Chapter 258: Wei Ming

"Out! Out!"

Wei Hong pulled her mother and said, "Now we can go in."

Two days ago, when her son left, the post office delivered the latest issue of "Mass Cinema"; Xu Shufen saw Gong Yu on the cover and asked her daughter to find out when "Good Things Take Time" would be showing.

She hadn't paid close attention the first two times, but this time she wanted to take a good look at this Shanghai girl and compare her beauty to Zhu Lin from Beijing.

Then she saw Zhu Lin.

Zhu Lin came out with a middle-aged couple, discussing the film and her performance as they walked.

Though her acting was average and the film itself was mediocre, the couple who had once doubted their daughter now offered mostly encouragement—after all, such a performance on her first try was already quite impressive.

Moreover, they felt that even if their daughter was overshadowed, she was still the prettiest girl in the film.

At first Zhu Lin hadn't noticed Wei Hong and her mother; it was Zhu's father who spotted the Peking University badge on Wei Hong's shirt and nudged his wife: "Look, Peking University."

Only then did Zhu Lin notice Wei Hong, and then see Xu Shufen beside her; only then did Xu Shufen spot Zhu Lin.

Wei Hong was the last to react—and before Zhu Lin could decide whether to greet them, she was already waving and calling out.

"Sister Zhu Lin!"

Zhu's parents looked at their daughter in surprise—she knew someone from Peking University?

Zhu Lin smiled and walked over: "Xiao Hong, you came to see a movie?"

"Mm," Wei Hong pulled Xu Shufen forward, "this is my mother."

"Ah, Mother?!"

"Ah, Auntie~" Zhu Lin flustered, almost echoing Wei Hong's "Mother."

Though she'd once shared a table with Xu Shufen at a restaurant, the memory of Liu Xiaoqing openly teasing her about her son made Zhu Lin feel embarrassed, so she pretended this was their first meeting.

Xu Shufen thought the same—let that chapter close; if her son and Zhu Lin ever ended up together, they could formally meet later.

But then Wei Hong asked another question: "Sister Zhu Lin, are you here to see 'Good Things Take Time' too? My mom insisted on watching that one."

Xu Shufen tried to stop her, but it was too late—this child, why say such a thing? She hadn't insisted—she'd just wanted to take a look.

She noticed the subtle shift in Zhu Lin's expression—this girl clearly knew "Good Things Take Time" starred Gong Yu. Oh no, could she already know about her son's affairs?!

Wei Ming and Gong Yu's relationship was still uncertain, but Zhu Lin already knew Wei Ming's mother adored Gong Yu—so much so that she insisted on watching the film.

Xu Shufen felt uneasy—oh dear, she likes them both, she likes them both.

At that moment Zhu Lin's mother came over, curious: "Linlin, is this your friend?"

"Mm, my friend's sister and her mother," Zhu Lin didn't want to elaborate, "your movie should be starting soon—hurry in, don't miss it."

"Mm, is this movie good?" Wei Hong asked innocently.

Zhu Lin: "We haven't seen it—we watched another one."

"Oh~"

Zhu Lin then led her parents away; they remained curious about Wei Hong.

"That girl doesn't look old—how did she get into Peking University? What's she studying?" Zhu's father asked.

"Mathematics," Zhu Lin replied offhandedly.

"Wow, a genius! How did you meet her sister?" Zhu's mother asked again.

Sister?

They'd misunderstood—Zhu Lin could've easily corrected them and introduced the brilliant, tall, handsome Xiao Wei.

But thinking of Wei's mother eagerly dragging her daughter to watch "Good Things Take Time," a pang of bitterness rose in her chest.

"Oh, I met her during the exam," Zhu Lin said, "Mom, I'm hungry—let's go home and eat."

"What do you want to eat?"

"Noodles," Zhu Lin suggested, thinking of the man's birthday—a fresh wave of grievance washed over her.

An hour and a half later, Xu Shufen and Wei Hong stepped out of the theater, both satisfied with the film—Xu Shufen was especially pleased with Gong Yu.

Now, on the big screen, she could see clearly: every close-up flawless, voice crisp and sweet, and the character's personality charming—surely the real girl was just as good.

Still, she kept thinking of Zhu Lin just now—could little Zhu be upset?

Wei Hong: "Mom, wait a second—there's another new movie. Let me check what it's about."

"What new movie?"

"Traitor."

Though there was no poster, there was a screening schedule; Wei Hong asked a staff member who starred in it.

The film had few familiar faces, but the staff listed the cast in order—none of the first few meant anything to her until they mentioned Zhu Lin.

Xu Shufen and Wei Hong both perked up.

"Which Zhu Lin? The beautiful one?"

"She's a newcomer, but yes, very pretty—your last screening was 'Traitor.'"

Wei Hong exclaimed: "Oh! So Sister Zhu Lin's movie is out too!"

Xu Shufen grew more anxious—so little Zhu had come with her parents to watch her own film… and she'd just been caught watching Gong Yu's.

She immediately told her daughter: "Xiao Hong, tomorrow come with me to see another movie—'Traitor.'"

Though Wei Hong was busy with studies, Zhu Lin was someone she knew—and her brother's friend—so she agreed.

Xu Shufen pondered how to let Zhu Lin know she'd seen her film.

Yes! Write her son a letter!

He'd surely tell little Zhu—so she might as well mention "Good Things Take Time," letting little Gong know too.

No matter who her son ultimately chooses, she, as a future mother-in-law, couldn't afford to fall short.

If the mother works this hard, the son must work twice as hard—already one film has passed, but the battle hasn't ended.

Because this was a guesthouse, Wei Ming could only simmer slowly—he couldn't go all out.

Though no one lived nearby, the floor below might still hear.

Wei Ming adjusted his posture, ready to carry on—but then he saw the watch beside the bed. Oh no, how fleeting joy was—it had already been so long.

"Wife, are you tired?" he asked.

Gong Yu nodded eagerly—she felt limp, like a tiny boat nearly capsized in a storm; if this continued, she might never leave the guesthouse.

Wei Ming felt heartbroken—this feeling was something he'd never experienced with Linjie; clearly, southern girls and northern women were different.

So he proposed: "Let's do one last time, okay? I'll go faster."

Gong Yu no longer believed "I'll be quick."

This time Wei Ming held nothing back; Xuejie received an extraordinary experience—she clapped her hand over her mouth, but couldn't muffle the creaking iron bed.

Finally, Wei Ming achieved his wish—he held the petite Xuejie, reluctant to let go.

They embraced in silence; Wei Ming thought: Xuejie has finally caught up to Linjie's progress bar—now he must find a way to make them accept each other.

This process would likely fail—but with this physical breakthrough, even failure left room for redemption.

Though he'd manipulated both of them, failing to secure either would haunt him for life; to ensure his life had no regrets, he had to resort to any means.

Deep down, Wei Ming was still a kind man—he kept convincing himself with this logic: if you're not ruthless, you won't stand firm.

They rested for a full hour; Wei Ming had already prepared hot water and a basin for them to wash.

Now Xuejie grew shy again, asking Xiao Wei to turn his back and not look.

She washed first, then he would.

"Where are you planning to stay tonight?" Wei Ming asked.

Gong Yu said: "Tomorrow, Shanghai Film Studio has arranged interviews for me and Xiao Guo—I don't have to shoot, so I can go later. Tonight I want to go home."

Wei Ming: "Perfect—take the gift I picked for your dad."

"Aren't you coming with me? Want to be a nameless hero?" Gong Yu smiled.

Wei Ming truly dared not show up—he felt guilty for misleading the girl.

And if her parents found out, the neighbors would know; if the neighbors knew, the media might find out; if the media knew, the whole country would know—and Linjie would find out too.

Too terrifying!

After drying off, Wei Ming hugged Xuejie: "I just did something bad today—I dare not visit. We'll talk later. Besides, I'm about to lock myself away to revise my manuscript."

Gong Yu knew Wei Ming's novel was a major matter, so she didn't press—though she regretted it: these were things her father loved, and yet she couldn't tell him this was her man's gift to him.

Wei Ming kissed Xuejie's cheek: "We'll buy them when we visit properly—not just for your dad, but for your mom, your brother, sister-in-law, nephew—this little stuff won't be enough."

These words eased Xuejie's heart, and she let the matter drop.

They began packing; Wei Ming kept Xuejie's gift and packed his own things for her.

It was already late; though Wei Ming had no intention of visiting, he insisted on escorting Gong Yu home.

But as they descended the stairs to leave, someone called from the second floor: "Xiao Wei?!"

Wei Ming looked up: "Ah, Sister Chen!"

The person was none other than Chen Rong, the female writer Wei Ming had first met when revising his manuscript at "Harvest"—and Liang Zuo's mother.

Chen Rong's eyes landed on Wei Ming first, then on Gong Yu.

"This… Liu Fang? No—it's Comrade Gong Yu, right!" Chen Rong remembered meeting the Gong sisters during their stroll along the Bund.

But her strongest impression of Gong Yu now was Liu Fang from "Good Things Take Time."

Wei Ming asked: "Sister, have you seen 'Good Things Take Time'?"

Chen Rong laughed: "I arrived this morning, watched the movie this afternoon, and now I've seen the real thing tonight."

She studied the two of them with amusement—ah, such a perfect pair, far better than Guo Kaimin.

Gong Yu felt embarrassed, lowering her head slightly; Wei Ming quickly said: "Sister Chen, let me see Xuejie home first—I'll come back and chat with you."

"Alright, I'm in Room 220—I'm here to revise my manuscript too." Chen Rong said.

Wei Ming's heart skipped a beat—his room was 320, so 220 must be right below him!

Did she hear the creaking of the iron bed?

Wei Ming quickly returned Gong Yu to her room; the transformed Snow Sister was even gentler, leaning against Wei Ming's shoulder on the car despite the driver's stare, though she had to cover her mouth with her scarf to hide half her face.

The movie "Good Things Come to Those Who Wait" was most popular in the Magic City, and Shangyingchang saw her potential—she would soon become the local actress second only to Zhang Yu and Chen Chong.

And after "Mother, Again Love Me," he was confident Snow Sister would surpass both of them.

So Wei Ming planned to write this script first, then revise it.

When he returned to the guesthouse, it was already ten o'clock. He first looked outside at the lights of the guesthouse rooms—his room's light below was on—so he went inside and visited Sister Chen on the second floor.

"Fate, Sister! We're revising drafts together again!" Wei Ming immediately steered the conversation toward the manuscript.

Chen Rong was reading a book at the time; she smiled: "I heard from the editor that your long novel will be published in January next year. Our fate runs even deeper—I'm also publishing in January."

This time, Sister Chen Rong was revising a novella called "Ode," less famous than her "Midlife," but still one of her masterpieces—later, one of her novella collections would bear this title.

Thinking of "Midlife," Wei Ming remembered something else.

"Sister, 'Midlife' would make a perfect film—has anyone approached you about adapting it?"

Chen Rong shook her head: "Not yet."

Wei Ming sighed: "What a pity—I'm not a director or a studio head, or I'd definitely pick you."

"But you have plenty of adaptation experience—how many now? Two or three?"

"Four films, and one play adaptation—being handled by the People's Art Theatre's screenwriter."

"Oh, you've got too many pen names—I can't keep track," Sister said enviously, because screenplays paid real money.

She'd already quit her teaching job to write full-time, to earn more income and better support her children in the future.

Wei Ming said: "I've got plenty of experience—if anyone approaches you about adaptation, let me know. You've got my phone number, right?"

"Of course, of course—I've never written a script before, I'll definitely ask you for advice."

Wei Ming feared if they kept talking, Sister Chen would bring up the creaking bed—so he excused himself, claiming it was late.

Back in his room, Wei Ming took out stationery and began writing letters.

The first was to Old Ghost: asking if he'd still been in touch with Auntie, and whether he wanted to reclaim the family home—the policy had changed.

The second letter was to A Min—he hadn't handwritten to her in ages.

After finishing, Wei Ming still felt too excited to sleep, so he picked up the manuscript of "Mother, Again Love Me" and began writing the script.

Considering filming convenience and Snow Sister's comfort, Wei Ming set one of the three key elements—the setting—in the Magic City and rural Subei.

This made it easy for the female lead to secretly visit her son in the Magic City, and the bustling metropolis would heighten the contrast.

But he'd have to ask his sister again about Magic City dialects.

He wondered if today's events had kept her awake.

At the same time, Gong Yu slept soundly—she felt like she had just finished a full day of rural labor during her down-to-the-village days, utterly exhausted, her body falling apart, collapsing into bed the moment she returned to the sent-down youth dormitory—she hadn't even had time to give Wei Ming's gift to her father.

Watching this, Gong Ying felt deeply moved—filming was truly grueling; look how exhausted Second Sister was.

The next day, Gong Yu rose comfortably from bed, looked in the mirror, and felt as if she'd been reborn—her skin seemed smoother, more dewy.

No wonder people say yin-yang harmony benefits women—the first time being a woman felt good.

Dressed and outside, breakfast was being prepared; then her parents, sister-in-law, and Ying began discussing "Good Things Come to Those Who Wait."

They hadn't seen it yet yesterday, but some neighbors had—before Gong Yu returned home last night, they'd rushed over to praise Xiao Xue's success; the neighborhood buzzed with praise.

So Mother Zhuang Che proposed: "Let's all go watch it tonight—haven't you seen it yet, Xiao Xue?"

Gong Yu replied nervously: "I've already seen it at the studio, but I'm free tonight—I'll go with you."

Besides, Xiao Wei was exhausted yesterday—he needs rest today.

Wei Ming hadn't expected Snow Sister to underestimate him—he'd woken up this morning as Yang Dingtian, just a little late.

Luckily, Sister Chen also woke late; they happened to meet again in the cafeteria.

Chen Rong said: "I'm going to 'Harvest' to hear the editors' feedback—want to come?"

"I won't go—my novel's too long; they need to finish reading it before giving feedback. I'll just wait here."

"Alright then—I'll ask for you too. If I hear anything, I'll tell you."

After eating, Wei Ming mailed his letter and package to Hong Kong, then returned to his room to write the script—he felt writing scripts came more naturally than novels, and far faster.

Not only did he plot the story, he even planned the soundtrack and insert songs—writing the script, he also composed songs.

Looking at these few new songs, Wei Ming cried and laughed—damn it, I don't believe you'll walk out of the theater smiling.

Cry! Cry until you're drained!

Two days later, when Wei Ming received news from Li Xiaolin, he'd already finished half the script.

He immediately went to the "Harvest" editorial office, where he ran into Ha Hua, editor-in-chief of "Sprout," and Zhao Changtian, its future editor-in-chief.

Zhao Changtian was the future organizer of the "New Concept Essay Contest," mentor to Han Han and Guo Jingming, and father of the writer Na Duo.

But now he was just a moderately known amateur writer, here to submit to "Magic City Literature," and Ha Hua spotted him and began soliciting work.

"Sprout" was a literary magazine founded in the 1950s targeting youth, suspended midstream, and set to relaunch in January next year—currently accepting submissions nationwide.

Ha Hua didn't let Zhao Changtian slip away, nor did he let Wei Ming go—he'd seen Wei Ming's photo.

Wei Ming thumped his chest: "I do have ideas for youth-themed stories—I'll definitely consider 'Sprout' first when I write one."

But right now he had no time—he'd likely miss the relaunch issue.

Inside the "Harvest" office, editors turned to Wei Ming—most had skimmed "The Right Path of Humanity Is the Vast River" during these four days.

Time was tight, and too many wanted to read—it was impossible to read carefully.

Every editor marveled that a teenager under twenty could write such a sweeping, detailed, character-rich, plot-twisting family epic set against historical backdrop.

With this novel, Wei Ming's status in today's literary world would surge—he'd soon be respectfully called Master Wei!

Editor Li called Wei Ming to Ba Lao's office; Ba Lao encouraged him earnestly, his eyes clearly reading "The Young Are to Be Feared."

As for the main plot and character designs, Ba Lao said no problems—write it just as it is.

Some editors initially thought Jiang Lizhong of the KMT was portrayed too well—passionate, patriotic, clever, a good husband and father, his son dead from resisting the Japanese; had it not been for brotherly affection, Jiang Limin would have died multiple times at his henchmen's hands.

But Ba Lao vouched for Wei Ming: though China now completely omits the KMT's wartime contributions, Ba Lao lived through that era—the Battle of Shanghai, the bloody defense of Taierzhuang, the blood-drenched Yuhuatai—when the nation was in peril, who cared about KMT or CCP? All were passionate Chinese youth, all worthy of praise.

Moreover, Xiao Wei's final expression of "the Chinese nation" made his intent clear—this was a positive, hopeful novel longing for reunification and brotherly reunion across the strait.

After leaving Ba Lao's office, Li Xiaolin gave Wei Ming the first fifty thousand characters and minor revision notes, asking him to revise those first—she hadn't yet read the rest.

Wei Ming nodded, but for now he'd focus on writing the script—he still had over a month.

Leaving "Harvest," Wei Ming suddenly remembered a crucial matter—he hadn't discussed his fee!

The standard was three to ten yuan per thousand characters—how much would he get?

He didn't really need the money—he hadn't claimed the two yuan daily subsidy "Harvest" offered, because besides revising, he had to write his script and spend time with Snow Sister—he didn't want to take advantage.

But the fee reflected his standing in the literary world—he was curious what rank he held now.

That evening, as Wei Ming went downstairs to eat, he saw Sister Chen Rong dining with a man in his forties; she immediately called him over.

"This is Gao Xingjian, writer and translator, my junior at North Foreign Languages Institute—I studied Russian, he studied French; last year, when Ba Lao visited France, he served as interpreter."

Wei Ming shook hands with this future Nobel laureate—no wonder, no wonder he later stayed in France.

Gao Xingjian's stock was rising—Wei Ming had read his novella published in "Huacheng" last year, which caused a sensation; now he'd written a novella called "A Dove Named Red Lips," which "Harvest" had acquired, and he'd come specifically for revisions.

But his style was unusual—experimental, blending multiple narrative perspectives, making for a difficult reading experience.

Gao Xingjian spoke little, so Sister Chen Rong kept the conversation lively—she finally couldn't resist bringing up Gong Yu.

"Xiao Wei, today I saw in the Magic City papers that comrade Gong Yu—looks like her movie was a big success."

"Oh? Is it still in the papers?"

"It's at the front desk—I put it back. Today's 'Magic City Evening News'—you can look."

"Got it." Wei Ming ate faster, eager to check.

But as he flipped through the paper, Gong Yu arrived—covered even more tightly than last time, yet Wei Ming recognized her instantly—he pulled her upstairs.

"Sister, you're truly famous now—congratulations."

Gong Yu demurred: "Not at all—I've got a long way to go."

Wei Ming tapped the script on the table: "With this, you'll become the biggest star."

Gong Yu looked at the thickened manuscript: "You wrote so much—can I read it?"

"No," Wei Ming firmly said, "only half done—reading halfway would leave you emotionally stranded. Wait a few more days—I'll finish the script first, then revise."

Hearing Wei Ming prioritized writing the script for her over revision, Gong Yu was moved and threw herself into his arms.

Wei Ming: Then I won't be polite.

"Don't play—daylight's still out," Snow Sister blushed, glancing out the window—though Xiao Wei had succeeded last time, she wasn't sure she had the courage now; so many people had seen her come in.

Wei Ming sighed—when would that old fool move? Called himself "Uncle," what a waste.

So after hugging, holding, and kissing for a while, Wei Ming and Snow Sister decided to take a walk in the park.

But as they stepped downstairs, the attendant Xiao Mei called out through a megaphone: "Teacher Wei, you have a phone call!"

Wei Ming picked up: "Hello, who's this?"

"It's me, Fei Wu."

Wei Ming perked up: "Uncle, good news?"

Old Fei said: "Yes—tomorrow, come to Huating Road in Xuhui, take a look at the house."

Wei Ming didn't know where that was: "I'm at the Municipal Writers Association—is it far?"

Old Fei: "Not far—twenty minutes on foot."

So about the same distance as Jueyuan—Wei Ming added: "Can I go now? It's not far."

Old Fei thought a moment: "Alright, come over—wait for me at the corner of Huating Road and Yanqing Road."

Wei Ming put down the phone and walked out of the guesthouse with Xue Jie, then told her the situation.

"Lao Fei found an old Western-style house—want to go take a look?"

Gong Ying had no objections; if they owned a house of their own, they could do anything—big or small—without restraint, and that would be utterly wonderful.

Before darkness fully fell, Wei Ming and Gong Ying arrived at the intersection of Yanqing Road and Huating Road, but still saw no sign of Lao Fei.

Gong Ying recognized the place; there were indeed many old Western-style houses here, two-story buildings with small courtyards.

Wei Ming also noticed: "They seem smaller than the ones we saw that day, and not as beautiful."

If the old Western-style houses they'd seen that day belonged to top-tier billionaires—with main buildings and auxiliary structures—then what they saw now were the homes of ordinary wealthy families from old Shanghai: smaller in footprint, less Westernized and extravagant in style.

But they felt more like homes.

After about ten minutes, Lao Fei arrived on his bicycle, panting.

He wasn't nearby at all, but hearing his employer wanted to see the house right away, eager to secure his commission, he forced himself to pedal faster—what an old bastard.

Wei Ming: "First, tell me about this family—do they want RMB or foreign currency?"

"You have foreign currency?"

"No, but I can try to get some." Wei Ming didn't tell the full truth.

Lao Fei: "No need for that—they don't plan to emigrate. RMB's fine."

He then gave a detailed account: the family was surnamed Bai; before the founding of the PRC, they ran a rice business and had even distributed porridge to help the poor.

"So after the house was seized, they still left three rooms for the Bai family, and the rest were allocated to the general public in need," Lao Fei said as they walked.

Wei Ming thought: this was similar to Li Guangfu's sihe courtyard.

"But don't worry—now only the Bai family lives here. The government has already relocated everyone else. There's no ownership ambiguity. As long as the deal goes through, the house will be cleared for you immediately."

"Then why sell it? Why not keep it?" Gong Ying asked.

Lao Fei: "Because there are too many people. They can't get along."

The eldest member of the Bai family now is an old woman—let's call her Old Bai.

She has three sons and one daughter. Each son had two to five children; two grandsons are already married, and the eldest grandson has given her a great-grandchild. Excluding daughters and granddaughters who married out, this is a four-generation household of thirty-five people.

"Thirty-five people living in this old Western-style house—they used their numbers to push out the outsiders before the property was returned to them. But now there are no outsiders, and their own relatives have become a nuisance. So many people, so many kinship ties—how many grudges have piled up?"

Wei Ming shuddered just thinking about it—he'd have to save more money to buy houses for his wives and children.

Lao Fei: "Plus, some of the Bai family could've gotten housing from their work units, but because they already had this big mansion, they didn't qualify. So the brothers and their mother agreed to sell the house, rent elsewhere, apply for unit housing, and have cash on hand for whatever they needed."

Wei Ming: "That makes sense."

But with so many people, how much money would it take to meet their expectations?

Wei Ming asked Lao Fei: "Uncle, how much would you say this old Western-style house is worth?"

Lao Fei thought: "I really hope this deal goes through, but if it's over thirty thousand, it's not worth buying."

"Thirty thousand!" Hearing the number, Wei Ming said nothing, but Xue Jie immediately grabbed his arm to leave—sacrificing so much for just a nest?

And that Beijing sihe courtyard hadn't cost nearly that much.

Lao Fei hurried to explain: "Thirty thousand is an unacceptable price—it's bound to be negotiated down. Don't be so hasty, young lady."

Gong Ying: If you're making my man waste money, how can I not be hasty!

…

(As usual, I write as much as I can on the first of the month. Also reporting: current average subscription is 9, 00. This month, Old Buddha will strive to rise up!)

(End of chapter)