Chapter 275: The Right Path of Humanity Is Change—Part One

As one of Dai Li's Four Golden Knights and a top Kuomintang secret agent, Shen Zui personally captured and killed hundreds; he confessed to two or three hundred names in his materials written at Gongde Lin, and many more he couldn't even recall.

At first hearing "Jiang Limin," he truly couldn't remember.

"What about Jiang Lizhong?" Shen Meijuan asked again.

Shen Zui frowned: "Can't recall—weren't they brothers? What did they do?"

"Nothing much—just characters in a novel. They really are brothers," Shen Meijuan said awkwardly.

"That's nonsense. How could I possibly know fictional characters? Why are you asking this all of a sudden?"

Shen Meijuan: "The novel actually mentions you—it feels surprisingly accurate."

"What? It mentions me? Let me see." Shen Zui perked up and took the magazine "Shouhuo."

"Dad, I've only read half—let me finish first!"

Shen Zui: "You've got your whole life ahead—you can wait. I'll read it first."

Shen Meijuan sighed helplessly. Shen Zui picked up right where she'd left off and immediately saw his own name: "Shen Zui." Damn, they used his real name—no attempt to disguise it at all.

But since the passage was obscure and disconnected, he flipped straight to the front and saw the novel's title: "The Right Path of Humanity Is Change—Part One."

Wasn't that a line from the Great Man's poem? Seeing those words, he was instantly transported back to the years in Yunnan when Lu Han forced him to rebel.

Shen Zui resolved he must criticize it—though he was already dark enough, he wouldn't let some writer smear him without resistance.

In the senior cadre ward of Yanjing Xiehe Hospital, Ba Jin was visiting Mr. Mao Dun. He'd arrived in Yanjing a few days earlier, but Mr. Mao Dun's condition had been too grave then; today, it had slightly improved, allowing visitors.

Though doctors said he shouldn't receive guests, he felt his days were few—each visit was one less. He'd already completed his memoir, "The Road I've Walked." His final life task was done; now he only waited for that day to come.

He wanted to discuss future work of the Writers' Association with Ba Jin. Seeing Ba Jin, eight years his junior, still vigorous, Mr. Mao Dun teased him: "Your health is excellent—I bet you'll live to a hundred."

Ba Jin waved his hand: "What's the use of living that long? As a writer, your peak energy is in youth. Now, if you asked me to write a novel, I couldn't—no one would read it anyway."

"Yes, all you can do now is write memoirs."

The two men smiled at each other.

After laughing, Mr. Mao Dun asked: "Has this issue of 'Shouhuo' been published?"

"Yes. Can you still read it?"

"My eyes still work, and my fingers can turn pages."

Ba Jin sighed: "I actually brought it—bought it myself. Didn't plan to show it."

"Hand it over," Mr. Mao Dun chuckled. "I'm a loyal reader of 'Shouhuo.' Let me see what the young writers are writing now."

He opened the table of contents and was immediately drawn to the title: "The Right Path of Humanity Is Change—Part One."

"If heaven had feelings, heaven would grow old; the right path of humanity is change." He instantly recalled the Great Man's poetic spirit. The first line borrowed from Li He's poem; the second was original. Seeing it, memories flooded back.

He looked at the author's name: "Wei Ming?"

"You remember him, right?"

Mr. Mao Dun thought: "At the Writers' Congress, I was the oldest, he the youngest, wasn't he?"

"He asked you for a photo, didn't he?" Ba Jin smiled.

Mr. Mao Dun remembered clearly: "Not just me—you, me, Xiao Shi (Cao Yu, courtesy name Xiao Shi), and this kid—we took a group photo together."

"That's him—'The Herdsman,' 'The Children of the Choir'—both written by him. And he's barely twenty—a true child prodigy, boundless future."

"I know, I know—I've read about the cow, the donkey, the duck. Heard they made a movie too," Mr. Mao Dun asked. "Is this a long novel?"

"Yes—over six hundred thousand words, spanning more than twenty years—a family saga, a KMT-CCP history," Ba Jin briefly summarized. "At his age, writing this subject, I was worried at first. But he delivered brilliantly—mature prose, rich historical detail, and he finished it in just one year. Youth, indeed—I'd take ten years to write half as well."

Mr. Mao Dun didn't flip through the novel yet. He remembered something and, since his son Wei Tao wasn't present, said directly to Ba Jin: "I mentioned to Wei Tao before—I want to establish a long-form novel prize named after me, funded by my estate. He and the others agreed, but I still feel uneasy—it doesn't seem right."

"Why not right?"

"Using my name."

Ba Jin smiled: "How much royalty money do you have?"

"About 250, 00."

Ba Jin was slightly startled—so much? Twice what I have! He began to reflect whether he'd been too extravagant.

He said: "Donating such a fortune—your lifetime earnings, not left to your descendants, but given to literature—what's wrong with naming it after you? Don't worry about this."

Hearing his old friend's reassurance, Mr. Mao Dun sighed in relief and gripped Ba Jin's hand tightly: "Then in the future, please look after this Mao Dun Literary Prize for me."

His tone carried the weight of entrusting his child. Ba Jin nodded solemnly in agreement.

At that moment, Wei Tao and his wife Chen Xiaoman entered. Ba Jin realized he'd been there a while and rose to leave, urging Mr. Mao Dun to rest well.

Mr. Mao Dun patted his hand one last time, eyes earnest. Ba Jin nodded—he'd keep an eye on the Mao Dun Literary Prize as long as he held his position.

The next day, Ba Jin was preparing to return to Shanghai when he received a call from Wei Tao. Hearing his voice, Ba Jin's expression turned somber—he braced for bad news.

But Wei Tao said: "Ba Lao, I know this isn't proper, and I shouldn't trouble you—but I still have to ask: could I borrow the remaining manuscript of 'The Right Path of Humanity Is Change'?"

"Huh?" Ba Jin hadn't expected this.

Wei Tao explained: "Yesterday and today, when Father was lucid, he read 'Shouhuo'—specifically, Wei Ming's novel. He kept reminiscing, mentioning many comrades, praising them repeatedly. But I know this is only Part One—it's incomplete. I don't want him to leave without seeing the full story. I'm not sure if Wei Ming has finished writing it."

Ba Jin breathed a sigh of relief—he'd feared something worse.

"The manuscript exists—it just hasn't been revised yet. But Wei Ming's notes are clear, easy to read. Wait a moment—I'll call."

Wei Ming and Wei Hong were packing. Liu Rulong was there too—they'd all fly to Shanghai together.

A plane!

Wei Hong was thrilled—her brother, grandmother, and mother had all flown before.

Old Wei fumed: After today, he'd be the only one in the family who hadn't flown. He truly wanted to try it.

The phone rang. Wei Hong swiftly stepped over the luggage to answer.

"Hello? This is Wei Ming's home. Who's calling? … Ba, Ba Jin! No—Ba Lao, hello! Just a moment…"

Wei Ming walked over and took the phone, spoke a few words, then hung up.

"Brother, what did Ba Lao want?" Wei Hong asked. Liu Rulong and their parents gathered close.

Wei Ming pulled the remaining manuscript of "The Right Path of Humanity Is Change" from his bag: "Mr. Mao Dun just read my novel and wants to see the rest. Dad, don't go out—give Ba Lao the address. Mr. Mao Dun's son will come to pick up the manuscript soon."

Old Wei, confused, chuckled: "Mr. Mao Dun's got quite the temper."

Still, he was proud his son had earned such praise from a literary giant—Lu, Guo, Mao, Ba, Lao Cao.

But Wei Ming knew clearly: a literary giant was about to pass. He remembered clearly—it would be shortly after the 1981 Spring Festival. "The Right Path of Humanity Is Change" wouldn't finish serialization until late May—he wouldn't live to see it.

Letting Mr. Mao Dun read his novel before he died—making it the last book he ever read—was an honor.

Wei Ming added more instructions: give the original manuscript to Mr. Wei Tao; returning it wasn't urgent—he could revise from the backup copy. Also, soon Old Wei and Xu Shufen would take Grandma back to their hometown to prepare for the New Year—no one would be home.

Yunyun would spend her first New Year in her in-laws' home, pregnant with the Mei family's first third-generation child—she wouldn't be mistreated.

As for Black Cat Cop, Old Wei decided to move him to the Sihe courtyard to let him get familiar with Ginkgo. Afterward, the cat and dog would be entrusted to Biaozi and Xiao Mei.

Wei Ming couldn't wait to meet Wei Tao—they had to catch their flight.

"The Right Path of Humanity Is Change" had just been published when Editor Li sent a letter urging Wei Ming to Shanghai to revise the manuscript—also, the royalty payment had arrived.

Liu Rulong was pushing too—he couldn't wait to go to Shanghai after finals to see his girlfriend. If Wei Ming hadn't offered to pay for his ticket, Liu Rulong wouldn't have waited.

Wei Ming hugged his bag tightly, and the three set off.

Inside the bag was a letter from Old Ghost, just sent from Hong Kong. The most important item inside was a land deed—for Garden House No. 2, Jueyuan.

When his aunt's family left Shanghai, they entrusted care of the house to a distant relative of the Shi family. Later, the property was seized, and the relative left no descendants—so it became an official office.

Old Ghost told his sister in America. She mailed back the deed, saying: if you can reclaim it, reclaim it; if not, it doesn't matter. Her husband had passed, she had no children, and she had no attachment to the old villa—she'd likely never return.

If reclaimed, it would be a gift to the younger generation—suggesting Old Wei and his unknown younger sister divide it between them.

This house was much larger than Wei Ming's—half of it could easily match his own. But Old Wei didn't yet know he'd soon inherit half a top-tier Shanghai mansion.

Of course, whether Wei Ming could reclaim it depended on his documents—usually, descendants had to return to China to handle such matters.

Besides the Jueyuan estate, Old Ghost mentioned he'd met Shen Zui in Hong Kong and asked if Wei Ming knew Shen Zui's recent movements—he feared Shen Zui was targeting him.

Shen Zui? He'd been fully immersed in reading novels—so much so he'd forgotten to eat or sleep. Honestly, the reading experience was too smooth—he couldn't stop.

Only when he reached the second half of "The Right Path of Humanity Is Change—Part One" did he see himself appear. His interest surged—but his role was minor at first.

Still, seeing his own name in a fictional novel felt strangely surreal.

Of course, the novel wasn't entirely fictional. The major early scenes centered on Huangpu Military Academy. The male lead, Jiang Limin, was a third-class graduate; his older brother Jiang Lizhong was a Huangpu instructor—and later, Chiang Kai-shek's favorite, more powerful than even Dai Li.

Shen Zui had spent ten years in Gongde Lin, where Huangpu alumni were everywhere. He loved listening to their stories. Though he'd never attended Huangpu himself, he knew much about it.

The author's details matched closely—clearly, he'd done thorough research.

But as he kept reading, Shen Zui began to sweat. Damn it—how did this guy know so many of his secrets? Even his speech quirks, micro-expressions, and habitual gestures were known in detail!

A few brief strokes—as if they were old friends.

Shen Zui hadn't published his memoirs yet. His confessions were submitted directly—never circulated. Ordinary people couldn't access them.

Clearly, this author had serious connections.

Wei Ming had indeed researched extensively—including the CPPCC's Historical Materials Archive—but mostly, it came from his past reading—vast, varied, deeply accumulated.

Wei Ming had read Shen Zui's 1983 "My Thirty Years," 1986's "My Spy Career," and 1993's "Between Man and Ghost." Combined with Old Ghost's revelations of hidden truths, the writing felt intensely real—making Shen Zui feel as if an invisible eye watched him from beside him.

His daughter asked if he knew Jiang Limin. Now Shen Zui wasn't sure—had there really been such a man in the CCP? Was this actually documentary literature?

As he read, he thought: in the novel, Jiang Limin, unable to survive in his hometown, fled to Shanghai to join his KMT elder brother-in-law and sister.

Funny—Shen Zui, at eighteen, couldn't survive in Changsha, got expelled from school, then went to Shanghai to join his sister and brother-in-law. It was through his brother-in-law's recommendation he entered the secret service.

But Jiang Limin was recommended to Huangpu.

After becoming a secret agent, Shen Zui quickly caught Dai Li's eye and became one of the Four Golden Knights.

In the novel, Jiang Lizhong and Jiang Limin were also close to Dai Li and worked underground.

Suddenly, Shen Zui realized a possibility: could Jiang Limin be based on him?

Shen and Jiang—both have the water radical!

Though the novel already had a Shen Zui, Jiang Limin's experiences matched his own closely, his personality too—only their political stances differed.

If I myself believed in communism, I might have been Jiang Limin.

Don't think he's just a spy—he once had passion too, once led classmates home to shout at his father, "Down with the tyrannical landlords!"—and in the novel, Jiang Limin did something similar.

The more Shen Zui thought, the more plausible it seemed; at least this protagonist bore his own shadow, so his interest in the novel grew stronger, every paragraph examined closely, as if he could dig out Jiang Limin's true identity.

But Shen Zui vanished quickly after a brief appearance; the plot continued along Jiang Limin's perspective—and then ended.

Ah, so that's it? That's all? Too short!

It's not short at all—it's over two hundred thousand characters; half the pages of this issue of 《Shouhuo》 were given to 《The Right Path of Humanity: Part One》.

Even though Shen Zui desperately wanted to read what came next, he had no way to get the later manuscript—do you think you're Ba Jin?

His daughter saw him close the magazine and rushed over: "Dad, can I read it now?"

"Here," Shen Zui thought for a moment and asked, "Juanjuan, how much do you know about this writer?"

"Wei Ming? You don't know him?"

"Is he famous? Why should I know?"

"The song 'The Same Song' you always listen to? He wrote it. Of course, he's primarily a writer—the film 《The Herdsman》, directed by Xie Jin, was adapted from his work. I've always wanted to take you to see it."

"How old is he? Where's he from?"

The 《China Youth Daily》 had featured Wei Ming as a youth role model many times; Shen Meijuan answered without hesitation: "Comrade Wei Ming works at Peking University, he's from Hebei, about twenty years old."

"Is Wei Ming his real name or a pen name?"

"His real name."

"Real name? Surname Wei? From Zhili?" Shen Zui suddenly stood up—he'd gone to Modu to join his sister, and his older brother was a high-ranking KMT official. Suddenly, a name popped into Shen Zui's mind.

Wei San'er!

Wei Ming and Xiao Hong and A Long bought three copies of the 《China Youth Daily》 at the airport waiting area; the poll for "My Top Ten Favorite Youth Screen Icons" was still ongoing, and buying the paper let them vote for Gong Yu.

As for Zhu Lin, forget it—she wouldn't win anyway; her popularity base was far too weak.

As they murmured among themselves, Ba Lao arrived; Wei Ming hurried over to carry his luggage—they'd already known from the phone call they were on the same flight.

The first thing Ba Lao asked after arriving was: "Is there still any 《Shouhuo》 at the newsstand?"

Wei Ming shook his head: "No."

Ba Lao chuckled: "I underestimated your strength—six hundred thousand copies probably won't satisfy the readers."

He'd only thought 《The Human World》 wasn't a trendy topic of sent-down youth reflection, but forgot Wei Ming was the most popular writer of the moment—the kind who naturally drew heat.

Wei Ming humbly said: "Other colleagues' works are also excellent—it's everyone's achievement. I thought Chen's novella was particularly good."

Editor Li had sent him a copy of this issue of 《Shouhuo》 along with urging him to revise his manuscript; Wei Ming had read it all, always maintaining reverence for writers of his generation who had risen to prominence.

Ba Lao nodded with a smile; though he believed young people should have some edge, Wei Ming's restrained vigor was even more precious.

Then Wei Ming inquired after Mr. Mao Dun's health; Ba Lao praised him even more: "Mr. Mao Dun spoke highly of your piece—if his health weren't so poor, I'd have asked him to write a preface for your future publication."

Wei Ming quickly replied: "You writing it for me would be just as good—in my heart, you are all the greatest writers of our age."

Ba Jin burst out laughing.

At this moment, a freshly written script for the play 《The Two Donkeys》 was placed on Cao Yu's desk—it was the final draft, and after his review, rehearsals could begin.

Li Guangfu and the rest of the 《Teahouse》 cast had returned from their European tour last month, but 《The Two Donkeys》 required a group of young actors; even Li Guangfu was considered old.

He also asked about Yu Shizhi regarding this year's performance training class at the People's Art Theatre—advertising had to go out, or the best candidates would all go to Beijing Film Academy and Central Academy of Drama.

At the home of Song Fan, a member of the Yanjing Writers Association and a fairy tale writer, his younger daughter Dan Dan had lost focus due to romance last year and failed the college entrance exam; this year, it looked hopeless again.

Today, when he returned home, he found her still lounging on the sofa reading a novel, utterly neglecting her studies.

"You, child, why can't you just study harder? All you do is read novels," Old Song lamented bitterly.

"I'm reading 《Shouhuo》—I'm undergoing cultural cultivation," she retorted.

"Ah, it's 《Shouhuo》!" Song Fan exclaimed joyfully—he'd gone to buy it today and found none left in stock; it had only been on shelves for a few days.

"Dan Dan, let me borrow it, why don't you go review your textbooks? Even on holiday, you can't slack off."

Dan Dan clutched the magazine tightly: "No. I've decided not to take the college entrance exam."

"What!" Song Fan's voice rose sharply.

Dan Dan moved the magazine aside: "Don't get excited—I said I won't take the exam, but I'm not going to become a vagrant living off others. I've already decided: I'm going to apply to the People's Art Theatre's performance training class. They said top performers can stay on with a lifetime job."

"How can you be so sure you'll be top performer?"

Dan Dan grinned: "What's hard about it? It's just talking—I'm the best at that."

Song Fan thought about it—he realized she was right. His daughter was barely twenty, yet she imitated her grandmother's Shandong accent perfectly, even capturing the old woman's tone. And honestly, his daughter had a high nose bridge, big eyes, and was quite zūn.

"Are you thirsty? Are your eyes tired?" Song Fan was already scheming to take her 《Shouhuo》.

Dan Dan remained unmoved: "Old Song, save your breath—I'll let you read it after I finish 《The Right Path of Humanity》. I've waited a year for this novel—I can read other articles another day."

Song Fan: "So you're reading this novel too? Tell me—how is it?"

Dan Dan replied: "How does this person's brain even work? I heard he's not even older than me—how can he be this talented? And he's strikingly handsome too. After I finish, I'm writing him a letter to ask if he has a girlfriend."

Great—now Song Fan was even more desperate. Wait—why are you asking if he has a girlfriend?

…………

(Today's minimum)

(End of chapter)