Chapter 195: The Daughter King Strikes a Pose

"Wait, teach me how to do the tango steps first."

Wei Ming wanted to start dancing, but Lin Jie insisted on learning first.

Wei Ming: "Tango is just stepping, stepping, three steps forward then two turns, five steps and a dip."

Zhu Lin burst out laughing: "Is that even credible?"

Wei Ming: "Until you've seen foreigners do tango, take my version as gospel—in this room, no one understands tango better than I do."

Zhu Lin: "Fine, I'll try it myself first… Okay, go ahead."

Wei Ming gently wrapped his arms around her waist, properly, respectfully—if this were Melinda, her ass would already have a hand stuck to it that she couldn't shake off.

As the music started, Zhu Lin murmured Wei Ming's rhythm under her breath—hey, she actually hit the beat.

At first, Zhu Lin was passive, entirely led by Wei Ming—he danced beautifully, or rather, his ex-girlfriend had taught him well.

Zhu Lin didn't want Wei Ming to talk about her previous partner, but she was intensely curious about his ex.

"Was your ex-girlfriend pretty?"

"Pretty enough," Wei Ming replied, not at all averse to the topic—though they'd broken up, that relationship remained one of his most cherished memories.

"How pretty?" Zhu Lin asked. "Who's prettier—her or the female lead in 'The Herdsman'?"

Zhu Lin, ever shrewd, didn't compare herself—she used Gong Ying instead.

"Oh? You even know what the female lead in 'The Herdsman' looks like?"

"I saw her photo in 'Mass Cinema' magazine."

Wei Ming: "They're both beautiful, but not in the same way. Everyone has their own taste. If you're so curious, take a look at her photos later and judge for yourself."

He kicked the "comparison" ball back to Zhu Lin.

Zhu Lin hadn't expected Wei Ming to still have his ex's photos—she'd torn up all hers, and so had the other side.

A thought flashed through her mind, and her steps faltered—she stepped on Wei Ming's foot.

"Sorry, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Wei Ming chuckled. "Good thing you're not wearing heels—though for this dance, girls really should wear heels to make that tap-tap-tap sound."

And girls should wear dresses—Lin Jie's pants were just a bit off.

She picked up where she'd left off: "Fine, let's see them."

After one song ended, Wei Ming let go of Zhu Lin. She was nervous—her palms were sweaty, and she hadn't even dared to take advantage of the closeness.

But this kind of intimate dance inevitably led to accidental contact—and Wei Ming, naturally, experienced a physiological reaction; he was still young and full of vigor.

He excused himself to use the restroom to cool down; Zhu Lin downed several gulps of tea.

After returning, Wei Ming led Zhu Lin into the master bedroom and pulled out one of his photo albums.

He'd taken so many photos that he had two full albums.

"Here, these pages are all her."

Zhu Lin's eyes immediately locked onto the color photos. She gasped: "So beautiful! Is she naturally red-haired?"

"Yes, not dyed."

Then, when she saw Melinda's full-body photo, she noticed her figure—extremely striking!

Though her own wasn't bad, the difference with this white woman was enormous.

And she'd heard Westerners were open and forward—how far had Xiao Wei gone with her? Surely it wasn't just holding hands?

Zhu Lin stared at Melinda's lipstick-stained lips—probably kissed too.

As she flipped further, she spotted her own photos—and a smile crept onto her face.

Wei Ming had been clever—he'd placed Xue Jie's photos in another album, which remained unopened.

After all, this was Wei Ming's bedroom, and just nearby stood a bed—Zhu Lin didn't linger. Seeing what his British first love looked like was enough.

Zhu Lin noticed there was no desk in the bedroom. She asked: "Where do you usually write?"

Wei Ming then took her to tour his study.

She first saw the elegant, antique bookshelf—magazines on the left, books on the right, letters below.

"I'll need to buy another bookshelf soon," Wei Ming said. "It'll be full by next year."

Zhu Lin glanced through—it had no novels she found interesting; frankly, there weren't many novels suitable for an ordinary girl like her.

But then she spotted "Misty Rain" on the desk—and it was in traditional Chinese characters: " Yanyumengmeng."

"What's this?"

Wei Ming: "A Hong Kong-Taiwan romance novel. My Hong Kong pen pal's old copy—we swap books."

"You have a Hong Kong pen pal?" Zhu Lin's first thought: this pen pal must be a girl.

"Friends are everywhere. I've exchanged a few letters with this little pen pal—got a basic sense of unfamiliar Hong Kong. That way, if I ever write a story set there, I won't look foolish."

Wei Ming remembered the snacks Ah Min had given him, so he pulled out a bag of chips and offered some to Zhu Lin.

Zhu Lin took one bite—her eyes lit up—delicious!

But her fingers were oily, and she still needed to turn pages.

"Forget it—I'll put the chips aside for now and read first."

Wei Ming: "Read your book. I'll feed you."

The gesture was slightly intimate, but Wei Ming had already brought the chip to her lips—she had no choice but to open her mouth.

As she got more absorbed in the novel, she unconsciously ate an entire small bag of chips—by now, even if he offered her a carrot, she'd crunch it down.

Wei Ming smiled: "If you like it, take it and read it."

"But your pen pal gave it to you—isn't that rude?"

Wei Ming: "Just return it to me after you're done. These books might be considered politically suspect—keeping it in your dorm isn't safe."

That warning came just in time. Zhu Lin said: "Then I won't borrow it—these traditional characters are too eye-catching."

She shared a room with others, and they weren't close—she didn't know who might report her. Everyone from that era carried psychological scars.

Wei Ming thought for a moment, then stepped out. When he returned, he held a key: "Then come here whenever you want to read."

Zhu Lin panicked—how could she take his house key? They were just ordinary friends—this was overstepping!

Wei Ming shrugged: "My place is bare bones—what do I have to fear? Take it. Come whenever."

Wei Ming forcibly slipped the key into Zhu Lin's pocket, already thinking he'd need to make two more copies—Lin Jie had one, so did Xue Jie.

Helpless against Wei Ming's enthusiasm, Zhu Lin accepted the key—but decided she'd only visit when he was home. She wouldn't dare treat his place like her own.

After reading the opening, Zhu Lin found the romance novel refreshingly new—something she'd never encountered before—and it was short enough to finish in a single weekend.

"Huh, what's this…" As she returned the book, she noticed a traditional ink painting on the desk—a grapevine.

Wei Ming picked it up: "Oh, this was a housewarming gift from Comrade Gong Ying."

"Comrade Gong Ying!" Zhu Lin's radar blared—"She's been to your house?"

"Yes. Almost all my friends have visited and brought gifts. That teapot over there? A gift from a close friend in the Chinese literature department. I didn't even know you were in Beijing—if I had, I'd have invited you over sooner."

Zhu Lin took the painting and examined it—there was even a signature.

"Comrade Gong Ying is quite talented," Zhu Lin thought—but the painting was mediocre, nowhere near the quality of the two others in the room. How dare she sign it?

As soon as the thought surfaced, she felt a pang—immediately reflecting: Why am I being jealous? When I heard about Melinda, his ex, I didn't feel this way.

Wei Ming replied: "It's family tradition—her father's a painter."

"How old is Comrade Gong Ying?" Zhu Lin suddenly asked an unrelated question.

Wei Ming evaded: "I'm not sure. She looks about your age."

They were said to be one year apart, but in truth, only three months—Zhu Lin was the elder.

Learning they were the same age, Zhu Lin felt slightly better. She set the painting down: "She gave you a gift, but I came empty-handed. That doesn't seem right."

Wei Ming leaned against the desk: "So what are you planning to give me?"

Zhu Lin sighed: "Your home is refined—gifting something vulgar would be inappropriate. Calligraphy or painting would suit better, but I have no talent in those areas."

Wei Ming had an idea: "I can paint!"

"You can paint too?" Zhu Lin's mood soured again—how perfectly matched you two are.

She asked: "But what good is that? I'm the one giving you a gift."

Wei Ming stared at her radiant, dignified face: "If I paint you, isn't that the same as you giving me a gift?"

Zhu Lin's eyes widened: "You want me to be your model?"

"Exactly."

Zhu Lin thought it was perfect—she could hang her portrait in his study, and he'd see her every time he wrote!

Wei Ming asked: "Do you want me to paint you clothed or nude?"

Zhu Lin froze, then snapped: "You little brat—are you flirting with your elder?"

!

She made as if to pinch his ear—boys couldn't get away with lying just because they were good-looking; words could bring disaster!

Wei Ming dodged, explaining: "Sis, you're mistaken—I specialize in Western art—oil painting, sketching. The foundation of those is drawing the human body—naked."

"Have you drawn one?" Zhu Lin flushed, breathless from the sudden intensity.

"Never. That's why I'm not good at it—I can only write novels."

Zhu Lin said: "Don't even think about it. Who in their right mind draws that?"

Wei Ming thought: Old Wu next door had drawn them—he studied art in Europe, painted plenty, even had his late foreign wife pose nude for him.

He was just teasing Lin Jie—he'd never actually paint her; they weren't that close.

But Zhu Lin suddenly thought of something: "Was your Western art also taught by your ex-girlfriend?"

Actually, he'd learned it after starting work in his past life—but explaining now would be impossible, so he nodded.

Zhu Lin blushed and asked again: "Did you ever paint her—that one, the one without clothes?"

Wei Ming made up an excuse: "No, but she painted me."

Zhu Lin: "O!"

Lin Jie was stunned, her little mouth hanging open.

She now thought Wei Ming and Melinda must have done more than just kiss!

Last year he was still just an eighteen-year-old kid—Melinda really is something!

Zhu Lin said: "Then paint me, clothed. Do you have tools?"

Wei Ming: "I've got pencils and drawing paper. Let's do a sketch."

"What should I do?" the model asked.

Wei Ming: "Pick a pose you can hold for a long time."

Zhu Lin thought: "I can lie in bed for a long time."

Wei Ming: "Great, I just changed the sheets—go ahead."

Zhu Lin immediately grabbed Wei Ming and finally twisted his ear—but her brother was too tall, so she had to stand on tiptoe.

Wei Ming: "I'm serious. Western paintings often show people lying in bed. Pick a comfortable side-lying pose—it looks great."

Zhu Lin still refused. What if she fell asleep while lying there? And besides, this house only had one bed.

If she slept, where would Wei Ming sleep?

Finally, Zhu Lin walked around the house and chose to lean against the sofa—it was comfortable enough.

Wei Ming thought for a moment, pushed the sofa onto the balcony, had her sit facing the window, and draped a blanket over her legs.

He had some artistic sense—this adjustment made it much better.

Wei Ming brought over a small stool and began to draw.

Looking out at the night sky, Lin Jie asked: "Can I talk?"

"Sure, but don't talk to me."

Zhu Lin: "What time is it?"

Wei Ming: "Almost nine."

"Oh no, it's so late!"

Wei Ming: "Do they lock your dormitory door?"

"Not really, but my roommate usually sleeps by ten—I don't want to wake her."

Wei Ming: "Then I'll take you back after a bit. We can continue tomorrow."

This suited Wei Ming just fine—he didn't want to finish too quickly anyway. Adding the window and blanket was meant to increase difficulty and extend the drawing time.

After about half an hour, Wei Ming said Lin Jie could move.

"I need to use the restroom." She'd drunk a lot of tea and was bursting.

After hearing the toilet flush, Wei Ming walked to the bathroom door: "Lin Jie, open the cabinet above the sink."

"Why?"

"See it?"

"What's this?"

Wei Ming: "I bought these from a Hong Kong pen pal—last time in Yunnan, I noticed the sun there was brutal. Try these two skincare products—they have whitening effects."

In Yunnan, Zhu Lin had already been careful with her skin, but it did no good. She'd been back for days, hiding from the sun in the lab, yet her skin hadn't recovered—she was anxious. Which girl doesn't care about beauty?

Zhu Lin opened the door, her face lit with delight. She asked: "How much?"

Wei Ming lifted his head: "My brother's gift is priceless."

Zhu Lin sniffed: "I'm only your model—that's priceless too."

Wei Ming muttered under his breath: "The naked one's priceless."

Zhu Lin pretended to twist his ear again—so you think naked is that beautiful? You can't stop thinking about it!

She strongly suspected little Wei had already seen Melinda naked—foreigners do anything.

Only someone who's tasted meat would keep craving its aroma.

But what did it actually taste like? Twenty-eight-year-old Zhu Lin asked herself the soul question.

They'd already danced the tango together—on the way back, Zhu Lin wrapped both arms around Wei Ming's waist. The night air was cool, and this felt warmer.

After dropping her off, Wei Ming returned home, turned on the tape player, and played "Por Una Cabeza" again. He walked alone, feeling lonely and empty, wanting to sleep with a woman.

The next day, Wei Ming arrived at school and happened to meet Uncle Anping on his way to the school magazine office. He told Wei Ming:

"Your phone line application has been approved. It should be installed within a week. Get the money ready. Don't go out after work—wait at home."

Wei Ming perked up: "Got it!"

This was too fast—no wonder he was Uncle Anping's nephew! He didn't praise the telecom department—he thought Uncle Anping was supernatural. Without his connections and calls, this wouldn't have happened so quickly.

At work, Wei Ming and Yang Hao continued following the hot-and-cold situation in South Korea. Deputy Editor Zhou hinted again about writing an article.

If you finish today, it can be published in this issue. If you finish tomorrow, you'll have to wait for the next.

So before leaving work in the afternoon, Wei Ming handed him the manuscript.

Zhou Junfeng: "You wrote another poem again!"

…………

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(End of chapter)