Chapter 197: I

It was night; perhaps Uncle Anping and the others were already asleep, so Wei Ming called the north gate of Peking University, informed them he had a phone line now, and gave them the number.

The person who answered was Xiao Duan, who then called Biaozi and Xiao Mei; they chatted briefly.

Back in the dorm, Biaozi and Xiao Mei eagerly discussed Wei Ming's solo living arrangement, and their motivation to earn money grew stronger—they planned to make another trip to Guangdong by month's end.

Qiao Feng, lying in bed listening to them, tossed and turned, then finally gathered the courage to say: "Biaozi, can you two bring me something when you go over there?"

"Of course, Brother Feng, what do you need?" Biaozi asked.

Qiao Feng grew embarrassed again, pulling a stack of cash from his pocket—two or three hundred yuan at a glance.

"Buy whatever you want and bring it for me; don't let you guys go empty-handed—you'll get your share of the profit."

Seeing his two juniors now had more savings than he did, and thinking of his pregnant wife, Qiao Feng finally gave in to the temptation.

He wanted Biaozi and the others to bring goods back, then let his mother-in-law sell them—this way, it wouldn't affect their iron rice bowls, and every bit of profit counted.

Biaozi: "I thought it was something big—Brother Feng, you're being too formal. No need to split profits with us; it's just a few extra electronic watches."

Mei Wenhua added: "Exactly. We've got more capital—they'll treat us better, maybe even give us a discount."

Both had no objections: Biaozi acted out of pure friendship, while Mei Wenhua believed they should include their leader in the profit—it would make future requests for leave or sleeper tickets easier, and help them earn even more.

But they also warned him of the risks involved in smuggling goods, advising Brother Feng not to bet all his savings on it—they always kept a safety fund to recover if things went wrong.

The next day, Wei Anping was brushing his teeth when the home phone suddenly rang; Wei Xi picked it up.

"Hello, who's calling?"

"Is this the little actor Wei Xi?"

"Brother Ming!" Wei Xi recognized the voice, thrilled—then Leluo and Aunt Xiao Yan hurried over.

Finally, Wei Anping wiped his mouth and took the phone.

"You're quick—good. Now communication will be easier. Your aunt's written down the number; she'll call to chase for manuscripts."

Next, Wei Ming called the campus magazine office; Old Zhang, the earliest employee, answered. Wei Ming said he'd arrive late that morning—he still had several important calls to make.

The feeling of approaching modernity was wonderful—he wondered when he'd get a mobile phone.

This phone couldn't move; if he left, he couldn't receive calls, there was no missed-call display, and long-distance calls weren't allowed—so strictly speaking, he could only receive calls in the morning and after evening work, and only from units in Beijing.

But many offices had already closed by then, so people usually had to call the north gate of Peking University or the campus magazine office to reach him.

It would be nice if there were a woman at home to answer the phone, Wei Ming thought.

While chatting with Sister Zhang Dening of *Beijing Literature and Art*, she mentioned *Love Life*.

"It's only been one day, and this poem's already reached my ears—our Peking University campus magazine is so lucky; we at *Beijing Literature and Art* can only use secondhand material."

Wei Ming: "Sister Zhang, you're thinking of reprinting it next month?"

"Mm-hmm."

Wei Ming: "Then wouldn't you mind if *People's Literature* reprints it first? They're publishing it this month."

Zhang Dening: "..."

Wei Ming had called *People's Literature* first—they wanted to commission him, knew he had no novel ready, and said any genre was acceptable: prose, poetry. Wei Ming asked if it would be a first publication.

He recited *Love Life*—they immediately said: Yes, yes, yes.

Though short, this little poem could earn pocket money if reprinted by multiple journals—he'd ask *Poetry Magazine* next; after all, this was a poem now in the Chinese language textbook.

Checking the time, it was past nine—he put down the warm receiver and went to work.

But after lunch at the canteen, he returned home and kept calling.

This time he called Wang Yang, the head of Beijing Film Studio; Wang was indeed in.

He first informed him of the number, then asked about Qingniao's status—wasn't the co-production already confirmed? Why hadn't they sent anyone to the mainland yet?

If you don't come to the mainland, when will I get to Hong Kong!

"I've spoken with Xia Meng—she's contacting directors. Left-wing directors who can handle this are few, and since the film must shoot on the mainland, there aren't many bold enough to take it on—but she says she already has someone in mind and is persuading them. Don't worry, the project won't fall through." Wang Yang said—he was counting on this film to compete with Emei's *The Mysterious Buddha*.

Then he asked another question: "You said this is your home phone—did Peking University assign you housing?"

"Impossible—I've only been officially confirmed for less than half a year; even if they offered, I wouldn't dare accept," Wei Ming said. "I've saved some money from scriptwriting commissions and bought an apartment in the Overseas Chinese Apartments."

"Oh my, the Overseas Chinese Apartments—that's not cheap!" Wang Yang exclaimed. "Young people these days—bold, capable."

Many elderly staff at Beijing Film Studio had torn friendships apart over housing; yet Wei Ming, so young, had moved into Beijing's finest residence with his own hands—how vast the gap between people.

After the call, Wei Ming prepared to go to work. As he stepped out, he glanced at the mailbox by his door—and found a letter inside. Was it from home?

Opening it, it was from Xiao Hong.

He'd heard she was taking the college entrance exam this year, so he'd written her a letter—it should be on its way. He hadn't expected her reply to arrive first.

In the letter, Xiao Hong shared her preliminary exam results, certified by all her school's teachers.

"I just want to get to Beijing as soon as possible to keep you company—Dad has Mom with him, but you're all alone in Beijing..."

Who's all alone? I'm going to see Sister Lin at the movies this afternoon—you'd just be a third wheel!

Wei Ming sighed helplessly—but since the child was doing so well academically, let her come. After all, if she enrolled at Peking University, she'd be a dorm student—no way she'd interfere with her brother's romance.

So Wei Ming wrote her another letter and mailed it off.

At noon, Wei Ming went to the post office and gave his phone number to He Chengwei of *Story Magazine*, and mentioned his new work.

"Hello, who's calling?"

"I'm Wei the Madman—please put me through to Editor He."

Hearing "Wei the Madman," the caller's tone softened slightly.

"Mr. Wei, hello. Just a moment—I'll get Deputy Editor He."

Soon, He Chengwei picked up.

"Mr. Wei, you're calling me yourself? How rare!"

He Chengwei was delighted—this year, *Story Magazine* had published three installments of *Heroes Rise from Youth*, each more successful than the last; the magazine had finally carved its own path.

Wei Ming said: "I just installed a phone at home. Note the address—feel free to call when needed, though I'm usually at work, only home in the mornings and evenings."

"Good, good, good!" He Chengwei asked, "So you've got a new piece?"

Wei Ming: "I'm writing a novella—still a bit incomplete. I'll mail it over in a few days for you to review."

"I trust your talent. Too bad it won't make the May issue—only July." Wei Ming: "Month doesn't matter—can we get the fee upfront?"

"No problem—manuscript in hand, payment in hand." He Chengwei laughed. Other authors didn't get this treatment, but Wei the Madman was Wei Ming—his *The Animal Is Fierce* had sold a million copies, and his influence remained strong.

Wei Ming added: "Also, this novella may be published first in Hong Kong in traditional Chinese."

"What? Mr. Wei, you can publish novels in Hong Kong too?" He Chengwei exclaimed.

"I forgot to mention—we've been out of touch," Wei Ming said. "*Heroes Rise from Youth* is already serialized in Hong Kong's *New Evening Post*, and the Shanghai People's Fine Arts Publishing House will soon publish the comic version."

Two days ago, Gong Ying had called the north gate to confirm this—the manuscript had been approved and would be published soon.

Oh, he hadn't told Xue Jie about the phone yet—he'd write her a letter later. The *Shepherd's Man* crew was still in Beijing, so he couldn't pass the message through Xie Jin.

"Oh wow, that's great news—no surprise coming from you!"

He Chengwei was genuinely happy for Wei Ming—writing serious literature that sold a million copies, and popular fiction that conquered Hong Kong—that was real talent!

Too bad the state fixed the rate at ten yuan per thousand characters—he'd love to raise the fee for Wei Ming's new work.

Hey, I've got an idea!

!

"Mr. Wei, since *Heroes Rise from Youth* is so popular, why not publish it as a book?"

"Oh, it's only forty thousand characters—is that enough?"

"Why not? Add a few illustrations—it'll be compact and portable, readers love it," He Chengwei said. "Though print runs might be low."

After all, the influence of this wuxia novel couldn't compare to the combined impact of Wei Ming's serious literary works.

"That's fine. There's another thing—I haven't confirmed it yet, but I'll tell you anyway," Wei Ming said. "Our wuxia novel is about to be adapted into a film—Beijing Film Studio has shown interest, and the script's already written. We're preparing to co-produce with a Hong Kong company and are waiting for their reply."

He Chengwei was stunned: "So... you're now working on two films?"

Wei Ming: "Three. Xi Film Studio is preparing *Er Niu*."

Actually, there was also *The Legend of the Heavenly Book*—four in total.

Only adaptations could make you rich—writing novels alone couldn't buy a house.

"Wait—you said you installed a phone. So you're..." He Chengwei asked again.

"Yes, I bought a new apartment—I've just settled in Beijing."

Not yet registered—he'd have to transfer his household registration from Peking University later.

Whoever was envious or jealous, whenever they asked, he'd openly admit he'd bought a house in Beijing—he'd earned it cleanly, what was there to fear?

And he wouldn't stop at just this one house—he wouldn't even stop buying in just Beijing.

In the afternoon, Wei Ming left work early and rode his motorcycle to buy tickets.

Zhu Lin said the hottest recent film was *Case 405*, a Shanghai Film Studio production starring Zhong Xinghuo and Xu Min—Xu Min was the Crown Prince from *The Yongzheng Dynasty*.

Spy thrillers were a popular genre—last year, *The Gunshot in the Secret Bureau* had led all films in audience numbers; Wei Ming's *The Right Path of Humanity* also contained heavy spy plotlines.

Placing the two male leads on the covert front was one way to sidestep real historical figures—Wei Ming now really wanted to talk to Shen Zui.

*Case 405* didn't have the same buzz as last year's *The Gunshot in the Secret Bureau*, but in this era of scarce entertainment, it was still a standout in its genre.

Wei Ming had planned to eat first, so he bought tickets for the second evening show—otherwise, he wouldn't have time for dinner.

With so few TVs and so little programming, popular new films during release were always sold out, especially in large theaters seating hundreds. Luckily, Wei Ming arrived early and got good seats by buying the second show.

In the future, single-screen cinemas like this would vanish—only revived during Spring Festival blockbusters to make quick money, like *Ne Zha 2* earning 800 million yuan daily.

Then Wei Ming picked up Zhu Lin and they rode off on the motorcycle.

"Are we going to watch the movie first?"

Wei Ming: "Let's eat first—after the movie, there won't be any restaurants open."

"Where to? Just pick any restaurant."

Wei Ming: "I'm craving Western food—let's go to Lao Mo."

Zhu Lin shook her head, a little pained by the fifty yuan she'd spent—how could she possibly afford him eating like this?

"How about finding somewhere cheaper?"

Wei Ming: "Don't worry—I just wrote a poem, and several magazines want to reprint it. One meal won't be a problem."

"Oh, you wrote another poem? Recite it for me." Her interest sparked.

"I don't wonder if I'll succeed,

Since I've chosen the distant horizon,

I'll press forward through wind and rain…"

Wei Ming had barely recited a few lines when they struck straight to Zhu Lin's heart—yesterday she'd gone home, and her parents had again urged her not to enroll in the amateur acting class, to just stick quietly to her job at the Health Research Institute.

Their reasoning: What then? What if no one hires you for films? You'll waste your time and ruin your main job—no gain, only loss.

But now Wei Ming had told her: Since you've chosen the distant horizon, press forward through wind and rain!

I really must test whether I'm cut out for this!

"Lin-jie, how was it?" Wei Ming asked after finishing, seeking praise.

Zhu Lin: "It's a fine poem. Thank you."

"Huh? Thank you?"

"Yes. I've decided—I'm taking the entrance exam for the amateur acting class at the Film Academy."

Wei Ming asked: "Is it easy to get in?"

"I don't know yet. Teacher Ma says the exam's in the second half of the year. The slots are fixed—it all depends on how many apply."

Wei Ming: "Then you'd better prepare well. There are still plenty of unemployed youths in Yanjing—those are your potential rivals."

People like Li Chengru, Zhang Guangbei—all just idle drifters in the capital.

"That's way too much competition~" Zhu Lin felt daunted.

Wei Ming: "Don't worry—I'm here. I'll teach you."

…

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(End of chapter)