Chapter 269: United Against the Foreign Threat: North-South Cooperation

"Lin-jie, do you remember the Beatles? The one that sang 'Hey Jude'."

Zhu Lin: "Are you changing the subject?"

"The lead singer and founder was John Lennon—one of the greatest pop musicians in the world."

Zhu Lin: "I won't listen, I won't listen—it's like a turtle reciting sutras."

Wei Ming: "He's dead."

"What? How did he die?" Zhu Lin was successfully distracted—Wei Ming had once recorded many foreign songs for her, and the Beatles' music was among her favorites.

Wei Ming: "He was shot dead by a deranged fan in New York, just forty years old. And Melinda was there when he was killed—I just received a letter from her in New York."

A flicker of regret crossed Zhu Lin's face, then she said: "So what? What are you trying to say?"

Wei Ming: "Melinda was terrified. She said foreign countries are too dangerous—not nearly as wonderful as we imagine. Gunshots, drug overdoses happen every day. She misses China and wants to settle back in Yanjing."

"What?" Zhu Lin reacted sharply. "No way! She's a foreigner, not a diplomat—why should she settle in China?"

If Zhu Lin was wary of Gong Yu, she was terrified of Melinda.

She still remembered how her relationship with Xiao Wei had naturally progressed to kissing—until Melinda returned to China, and everything collapsed. If she hadn't been so reluctant to let go of this brat, there might have been no "then."

Melinda was Xiao Wei's first woman, just as Xiao Wei was hers—they mentored each other through the confusion of adolescence into adulthood. It was an unforgettable memory.

If it weren't for that, after confronting Gong Yu, she should've dumped Xiao Wei—but she truly couldn't quit him.

And that foreign girl really knew how to manipulate. Zhu Lin could still recall the details she'd seen that day in the bathroom: the fiery curls draped over the snow-white back, the swaying hips and waist leading down to long, straight legs—who could resist such temptation?

So Zhu Lin felt that if Melinda chose to return and settle in China, neither she nor Gong Yu stood a chance—unless they joined forces, united against this external threat, two against one.

Wait.

The clever Lin-jie suddenly snapped to: she was a new-era woman raised under the red flag, capable of holding up half the sky—how could she have entertained such feudal poison?

It was Xiao Wei's trickery!

She'd been asking whether he'd slept with Gong Yu, but this brat deliberately steered her toward this direction.

Such a sinister motive—and his evasive attitude was practically an admission.

Sure enough, they'd already broken through that thin membrane. Her lead advantage no longer existed.

"Did Melinda really say that? With such rich material conditions abroad, can she really give it up? You're lying to me, aren't you?" Zhu Lin still cared more about Melinda as the external threat.

To hell with "pacify the interior before expelling the foreigner!"

"Her letter's still at the Overseas Chinese Apartment. Shall I bring it to you tomorrow?" Wei Ming deployed his lifetime's acting skills, staring at her challengingly.

After a moment of silence, Zhu Lin snorted: "No need. If it's written in English, I won't understand it."

Wei Ming smiled: "It's in English, but we've got the Oxford Chinese Dictionary—we can translate word by word."

"Stop joking. I'm asking about her coming back to China." Zhu Lin's hand slipped inside Wei Ming's pajamas, gently stroking his chest—a sign of submission.

Wei Ming was comfortable, pulling her waist close again: "She won't be coming back anytime soon. My translation of The Lion King is just finished, and she's in charge of all overseas publishing. If she returns, how will I earn foreign exchange? I plan to write her a letter warning her to be careful, not to go out at night, and to send her some martial arts books so she can learn self-defense."

Zhu Lin: "I didn't realize foreign countries aren't some paradise. Should we get her to learn qigong?"

Zhu Lin now believed foreign countries were terrifying—and even believed in qigong.

While marveling at how easily women could be fooled, Wei Ming was also grateful—thank goodness she was gullible, or tonight would've ended badly.

"Let's get the martial arts straight first—forget qigong." Wei Ming stared at Zhu Lin—he had to keep a close eye on her; she shouldn't dabble in anything useless.

"Sister, have you heard of yoga?"

Zhu Lin shook her head—she'd never heard of it.

"Then I'll teach you." Wei Ming smiled. After all, they couldn't really do anything tonight.

It wasn't that Wei Ming worshipped foreign things—those so-called qigong practices were worse than Indian yoga. At least yoga made women supple and flexible, perfect for all kinds of positions, harmonizing between man and woman.

Yoga had already begun gaining popularity abroad, but in China it hadn't yet arrived—it wouldn't spread until the late 80s and early 90s.

But the word "yoga" had long existed.

"Yoga is a Buddhist physical discipline that enhances flexibility, which is crucial for actors who perform many movements. It also relieves anxiety, boosts immunity, and improves sleep quality," Wei Ming flattered her to get her to learn, "and it can even make you look younger."

Hearing it could make her younger, Zhu Lin's eyes lit up. She asked: "You know it? Who taught you?"

"Who needs a teacher? I learned it from ancient texts. Yoga came from India during the Tang Dynasty and was loved by some scholar-officials—but never spread among the common people. My workplace was next to the ancient manuscript library; I often went there to read."

Zhu Lin looked at Wei Ming with admiration—if he weren't so talented and all-knowing, how could she have sunk so low, continuing this relationship despite knowing Gong Yu still existed?

In his past life, Wei Ming had studied yoga for two years at the insistence of a former girlfriend. Now he pulled Zhu Lin off the bed, spread out a wool blanket he'd bought earlier, and began teaching her beginner yoga.

The beginner poses were still respectable—but the instructor was not. He kept "correcting" her posture by touching and squeezing her.

But Wei Ming himself was suffering—Zhu Lin could clearly feel his reaction. Hmph, serve you right. If you're so eager, fly to Shanghai and find your Xue!

Zhu Lin, having a dancer's foundation, found some poses difficult, but with effort she managed them all. After finishing the routine, she lay back on the bed.

"Hey, that actually felt pretty good."

Wei Ming: "We'll practice again tomorrow night. This is just beginner level—there are more challenges ahead."

"Can't do tomorrow. I have to go home for my family's birthday tomorrow night."

Hearing this, Wei Ming pounded the bed in frustration: "Ugh, so annoying!"

"What's wrong?" Zhu Lin was baffled. "Can't I spend time with my family?"

Wei Ming: "That's not it. I ordered a birthday cake from the international student cafeteria—I planned to pretend I didn't know it was your birthday, then trick you over here for a surprise. Now you've gone and told me—my surprise is ruined."

Watching Wei Ming throw a childish tantrum, Zhu Lin laughed and hugged him, recalling last year's birthday—when Xiao Wei had been with her too. Back then, she still had a boyfriend, but she was lost about love and career—until Xiao Wei talked her through it.

Who would've thought that in just one year, they'd become the kind of couple who didn't even need to hide from each other when using the toilet?

"Alright, it's my fault—I ruined your thoughtful plan. But… is the cake good?"

Wei Ming guessed she'd never had one: "Want some?"

"Mm-hmm."

Wei Ming: "Then tomorrow at lunch~"

Zhu Lin: "Actually, my character's already dead, but I still have to stay on set. I'll tell the director tomorrow morning—I'll wait here for you at noon."

"Good," Wei Ming pulled her close and kissed her again. "The cake's as sweet as your lips."

The next day, Wei Ming dropped Zhu Lin off at Beiyingchang, then headed straight to Peking University, first stopping by Shaoyuan Cafeteria.

"What? You don't do this service?"

Then how had Li Aiguo gotten his birthday cake?

Luckily, Li Aiguo was eating in the cafeteria, discussing John Lennon's death with other international students—the news had just arrived.

Li Aiguo's eyes were wet—he adored the Beatles and despised that mad fan, regardless of whether he was schizophrenic.

"Leonardo, we international students are holding a memorial concert for John Lennon tonight. Want to join?" Li Aiguo invited Wei Ming.

Wei Ming thought it over—tonight Zhu Lin would be home with her family, so he had time.

"Alright, as long as I don't have to sing. By the way, I need to ask you something…"

It turned out the cake had been ordered from the Friendship Store. Wei Ming immediately rushed back to the Friendship Store and used foreign exchange coupons to order a birthday cake.

He needed writing on it, fruit added, and just two candles—twenty-eight candles would make Zhu Lin angry.

By ten o'clock, everything was done. Wei Ming skipped school and wandered through the Friendship Store, checking out the paintings upstairs. Nothing caught his eye—but he spotted a pair of imperial green jade bangles.

Wei Ming had been rich before—he knew a thing or two about jade and could tell real from fake.

"How much for these?"

"Sir, these cost 1, 00 yuan."

The clerk meant foreign exchange coupons—equivalent to $800, but $800 on the black market was nearly the value of a ten-thousand-yuan household.

Wei Ming didn't lack foreign exchange. He asked: "Is this quality only available in one pair?"

"We have other styles, but the quality is lower."

Wei Ming thought: "Wrap them up. Put each in a separate box, and make the packaging elegant—I'm giving them as gifts."

"Of course, sir." The clerk kept smiling—this was money well spent.

After more browsing, the cake was ready, inspected, packed, and Wei Ming drove straight to the Overseas Chinese Apartment—after hiding the second bangle.

Tuanjiehu.

Zhu Lin had returned even earlier than Wei Ming. She'd done her own beginner yoga routine, then heard the door open.

"Sister, ready for cake?"

"Is this the cake? The box is so beautiful."

"Open it."

Zhu Lin carefully unwrapped the package and saw the snowy white cream, embedded with peach and strawberry slices. Though simple in design, she was genuinely surprised.

"It already smells sweet." She'd seen cream cakes before—small ones, where the cake was the main part and cream just decoration. This one was huge, covered in thick cream, enough to eat your fill, plus winter-rare fruit.

"Let's make it fancy tonight." Wei Ming drew all the curtains, creating nighttime ambiance, then lit the candles and stuck them in.

"Then you make a wish and blow out the candles, right?" Zhu Lin asked.

"You know that?"

"I read it in your Hong Kong novels."

"Hong Kong's so bourgeois. Make a wish for your country's prosperity and glory." Wei Ming suggested.

Zhu Lin rolled her eyes, closed her eyes, wished first for China to become the world's number one, then for herself to become Xiao Wei's only one.

Oh dear—was it greedy to wish for two things on one birthday?

But she blew out two candles—two wishes couldn't be too much.

After the wish ceremony, Wei Ming didn't open the curtains. He lit two thick candles and they shared the cake by candlelight.

At first they ate normally—but when Wei Ming saw cream on Zhu Lin's cheek, he became a cream scavenger, even stealing cream from her mouth.

Then he went further, smearing it on her body. Zhu Lin feared staining her clothes, so she took them off, letting him smear cream on her—and then licked it off herself.

Finally, Zhu Lin couldn't take it anymore and whispered to Wei Ming: "Actually, my period's over today."

Wei Ming was overjoyed—he would make up for what he hadn't done yesterday!

This was also the best gift she had given him on her birthday.

"The cake surprise is gone, but this makes up for it." Afterward, Wei Ming pulled out another small gift box from his bag.

Zhu Lin lazily clung to Wei Ming, surprised there was another surprise.

She unwrapped the paper box to find a wooden one; inside was a shimmering mass of green.

"It's a bracelet!"

"A jade bracelet," Wei Ming said. "I went back to Friendship Store—imperial green."

Zhu Lin didn't know what "imperial green" meant, but she could tell the bracelet was beautiful—its green was translucent and clearly expensive.

Wei Ming slipped it onto her wrist: "Do you like it?"

Zhu Lin nodded, hugging Wei Ming and kissing him again. Though Little Wei was a bit of a scoundrel, he truly cared for her.

In this moment of overflowing happiness, Zhu Lin could temporarily forget her inner troubles with Gong Rui and external pressures from Melinda.

Wei Ming couldn't stay with Zhu Lin in the afternoon—he had to go to work.

Looking at the cake, only about one-fifth eaten, Zhu Lin asked: "Will it go bad?"

"Of course it will—it's warm inside, so it'll last at most one or two days," Wei Ming said. "Why not take it home and share it with your parents?"

Zhu Lin: "I want my parents to taste it, but how do I explain it?"

Wei Ming replied instantly: "Say the film crew bought it to celebrate your birthday."

Zhu Lin: "But why did we eat so little and leave so much? That doesn't make sense."

"You just want your parents to taste it, right? Cut them two pieces, say you saved them specially for them. I'll keep two for us to eat tomorrow, and give the rest to Biaozi and Xiao Mei."

Zhu Lin thought the plan worked—and marveled again at how effortlessly he spun such a perfect lie. How many times had she been fooled before? She'd just drifted along, clueless. Oh, how foolish I am.

Yunyun was resting at home today, so Wei Ming handed the cake to her and went to work. After work, he saw Liu Rulong at the library.

"Long, you're waiting for me? Did you finish the character designs?"

Liu Rulong smiled: "I drew over ten versions of Jing Tianming and five of Xiang Shaoyu. I'll show you later. Today I went to the China Art Museum—I came back to campus thinking you'd be back at work, so I dropped by to see you."

"You've only been back a few days—what's happening at the museum?"

Long: "The Second National Youth Art Exhibition—I entered and won third prize."

"Impressive. I'll check out your work when I get a chance. What did you draw?"

Long, slightly proud: "The Youth Art Exhibition includes ink painting, oil painting, sculpture, comics, etc. I drew a romantic comic."

No need to ask—it was surely based on his and Ying's story. Showing off his love, huh.

"You haven't eaten yet?" Wei Ming said. "Come on, let's grab a meal at Shao Yuan."

Wei Ming took him to the Shao Yuan cafeteria for a memorial event for John Lennon—music and food included.

Besides Beatles songs, foreigners had composed their own tributes to Lennon—sincere, if mediocre.

Among them was Li Kui's rap. He felt great about it and boasted to his classmates: "I think this song could hit the Billboard charts."

Li Aiguo clinked his Coke can with Wei Ming's and teased his old friend: "Too bad—if it were truly good, I could actually get you on Billboard."

Wei Ming laughed: "You own Billboard, do you?"

A nearby American girl said: "Li Aiguo's father is the personal lawyer for the MCA president."

Wei Ming exclaimed: "Aiguo, your dad's a lawyer?!"

Lawyers were powerful in America—especially one who served a president's personal lawyer. But what was MCA?

Li Aiguo: "MCA—Music Corporation of America. Universal Pictures is its subsidiary. But my dad's client isn't the president—he's a vice president who handles the music division."

That music division later became one of the world's three largest record companies: Universal Music.

Wei Ming looked at Li Aiguo anew—he had such connections? That was Universal—one of Hollywood's Big Eight!

Wei Ming wanted to ask: Was Universal interested in the rights to The Game of the Brave?

But Li Aiguo's father knew only the vice president in charge of music—too bad.

Music, though—Wei Ming racked his brain—and unexpectedly found an idea.

He hadn't listened to many of John Lennon's songs, but one tribute to him had left a deep impression.

"Comrade Aiguo, if I wrote an English song, could you help me get it out?"

Li Aiguo: "Comrade Leonardo, you're serious?"

…

(Today's minimum)

(End of chapter)