Chapter 199: Spending the Night (Guaranteed Double-Chapter)

We agreed to liberate our true natures—how did it turn into Truth or Dare?!

Zhu Lin felt her question was already lewd—wasn't this enough to liberate one's true nature? How could she ever ask such a thing in normal life?

Wei Ming didn't argue over definitions; he answered cheerfully: "Of course we have. We do it often."

Seeing how casually he said it, Zhu Lin worried he hadn't understood her meaning.

"I don't mean hugging and kissing—that kind of thing. I mean at night, when you sleep. You know what I mean."

"Oh, you mean whether I ever slept with Melinda? Of course we have," Wei Ming laughed. "When I'm on night shift, she often comes down to keep me company in bed."

Zhu Lin still felt Wei Ming didn't get it—sleeping in the same bed wasn't what she meant, little brother!

She suspected he was too innocent, so she spelled it out: "I mean sexual intercourse. Do you understand? I mean…"

"I know—it's sex," Wei Ming said with pure innocence. "That's exactly what I meant. What's wrong with that?"

What's wrong? You did it without even getting married?!

Zhu Lin was stunned into silence. After reading so many romance novels, she'd assumed love stories were pure—kissing was the limit. But you two have already done it—and often?!

In front of this brat Wei Ming, she suddenly felt like a naive child, while he was clearly a seasoned veteran.

Seeing her awkward expression, Wei Ming patted her hand: "Don't worry—we always use protection. Even imported ones…"

"Stop, stop, stop—no need to tell me those details!" Zhu Lin hurriedly cut him off. The virgin was overwhelmed.

Wei Ming sighed: "If you don't want to hear about my private life, how about we talk about yours?"

Zhu Lin thought he wanted to hear about her ex—she thought, what's there to say? We were both proper people; before marriage, we barely held hands.

But Wei Ming asked: "Have you ever fantasized about someone other than your partner?"

Zhu Lin, already blushing, couldn't sit still.

"I'm thirsty—I'll go get some water."

Wei Ming: "Why not brew some tea? Thanks."

Her silence was already an answer.

Wei Ming lay on the blanket. Though curious whether the person was himself, he sensed Zhu Lin was on the verge of exploding, so he didn't press further.

After drinking tea, they moved to the next round.

"Next, we'll do oral coordination training. This isn't just about liberating your nature—it helps your diction too. You'll definitely have tongue twisters in class later; your tongue needs to be agile."

It sounded strange, but Wei Ming was serious—he wasn't teasing her.

"Come on, follow me—first, stick out your tongue."

Seeing Wei Ming stick out his tongue, Zhu Lin's first thought: His tongue coating looks incredibly healthy!

Only then did she wonder if he was being improper again—but his expression was dead serious. After a pause, she followed suit.

Luckily, they kept some distance—no risk of tongues tangling.

Wei Ming's tongue was incredibly flexible—twisting, curling, snapping, even performing tongue flowers. Zhu Lin stared, dumbfounded.

"Are you sure this is basic acting training?"

Wei Ming pulled back: "There's a lot more to it than you think. Just learn."

He got up, brought her a mirror, and told her to start from basics—master it, and we'll both benefit.

After practicing a while, Zhu Lin's mouth was dry, her cheeks aching.

"Wei Teacher~" She tugged his arm, pouting. "Can I read some novels? That one's almost done."

"Alright, take a break," Wei Ming said, his heart softening.

"Shouldn't we start preparing dinner?" Zhu Lin asked. Now she'd rather cook than practice her tongue.

Wei Ming: "I'll go buy groceries. You can keep practicing while you read."

As soon as he left, Zhu Lin picked up "Misty Rain" and kept reading. She was obedient—after resting, she resumed practicing, multitasking, growing more skilled.

But as she practiced, she happened upon a detailed description of He Shuhuan and Yi Ping kissing. This Qiong teacher really knew how to write.

What did kissing actually feel like? Zhu Lin closed her eyes, imagining a nineteen-year-old boy standing before her.

Suddenly she realized—her practice had other uses!

Before Wei Ming returned with groceries, Zhu Lin had finished "Misty Rain." She picked up another book—Cen Kailun's "White Prince"—and found an unexpected surprise!

"I'm back."

"You're back! Come look at this!" Zhu Lin excitedly called Wei Ming over to admire a pencil drawing.

Wei Ming glanced and exclaimed: "Liu Jie, you can draw too?!"

Zhu Lin smiled: "How is it?"

"Great! The technique's a bit childish, but I can tell it's me—and you put real effort into it. I'll get it framed later," Wei Ming said, holding the drawing. "Did you draw it from a photo or from memory?"

Zhu Lin: "I didn't draw it at all."

"Not you? Then who…?"

Zhu Lin: "Your pen pal, little sister."

Wei Ming: "Ah Min? When did she draw this? I didn't know!"

Zhu Lin: "It was tucked inside 'White Prince.' Clearly, in her heart, you're her White Prince."

Wei Ming laughed: "Liu Jie, you've got quite the imagination."

"She clearly meant it that way. By the way, what does she look like? Hong Kong girls must be so stylish."

Wei Ming: "How would I know what she looks like? I don't care at all."

Zhu Lin: "Oh? Didn't you exchange photos? Then how did she know what you look like?"

"Ah, I did send her a photo of me—but only one-way. And it had a legitimate purpose."

"What legitimate purpose? If it's private, forget it."

"It's not secret—I joined a Hong Kong association and needed a photo."

"Association?" Zhu Lin worried. "You're a famous writer in mainland China—could associating with Hong Kong be problematic?"

"Hong Kong's fine. It's just a music association—no politics involved. Don't worry."

"Music association? You've written songs for Hong Kong people too?"

"Yeah, for the money," Wei Ming said. "Otherwise, how do you think I could afford this house? I spent a fortune in foreign exchange coupons."

Zhu Lin looked at Wei Ming with admiration—he was ridiculously talented, even earning foreign exchange.

"Sing me one of your new songs then."

"Better not—I can't sing well. Wait a bit; the record will be mailed to me soon," Wei Ming changed the subject. "Alright, can we cook now? I'm hungry."

Zhu Lin gave the drawing one last look: "Alright, White Prince."

When Zhou Huimin received the letter from the mainland, she felt nervous—wondering what Ah Ming thought of her drawing of him.

Her mother hadn't returned from the stall yet. Zhou Huimin went to her room, opened the letter—and was hit with a shock: Ah Ming had bought a house in Beijing! She'd have to change his address!

He thanked her for helping sell his songs. Zhou Huimin thought: So Beijing houses are this cheap? Five songs bought a whole house?

She read the whole letter but found no mention of the drawing tucked inside "White Prince." He did praise her drawings of Guo Jing and Huang Rong.

Zhou Huimin felt a little down. Had he not seen it? Or was he embarrassed? She hadn't meant anything special—just wanted to show him: I can draw too. And I've even learned basketball recently.

"Ah Min, I'm back. No fish balls left today," Zhou's mother returned, bringing good news.

The mother and daughter began counting their earnings—another profitable day.

Over dinner, Zhou's mother asked: "Ah Min, how much does a thousand-square-foot mansion cost in Hong Kong?"

A thousand-square-foot mansion was about ninety square meters—quite nice in Hong Kong.

"In a good area, maybe eight or nine hundred thousand. Mom, don't think so far ahead—we're fine here. Rent's cheap, and we can watch out for each other with Uncle Ghost."

Zhou Huimin thought her mother wanted to save for a house. Though Mom earned well now, it was still a drop in the bucket for buying property.

Unless… she thought of Ah Ming—buying in the mainland.

But that wasn't realistic. Life on the mainland was hard; Ah Ming had written about food rationing. They couldn't live like that.

Zhou's mother: "I didn't say I wanted to buy a house. Uncle Ghost just asked me about Hong Kong prices today—he sounded like he wants to buy one."

"Does Uncle Ghost have that much money? Did he win the lottery?"

Uncle Ghost: I don't, but my grandson says he'll buy me one!

Uncle Ghost had received Wei Ming's letter and learned his grandson had bought a 150-square-meter house in Beijing.

In Hong Kong terms, that was nearly sixteen hundred square feet.

So today, while selling pancakes, he casually mentioned Hong Kong housing prices to Zhou's mother.

He didn't care where he lived—he got along well with Ah Min and her mother in the public housing complex. But if his son and grandson came to Hong Kong, they'd need proper lodging—not something makeshift.

So Uncle Ghost planned to expand his business soon—open a shop. To earn more in Hong Kong, you had to become a capitalist.

He hoped to invite Zhou's mother to partner with him—share the profits. But the next morning, Zhou's mother didn't set up her stall. She'd gone to buy something—for her daughter.

When Zhou Huimin came home from school, she pushed open the door and gasped, hand over her mouth.

In the middle of their small living room stood a piano. A piano!

Zhou's mother wiped her hands and smiled: "Time for dinner."

Zhou Huimin touched the piano. Though plain-looking and probably not expensive, it was the King of Instruments—the one she'd longed for!

She'd thought that if Ah Ming kept writing songs and giving her royalties, she'd eventually afford one herself. But in his last two letters, he hadn't written any new songs—turns out, creation wasn't that simple.

But maternal love was simple and pure.

Zhou Huimin hugged her mother, showering her with affection and thanks.

Zhou's mother: "Want to try it?"

"Yes!"

Zhou Huimin sat at the piano and played "Only Mother Is Best" (Ah Min: No disrespect to Dad intended).

This was Amin's most skilled piece; even Zhou Ma wiped away tears, and seeing how considerate her daughter was, she felt it was all worth it.

In Yanjing, after work, Zhu Lin stepped out of her office and paused, startled to see no motorcyclist across the street—only then did she remember Wei Ming had something to do today, so the Liberation Nature lessons were suspended.

!

Don't suspend them—end them completely. What even was that?

Yesterday afternoon, their lessons went further: Wei Ming made her kneel before him, bending over like a little cat or dog. It was utterly outrageous!

Although Wei Ming demonstrated first to prove he wasn't taking advantage—and he mimicked it quite well—Zhu Lin still felt deeply ashamed, especially since she'd worn a dress yesterday, which made things inconvenient.

Hmph, from now on, I won't wear a dress when I go to his place. But I'll bring a pillow—his pillows don't suit me.

Even though I only napped there at noon, quality can't be lowered.

So Zhu Lin rode her bicycle to the department store to buy some essential household items to keep at Wei Ming's place.

She felt that since she was learning from Wei Teacher for free and eating his food, she ought to do something for his home, so she bought more things he needed.

But after buying the items, Zhu Lin realized bringing them back to her dorm might raise suspicions from her roommates.

After thinking it over, she decided to deliver them to Wei Ming's place first—after all, she had a key.

Since I'm going to his place anyway, should I buy some vegetables and cook him dinner?

Would that be too much like a snail girl? Who cares!

She didn't care, but Gatekeeper Old Sun did—this was a stranger, and he wouldn't let anyone in easily, no matter how good-looking they were.

But she said she was there to see Writer Wei, and she'd been there before.

"Oh, you're the girl who wears the helmet."

"Yes, that's me. Little Wei is like my brother—I'm bringing him some things and making him dinner." Zhu Lin felt Wei Ming's lessons were useful—she could lie with remarkable ease.

Brother or not, he wasn't fooled. Old Sun knew better than anyone, but he let her in anyway—Little Wei never failed to bring him Da Menmen cigarettes. He was a man of principle.

Zhu Lin entered Wei Ming's home and placed her belongings in his sister's room—she'd slept there yesterday noon.

Seeing the house was messy, she thought she'd tidy up a bit. This home desperately needed a woman's touch—she'd just make do for now.

But while cleaning the study, Zhu Lin noticed a stack of manuscripts on the desk. Was this Little Wei's new work?

As a reader who'd read all of Wei Ming's works, it was nearly impossible to resist such temptation.

Should she sneak a peek?

Zhu Lin remembered Wei Ming's words: "Sis, treat this place like your own home. Come when you want, stay when you want, do whatever you want."

So Zhu Lin picked up the manuscript and sat in Wei Ming's chair to read.

The title didn't match Wei Ming's previous novels—it felt more like a sibling to "Heroes Emerge in Youth," both seven characters long: "Ancient and Modern War: The Terracotta Warriors' Love."

Below it was a synopsis: After Qin unified the six states, Meng Tianfang, a court official, fell in love with Dong'er, a girl sent to seek the elixir of life. When their secret affair was discovered, Dong'er was sacrificed in the kiln, and Meng Tianfang was sealed in clay as a terracotta statue, buried deep underground…

Just reading the synopsis was fascinating—this was clearly a romance novel!

Little Wei had shown no interest in Hong Kong romance novels, yet here he was secretly writing one.

Zhu Lin quickly turned to the first page—Wei Ming's words instantly pulled her into that ancient, unfamiliar era.

As she read, Zhu Lin lost track of time, forgot to cook, even forgot she hadn't eaten.

As for why Wei Ming hadn't returned so late, he had important business.

At the Yanjing Hotel, Wei Ming and Wang Yang, representing Beiyingchang, met Xia Meng and her team, who had just arrived and checked in.

Xia Meng hadn't come alone—she brought her director and crew.

"This is Director Xu Xiaoming," Xia Meng introduced.

Though the man was young, Wang Yang didn't underestimate him—after all, how young could he be compared to Little Wei? This was an era of the new pushing out the old; the world belonged to the young.

Xu Xiaoming was only twenty-seven. His parents were Cantonese opera performers; he'd undergone rigorous stage training since childhood, debuted as a child actor, later trained in martial arts, served as a stuntman and martial arts coordinator, collaborated with Cheng Long on "Four Emperors, One Empress," and now worked as a director at Rediffusion Television.

As a director, his experience was still shallow—he'd directed one TV series, "Roaring Sword," one film, "Buddha Palm Arhat Fist," and one episode of the yet-to-air Rediffusion series "The Gratitude of the Land."

"Buddha Palm Arhat Fist" was co-directed by Xu Xiaoming and Yuan Heping, starring Xu Xiaoming and Yuan Heping's younger brother Yuan Xiangren. It had just premiered this month, earning a modest HK$1 million.

Xia Meng had watched this film and thought the action scenes were well done, so she wanted to invite its director, Yuan Heping, to join this project.

In 1978, Yuan Heping became famous across Asia for "Drunken Master," a renowned Hong Kong director and martial arts coordinator who mastered multiple martial arts styles with exceptional adaptability.

If he joined, "Heroes Emerge in Youth" would be half done.

But Yuan Heping refused—the risk was too great. Filming in mainland China meant direct collaboration with locals; his freedom would be completely controlled.

Though he could just write a self-criticism, he truly didn't want to write one, so he'd rather give them no leverage at all.

But Xia Meng, a senior figure in Hong Kong cinema and a childhood dream of his youth, had asked him—he couldn't refuse to recommend someone.

So he recommended the young man who co-directed "Buddha Palm Arhat Fist" with him: Xu Xiaoming. Xiao Ming had always had a fondness for the mainland and wouldn't mind working there.

As they spoke, Wei Ming noticed someone behind Xu Xiaoming—a man who looked like Yuan Bajie but wasn't. He seemed the type who could pull out martial arts manuals from his pocket at any moment.

After Wang Yang introduced Wei Ming, Wei Ming looked at Yuan Xiangren behind Xu Xiaoming.

"Who is this? Won't you introduce him?" Wei Ming asked in Cantonese.

This made Xu Xiaoming feel at ease. "Just call him Axiang."

Yuan Xiangren had come to Yanjing out of curiosity, sneaking away from his brother to join Xiao Ming, helping him as martial arts coordinator—of course, he'd use a pseudonym. A behind-the-scenes guy, no one would care enough to chase him.

"Oh, Axiang, nice to meet you. You can call me Aming or Xiaoming."

Yuan Xiangren smiled at Xu Xiaoming. "This screenwriter shares your name."

Wei Ming: "Then let's use titles. I'm Writer Wei, you're Director Xu, and this is Coordinator Xiang."

Later, everyone dined at the Yanjing Hotel to welcome Xia Meng's group. Tonight was just for getting acquainted—no business talk. They'd meet at Beiyingchang tomorrow.

In conversation, Xu Xiaoming revealed that Axiang's ancestral home was Yanjing and that he wanted to tour the city.

Wei Ming suddenly remembered Yuan Xiaotian was from Yanjing, skilled in northern martial arts, who later moved to Hong Kong to work as a Cantonese opera martial arts coordinator before entering film as one of the first martial arts coordinators.

No doubt Xu Xiaoming and the Yuan brothers met this way, and Yuan Xiangren risked coming to Yanjing for this reason—even though he was born in Hong Kong, he often heard his father speak of Yanjing and could even speak a few phrases of Beijing dialect.

As Wei Ming and Axiang exchanged Beijing dialect phrases, the atmosphere grew warmer.

Today's meal was paid for by the company, with high standards—Wei Ming ate heartily, though he didn't drink—he was driving.

When he returned to the compound, he was stunned to see lights on in his home—specifically the study. What was going on? Had he forgotten to turn them off? That would waste so much electricity!

He hurried upstairs, opened the door, and saw Zhu Lin in the study, clutching his manuscript, tears streaming down her face.

"Little Wei, you're back!"

She was reading "Ancient and Modern War: The Terracotta Warriors' Love"—she was crying so hard, it must be the part where the heroine dies.

"Yeah, Sis, you're here? That's unexpected." Wei Ming took off his shoes.

Zhu Lin glanced at her watch, then outside—it was already so late! This was bad.

"Little Wei, could you please take me…" She wanted him to escort her back, but as she neared him, she smelled alcohol. "You drank?"

No, but everyone else did, and when he clinked glasses with Axiang using soda, some spilled on him.

"Yeah, today I hosted Hong Kong film folks—just a little. On the way back, I almost drove into a ditch." Wei Ming began his acting lesson—he even deliberately thought of embarrassing things to flush his face.

That's called method acting.

Zhu Lin didn't doubt him for a second. She immediately abandoned the idea of asking him to take her home and decided to take care of him instead.

She helped him lie down. "Just rest. I'll make you a sobering soup."

"Thank you, sister." Wei Ming accepted her care without guilt.

Time quickly passed beyond ten, nearing eleven.

Sending Zhu Lin home alone on her bicycle at this hour made her uneasy—there were too many unemployed youths on the streets.

She looked at Wei Ming. She was a medical student—she knew men were harmless when drunk.

Maybe she should just stay the night?

(End of Chapter)