Chapter 253: I

To facilitate his creation, Wei Ming set the protagonist's background in Zhili, so when the Jiang brothers first appeared, it was during the Second Zhili–Fengtian War.

That was 1924; by then Jiang Chixia's eldest son, Jiang Lizhong, had married and fathered a child, but his younger son, Jiang Limin, was over twenty and still unmarried.

Jiang Chixia, disillusioned by the corruption in politics, had retired and lived at home as a wealthy patriarch, doting on his grandchildren, long since lost the sharpness of his youth.

Because the Jiang family had business interests in Jingcheng, Jiang Chixia sent his eldest son, who already had children, to the capital to safeguard their interests; unexpectedly, his unruly younger son secretly slipped into his brother's caravan, entered Beiping, and just happened to arrive when Feng Yuxiang launched a coup, triggering citywide lockdown and the house arrest of Cao Kun.

In this section, the writer Wei Ming sharply delineated the two brothers' personalities and approaches: the elder was calm, brooding, ruthless, and decisive; the younger was clever, quick-witted, and full of justice.

But Li Xiaolin could tell that Wei Ming devoted more attention to the younger brother, Jiang Limin—he was clearly the male lead.

Moreover, Wei Ming's storytelling was exceptionally efficient; within just a few pages, the plot surged with climax after climax, twists and turns, never dragging—Li Xiaolin couldn't put it down.

He also captured the authentic flavor of 1920s old Beiping with precise, economical prose.

So late at night, if someone glanced outside the guesthouse, they'd see only one room on the second floor lit up—unaware, they might think it was some author frantically racing against deadline.

Li Xiaolin had told herself countless times: just read one more page, then stop.

Fine, just finish this chapter, then stop.

What happens next? Maybe I'll read this section through first.

And then… dawn broke.

While Li Xiaolin was reading the manuscript, Wei Ming paused his novel's writing—he had exams, two of them.

The first was the correspondence course entrance exam for Peking University's Library Science Department.

With his current knowledge, entering university wasn't hard, but getting into elite schools like Peking or Tsinghua was difficult; even if he got in, completing four years of formal study would be even harder for him.

So he took a shortcut: enroll in the correspondence course, get a diploma, and later consider a graduate degree—after all, many in the Chinese Literature Department were his old friends and mentors.

This exam posed little challenge to Wei Ming; the other was even easier: his driver's license test.

If he'd had his current fame and influence from the start, he probably wouldn't have needed to take it at all.

The correspondence course results weren't immediate, but the driver's license was issued the same day—still accompanied by Master Liu, who helped him pass and collected the license.

Wei Ming held up the certificate happily: "Let's go, Master Liu, celebrate!"

But Master Liu declined—he had to attend his father-in-law's birthday dinner that night, so he couldn't accept Wei Ming's invitation, only promising to reschedule.

Though he now had a license, Wei Ming was still far from actually driving—he had no car.

He couldn't afford one; a Modu sedan cost eighty thousand yuan, and even with Dongfang Xintiandi doing so well, he wouldn't be able to buy one until next year.

And even if he could afford it, buying wasn't guaranteed—private car purchase policies remained unclear; only government agencies and state enterprises could easily obtain quotas; individuals or private entrepreneurs faced near-impossible odds.

Waiting to buy a car on the mainland was less realistic than hoping to buy one in Hong Kong next year just for fun.

When Wei Ming returned home, Xu Shufen and Yunyun were intently watching TV, where a group of American soldiers appeared.

Just two days prior, an American TV series, *Garrison's Gorillas*, had premiered on CCTV; it was far more engaging than *The Man from Atlantis*, and far more popular with viewers.

But only one episode aired weekly; the rest were reruns—and even reruns were watched avidly.

Yunyun and Xiao Mei's new home also had a TV, but since it was far from Xintiandi, she rode her bicycle back to the Overseas Chinese Apartment after work, waiting for Xiao Mei to finish her duties before coming to pick her up together.

And after receiving this month's dividend, Xiao Mei had upgraded to a new motorcycle, directly shipped from the south by the big-time trader—he'd returned his old one to Biao Ma.

The trader's capabilities were growing steadily; Wei Ming felt that in a few years, he'd surely bring a shipment of cars over from Hainan.

After completing these two exams, Wei Ming finally met Li Xiaolin again; she'd read only 400, 00 characters, taking four or five days—somewhat slow.

Even that was because she'd squeezed in reading during nights; during the day, she still had book market duties.

"I heard the Xinhua Bookstore staff have held a meeting to discuss your proposal," Li Xiaolin said. They met outside the Cultural Palace, where the bustling book market still thrived for a few more days.

Wei Ming: "I hope it helps them—and helps readers."

Then Li Xiaolin began discussing *The Right Path of Humanity Is the Vast River*.

"I saw many people reflected in the male lead, Jiang Limin—especially General Chen."

Wei Ming nodded: "This story draws from my own family; my grandfather once worked in special operations under General Chen, but he was far lower in rank and much younger—I elevated his role for dramatic effect."

"Too legendary—a Huangpu third-year student calling General Chen 'little brother.'"

"I didn't delve into that—I only mentioned Biaozi, and never developed it further—is that okay? No taboo?" Wei Ming asked, purely joking.

"It's fine—I felt a jolt when I saw him, but he was a fourth-year, and with his talent, he must've stood out even in the fourth class."

"True—even Chiang Kai-shek praised him in his student days; Jiang Limin's hand-drawn map scene was inspired by him."

"But why did you place Jiang Lizhong in Huangpu's third class?"

"Because the third class coincided with the KMT-CCP split; many of our personnel were lost, and the class gained little fame—hardly any notable generals emerged. So I chose the third class: the less famous, the more freedom for authors. If his classmates were giants like Mao Renfeng or Mao Zedong, I'd be too constrained."

Wei Ming explained his creative logic: "Including the Jiang brothers' entry into intelligence work was also because this area was little known, still classified—perfect for fictionalizing, blending truth and fiction for greater intrigue. Writing frontline battles with generals and division commanders around me? I'd fear making mistakes."

Li Xiaolin pointed at Wei Ming and laughed: "You're crafty as hell—but I never expected you'd write special operations so brilliantly. Just pick any scene and turn it into a film—it'd rival *The Secret Bureau's Gunshot*."

Wei Ming thought: I've been shaped by Mai Jia's major works; my technique here is indeed far superior to others today, and I even had Old Wei's firsthand accounts—too bad I never got to talk to Shen Zui.

Li Xiaolin asked many questions about the novel's content; her final one: "I see you've reached the second year of the Civil War—when will the first draft be finished? Can I schedule it for January's issue?"

Wei Ming smiled—she was clearly satisfied with the main plot, needing no major revisions.

Li Xiaolin was indeed satisfied; though Wei Ming used many popular novel techniques, making the story far more engaging than any of his previous works, its core remained solid, evoking the grandeur of an epic—several times, Li Xiaolin wept over the characters' fates.

Most recently, Jiang Lizhong's eldest son died unexpectedly in a clash with Japanese troops the night before Japan's surrender—even though Jiang Lizhong was a villain from our perspective, seeing him rejoice over the victory while grieving his son's death moved Li Xiaolin deeply.

High-quality long-form novels had been absent from the domestic scene for a long time; even compared to the million-word *Li Zicheng*, this one held its own—and even surpassed it in key strengths.

Of course, the premise is that the ending must be well-handled.

The ending.

After serious thought, Wei Ming replied: "I should finish next month, but I'm not sure if over a month is enough for revisions."

After all, he had to revise himself, then submit for editorial review—three rounds of review and three rounds of proofreading; such a long story couldn't be flawless.

Li Xiaolin said: "Your novel is estimated at 500, 00 characters, no more than 600, 00, right?"

Wei Ming nodded—he'd planned for 400, 00 to 500, 00, but lost control.

Li Xiaolin thought: "Publishing in two installments would be too crowded—how about three? Before January, you only need to revise the first 200, 00 characters—make sure the break is clean."

Wei Ming understood perfectly—he was a professional at breaking chapters. That day, He Chengwei had praised him for *The Love of the Terracotta Warriors*, saying his chapter breaks left Peking University's Ning Xin feeling euphoric and unable to stop.

But Ning Xin had already seen the ending through her Hong sister—she was finally satisfied.

Retrieving his backup manuscript, Wei Ming first returned to the Sihe Academy; on the way, he met Li Chengru.

Wei Ming smiled and asked how his exam went.

"Thanks to Teacher Wei, I passed!"

"Congratulations—you'll add another great actor to China's film scene."

Li Chengru beamed, completely missing the implied critique of his looks.

But after parting from Li Chengru, Wei Ming began to worry: when he and Linjie took classes, he couldn't blab about buying the Sihe Academy, could he?

Back at the Overseas Chinese Apartment, Wei Ming met Master Wu Zuoren returning from his evening stroll.

"Little Wei, you're just in time—I have a message to pass on, saves me going to your place."

"What's the matter, Master Wu?"

Wu Zuoren said: "At month's end, Rongbaozhai is holding its 30th anniversary event; I'm inviting you on behalf of the manager. If you're interested, come by—they might display some long-hidden treasures."

Wei Ming grumbled: But they won't let me buy anything.

Yet he was puzzled: "Why 30th anniversary? Isn't it a century-old brand?"

Master Wu smiled faintly—and Wei Ming realized: thirty years ago was 1950—it was the 30th anniversary of public-private partnership. Still meaningful.

After confirming the exact date, Wei Ming said he'd attend; he could buy high-quality brushes, ink, paper, and inkstone to bring as gifts if he visited the Gong family in Modu for revisions.

Thinking of Xuejie, he returned home, where his mother told him there was a call from Beiyingchang.

Wei Ming asked: "Male or female?"

Xu Shufen, facing away, frowned slightly: "Female. Said it was Secretary Zhu calling for you."

"Secretary Zhu" was naturally Zhu Lin—they'd agreed on a code: if Zhu Lin was free the next evening, she'd call under the guise of Beiyingchang's Secretary Zhu, and Wei Ming would know to meet Linjie the next day.

But this code was cracked on its first use.

She knew Wei Ming's relationship with Zhu Lin was special, knew Zhu Lin acted at Beiyingchang, and had heard Zhu Lin's voice—so even with a distorted phone tone, she was certain: this was Zhu Lin calling her son, secretly.

Wei Ming just said "Oh," didn't call back, only mentioned he'd visit Beiyingchang tomorrow.

"Probably Biaozi's drama's almost done."

After dinner, Wei Ming locked himself in his study to write; Xu Shufen turned the TV volume down to minimum and went to his study door to confirm she couldn't hear anything before feeling at ease.

That night and the next day, Wei Ming wrote nearly ten thousand characters—exceeding his goal, so he could enjoy his evening.

How enjoyable?

In Wei Ming's study stood a desk—a high-priced Qing Qianlong purple sandalwood painting table, a genuine imperial antique, incredibly sturdy.

After cleaning it, Wei Ming placed Linjie on the desk—he was tall, so standing was perfect.

Later, he ground ink and painted a little chicken-pecking-rice design on her body, to add bedroom charm.

At least this time, the curtains were drawn.

After bathing, Linjie lightly punched him, furious: "Look what you did—you didn't even wash it off!"

Wei Ming laughed: "No problem—it's covered by clothes anyway. Wash twice more and it'll be gone. Haven't you heard of body painting? It's an art."

Linjie spat: "What kind of lewd art."

Wei Ming truly wanted to bring over the Sihe Academy's copy of *Playboy*—that issue had body painting.

After expending all their strength on each other, they lay quietly, embracing for over an hour.

The protagonists of *Ailing* had passed their honeymoon phase and entered daily drudgery; Linjie said she was already growing weary of Dasheng.

It felt like she was saying it to reassure Wei Ming—thoughtful of her.

Since the adult entrance exam was small-scale and inaugural, Wei Ming quickly learned his results—he passed!

He'd concentrate on study during winter break, then continue self-study.

Wei Anping received the news no slower than Wei Ming; that morning he made plans with Wei Ming to celebrate at the Longzheng Canteen that evening, and even invited Qiao Feng, the new father.

But when Wei Ming and Feng Ge arrived, Uncle Anping hadn't shown up yet; half an hour passed before he finally arrived, brought by Master Liu in his car—Wei Ming then decided to keep Master Liu and invite him too.

Even though Uncle Anping was treating him, how could he let him pay? He didn't earn that much.

Still, Wei Ming was curious about where Uncle Anping had been.

Master Liu clucked his tongue: "Went to… Director Wei, can I say that?"

Uncle Anping nodded: "It's not something secret—I went to Haizi with Professor Wang today."

"Whoa!" Wei Ming and Feng Ge exclaimed in unison—Uncle Anping was really making progress!

"Today, the chief designer and a leader from the Import-Export Control Committee met with us, discussed Fangzheng, and both showed strong interest."

Wei Ming still followed the news—he'd recently seen an old acquaintance take up a major leadership role in the Import-Export Control Committee.

"Uncle, is the leader you mentioned surnamed Jiang?"

"Yes."

Wei Ming understood—he really wanted Uncle Anping to cultivate closer ties with that man, but it seemed too obvious, so he held his tongue; there'd surely be other chances.

You really can't beat a driver for knowing things—after sipping two glasses of Erguotou, Old Liu revealed that Principal Zhou had submitted his resignation letter—something even Uncle Anping didn't know.

But then again, it made sense—he was too old, and because Principal Zhou was always traveling abroad, Peking University students jokingly called him "Foreign Affairs Principal"; someone even reported that he profited by bringing back lots of watches, which infuriated Old Zhou.

I was just helping with purchases, no middleman, no markup—how am I profiting?!

But it was clear: Zhou Peiyuan's era at Peking University was ending; he had largely fulfilled his transitional role, maintaining stability.

On October 21, on the final day of the National Book Fair, Wei Ming waited until the crowd thinned, went back, bought some books—he guessed Zhu Lin's tastes, planning to place them at Tuanjiehu.

She couldn't come because she was filming during the day, though she'd longed to attend.

The books were bought, but Tuanjiehu still needed a suitable bookshelf—he'd have to find time to visit furniture factories.

Thus ended the first National Book Fair, lasting half a month—its results were highly encouraging; later media reported 760, 00 visitors, 4. 6 million books sold, and total sales reaching 3. 7 million yuan.

Wei Ming, Wei What, and Wei Kuangren's multiple titles performed exceptionally well at this fair; Wei Ming even saw "Wei Kuangren" mentioned in some tabloids—rare, since popular literature wasn't considered respectable, but Wei Kuangren's wuxia novels and comics sold extremely well.

Many of these reports included photos of the fair, among which the photo of Wei Ming with Ye Lao and Zang Lao was the most widely circulated.

Interestingly, the original photo had four people, but as it was copied and reposted, it shrank to three—probably due to layout constraints.

When he got home today, Wei Ming got another call—he thought it was Zhu Kezhang again, but his mother told him it was County Magistrate Qin.

County Magistrate Qin said directly: he wanted to come to Yanjing to learn greenhouse techniques, then test them back home.

The next day, Wei Ming rushed to Sijiqing Commune to help arrange it; everyone was very open-minded now—foreigners weren't kept at arm's length, let alone their own people; can you imagine learning from Dazhai in agriculture, yet Dazhai refusing to teach?

Not only would they welcome learners, but the visiting delegation would probably leave with full bags—food, supplies, everything.

Later, Wei Ming called the county government again to coordinate with County Magistrate Qin and set a date.

Before that, Wei Ming visited Rongbaozhai again for its anniversary event.

Of course, before buying, he toured the exhibits—today Rongbaozhai displayed another of its treasured pieces: Zhang Daqian's masterpiece, "Cloud Sea of Mount Hua," measuring 46. cm in height and 586 cm in width.

Zhang Daqian painted only a few such ultra-long landscape scrolls; this "Cloud Sea of Mount Hua" stood among the finest.

Mountains rely on water as blood, grass and trees as hair, mist and clouds as spirit.

This painting perfectly embodied that aesthetic, presenting Mount Hua's majestic grandeur before his eyes.

Wei Ming fell in love at first sight; knowing they wouldn't sell it, he told the manager: "If you ever decide to sell, please consider Chinese buyers first—especially me."

The manager assured him: "Don't worry—such a masterpiece, we'd never let it wander overseas. But many great artists and collectors want it too; after Zhang Daqian left the country, he never created another work of this caliber."

Wei Ming sighed: "He could never see such a scene again—only imagination and memory couldn't achieve such natural harmony."

Seeing his reaction, the manager turned to promote other paintings.

"Zhang Daqian's niece came recently; she asked us to sell two of her uncle's paintings."

"Oh?"

"Master Zhang is very old—81 this year—and his health has declined. His niece wants to take her son to visit him, and selling these paintings is to raise travel funds—Hong Kong dollars are best."

Wei Ming thought: Wow, Zhang Daqian's in Taiwan—can you even get there? And if you go, can you come back? That's awfully naive.

But since these were paintings left by Zhang Daqian to family, their quality should still be good.

Wei Ming decided to take a look—the first was a landscape titled "Clear Autumn in Wu Gorge," 87×48 cm.

The second, titled "Children at Play," was 137×66 cm—a figure painting.

Wei Ming preferred Western realism in figure painting; he'd once seen a Zhang Daqian painting of a lady at Friendship Store that didn't suit his taste, so he recommended it to Melinda.

But these plump little children were so cheerful—he really liked them, and he had no such pieces in his collection, so he was tempted.

"How much?" Wei Ming asked.

The manager replied: "She hopes to raise 5, 00 Hong Kong dollars."

Wei Ming immediately shook his head: "Impossible."

These two were indeed outstanding, but in his mind, together they didn't equal "Ten Thousand Mountains in Red"—"Ten Thousand Mountains in Red" was only $300.

The manager smiled: "We know the price is high, so we plan to cover the shortfall ourselves to honor her filial devotion."

Wei Ming: "How much will you cover?"

The manager thought: "How about you, Writer Wei, cover half?"

"Whoa, only 2, 00? Hong Kong dollars? That's cheap—you don't want it? I'll take it."

A tall, slightly dark-skinned middle-aged man appeared behind Wei Ming, speaking fluent Beijing dialect.

Wei Ming: "Who are you?"

The manager immediately rushed over warmly: "Director Li, welcome! What an honor! Please, sit down, sit down."

Director Li?

Oh—it's Blackie Li!

(Today's minimum~)

(End of Chapter)