ming's cassette player and the tapes beside it.

She walked over to look: apart from a few Chinese tapes, the rest were English songs—she guessed her own copied tapes had come from here.

"Did your foreign student boyfriend leave these for you?" she asked, watching Wei Ming's expression.

Wei Ming remained calm: "Mm. Pick one and play it. I haven't listened in a long time."

Zhu Lin had to pick blindly—and drew a purely instrumental tape, its melody beautiful.

"This is the music used for tango dancing by foreign students—'Por Una Cabeza.' Later, the famous film 'Scent of a Woman' used this piece."

This music accompanies students dancing tango; it's called "Por Una Cabeza." Later, it was used in the famous film "Scent of a Woman."

Wei Ming perked up: "Sister Lin, you can dance tango?"

"No. I've heard of it. I haven't danced in years."

She'd almost forgotten she'd once been a dancer.

Wei Ming stood up: "Then let me teach you."

"Didn't your ex teach you?" she asked.

"Ex-girlfriend. I'm single now," Wei Ming declared seriously.

Dancing was popular in Beijing and Shanghai—Peking University and Tsinghua University would host dances, and neighbors would flock over.

Zhu Lin couldn't resist the temptation: "Fine, I'll warm up first."

Watching her stretch her long arms and legs, eager to move, it was clear she'd been cooped up too long at the Health Research Institute.

Wei Ming also changed into leather shoes and took off his jacket.

"Alright, let's begin."

Wei Ming stepped before her, took one of her hands: "Place your other hand on my back."

Zhu Lin obeyed. Then Wei Ming's hand settled on her waist—low, between hip and lower back.

There was still space between them. Wei Ming pressed her waist firmly, closing the gap until they could feel each other's breath.

Partner dancing was inherently intimate—but for Sister Lin, this was too much. She felt her chest nearly touching his.

"Is this dance proper?" Zhu Lin couldn't help asking.

"Tango originated in Africa, flourished in Latin America, is one of the world's five major dance forms, and even has international competitions—it's very proper."

Wei Ming's fingers hovered over the cassette player buttons: "Ready to start?"

Wei Ming placed his finger on the recorder's buttons: "Can we start now~?"

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(End of chapter)