Chapter 205: A Beauty

The volcano, silent for nearly half a year, erupted again—this time violently, leaving no living thing alive, not a single piece of armor left.

For the past six months, Wei Ming had remained chaste.

Though Linjie was a virgin, her age spoke for itself—her body was fully ripe, and with her dance background, her flexibility and stamina were excellent—in short, two words… durable!

He wanted it, and she gave it—after all, it was her impulsive act that had sparked the fire; she bore the responsibility.

Wei Ming was no naive boy who charged ahead without understanding—he had decades of experience and knew exactly how to stir his partner's emotions.

For a moment, Zhu Lin even felt grateful to Melinda: without those who planted the trees, how could later generations enjoy their shade?

What she didn't know was that Melinda herself was also enjoying the shade—the real tree-planters were those nameless girls from her past life who did good deeds.

The next day, long after sunrise, the two were still curled up together in bed; they didn't remember when they'd fallen asleep, only that it was well past midnight.

"A beauty's embrace—a hero's grave."

Wei Ming sighed inwardly upon waking—he usually rose punctually, went for a run, practiced boxing, ate breakfast, and even if he didn't work, he'd drop by the school publication office. Today, however, he'd wasted it all.

But after feeling the weight of what he held in his hands, he shrugged—fine, let it be wasted.

He was only worried about Linjie—his own position at work could be skipped, he could always make up an excuse later—but what about you, sister? Didn't you just waste work hours?

He shook her lightly, but she didn't wake—so he used his mouth. This time, she finally stirred.

She clutched Wei Ming's head, lazily rubbing her chin against his hair—pure instinct. After all, she was still a maiden who'd just tasted the pleasures of love; after last night's events, she'd grown utterly dependent on him.

Wei Ming crawled out of the covers: "Didn't you forget you have to go to work today?"

Zhu Lin yawned: "I'm not stupid—I already called in sick while you were asleep."

Wei Ming patted her: "Then why didn't you wake me up so I could call in too?"

"You were sleeping so peacefully, I couldn't bear to."

"Sister's so good." Wei Ming hugged her tightly—then both their stomachs growled loudly.

They'd had intense physical exertion without replenishing energy, then fell straight to sleep—of course they were starving now.

Zhu Lin sat up and reached for her clothes: "I'll make something to eat."

But Wei Ming had a startling realization: "You called in sick naked, didn't you?"

Zhu Lin blushed: "No—I took them off again after I came back."

Zhu Lin went to cook, and Wei Ming pulled on a shirt, tidied up the bedroom trash bag—the plastic bags and toilet paper were bought with foreign exchange at the Friendship Store, convenient and practical, unavailable on the open market.

He'd have to visit the Friendship Store again soon—he needed to buy some Durex.

Last night, Zhu Lin had taken only one condom, stolen from her parents—she dared not take more, afraid they'd notice, since her parents probably used them only a few times a year.

With no experience, she thought one would be enough—until she discovered Wei Ming's extraordinary prowess. After six months of restraint, he was finally free to drive—and he drove with full throttle.

And Zhu Lin wasn't finished either.

At the time, Zhu Lin had two choices: go bare, or use the one Melinda had left behind. For safety's sake, she chose the latter.

Durex was now the world's most professional brand in this field, achieving near-perfect fit.

Thus Zhu Lin fell utterly in love with it—transforming from a staunch supporter of domestic products into a foreign-admiring devotee. For their mutual pleasure, Wei Ming needed to stock up.

Just as he sealed the trash bag, the living room phone rang. By the time Wei Ming stepped out, Zhu Lin was already at the phone.

She reached to pick it up, then saw Wei Ming and said: "You answer—it's your call."

Wei Ming grunted: "Probably the office."

He picked up, and a faint female voice came through—the long-distance signal was poor.

"Sister Xue, what made you think to call me?" Wei Ming smiled.

Zhu Lin, who had been about to leave, suddenly began pretending to wipe the coffee table.

Gong Yu: "Actually, nothing important—I just happened to pass by the Post and Telecommunications Building and wanted to tell you your record arrived. Everyone in my family loves it. Can I tell them you wrote it?"

"Well, it doesn't really matter."

"Good—I didn't even tell them 'Aming' is Wei Ming. They'd be so surprised!" Then Gong Yu asked about the authenticity of Qi Baishi's painting.

After Wei Ming hung up, Zhu Lin tossed the cloth aside and sat beside him: "Sister Xue? That actress, Gong Yu?"

"Yes," Wei Ming admitted frankly.

"Called from Shanghai?"

"Mm. She went back to film."

Wei Ming had already rehearsed his response in his mind—but Zhu Lin simply accepted the answer and went back to cook.

Wei Ming exhaled in relief—but Zhu Lin's heart had already tightened.

They hadn't said anything important, nothing inappropriate, barely exchanged a few words—but that made it worse.

Would you make a long-distance call just for casual chat with an ordinary friend?

Obviously not!

Long-distance calls are such a hassle—you have to queue at the Post and Telecommunications Building, and they're expensive!

But Zhu Lin didn't confront him—that would be the behavior of a shrew, beneath her dignity. Besides, she wasn't yet sure what role she herself played in Wei Ming's heart, after having so boldly sought his bed.

Still, she'd memorized the name "Gong Yu." Next time, she'd answer the phone herself—she'd get to know this woman properly.

She'd be coming here often—there'd be plenty of chances.

After breakfast, it was already noon. Zhu Lin asked: "You're going to work this afternoon, right?"

Wei Ming asked: "What about you?"

Zhu Lin: "No need—I took the whole day off."

Wei Ming walked behind her and gently massaged her shoulders.

"I noticed you're walking quite steadily now. That's my failure—why don't we continue this afternoon?"

Zhu Lin grabbed the hand creeping toward her chest: "Slow and steady, don't you know? And you're not tired, but I am."

"Oh? You're tired?"

"After all that you did, how could I not be?" A flush rose on Zhu Lin's cheeks—memories of last night flooded back. Suddenly, she wished he'd hold her tighter.

But the big sister had spoken—Wei Ming dared not press further.

"Then I'll stay with you. We'll just lie in bed and do nothing."

Zhu Lin felt a gun pressed against her back—should a good woman be held at gunpoint?

Having witnessed Wei Ming's incredible recovery, she didn't believe his "doing nothing" for a second.

"You go to work. I'll rest at home, okay?" she urged. She feared losing control—and feared that if he satisfied himself too quickly, the mystery would vanish.

Zhu Lin didn't even let Wei Ming wash the dishes—she shooed him out. He had to head to Peking University, then visit the Friendship Store; as he left, he took the remnants of last night's labor and threw them away.

Zhu Lin first tidied the house. Cleaning now felt entirely different from before—she felt like the true mistress of this home.

Though she hadn't formally secured her status with Xiao Wei, she had already become its de facto mistress.

Then she took a romance novel from the study, unread—titled "Green Villa," sent by Wei Ming's Hong Kong pen pal, A Min.

While flipping through it, Zhu Lin spotted an English word: "vivian."

She didn't know the word, but luckily Wei Ming had an English-Chinese dictionary—how studious he was.

Looking it up, Zhu Lin learned the word was used as a name.

Also, the American movie star Vivien Leigh's name was "vivien"—very close to "vivian."

"Could that be A Min's English name?" Zhu Lin wondered. Hong Kong people were so cosmopolitan—they even had English names. Did Xiao Wei have one too?

She thought for a moment, then kept reading—but found the book less captivating than "Misty Rain." Her mind still lingered on the stubborn Yi Ping.

So as she read, she drifted off to sleep. When she woke, the wild energy of last night had faded, replaced by fear.

Group dancing was now banned—but she'd slept with Wei Ming without being married. If anyone found out—if her parents found out… she dared not imagine the consequences. She'd been far too reckless last night!

Now she didn't even dare leave, afraid the guard would notice. She'd wait until after dark.

She walked to the window, pulled back the curtain—sun was nearly set.

She wanted to cook, but even a skilled housewife couldn't make a meal without rice—the kitchen had almost no vegetables. She could only wait for Wei Ming.

While waiting, she remembered the photo album Wei Ming had shown her. She wanted to see what other photos were inside—to better understand Xiao Wei, and Melinda.

Last time, she hadn't dared look closely at Melinda. Admittedly, the foreign woman had real allure—Xiao Wei liked to touch breasts, and hers were so large. Thank goodness she'd returned to China.

After flipping through one album, Zhu Lin idly picked up another beneath it. The first photos showed Wei Ming posing with important figures at the People's Congress, each labeled with date and name.

But then, a face appeared before Zhu Lin—Gong Yu!

She'd only seen Gong Yu's stills from "Herding Horses"—this was her first glimpse of a personal photo, apparently taken in the Summer Palace. She was truly beautiful, refined and delicate like a southern girl, radiating gentleness.

But judging from her photos with Wei Ming, she wasn't as tall as herself—hmph, little southern potato.

The back of the photo bore a date. Earlier photos were taken when she and Wei Ming barely knew each other—but their expressions already showed familiarity. They even posed with a pair of golden boy and girl, like a real family.

Zhu Lin took this photo out to examine it closely—each glance made her more jealous.

Later photos were likely taken when Wei Ming visited the set of "Herding Horses." By then, she and Xiao Wei had begun their subtle flirtation—but she'd still had a boyfriend. Yet in Gong Yu's eyes, she could sense a kind of "love" directed at the "camera."

Zhu Lin bit her lip, uncertain about Wei Ming and Gong Yu's relationship—how far had they gone? Hugging? Kissing? Or…

Suddenly, she feared she was the third party. That she could not accept. She could sleep with him unmarried—but intruding on someone else's relationship was immoral.

Wait—another beautiful girl?

Zhu Lin flipped further and saw another girl—ah, it was Wei Ming's cousin from Sichuan. She'd scared herself for nothing.

Wei Ming's younger sister, Xiao Hong, she'd already seen in another album—no need to read the captions, they were unmistakably siblings.

Through the albums, Zhu Lin had met all of Wei Ming's relatives, even his entire social circle.

The golden boy and girl Wei Ming hugged were the twin children of his cousin Wei Anping—the boy, Xi Zi, had even appeared in "Herding Horses," likely playing Gong Yu's son.

And it seemed Wei Ming's aunt had a good relationship with Gong Yu—there was a photo of them with arms linked.

As she gazed, the front door opened. Zhu Lin panicked, hastily returned the album to its place, stretched lazily, and pretended she'd just woken up—using every bit of acting Wei Ming had taught her.

"Looks like you slept well?"

"Hmm, why so many things?" Zhu Lin saw Wei Ming's hands full.

!

"I went into town, bought some essentials and food," Wei Ming set down the items. "Hungry?"

"Then let's try on the clothes first!"

All morning, Wei Ming had just checked in at his unit, then went to the Friendship Store.

To buy these things, Wei Ming exchanged more foreign exchange coupons; though it might affect his ability to buy the painting in a few days, he believed buying clothes for Zhu Lin was more important.

"This is… pajamas?"

"Yes, now you can wear this when staying overnight—it'll be more comfortable."

Zhu Lin touched the thin pajamas and asked: "What material is this? It feels so nice."

Wei Ming: "Silk."

Tea, silk, porcelain—these were the three major tools for earning foreign exchange at the time, all selling well at the Friendship Store and Overseas Chinese Store. Wei Ming spent a hefty sum to buy Zhu Lin this set of light green silk pajamas—she's happy, I'm happy.

Wei Ming helped Zhu Lin take off her clothes and put on the silk pajamas, naturally taking his time, lingering with his hands.

Zhu Lin felt as if water flowed over her skin; as a Chinese woman, this was her first time wearing silk.

"How much did this cost?"

Wei Ming shook his head: "It doesn't matter."

It was just Zhu Lin's monthly salary—he believed Amin and the old man would soon send word.

After changing, Zhu Lin saw the Durex condoms, toilet paper, and imported sanitary pads Wei Ming had bought.

Though Zhu Lin wasn't on her period, Wei Ming had prepared them in advance, warming her heart.

She had originally planned to return to the unit dormitory tonight, but now decided to stay another night—though she had one question: "Can these silk pajamas be washed?"

She still believed new clothes, especially intimate wear, should be washed before wearing.

Wei Ming: "Yes, but gently."

"Alright, I'll wash them."

Wei Ming wrapped his arms around her waist: "So, sister, do you prefer gentle or heavy?"

Zhu Lin left with "I like long," then ran to the bathroom—so embarrassing.

That night was another exhausting one; Wei Ming bought two boxes—wondering if they'd last a week.

The next day, radiant Zhu Lin went to work. Her bicycle was still downstairs; she didn't need Wei Ming to escort her, and the route was longer, so she left after eating.

Wei Ming left later; as he stepped out, he glanced at the mailbox—there was a letter!

He quickly opened it—it was from Old Ghost.

First came bad news: "Ancient and Modern War: Terracotta Love" had been accepted, and they offered three thousand Hong Kong dollars in royalties—prices had risen, but even with previous Hong Kong dollars, it still wasn't enough for the painting.

Then came an even worse message from the old man: he planned to open a shop and needed money, so he wanted to borrow this sum.

So Wei Ming got nothing but the old man's praise: "My grandson is great."

It wasn't as thrilling as Zhu Lin's praise last night: "You're great."

But wasn't he just a security guard? How could he open a shop? What kind of shop could he open with his few scraps in Hong Kong? A two-yuan store?

At his age, why still want to start a business? He suddenly recalled his past life, when he started a film company near fifty—was the Wei family's trait simply late blooming?

Wei Ming shook his head. The old man was no help; Amin hadn't sent word in ages. He'd have to give up on the painting—for now.

Since nearly a month had passed, Wei Ming's urge to buy the painting had weakened considerably; he wasn't too upset, just a little disappointed—he'd still hoped to show it to Xue Jie next time they met.

Yet when all seemed lost, as he stepped out again, he met the mailman at the compound gate. Old Sun immediately said: "That's him—Wei Ming, Building 4, Unit 302."

"Comrade Wei Ming, here's your remittance slip—from Hong Kong. Please sign for it."

Old Sun silently noted in his mind: has overseas connections.

Wei Ming's eyes lit up instantly—it was Amin!

Who'd have thought the most reliable one was this little girl? Wei Ming checked the amount: six thousand Hong Kong dollars. There must be more tucked in the letter or package—combined with his remaining Hong Kong dollars, it was enough, even with surplus!

Wei Ming worked diligently in the morning, then at noon exchanged all his Hong Kong dollars for foreign exchange coupons and rushed to Rongbaozhai.

For the equivalent of eighteen hundred U. . dollars in coupons, Wei Ming finally obtained Qi Baishi's peak-period set: "Ye Yin Wen Sheng"—Flower and Insect Ink-and-Wash Album!

Less than a week remained until their agreed time.

The Rongbaozhai manager hadn't expected Wei Ming to have such means; this sum, converted on the black market, would make him a ten-thousand-yuan household. The state was now heavily promoting "ten-thousand-yuan households"—the term had become the new symbol of wealth.

After explaining how to care for the paintings, the manager recommended other masterpieces stored at Rongbaozhai—significantly higher quality than those at the Friendship Store, some preserved for decades.

Wei Ming truly liked them: Xu Beihong's horses—eight of them!

And Zhang Daqian's Dunhuang Flying Apsaras—though he'd damaged the Dunhuang caves, the artistic value of these works was incalculable.

He felt the manager was showing him pieces destined for future auction prices starting at tens of millions.

But Wei Ming was truly broke—he couldn't afford them, absolutely couldn't.

Still, since he'd come, he bought a stone inkstone—She inkstone from She County, Anhui. Not antique, but superb craftsmanship and elegant shape. He'd been using a bowl for ink while practicing calligraphy—too unprofessional.

Stepping out of Rongbaozhai, Wei Ming calculated his cash: still short for a color TV or refrigerator—when would modernization ever come?

He now wanted a color TV most—so he and Zhu Lin could lounge on the sofa at home, watching and doing.

After work, Wei Ming picked up Zhu Lin at her unit and took her home.

After dinner, Wei Ming arranged the six frames in a row and invited Zhu Lin to admire Qi Baishi's paintings.

"Oh! You got them?!"

"Mm. The Hong Kong songwriting royalties came in—I bought them." Wei Ming spoke casually.

"This is a grasshopper? So tiny." Zhu Lin pinched one of the insects.

"Don't worry, look at this." Wei Ming had prepared a magnifying glass in advance.

The paintings looked ordinary at first glance—but when Zhu Lin used the magnifier, she was stunned.

So many details!

"No wonder Qi Baishi is so famous. Besides marrying many wives, he really was talented." Zhu Lin hinted knowingly—she'd heard the story of the old man and the Peking Union Medical College nurse.

That was his third wife—he'd never been without women.

Wei Ming smiled: "I'm not interested in artists' gossip. Better to focus on the works."

Too much knowledge of a writer's real life could spoil the viewing experience. Qi Baishi's behavior wasn't even remarkable—he simply lived too long, outliving all his wives.

After viewing the paintings and washing up, Zhu Lin put on the dried silk pajamas; Wei Ming brought the magnifying glass to bed.

"Why are you still holding it?" Zhu Lin asked, puzzled.

Wei Ming used the magnifier on Zhu Lin's face, then traced downward—this little tool became their intimate prop, nearly embarrassing her to death.

What a little rascal! Melinda, that foreign girl, had gone too far—she'd turned this good socialist successor into what?

The next morning, the home phone rang again. Zhu Lin was in the living room and answered before Wei Ming could react.

But it wasn't Gong Ying—it was an old man's voice.

"Hello, Xiao Wei."

"Wait a moment, I'll get him." Zhu Lin yanked Wei Ming out of bed.

Director Xie Jin, on the other end, was clearly startled—a beautiful woman's voice, with a Beijing accent, aged between twenty-five and thirty.

Directors' ears were sharp—they could guess age and even beauty from a voice alone.

"Hello?"

"Xiao Wei, we're wrapping up today. Want to join us for dinner?"

"Sure, where are you wrapping up?"

"The final scene is at Beijing Capital Airport—filming until afternoon. Dinner's at Yanjing Hotel."

"Then I'll go watch you film the final scene at the airport."

"Alright."

Meanwhile, a plane departing from London, England, was drawing closer to Beijing…

(Yesterday's guaranteed~)

(End of Chapter)