Chapter 241: A Street Battle with the Queen of the Women's Kingdom

It's an actual certificate, but not a marriage license—it's a property deed.

When Wei Ming took Zhu Lin to Nan Yitiao, Tuanjiehu Zhonglu, she hesitated and refused to get out of the car.

"You mean you're buying an apartment here, under my name, with my name on the deed?"

Wei Ming nodded.

"Why?"

Wei Ming's hand rested on her thigh: "My mother and sister live in Huayuan Apartment—we need somewhere convenient."

"Bad man," Zhu Lin swatted his hand away, pouting. "That's not enough of a reason."

"How isn't it enough? Don't you have needs?" Wei Ming didn't move his hand.

Zhu Lin thought: Of course I do—once you open the valve, the water won't stop flowing.

"But why put it under my name?" Zhu Lin asked again, though she'd already accepted the necessity of buying the apartment.

Wei Ming added: "I already own one apartment. If I buy another, I'll stand out too much. You understand what I mean."

They'd both lived through that era—Zhu Lin clearly understood. Though she thought Wei Ming was overly cautious, such a possibility wasn't unthinkable.

Would three apartments still seem too cautious?

Seeing Zhu Lin soften, Wei Ming urged: "Come on, let's go in. Bring your household register."

"How much is this apartment?" Zhu Lin asked cautiously.

"Cheap—just half the price of Huayuan Apartment."

Half still meant over ten thousand—her salary for more than a decade. Zhu Lin sighed: "You really trust me with this much money?"

"Why wouldn't I? If I can't trust you, what am I even doing here?"

Wei Ming spoke with righteous conviction—he truly trusted her. The key was, by buying her this apartment, he deepened their bond. Even if Zhu Lin someday learned about his affair with Gong Yu, this apartment would make it harder for them to sever ties completely.

He spent this money with the future in mind.

The residential buildings at Tuanjiehu were experimental—among Beijing's few neighborhoods with property deeds. Only two buildings, dozens of units total.

Biaozi and Xiao Mei bought Unit 2. Wei Ming chose Unit 1 for convenience, to avoid running into them constantly.

All units were completed—no unfinished projects—and no mortgages existed.

Wei Ming accompanied Zhu Lin, posing as a friend, to view Unit 302 on the third floor of Building 1.

Eighty-six square meters, north-south ventilation, no common area deductions—pure usable space. It couldn't match the 150-square-meter Huayuan Apartment, but it was already larger than Zhu Lin's parents' home.

Three bedrooms: large, medium, small. Wei Ming planned to knock down one wall during renovation, leaving only two: extra-large and large. The extra-large would be the bedroom; the large, the study.

As for future children—maybe by then they'd be living in a villa.

Before entering, Wei Ming handed Zhu Lin the bag with the money. She paid all fees herself—counting cash took a long time, then she signed several names.

Further procedures required Zhu Lin to handle them in person, though Wei Ming would help—he was already familiar with the process.

In half a day, Wei Ming and Zhu Lin emerged from Tuanjiehu. Zhu Lin still felt dazed—had she really just gotten an apartment?

Normally, after marriage, she and her husband would queue at their respective units for housing. Getting one after having a child was considered lucky. Often, by the time the child could run errands, they still hadn't received one—most likely forced to live crowded with in-laws for years, drowning in petty squabbles.

Now, she'd achieved what many veteran workers never could.

Wei Ming, having bought his third apartment, was also delighted. He took Zhu Lin to Quanjude for dinner.

When he dropped her off that night, she clung tightly to him. Previously uncertain about their future, she now believed buying her the apartment meant he intended to solidify their relationship—only waiting for the right moment to meet her family.

Though age differences and the Melinda incident had made Zhu Lin hesitant to fully invest in this relationship, always holding back to avoid being hurt too deeply.

But today, she decided to give everything to Wei Ming.

Just before reaching home, Zhu Lin suddenly told Wei Ming to turn down a dark, nearly deserted alley and to turn off the motorcycle.

Wei Ming chuckled: "What's this? Secrets to tell me?"

Zhu Lin said nothing, only slid her arms down a few inches around his waist.

Wei Ming's heart raced, his breath hissing.

"Good sister~"

This was Zhu Lin's first time doing something like this—and in an alley, too. She was nervous.

Wei Ming couldn't help comparing the skill of Linjie and Xuejie.

Final conclusion: Neither matched me.

Still, he admired their courage. Xuejie was still a virgin yet willing to do this for him; Linjie came from a scholarly family—this directly contradicted her upbringing.

They were both women he could never let go of. Ah!

They embraced in the car for over ten minutes. The night wind blew cold. Zhu Lin knew men were vulnerable and prone to illness then, so she urged Wei Ming to put her down and hurry home.

Wei Ming set Linjie down at the school gate, reluctant to leave. He longed to get the new apartment soon—this just wasn't quite right.

For the next few days, Zhu Lin studied for her exam while helping Wei Ming with the apartment paperwork.

Once they got the keys, they immediately made love in the bare apartment—no bed, so they leaned against the wall.

Wei Ming took full charge of the renovation. His motorcycle made commuting easy. Besides, letting a beautiful woman negotiate with a crew of male workers carried risk—Zhou Lijing's wife had been murdered for exactly that reason, and she'd never recovered.

Nowadays, no one cared about high-end finishes. Even though Wei Ming valued quality, the renovation teams had no taste—best they could do was match Huayuan Apartment. So they'd be able to move in soon.

He still hired Master Lei's team. For them, this was a small job—but three apartments meant a big job. Master Lei's crew split into three teams, taking on the new homes of the three bosses at Dongfang Xintiandi.

But during renovation, Wei Ming and Zhu Lin lost their intimate haven again.

On weekends, knowing Zhu Lin would take the film academy entrance exam, Wei Ming wandered furniture stores and pawnshops, buying lavishly.

One, to furnish the sihe courtyard; two, to buy for Tuanjiehu—store them at the courtyard for now.

With ample cash, Wei Ming bought only top-tier pieces: zitan, redwood, huanghuali as top choices. Some items might even have come from the imperial palace—he'd developed an eye for them.

Buy now. Next month, another large cash payout was coming. Better to spend now than watch prices surge and money become worthless in a few years.

Still, he bought aggressively—even picked up fine inkstones, brushes, and seals from Rongbaozhai and other famed shops in Liulichang, enriching his study. In the end, he spent only two thousand yuan.

The film academy's amateur acting class had many applicants. Though actors earned little, it was still a respectable job—easier than factory work, and beloved nationwide.

So many unemployed—and even employed—people pursued this path, even if they weren't particularly good-looking.

Li Chengru arrived and saw many applicants who looked worse than him. He grew more confident—he wasn't just above average in looks, but also trained under a master, with formal acting lineage.

Just then, a slightly handsomer, taller man with better bearing passed by. Li Chengru grew angrier and angrier.

Zhang Guangbei, 21, stood tall and straight, with an impressive presence—noticeable among the crowd. He hadn't yet developed the traitorous air of a turncoat.

Zhang Guangbei was a navy veteran who'd once sung in a choir, possessing artistic sensibility. He wanted to become an actor but missed the Central Drama Academy's admissions this year, so he came to the film academy to try his luck.

If Zhang Guangbei was the most striking male applicant, Zhu Lin was unquestionably the brightest female one.

Nearby, 17-year-old Beijing girl Li Qinqin felt confident. She'd trained in volleyball since childhood—tall, good-looking. But after meeting a girl named Lang Ping on the team, she realized her volleyball career had no future. She quit and accidentally got involved in acting.

She thought acting couldn't be hard. Her friends advised her to study performance, so she enrolled in the amateur class—and saw Zhu Lin, dazzling among the crowd.

Not only beautiful, but dressed beautifully too.

Hey, this sister looks just like the beauty on the poster outside Dongfang Xintiandi!

Not just looks—she is the one. Zhao Baogang was certain. He'd entered Dongfang Xintiandi three times without buying clothes, but those two posters stuck in his mind.

Zhao Baogang, 25, was just a foundry worker—but an active cultural member in his factory. Driven by passion for performance, he'd gritted his teeth to enroll in the amateur class, hoping to change his fate—he truly didn't want to be a worker anymore.

After waiting a long while, the film academy gates opened. They streamed in, one by one, to perform.

Zhu Lin was calm. But the man ahead of her, the "Great Official Ximen Qing," was nervous—though his appearance was decent.

After a full day of exams, Zhu Lin waited outside the film academy. Wei Ming didn't show. Seeing several male applicants eyeing her hopefully, she took the bus home alone.

That day, Wei Ming was busy buying. When he returned to the sihe courtyard with the last load of furniture, it was dark. He found a letter from Xuejie in his mailbox.

Xuejie now mailed letters directly to the sihe courtyard, to avoid Wei Ming's family seeing them.

Wei Ming checked the letter's date—it was the exact day he received the apartment. Perhaps Xuejie wrote it while he was having Linjie lean against the wall.

The thought filled him with guilt—and a thrill. He grew even more eager to reunite with Xuejie.

In her letter, Xuejie reported her filming progress and reflections, and openly confessed her longing for her lover.

But the letter's focus lay at the end: Long had written Ying a letter, expressing his love through comics.

Xuejie was naughty—she'd read her sister's letter. In truth, Wei Ming had encouraged Long to write it.

You haven't even confessed to Gong Ying—what makes you my brother-in-law? What if she says no?

In person, Long was timid. Back in Beijing, his courage returned—he directly poured out his heart to Gong Ying through comics. Wei Ming hadn't seen the drawing, but a cartoonist's romance was surely extraordinary.

Xuejie didn't mention Gong Ying's decision. Probably Gong Ying was still hesitating whether to accept this long-distance sister-brother romance.

Wei Ming immediately wrote back, urging her to observe closely.

"But don't voice opinions—we can't be responsible for others' happiness." That was Wei Ming's view.

The sihe courtyard had a kitchen, but no food—the radishes and cabbage in the ground were still seedlings.

That morning, his mother said she'd cook beef in a clay pot that night and had even cycled to buy the pot. Wei Ming decided to go home for dinner.

Unexpectedly, Mei Wenhua came too. Wei Ming thought he'd come for a free meal—but he came to talk about marriage.

"We want to get married now, but we need Yunyun's village committee to issue a certificate."

So soon? Earlier you said before the New Year.

Wei Ming couldn't help glancing at Yunyun's belly.

Mei Wenhua knew what he was thinking. He pulled Wei Ming aside.

"Ming-ge, have you heard of Yu Luojin's divorce case?" Mei Wenhua pulled out a copy of Zhongqing Bao.

Wei Ming read the headline: "I know. This issue of Dangdai even published her story 'A Winter's Fairy Tale'—it's very popular."

Yu Luojin was Yu Luoke's sister—that was one reason for the buzz: celebrity effect.

Her divorce case was also typical. Influenced by her brother, she was sent to labor reform for three years, then exiled to a Hebei village. She reluctantly married a local farmer—many female educated youths did the same.

Four years later, policy changed. To return to Beijing, she divorced her emotionless peasant husband, then used connections to marry a Beijing worker, regaining her Beijing hukou and escaping the life of tilling the soil.

But this marriage was calculated, utilitarian. Years later, realizing they couldn't live together, she wanted a divorce again—citing unhappiness as the reason.

But this time her second husband wasn't so easy to deal with—he didn't want to let go. I'm a worker, not some farmer you can just push around.

Divorce wasn't easy back then; it wasn't just a matter of mindset, but also involved countless steps—signatures from many departments, and if any one of them stalled you, you couldn't get divorced.

And this man truly didn't understand: he treated his wife so well, who among the neighbors didn't praise him? How could she not be happy?

Because she cried over movies that made him sleepy, and read novels he couldn't even get through?

That's it?

So this divorce case dragged on for a long time with no resolution, and the media covered it extensively—it was a major sensation across the early 1980s.

But Mei Wenhua's focus wasn't on Yu Luojin's divorce; it was the final paragraph, which, according to the writer, stated: On September 10, the NPC passed the revised Marriage Law, which simplified divorce procedures and might bring new momentum to this divorce case.

Mei Wenhua worried: "Is the new Marriage Law about to take effect? Then won't I be unable to marry Yunyun?"

Wei Ming didn't know exactly when it would officially take effect, but Mei Wenhua's concern wasn't unfounded.

"Then get your marriage certificate as soon as possible. Once you have it, when you hold the wedding doesn't matter."

Mei Wenhua smiled: "That's exactly what I thought."

And with the marriage certificate, he could do more things legally permitted—admittedly, compared to his brother-in-law, Mei Wenhua was still a law-abiding citizen.

Wei Ming flipped through this issue of China Youth Daily, and when he reached the last page, he discovered that alongside the Marriage Law, the NPC had also passed the Individual Income Tax Law, with detailed standards for collection.

Monthly income up to 800 yuan (inclusive) was tax-exempt; amounts exceeding 800 yuan were taxed at six progressive rates, with a maximum rate of 45%!

Who in this era earned 800 yuan a month? So the Individual Income Tax Law never actually intended to collect money from ordinary people.

If not from ordinary people, then from whom?

Collect from whoever has money!

So the Individual Income Tax Law was introduced now because, after reform and opening-up, more foreigners were working in China—like the high-paid foreign teachers hired by Tsinghua and Peking University, whose incomes easily surpassed 800 yuan a month.

The tax scope included wages, salaries, labor remuneration, royalties, licensing fees, interest, dividends, profits, property rental income, property transfer gains, and more—so unfortunately, Wei Ming and Mei Wenhua, as newly rich, were included.

Wei Ming pointed out this small article to Mei Wenhua: "Pay close attention—when the Individual Income Tax Law takes effect, remember to pay your taxes as required."

Mei Wenhua felt the sky was falling.

"What? We've only had good days for a few days—why now?"

Wei Ming: "What, you don't want to pay taxes?"

Mei Wenhua: "I really want to pay taxes—I'm uneasy with so much money coming in each month. But if I pay, our profits won't stay hidden. I don't believe tax officials' lips are all that tight—what if some powerful person finds out?"

Although the media constantly reported on Xintiandi's buzz and its success, no one knew its actual profits.

Mei Wenhua didn't refuse to pay—he feared showing off his wealth and drawing thunder.

"Brother Ming, is there any way out?"

Wei Ming: "Sure. Reduce dividends—give less each month. Say you'd get ten thousand, give only one thousand."

One thousand was still a lot, but to many powerful people, it probably wouldn't even catch their eye.

"Then what do you do with all that money you've made?"

"Just leave it on the books. Aren't we setting up special economic zones? Use it for investment—put the money there." Shenzhen had already begun selling land for real estate, moving fast.

Wei Ming also taught him another trick: buy things under the company's name.

"You wanted to buy a motorcycle, right? This time, just book it under the company—use company funds, register it under the company's name, then use it yourself."

Mei Wenhua suddenly understood: "I should've bought my house under the company's name!"

This guy had high insight—he'd probably buy a private jet with company money next.

Everyone happily ate Xu Shufen's clay-pot beef. After hearing their praise, she reminded her son to bring some to Xiao Hong tomorrow.

Wei Ming smiled: "Then make sure you make plenty—she's started inviting people out too."

"Hmph. You taught her that."

The next day, Wei Ming brought a lunchbox of clay-pot beef to school. Yunyun also mailed the letter asking her father for a certificate. No difficulty—the village leaders now all courted Xu Cunmao, whose nephew was a famous writer—everything would go smoothly.

But when Mei Wenhua went to get his certificate, the neighborhood aunties advised him to delay marriage and childbirth—wait until 25.

Still, Mei Wenhua insisted, and with the law on his side, they issued the certificate—but slipped him some family planning supplies and lectured him on the benefits of late and healthy childbirth.

Mei Wenhua didn't listen at all—he spent the whole day in a daze, clutching those rubber items.

When Wei Ming arrived, the dorm was empty—nowadays, university students all did morning self-study, and Wei Hong's dorm did too.

So Wei Ming went straight to the math department classroom and handed her the lunchbox before class started, telling her to eat it at noon.

When she opened it, several nearby heads immediately leaned over. Wei Hong said generously: "Everyone gets some!"

Her words earned a chorus of "Hong-jie is awesome!"

Who'd have thought the youngest in class had become the class big sister—even if many just treated her like a kid.

When the teacher arrived, Wei Ming left. He'd sat in on Chinese, foreign languages, history, even physics and chemistry classes—but never math. He simply couldn't understand it.

At noon, Wei Ming kept writing until past one, only then feeling hungry and heading out to eat. The staff cafeteria was nearly empty, but he spotted Ping'an Shu and Professor Wang Xuan.

But when Wei Ming called out "Professor Wang," Director Wei reminded him: "You should say Professor Wang."

Wang Xuan smiled and waved: "Associate professor."

Just after printing The Sword of Wu Hao, Wang Xuan was promoted directly to associate professor—showing Peking University's eagerness for talent; otherwise, the process wouldn't have moved so fast.

Wei Ming recalled the bold headline in People's Daily: "Farewell to Lead and Fire, Welcome to Light and Electricity." For such a monumental contribution, a full professorship was deserved.

Ping'an Shu and Professor Wang were now inseparable—probably discussing Fangzheng Group's organizational structure.

Wei Ming didn't ask further. He left early to check on the renovation progress of the Tuanjiehu apartment.

But Ping'an Shu asked Wei Ming to come over to his house that evening.

Wei Ming thought he'd want to talk about Fangzheng Group—but he asked if Wei Ming wanted to attend a concert.

Concert? That word felt alien to Wei Ming—were there concerts in 1980?

He asked: "Whose?"

"Can't remember the name—it's a Japanese singer. Teacher Gu gave me a few tickets, and left two for you and Xiao Hong."

Wei Ming gladly accepted—now he and Linjie finally had a proper place to go on a real date~

(Yesterday's baseline)

(End of chapter)