Chapter 293: The End of

The award announcement came quickly, with none of the elaborate theatrics of later years, and Wei Ming had no time for psychological turmoil or facial management.

The 70-something chair of the jury, Zhang Junxiang, swiftly read out the winners: "Ye Nan, 'Bashan Night Rain.'"

Then Wei Ming saw an old man step onto the stage who looked exactly like the screenwriter Bai Hua.

Bai Hua had hosted Wei Ming in Wuhan, and the two were on good terms; recently, his 'Bitter Love' had been utterly condemned, so he was keeping a low profile—even though his 'Tonight the Stars Are Brilliant' was a hot favorite and nominated for Best Director at the Golden Rooster and Best Picture at the Hundred Flowers, he didn't show up.

But since Ye Nan came, it was as if Bai Hua had come—or perhaps Ye Nan was Bai Hua in disguise, given how identical they looked; they were twins.

The younger brother Bai Hua's works include 'The Peacock Princess,' 'Dawn,' 'The Last Noble,' 'Prime Minister Liu Luoguo,' among others.

The older brother Ye Nan's works include 'The Wind and Clouds of the Sino-Japanese War,' 'Bashan Night Rain,' 'Aolei Yilan,' 'The Cotton Robe,' 'Tang Minghuang,' among others.

Both brothers possessed exceptional strength in the screenwriting field.

Although Wei Ming didn't win a personal award, he wasn't overly disappointed—he stood on the shoulders of predecessors, so winning was joyful, since his adaptation contributed to it, and losing wasn't regrettable; he'd just keep pushing forward.

Soon came the awards for Best Actor, Best Actress, and Best Director.

The Best Actor nominees were only Zhu Shimao and Li Zhiyu, again pitting 'The Herdsman' against 'Bashan Night Rain.'

But the jury was eccentric, feeling neither nominee was quite worthy, so the award went vacant, leaving Old Mao both amused and baffled, unable to grasp the logic.

Next, Best Actress: Gong Ying received one nomination, veteran Tian Hua another, and Zhang Yu earned two nominations for 'Bashan Night Rain' and 'Lushan Love.'

Ultimately, Zhang Yu won the first Golden Rooster Best Actress award for 'Bashan Night Rain,' and the Hundred Flowers Best Actress award for 'Lushan Love,' fully occupying the void left by Chen Chong.

Upon hearing the result, Wei Ming felt a pang of regret for Xue Jie, but there was nothing to be done—though her character in 'The Herdsman' was vivid, her screen time was too limited.

Best Director went to Director Xie Jin, who also won Best Director at the first Hundred Flowers Award; his seniority and status in Chinese cinema were unmatched.

Next, Best Animated Film went to 'Three Monks,' well-deserved; Best Opera Film remained unawarded.

Best Story Film nominees were three: 'The Herdsman,' 'Bashan Night Rain,' and 'Inside the Court'—two from Shanghai Film Studio, one from Emei Film Studio; the winners were 'The Herdsman' and 'Bashan Night Rain.'

Here it comes, here it comes—the familiar double-win flavor arrived again!

I'd thought 'The Herdsman' replacing 'Legend of Tianyun Mountain' might bring change, but it turned out to be the same double-win as in my past life.

After the award ceremony and honors concluded, there was a banquet; this time Wei Ming ate at the guesthouse.

During dinner, Director Xie Jin was radiant, raising his glass to greet and bid farewell; everyone congratulated him, the biggest winner, and he happily downed one glass after another.

Beside him, Wei Ming and Old Mao focused on eating; the guesthouse food was quite good, exquisitely prepared—the oil-braised spring bamboo crackled, the eight-treasure tofu was springy and bouncy.

After dinner, as Wei Ming and Old Mao and Old Tang prepared to stroll and enjoy the lake breeze, Director Shui Hua from Beijing Film Studio called out to him.

"Little Wei, come here, come here." He waved to Wei Ming.

Among this year's jurors, Wei Ming was only fairly familiar with Director Shui Hua and Factory Chief Te Wei, knew Teacher Xie Fei, and found the other dozen or so strangers—he didn't really count as part of the film circle.

Director Shui Hua pulled out an envelope: "Old Xia couldn't come to Hangzhou due to his advanced age, but he entrusted me to deliver this letter to you."

Xia Yan was Vice Minister of Culture and Honorary Chair of this year's Golden Rooster Awards; he participated fully in the judging and already knew the results—this letter had been written in advance.

In it, he expressed regret that Wei Ming hadn't won, explained the reasons, and urged him to take it in stride.

The main reason was that 'The Herdsman' lacked thorough reflection and was too mild; having just emerged from that era, many jurors had suffered some injustice during those years and thus favored films like 'Bashan Night Rain,' which boldly condemned the past.

Wei Ming thought: So that's it!

But Xia Yan also affirmed in the letter that 'The Herdsman' had higher overall artistic merit, superior cinematic quality, and greater popularity among audiences—this was also a key reason 'The Herdsman' ultimately won the double award.

Finally, Xia Yan mentioned the original manuscript of 'The Right Path of Humanity Is Change'; the old man looked slightly embarrassed, because after borrowing the manuscript, it had been broken into pieces and distributed chapter by chapter among various veteran cadres.

He'd only recovered most of the second volume; the third volume was still wandering abroad, and he promised to retrieve it as soon as possible, since the May issue of 'Harvest' was about to be published, allowing interested comrades to read the finale directly in the magazine.

Wei Ming smiled after reading it, not overly concerned—if the original manuscript wasn't fully recovered, securing an introduction from Old Xia shouldn't be a problem.

The next day was designated for organized tours for Golden Rooster and Hundred Flowers attendees: boat rides on West Lake, viewing the Three Pools Mirroring the Moon, visiting Lingyin Temple, Yuewang Temple, and Liuhe Pagoda—all worth seeing; Wei Ming snapped photos and posed for group pictures.

There were also cultural performances; Zhejiang was ancient Yue territory, so Yue Opera was extremely popular; Wei Ming knew little about Yue Opera, only of 'Little Hundred Flowers,' but the Little Hundred Flowers hadn't been founded yet.

Besides sightseeing and performances, there was shopping—Wei Ming was the most frenzied buyer in the group.

Hangzhou silk, silk umbrellas, and Hangzhou fans were excellent; silk could be made into clothing, silk umbrellas and fans into home decorations.

Though they could be bought at the Friendship Store in Beijing, this was a trip, so bringing back items from their origin carried more meaning.

He also bought several clay-wrapped Beggar's Chickens, good to eat en route and unlikely to spoil at home.

Of course, West Lake Longjing tea was unavoidable; Wei Ming bought the most of it, spending the most money—all in elegant gift boxes; he couldn't drink it all, so he could give some away.

Old Mao, who carried his bags, roughly calculated: just the cost of tea alone wiped out his entire annual salary!

He pained all the way back; once in the dormitory, Wei Ming shoved a can of tea straight into his bag.

"Oh no, no, too precious!" Old Mao protested.

"Take it, take it—I'll send a can to Old Tang too," Wei Ming said generously.

Wei Ming: I'm this generous—when we go back, you two better carry my bags.

On the return trip, Wei Ming traveled with the main group from August 1st and Beijing Film Studios by train; on the bus, Li Xiuming looked at Tang Guoqiang and Zhu Shimao in surprise: "You bought all this stuff? You're not living frugally?"

The two exchanged glances, then looked behind them at Wei Ming, who held two identical burlap sacks.

Li Xiuming: I knew it—you two don't look like wealthy people.

Wei Ming wrote novels and worked as a screenwriter; his income far surpassed theirs as actors.

Take 'The Right Path of Humanity Is Change'—ten yuan per thousand characters; a 600, 00-character epic equals over six thousand yuan—enough to match years of their salaries.

Eventually, a standalone edition would be published, bringing direct income over ten thousand yuan—a single book making him a ten-thousand-yuan household.

They didn't even know Wei's income was his too; even the foreign exchange Mei Lin Da had transferred to his domestic account totaled over thirty thousand U. . dollars.

At the station, Old Mao asked: "Today's the 25th, right? 'Harvest''s publication day!"

Tang Guoqiang: "Wait—I'll buy two copies of 'Harvest' for everyone to see."

The finale of 'The Right Path of Humanity Is Change' had hooked readers nationwide for four months; countless articles had been written deciphering 'The Right Path' and speculating on the real-life prototypes of its characters.

Many on the train were from August 1st Film Studio, mostly middle-aged men, deeply interested in this genre, even considering adaptation.

But it was only a thought—adapting a work with such vast time spans, numerous characters, and real historical figures was fraught with difficulty.

The current alternative format—television drama—was better suited for 'The Right Path.'

Tang Guoqiang bought two copies of 'Harvest,' but when he returned and saw colleagues staring at him, he awkwardly handed one to Old Yu Yang and kept the other for himself.

Seeing this, others, unable to endure the thirty-hour journey waiting for someone else to finish, rushed to buy magazines, clearing the entire stock.

Even so, not everyone could get a copy of 'Harvest.'

Wei Ming didn't have one, but yesterday he bought a Hangzhou local history, published in the Republican era, in traditional vertical script, thick and quite interesting.

Old Mao asked Wei Ming: "There were so many 'Harvest' copies on a train stall—this issue's print run must be huge."

Wei Ming said: "About 1. million copies first printed."

Another historical record: 'Harvest' aimed to fully satisfy nationwide demand at once; after printing 1. million copies, they had no plans for reprints, and the standalone edition would be delayed until the second half of the year—to let the market absorb it first.

Old Mao hissed: 1. million copies meant 1. million yuan in gross sales; even accounting for paper, printing, and distribution costs, profits must reach hundreds of thousands—no wonder Wei Laoshi made this money.

On this journey, Wei Ming couldn't rest—he was the original author, so everyone with questions or wanting to discuss the work came to him.

Conversations often turned into group discussions; several comrades from August 1st Film Studio had actually fought on the battlefield—recently, one cinematographer had just returned from filming a documentary on the Laoshan front, so he spoke knowledgeably about war scenes.

They sighed over the cruelty of war.

Part Three of 'The Right Path of Humanity Is Change' begins after Japan's surrender—it's a war between brothers, a war among compatriots.

The biggest highlight is the invisible duel between Jiang Lizhong and Jiang Limin; caught between them, Jiang Lihua simply chose to emigrate, avoiding the pain of seeing it.

Jiang Lihua's perspective in America was also crucial—through her, the American and overseas Chinese view of the Liberation War was revealed, a perspective still fresh to Chinese readers.

Wei Ming's works always bring something new—that's why they're always so marketable.

At Tang Shengming's home, the outstanding graduates of Gongdelin gathered again to read.

Tang Shengming saw his own skillful maneuvering and unwavering righteousness in this volume.

Shen Zui saw the death of Boss Dai, his own marginalization, his sycophantic scheming.

Wen Xiaoqiang saw his own tragic, unyielding path—if only he hadn't acted on impulse back then, if he'd spoken properly to his cousin, he might not have secured a place among the Ten Marshals, but surely among the Ten Generals.

Today Huang Wei came too—an old man nearing eighty, since leaving Gongdelin he'd devoted himself to researching perpetual motion, yet achieved nothing.

Now, seeing familiar history again, though the author rated his tactical abilities low, he didn't insult his character—he was satisfied.

After finishing the novel, it ended with Jiang Chixia's tombstone in his hometown, beneath which were inscribed the names of his four children: Jiang Lizhong, Jiang Lihua, Jiang Limin, Jiang Lizu.

"The Chinese nation, the Chinese nation," Huang Wei sighed; the theme was truly excellent, "Too bad Lao Du won't see this ending."

Just half a month ago, Du Yuming died at Xiehe Hospital, aged seventy-seven.

Du was from Huangpu's first class, a representative figure of the Huangpu faction, known as the "Tiger General."

Later he earned the nickname "Firefighter"—whenever the front was failing, Chiang Kai-shek sent him there, even if he was ill.

Even in Gongdelin, he remained a top figure; Wen Xiaoqiang and others all respected him.

In his later years, Du devoted himself to reunification; though his son-in-law held high status in America, he ultimately chose to return to the mainland and do something.

Tang Shengming smiled at Wen Xiaoqiang: "No need to worry—he'd have read it already if he wanted to."

He knew the original manuscript circulated widely among the top ranks; he just hadn't managed to get a copy.

Not only Tang Shengming couldn't get one—even major newspapers couldn't.

That day, Li Guoyi of the Shanghai 'Wen Hui Bao' visited Ba Lao at the 'Harvest' editorial office, conveying Hong Kong's 'Wen Hui Bao''s wish to serialize 'The Right Path of Humanity Is Change.'

Previously, Cai Shengsan's article had introduced Hong Kong readers to 'The Right Path'; now, four months later, many Hong Kong intellectuals had learned of the novel through reports in 'Wen Hui Bao' and 'Ta Kung Pao,' but still lacked the full picture—demand to read the actual text had grown louder.

Ba Lao regretfully said: "You're a bit late—we've already agreed with 'Ta Kung Pao' to begin serialization starting June."

Then Wei Ming would receive another royalty payment, this time in Hong Kong dollars.

After seeing Li Guoyi off, Ba Lao looked at the final draft of the Mao Dun Literature Prize judging criteria—this standard would be made public tomorrow.

At night, Wei Ming dozed off leaning against his seat; Old Mao had taken over reading 'Harvest' from Old Tang and, upon reaching the ending, couldn't help but tear up—this handling of national sentiment was so damn precise, so damn sophisticated!

From the opening prologue of Jiang Chixia's journey from the martial world to the army, to the final chapter of Jiang Chixia's burial, the four names of "Zhonghua Minzu" were inscribed in a row on the tombstone.

But "Zhong" fled to Taiwan, "Hua" went to America, "Min" stayed on the mainland, and "Zu" was still underage.

"At that moment, Jiang Limin looked at his father's tombstone with only one thought: hoping his four siblings could kneel before their father's grave, bowing three times in unison; then rise, brush the dust from their knees, put aside past grievances, embrace each other, smile, and walk home along the quiet path, watching their younger brother play carefree, growing slowly, unknowingly…"

This passage is written beautifully—simple yet moving, with profound depth. Lao Mao wanted to discuss it with everyone, but they'd all already read it and had their discussions long ago; now some were asleep, others drowsy, no one to talk to him.

He could only hold it in; when he couldn't bear it anymore, he went to the train's restroom, then returned, overcome by sleepiness.

The next day, at the Film Academy, Zhu Lin heard her classmates discussing "The Right Path of Humanity Is Vast Change," and she felt utterly delighted—it was written by my man.

Ah Long, hearing the classmates' discussion, was also proud: That's written by my brother!

At this moment, Liu Rulong was preparing for his trip to Hong Kong; their "Qin Shi Mingyue" had already completed the first three chapters, an unprecedented stylistic innovation in mainland comics.

But because it was too innovative, they could only target the overseas market.

In the same dormitory building, Zhang Yimou had just finished reading "The Right Path of Humanity Is Vast Change." As an uncle living in Taiwan, his emotional response to the final chapter ran deep.

Two years ago, if Uncle had returned, he might still have seen Grandma; now, if he returned, there would be only a grave. And the thing Grandma missed most before she passed was this eldest son who wasn't by her side.

At this time, there was no mail exchange across the strait; no one knew if he was alive or dead.

At this moment, Gu Changwei entered with a copy of "Literary Art Newspaper."

"Quick, quick! The Mao Dun Literature Prize criteria are out!"

Another classmate, Lu Le, said: "Let me see, let me see."

Zhang Yimou didn't look; the classmates read it aloud.

First, the eligibility criteria.

"Must be a novel over 130, 00 characters, and must be published on the mainland. Multi-volume works must be completed in full to qualify; works in ethnic minority languages must be translated into Chinese for publication…"

The first award cycle covered works from 1976 to 1981; thereafter, awards would be given every three years (later changed to four).

Another classmate, Zhang Huijun, said: "Do you think 'The Right Path of Humanity Is Vast Change' will win?"

Gu Changwei: "Isn't Wei Ming too young? Sometimes, writing well isn't enough to win. Haven't you seen the reports on the Golden Rooster Awards? He didn't win."

Lu Le: "I think so too—he's only twenty. There'll be plenty of chances later. Judges will surely want to honor the elder masters first."

Zhang Li said: "Besides, this novel portrays several fairly positive Kuomintang characters. Though I love it—I wish it were my own—I know there's still controversy outside."

Finally, Zhang Yimou closed "Shouhuo" and said calmly: "Don't forget what Mr. Mao Dun's last article before he died was."

"Hss!" Zhang Li sucked in a breath. "How could we forget that?"

Everyone then remembered: Mr. Mao Dun's final article before his death was the preface to "The Right Path of Humanity Is Vast Change"—but it had never been published, and everyone had nearly forgotten.

The symbolic meaning was immense; perhaps Mr. Mao Dun had already decided "The Right Path" deserved the prize before he passed.

Gu Changwei said: "In terms of quality alone, regardless of the author's age, I believe 'The Right Path of Humanity Is Vast Change' stands as the benchmark for outstanding long-form fiction. Its characters, plot, setting, and depth of central theme are unmatched among today's novels. It's clearly the product of immense effort—not like some bloated epics that lose their way halfway, their ideas inconsistent, as if written by two different authors."

All classmates nodded in agreement, when Tian Zhuangzhuang knocked on the door to find Zhang Yimou and the others.

"We found the courtyard. Let's go scout the location."

They were preparing for "The Little Courtyard," and would begin filming officially after the holiday.

In truth, "The Right Path" had no guaranteed slot for the Mao Dun Prize, but every other nominated work would inevitably be compared to it.

In characters, plot, prose, theme, and reach—not one could surpass it in all aspects; few even surpassed it in one.

Wei Ming only saw the Mao Dun Prize criteria after getting off the train. He didn't think much of it: if I win, it's fortune; if I lose, it's fate.

He no longer dwelled on a finished work—the best was always the next one.

Back home, he distributed the gifts, then invited Lin Jie to the Tuanjie Lake to pick up presents, lured her over, shut the door, pulled the curtains, and tossed her onto the bed.

"Wait, wait," Zhu Lin blocked the eager Wei Ming. "The phone's ringing. Answer it first."

Few knew this number—was it Xiao Mei Biao… or…?

"Mother?" Wei Ming was startled. "Oh, oh, I see."

"What's wrong?"

Wei Ming: "I need to tell you not to get angry."

"I won't get angry."

Wei Ming: "I got a telegram from Britain that needs signing. Mom couldn't reach me, so she called here."

"A telegram from Britain?" Her tone had already turned sour.

Wei Ming: "We usually write letters. I don't know why they had to send a telegram."

"So, are you going back now to sign for it?" The jealousy was obvious—sourer than West Lake Fish in Vinegar.

Wei Ming shook his head: "I'm not in a hurry. I'll sign for it at the post office tomorrow. Let's continue. Sister, you have no idea how I've been living these days—I shared a room with Zhu Shimao, but he snores."

Zhu Lin burst out laughing: "Really now?"

"Exactly, exactly!" Wei Ming hugged Lin Jie, pouting.

Zhu Lin added: "Do you know you snore too?"

"What? Impossible! Absolutely impossible!"

Zhu Lin: "Hmph. I'll record your snoring tonight—you'll have to admit it."

In the end, Zhu Lin didn't record it—she grew too tired and fell asleep first. The next morning, Wei Ming woke up even earlier than her.

Wei Ming went early to the Post and Telecommunications Bureau to find out what had happened in Melinda's end.

…

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(End of Chapter)