Chapter 26: Popular Cinema

Finally, Fatty reluctantly moved, glancing back every few steps—utterly reluctant, utterly regretful.

I could have spent this journey with her!

Seeing Gong Ying struggle to stow her luggage, Wei Ming offered politely: “Let me help—I’m 183 centimeters.”

Gong Ying instantly did the math in her head: wow, twenty centimeters taller than me—what did he eat to grow like that?

“Do you want the window or aisle seat?” Wei Ming asked again.

“Either’s fine—you pick first,” she replied politely.

“Then you take the inside,” Wei Ming said, taking the outside seat for easier access to the soft-sleeper carriage.

“Alright, thank you,” Gong Ying said after sitting down. “Sorry—I just thought you were that woman’s husband.”

“No problem. But clearly, that man and she look more like a married couple.” Both were plump—a rarity in this era.

A kind-faced, gentle old woman across the aisle chimed in: “That’s right! They’re a perfect match—and so are you two!”

With these two faces side by side, anyone would call them a heavenly pair of golden boy and jade girl.

This joke carried heavy weight for a young unmarried girl in this era; she flustered and waved her hands: “Auntie, we don’t even know each other!”

The old woman smiled at Gong Ying: “Girl, you’re so pretty—what’s your name?”

She hesitated: “I’m Gong Ying. And you, Auntie?”

“And you, young man?”

“Wei Ming. Ming as in ‘tomorrow.’”

The old woman clapped her hands: “Now you know each other!”

Gong Ying was both embarrassed and annoyed—she even suspected this old woman was Wei Ming’s real mother.

But probably not—no mother could give birth to a son this handsome.

Wei Ming never expected the old woman to be such a perfect ally—he wanted to swear brotherhood with her!

Gong Ying admitted Wei Ming was handsome—more handsome and tall than any leading actor in her troupe—but he clearly looked like a kid, probably not even twenty.

Flustered by the old woman’s teasing, Gong Ying pulled out a magazine from her bag to read.

Wei Ming first noticed the cover featured Pan Hong, then realized: oh, it’s *Popular Cinema*.

Some colleagues said this magazine was sold out everywhere—impossible to get a copy.

*Popular Cinema* had just been relaunched this year, each issue featuring one cover star—Chen Chong and Liu Xiaoqing had both appeared.

Once the long-suspended Hundred Flowers Prize restarts next year, this magazine’s sales will reach world-class levels—outpacing even the peak of *Story Magazine*.

And the woman sitting beside Wei Ming was one of the millions chosen by public vote as the Hundred Flowers Queen—during the most prestigious era of the Hundred Flowers Prize.

Gong Ying exited the group chat; the old woman beside her was a half-sleeping elderly man, so she turned her attention solely to Wei Ming.

“Young man, where are you getting off?”

“Auntie, I’m getting off in Magic City. What about you?”

Gong Ying’s eyes, still on the magazine, involuntarily flicked over—was he also from Magic City?

“I’m getting off in Dezhou,” the old woman said.

Hearing she was from Shandong, Wei Ming instantly switched to Shandong dialect: “Dezhou roasted chicken? Soft, tender, fall-off-the-bone—unbelievably delicious.”

Gong Ying: So he’s not from Magic City after all.

The old woman blinked: “Actually, I’m not from Shandong—I’m from Henan. I’m visiting my sister in Dezhou.”

“Oh! So you’re visiting relatives? Good!” Wei Ming immediately switched to Liu Zhenyun’s Henan accent, making the old woman burst into laughter—completely unconcerned with maintaining any image in front of Gong Ying.

“My husband’s from Shaanxi.”

Wei Ming chuckled—the old woman was treating him like a living dialect encyclopedia.

But he did have a gift for languages—he spoke to her in Shaanxi dialect, making her exclaim: “That’s it! My old man talks just like that!”

Gong Ying was utterly baffled—who was this man? How could he speak every dialect?

Her gaze fell on the book on the table beside Wei Ming.

The title didn’t matter—what mattered was the label: “Peking University Library,” plus a library number.

Having never attended university, Gong Ying instantly felt reverence—he must be a Peking University student, no wonder he was so learned!

“Young man, what’s your job?” the old woman asked kindly.

Wei Ming: “I work at Peking University. To put it simply—even city leaders need my approval to enter the campus.”

“Oh! So you’re the gatekeeper?” the old woman hit the nail on the head.

Wei Ming clapped: “Exactly!”

Gong Ying: Is he lying? His looks, his bearing—nothing like the old gatekeeper at our unit.

The old woman didn’t think gatekeeping was bad—in this era, having a steady job was a blessing—a lifetime iron rice bowl.

“How long have you been working?”

“Less than a month—I’m still temporary.” “Then you must be from Beijing.”

“No, I’m from a village in Hebei.”

The old woman winked and nudged him—child, you don’t have to be so honest.

She’d noticed: the girl beside her, though reading, hadn’t turned two pages in ages—her mind was clearly on the young man.

Seeing Wei Ming wouldn’t play along, the frustrated old woman turned to Gong Ying.

“Girl, who’s this on the cover? So beautiful.”

Gong Ying, being polite, replied: “That’s Pan Hong—a film actress.”

The old woman: “Oh! A movie star? Pretty, sure—but still not as pretty as you.”

Gong Ying blushed deeply: “Auntie, don’t say that—she’s famous, I can’t compare.”

“Why not? Young man, tell me—isn’t what I said right?” The old woman gave Wei Ming a light kick—meaning: praise her! Praise her hard!

Wei Ming was torn between laughter and exasperation—was this woman some kind of professional matchmaker?

!

Though he privately thought Gong Ying was far more beautiful, such praise was inappropriate in this era—it might embarrass her, since they were strangers.

So Wei Ming didn’t answer directly: “Maybe Miss Gong Ying is also a film actress.”

Gong Ying’s hand holding the magazine jerked—how did he guess?

The sharp old woman caught it too, slapping her knee: “Oh my! Could little Wei be right? Girl, you really are a movie star!”

Gong Ying felt a quiet thrill—but mostly embarrassment. She waved her hands: “No, no—I’m not a real movie star. I just… I just made one film.”

The old woman gave Wei Ming another secret kick, smugly—see? My eyes are sharp! She’s a real movie star!

No wonder she’s so beautiful—you lucky boy, you’re grinning inside!

In this era, there was no unbridgeable gap between film actors and workers—an eighth-grade machinist earned more than any actor—but things would change once the freelance performance market took off in a few years.

The old woman hurriedly asked Gong Ying: “Girl, what films have you made?”

“Auntie, you wouldn’t know—they haven’t been released yet,” Gong Ying replied with a smile—clearly, she had high hopes for this film.

Seeing her eager to talk, Wei Ming joined in: “Are you with Shanghai Film Studio?”

Gong Ying shook her head, pointing to Pan Hong on the cover: “She is. I’m not.”

Looking at the already-famous Pan Hong on the cover, her eyes betrayed quiet disappointment.

Pan Hong was one year younger, also from Magic City—they’d taken the same entrance exam for Shanghai Film and Drama Academy—but since the college entrance exam hadn’t been restored, and she was a sent-down youth, her commune refused to release her.

Pan Hong graduated from the Academy and joined Shanghai Film Studio, starred in several films, and even got married and started a family.

“Will you make more films?” Wei Ming asked.

Gong Ying: “If someone asks me, I’ll still try.”

Her greatest wish was to become famous through film, catch Shanghai Film Studio’s attention, get transferred there, and reunite with her family.

“I think you’ll definitely become famous. When you get back to Magic City, go visit Shanghai Film Studio—they have plenty of opportunities,” Wei Ming suggested.

Shanghai Film Studio was probably preparing *Love on Lushan Mountain* right now.

Wei Ming’s words reminded Gong Ying: sometimes you can’t be passive—you must take initiative.

Besides, she had some ties to Shanghai Film Studio—once, they cast for *The Young Generation*, and she auditioned for the female lead but lost to Li Xiuming.

But she met veteran actress Zhang Ruifang, who admired her; Shanghai Film Studio wanted her to stay—but her sent-down youth status meant her commune wouldn’t release her, so she joined the army instead, and then they couldn’t refuse.

“Yes, you’re right. Thank you for the advice, Comrade Wei Ming.”

“Comrade Gong Ying, you’re too kind.”

For the first time, they addressed each other by name—and from that moment, Gong Ying, always wary of strangers, lowered her guard slightly.

“What time is it?” Wei Ming asked Gong Ying.

Gong Ying glanced at her wristwatch: “Half past two.”

Already so late? I wonder if Professor Qu is alright—he’s probably tired too.

He turned to Gong Ying: “Comrade Gong Ying, could you watch my bag? I have an elder in the sleeper carriage—I’ll go check on him.”

“Oh, sure!” she agreed readily, even moved Wei Ming’s bag to the inside.

The bag was surprisingly heavy—she glanced secretly—full of books.

You, a Peking University gatekeeper, reading so many books—are you planning to take the graduate entrance exam?~ Gong Ying silently mocked.

More than half an hour passed before Wei Ming returned.

Gong Ying looked up—ah! How did he bring over his “daughter”?

(End of Chapter)