Chapter 24

Wei Ping'an certainly wouldn't have thought that Wei Ming could recite this poem in its entirety so fluently; in fact, the main credit went to him.

After retirement, Uncle Ping'an liked to write calligraphy or something, and a small regular script of *Ideals* was his proud work.

When Wei Ming started his company, Uncle Ping'an gave it to him, and it hung in his office. Wei Ming looked at it when he went to work and when he got off work; he knew it by heart.

In the car, Wei Ming sat in the passenger seat, leaving all the rear space to Professor Qu Yude.

She was in her forties, thin and small, a typical weak woman from the south of the Yangtze River. It is said that she was once the belle of Peking University, and Professor Jin also spent a lot of effort to chase her.

It's just that she got nasopharyngeal cancer more than ten years ago. Surgery, chemotherapy, radiotherapy, and being tossed about by various movements—after this whole set, although she survived the gates of hell, her vitality was severely damaged.

A person in her forties looked like she was in her fifties, and purple spots that greatly affected her appearance were left on her face.

Professor Qu's throat problem was even more serious. The surgery made her speech unclear, sharp, and harsh. She was only transferred back to Peking University this year to teach folklore literature. Because of the speech problem, many students couldn't hear clearly or simply skipped class.

It was also because of this reason that after she got in the car, although she was very curious about Wei Ming, a literary genius who was favored by *Harvest* at the age of 18, she didn't take the initiative to speak.

However, it was more than an hour on the road, and Wei Ming didn't want to neglect this professor too much, so he took the initiative to pick a topic.

"Professor Qu, what kind of meeting are you going to attend in Shanghai?" Wei Ming turned his head and asked her.

Professor Qu asked back: "Have you heard of *Storytelling*?"

Wei Ming was startled. Before he could answer, Liu Shi Wenjie, who was driving, smiled and took the conversation: "Hey, the name of this meeting is quite interesting."

Wei Ming said: "If I remember correctly, the *Storytelling* Professor Qu mentioned is a magazine, right?"

Professor Qu: "Yes."

Liu Shi scratched his ear: "Seems like I've heard of it, it's that storytelling meeting for telling stories, right."

"Professor Qu, please continue."

Professor Qu: "The Shanghai Literature and Art Publishing House is preparing to hold the first national symposium for storytellers since the founding of the People's Republic. They have invited many story authors from all over the country, as well as scholars like us who are engaged in theoretical research in universities. Actually, this symposium is held for *Storytelling* magazine..."

*Storytelling* was a magazine founded in the early sixties. It had a relatively long history and once had very good sales, with a circulation of hundreds of thousands per issue. Relying on easy-to-understand stories, it was deeply loved by the masses.

It's not doing so well now, with a circulation of only tens of thousands or over a hundred thousand. Compared to many pure literary magazines, it's still very high, but when the magazine office investigated, they found that they were basically ordered by cultural units at all levels with public funds; they were all zombie fans.

Now the stories in *Storytelling* are ideologically upright, but the readability is not very good, and the common people don't like to see them anymore.

When Wei Ming submitted his manuscript to *Harvest* before, he said that if it wasn't accepted, please forward it to *Storytelling*.

At that time, he was too optimistic. It is estimated that *Donkey Five Donkey Six* did not meet the current submission standards of *Storytelling*; after all, the style is a bit evil.

Afterwards, following this topic, Wei Ming chatted with Professor Qu about the field of folk literature she majored in. Liu Shi also participated. This kind of authentic old driver knew a lot of folk stories.

Professor Qu even encouraged him to write them down and submit them to *Storytelling*.

But she didn't say such things to Wei Ming, because someone who could submit to *Harvest* was already a writer; why bother to be downward compatible.

However, Wei Ming had already started thinking about what to write and submit to *Storytelling*.

Earn some pocket money, and by the way, let the editorial board of *Storytelling* see what a story that the masses love to see and hear is.

He didn't raise himself that high. As long as *Storytelling* gives enough manuscript fees, pays them readily, and doesn't drag on the manuscript, then it's good. It's just that he will change his pen name when the time comes.

Use his real name to write serious literature, and have two pen names: one for popular literature and one for fairy tales.

Walking on three legs, the plan is set!

Around ten o'clock, they arrived at Beijing Railway Station.

Wei Ming nimbly got out of the car and took Professor Qu's suitcase and his own bag out of the trunk.

Then he leaned against the window and asked Liu Wenjie: "Liu Shi, is there anything you want me to bring back from Shanghai on this trip?"

In this day and age, commodity circulation is slow, and many hot-selling goods can only be bought in the south.

"Oh my, how can I be embarrassed, it's too much trouble."

"It doesn't matter, just say it, I'll write it down." Wei Ming even took out a fountain pen and a small notebook, clearly serious.

Don't say, Liu Shi really had something he especially wanted to buy, and he had been thinking about it for a long time.

"It is said that the Ginseng and Cinnamon Nourishing Wine from Shanghai is very powerful, and it's especially fierce after drinking it," he lowered his voice, "Why don't you bring me a bottle~"

"Is one bottle enough?"

"Enough, enough, I'm actually quite fierce to begin with!" Liu Shi said righteously. The key is that the thing is damn expensive. Moutai is seven yuan a bottle, and that thing is sixteen!

Even with Liu Shi's high salary, he could only buy one bottle to taste.

After speaking, he took out two "Great Unities" (ten-yuan bills) and stuffed them to Wei Ming.

Wei Ming was startled: "Is it one bottle or one case?"

"Sixteen yuan a bottle, you can use the rest to buy something for yourself."

"No need, no need." Wei Ming definitely couldn't take his kickback. It is estimated that Old Liu didn't take it seriously either. Just stuff the remaining money into the wine box later.

I don't know if Liu Shi knew about this kind of wine because he watched the advertisement on Shanghai TV at the beginning of the year.

Speaking of which, this Ginseng and Cinnamon Nourishing Wine can be considered the first television advertisement in New China. It also made people realize the power of television advertising for the first time, and it has extraordinary significance in the history of Chinese advertising.

"You kid really know how to conduct yourself." After Liu Shi left, Professor Qu said with a smile. Although the voice was sharp, Wei Ming knew she was praising him.

Wei Ming smiled: "I also have something to ask for."

"Ask for what? The school's car isn't something you can ask him for and he will let you use it. There are rules. It's better to ask your uncle." Professor Qu said very clearly.

!

Wei Ming: "I don't dare to think about using the car. I just want to learn how to drive and get a license."

"Oh? You also want to join the Peking University motorcade." Professor Qu thought she understood.

Many writers now are part-time writers and have another main job. After all, writing relies on inspiration and is not stable.

The main job of guarding the gate is indeed a bit lacking, but if it's a driver, it's quite decent.

After all, "stethoscope, steering wheel, personnel cadre, salesperson"—these are all popular positions in this era.

Wei Ming didn't explain much. If I say it's to prepare for buying a car in a few years, you should wake me up and tell me not to dream.

Before entering the station, the two of them simply ate some noodles in a restaurant outside the train station, and then went in to wait for the train.

The No. 13 express train is the fastest train in the country at present. In principle, it only takes 21 hours to reach the Great Shanghai.

Professor Qu's ticket was also in Wei Ming's hands. She was in the No. 1 soft sleeper carriage, and Wei Ming was in the No. 6 carriage, not too far or too close.

Wei Ming helped her carry her luggage bag and said while walking: "Professor Qu, I will come to see you every two hours. If you have any needs, just tell me directly."

"I'm not seventy or eighty years old. I can take care of myself. You don't need to toss about. Instead, it's you—we can take turns using my bunk. If you are tired, come to the No. 1 carriage and lie down for a while."

"Oh my, how can that be."

"Why not? I can't just lie down all the time. I also need to move around. It's settled."

Wei Ming felt quite good inside. He could sponge a soft sleeper, and the torment of more than twenty hours was shortened a little.

When they arrived at the waiting hall, there were no seats left. Professor Qu directly put the suitcase down and sat on it; it was quite sturdy.

She asked Wei Ming: "Is your bag bulging because you brought dry food for a day?"

Wei Ming laughed and took out the neck pillow and put it on directly: "It will be more comfortable when sitting like this."

Professor Qu studied it for a while and smiled: "This is good, I'll get one for my Old Jin later."

As the two were chatting, a woman wearing a military green short-sleeved shirt passed by them.

How should one describe this woman? At first glance, she was stunning; looking closely, she became more beautiful the more one looked.

She was of medium height and slender, but not frail. Two short braided pigtails blurred her age, as if she were only eighteen or nineteen.

Not only Wei Ming, but even Professor Qu's gaze was attracted, and she followed her for a long way.

She seemed to think of her own youth and sighed: "Truly a beauty."

Wei Ming thought to himself, that's for sure. As the old saying goes, north of the Yangtze River, Zhu Lin is the most beautiful.

And the one just now also had a dominant position south of the Yangtze River.

Wait, she seems to be on the same train as him!

(Finally, a heroine is about to appear. Please vote, please sprint!)

(End of chapter)