Chapter 294: My Original Manuscript Has Returned—It Can Be a Family Heirloom

At the post office, besides Melinda's telegram, there was also a remittance slip from Hong Kong—the reprint fee for June's "The Right Path of Humanity Is the Vast River," sent by Ta Kung Pao.

Even for a reprint, they paid eighty Hong Kong dollars per thousand characters; at one hundred thousand characters per month, that amounted to eight thousand Hong Kong dollars—a sum far higher than Wei Kuangren's rates, proving that reputation directly affects price.

Left-wing media treated Wei Ming as a renowned writer; many articles by masters like Mao Dun and Ba Jin were also published in Hong Kong outlets, where standards were much higher than on the mainland, making this a major source of their royalties.

Wei Ming accepted it calmly; eight thousand Hong Kong dollars a month no longer excited him—Melinda's income was the real windfall.

In her telegram, she told Wei Ming: "Mr. Weber invites you to London to enjoy his invitation."

He'd written so many words, and the money hadn't been cheap, but the message was clear.

Wei Ming immediately sent her a reply telegram: he was about to go to Hong Kong, and if the foreign affairs department approved, after finishing his Hong Kong business, he could fly to London via Hong Kong for the meeting.

Invitations for Chinese cultural workers to travel abroad were not uncommon; last year, Mr. Shen Congwen had been invited to lecture in the United States.

But such treatment was usually reserved for well-known artists; Wei Ming was still too young, so when the British Embassy conveyed the invitation, the foreign affairs staff handling it were somewhat surprised.

First, they were puzzled: who exactly was Wei Ming? Melinda had provided his Chinese and English names and workplace.

Second, they were astonished that his lion-themed novel was being taken so seriously—did the British musical theater circle really want to collaborate with him? He himself didn't think it was that good; the British really didn't know good food.

Wei Ming had already been approved to go to Hong Kong; now he made another trip to the foreign affairs department and finally received approval to go to Britain.

Since he was going to Hong Kong anyway, if he truly wanted to flee, he could escape from there—adding Britain made no difference.

But how should he tell Linjie and Xuejie? Would they misunderstand his trip to Britain as an attempt to rekindle an old romance?

Walking through Peking University's campus, preparing to request leave, Wei Ming felt uneasy.

"Big Brother Wei!" Liang Zuo called out to stop him.

"Oh, little Zuo, what's up?"

Liang Zuo, four years older than Wei Ming, didn't care if he wasn't called "Uncle"—he'd already won.

"My mom wants you to come over for a visit—she has something to ask you."

"What could she possibly need to ask me?"

"It's about screenwriting—some film studio wants to adapt her novel, and you've got more experience in this area."

Wei Ming perked up: "Which novel?"

"'Midlife.'"

Wei Ming chuckled: "Of course it's that one. Fine, I'll come to your place tomorrow night and say hello to your mom."

The key to "Midlife" is finding the right soulful female lead—and Wei Ming already had the perfect actress in mind.

But that same evening, Chen Rong called the Overseas Chinese Apartment.

She scolded her son right away: "I'm the one asking for your help—I should be the one visiting you. That boy Liang Zuo is clueless—he just agreed to have you come over."

"Oh, Sister Chen, you're being too formal. Besides, Editor Fan has always taken good care of me—I've never even met him in person, and I've long wanted to pay a visit. As long as you don't mind my intrusion."

"Not at all. I just worry you're picky and won't like home-cooked food, haha."

The next afternoon, Wei Ming bought some fruit and pastries, plus a jar of Longjing tea, and arrived at the People's Daily staff compound. Chen Rong sent her second son, Liang Tian, to greet him.

"Teacher Wei, this way, please."

"You're Liang Tian, right? I've heard a lot about you from your brother."

"He must've said bad things—probably complained about my small eyes?" Liang Tian said with self-awareness.

"Haha, no one knows a brother better than his sibling."

On the way upstairs, Liang Tian discussed "The Right Path of Humanity Is the Vast River" with Wei Ming—he was military, and according to him, their unit's library had bought five copies of that issue of "Shouhuo," all of which were borrowed the same day; the series was extremely popular among them.

Wei Ming thanked him for the praise.

Inside the house, besides Liang Zuo at school, all four family members were present, and dinner was already prepared, waiting for their honored guest.

Wei Ming greeted everyone, sat down, and ate while chatting.

"I've already heard from Liang Zuo—someone wants to adapt 'Midlife'?" Wei Ming got straight to the point.

Chen Rong nodded: "Yes, Changchun Film Studio has the idea, and they want me to adapt it myself—but I've never written a screenplay."

"Sister, you're asking me for advice? I just got knocked out at the Golden Rooster Awards." Wei Ming joked.

"Nomination is already affirmation. Last year, among so many films, only you and Ye Nan were nominated—how can that be called defeat? It's the sand being washed away by the tide."

Liang Tian agreed with his mother: "Exactly! We screened both films in our unit—'The Herdsman' clearly won more hearts."

He kept one thought unspoken: his comrades all adored Gong Yu.

Since everyone said so, Wei Ming boldly shared some screenwriting knowledge—he was, after all, a veteran screenwriter with decades of experience, and he spoke with authority.

But no matter how much he talked, practical experience was the only way to improve.

"Today I brought a copy of 'Film Creation'—'The Herdsman' was published in this issue, and it's a textbook example of screenplay format. So, Sister, why don't you try writing a short section first? I'll help you spot mistakes and point out common beginner errors."

"Good. But once I finish, you have to review it for me."

"Of course. But next month I'm going to Hong Kong, then flying to London. Write a section quickly and send it to me—I'll review it when I return."

"To Britain? Why are you going to Britain?" Editor Fan asked with journalistic instinct.

Wei Ming didn't hide anything—he explained that "The Lion King" had caught their attention, and they'd invited him to see a musical and discuss licensing.

"Wow!" Liang Tian exclaimed—he'd have plenty to brag about when he got back to the unit.

"What do you think of the actress for Lu Wenting?" Wei Ming asked about the female lead.

Chen Rong: "What? I'm just a screenwriter—I can't decide who plays the lead?"

"Others might not care, but for my novels adapted into films, I demand actors who satisfy me. After all, when we create, we imagine our characters vividly—no one understands them better than we do."

Chen Rong smiled: "That's true. But I don't watch many films, and I don't know many actresses—just the most famous ones. But they're all too young, too young for the role. I think Zheng Zhenyao's demeanor fits well—I've seen her stage performances—but she's a bit too old."

The female lead of "Midlife," Lu Wenting, is an ophthalmologist under forty, highly skilled, with over a decade of clinical experience—not a recent graduate.

After dinner, as Wei Ming sat across from Sister Chen on the sofa, he pulled out a photograph.

"Sister, what do you think of this actress?"

It was a photo of Zhu Lin from her earlier days at work—wearing a white lab coat, focused on examining reagents in the lab, professional and composed.

Chen Rong's first impression: what a beautiful doctor—warm and comforting to look at.

"Is she an actress?"

"She used to work at a medical research institute and is now preparing to become a professional actress—she's already appeared in several films, including as Zi Jun in Wu Hua's 'A Tragedy of Love.'"

"Oh, it's her!" Chen Rong knew about the film's adaptation—Zi Jun was a classic representation of the intellectual young woman.

And her own image of Lu Wenting was precisely that kind of intellectual: educated, cultured, and principled.

But this woman was too beautiful—Chen Rong recalled Gong Yu, whom she'd met twice; because of Xiao Wei, Gong Yu was one of the few actresses she knew personally—but her aura was too fragile.

"What's her name?"

"Zhu Lin."

Zhu Lin's demeanor fit Lu Wenting perfectly—and she'd studied medicine: "How old is she?"

Wei Ming: "Thirty."

In lunar age, she was thirty—he wasn't lying.

Wei Ming deliberately exaggerated her age slightly; Chen Rong still thought she looked a bit young, but makeup could fix that.

Chen Rong was curious about Zhu Lin's connection to Xiao Wei, but didn't ask further—instead, she said: "Why don't you bring her to meet me when you come to check my homework?"

Wei Ming: "Sure, I'll let her know."

If this worked out, Wei Ming didn't dare hope Zhu Lin would win the Golden Rooster like Pan Hong—but at the very least, it would become her signature role; intellectual women were her natural domain, and she'd perform it effortlessly.

By early June, as Wei Ming's departure drew near, he finally finished drafting the second part of "Jurassic Park" and began writing a Hong Kong film screenplay on a whim.

Sister Chen Rong called to arrange a meeting for the next day.

Wei Ming immediately called Tuanjiehu—and luckily, Zhu Lin was there. He invited her to see a play at the People's Art Theatre the next day.

Zhu Lin's voice was soft: "What about today~?"

Damn it!

You made me do this.

Wei Ming put down his work, hopped on his motorcycle, and left.

After luring him over, Zhu Lin told him good news: "My relatives have arrived."

Wei Ming skillfully masked his disappointment and said calmly: "So what? Come on, let me tell you about tomorrow."

"It's just a play."

"The play is just incidental—mainly, I want you to meet someone." Then he told her about Chen Rong and the adaptation of "Midlife."

This novel, alongside "The Children of the Chorus," won the National Outstanding Novella First Prize—its strength and influence were undeniable. Zhu Lin had read it and loved the character Lu Wenting, seeing echoes of her mother and her mother's colleagues in her.

She never imagined she'd one day play Lu Wenting.

"Don't get too excited—even if Sister Chen approves you, she can only recommend you to the director and studio. Most screenwriters and authors aren't as forceful as I am." Wei Ming boasted.

Zhu Lin: Of course—two works, both starring Gong Yu. So bossy, so commanding.

Still, Sister Lin embraced him warmly to thank the little man, her hand moving gently on his chest.

Actually, today she'd lured Wei Ming over to ask about Melinda's telegram.

But before she could ask, Wei Ming volunteered the information himself.

"I'm leaving for Hong Kong on Monday," Wei Ming told her.

"You told me already—I know."

Wei Ming: "Besides Hong Kong, I'm also going to Britain."

"What?!"

Wei Ming pulled out the invitation letter from the British Embassy.

"I have no choice—the British are sincerely inviting me, and this deal involves a lot of foreign exchange. I can't trust Melinda—after all, those not of our kind have different hearts. I'm afraid she might side with her British compatriots and cheat me." Wei Ming deliberately said what Zhu Lin wanted to hear.

Sure enough, Sister Lin's brow relaxed. She didn't show her worry, and even generously said: "Go ahead, go, go—earn every last bit of foreign currency from the foreigners, bring glory to our country."

Wei Ming smiled: "We must bring honor!"

When the two lay under the covers, Zhu Lin suddenly buried her head in, her injured body finding another way to make things easier for Wei Ming.

"Good sister~"

Wei Ming could only offer praise—if only Sister Lin could put on her old white lab coat.

The next day, at the People's Art Theatre, Chen Rong's first impression of Zhu Lin was this: if the character Lu Wenting in my story looked like this, surely many people would love her.

She had already begun thinking from a cinematic perspective: an actress's appearance and aura could enhance a role.

The three then entered the theater, choosing seats near the back so they could talk without disturbing others.

Zhu Lin told Chen Rong about her own life—her mother, in her heart, was exactly like the female doctor Lu Wenting, so playing this role gave her a natural advantage.

Meanwhile, Wei Ming sat beside them, pen in hand, annotating Chen Rong's script pages.

After the play ended, Chen Rong suggested: "Let's find a place to eat and chat."

Zhu Lin readily agreed: "Great."

She could tell Teacher Chen Rong was now interested in her—this was promising!

That night, when she got home, turned on the desk lamp, and read Wei Ming's annotations, she thought of Zhu Lin she'd met that day. Chen Rong pulled out a fresh stack of paper and began rewriting the script. When she wrote about Lu Wenting, she automatically pictured Zhu Lin's face—it flowed more easily.

That night, Zhou Huimin also wrote until very late.

Today she saw two pieces of news about Ah Ming.

One came from the Western music scene: Ah Ming's "Moonlight Shadow" had topped the music charts in Britain, Germany, Italy, and other countries, and this week it officially reached #1 on the Billboard Hot 100—the global benchmark for pop music.

She didn't know if any Chinese musician had ever achieved this, but she knew only one—and she desperately wanted to tell Tan Yonglin and Zhang Mingmin that Mr. Why was Ah Ming; their expressions would've been priceless.

The second was that the Xin Wanbao, under the Da Gong Bao, had begun serializing his novel "The Right Path of Humanity Is Vast Change," and rumors said sales were surging.

She suddenly realized: Ah Ming was such a towering writer, such a great literary figure—compared to him, was she not just a fool? Even her letters had become lazy, replaced by cassette recordings.

It seemed that since the cassette communications began, Ah Ming's desire to express himself had slowly faded.

So today, she picked up pen and paper again, determined to communicate with Ah Ming through writing.

But dissatisfied with her own prose, she revised it, then carefully copied it out line by line on perfumed stationery.

When she finished, Zhou Huimin rubbed her eyes and finally lay down to sleep.

That night she dreamed: Ah Ming had traveled thousands of miles to Hong Kong to find her, and she sang "Moonlight Shadow" for him—he said she sang it better than Sarah Brightman.

Just as her letter was mailed, Wei Ming prepared to depart for Hong Kong.

They would fly from Yanjing to Guangzhou, then take a train to Hong Kong.

Those traveling to Hong Kong included Wei Ming, Zhao Debiao, Liu Long, and Wu Jing—Biaozi was temporarily acting as Wu Jing's guardian.

Biaozi felt exhausted: he had to watch over Brother Ming not to misbehave, and watch over Jingzi not to wet the bed.

They had agreed to meet at Wei Ming's home before departure, but before they arrived, Wei Ming received a call.

"Comrade Wei Tao?"

"Comrade Wei Ming, are you home? I've recovered all your original manuscripts—I just left Xia Lao's house."

Wei Ming: "I'm home, but I'm leaving in an hour—catching a flight."

"Oh, good, good, I'll bring it right over." The line went dead.

Well, then wait—he wouldn't rest until the manuscript reached his hands.

About ten minutes later, the door knocked. Wei Ming assumed it was Wei Tao—but it was Wu Jing, a little boy carrying a huge backpack.

Behind him stood his father, Wu Jinquan, who handed his son to Wei Ming, told him to listen to his brother, then left without hesitation—no fatherly tears, no child's crying.

Wei Ming's grandmother immediately brought fruit and candy for the boy.

Old Wei sighed: "He's so young—can he act?"

"Xi Zi is even younger, and he acts brilliantly," Wei Ming asked, "Jingzi, do you watch TV?"

"Is there Astro Boy or Donald Duck?"

"Not right now. Read a book instead." Wei Ming pulled out his Chinese edition of "The Lion King."

Wu Jing frowned: "I can't read it."

He'd almost forgotten—he was only in first grade, knew few characters.

Just as he felt awkward, someone knocked again.

This time, it was Comrade Wei Tao.

"Didn't I arrive too late?" he asked.

"No, we still have over half an hour," Wei Ming smiled.

"Perfect. Let me tell you." Wei Tao sat down with Wei Ming and pulled out the thick stack of manuscripts, now neatly ordered.

Wei Ming noticed someone else's handwriting on the first page, a small line scribbled in the margin.

Wei Tao apologized: "These manuscripts had a complicated journey—many veteran comrades read them, and some couldn't resist making notes. I apologize on their behalf."

"No, no, no," Wei Ming studied the line, "This veteran only cursed 'those little Japanese'—I found it warm. But who is he?"

Wei Tao named a man. Wei Ming immediately bowed his head in respect: "The old commander is truly a man of passion—I never expected him to be one of my readers."

"And he loved this novel—he couldn't help jotting down comments at the exciting parts. There are many more further on." Wei Tao flipped ahead and pointed to several spots.

But he wasn't the only one who'd left comments on Wei Ming's original manuscript—on the final page, Wei Ming saw at least seven or eight different handwritings.

Inspired by the old commander, other veteran comrades who received the manuscript began writing their opinions directly on the pages.

Some simply cheered; some reflected on their own past; others corrected Wei Ming's descriptions, offering the true historical context.

Wei Tao came specifically to identify each handwriting for Wei Ming, so he'd know who wrote what—and if any comments weren't matters of principle, they could be revised before publication.

"I learned this from Xia Lao—he knows everyone's handwriting," Wei Tao began, going from front to back.

"Ah! This elder is so old and still reads this book?"

"I didn't expect this commander's handwriting to be so elegant—what a surprise."

"I know this one—he's a tiger general of our army!"

"So this is the son of that man—my apologies."

After recognizing dozens of veteran comrades' handwriting, Wei Ming was stunned when he heard another name: "Ah! He read my book too?"

Wei Tao: "I don't know him—he probably just noticed the protagonist shares his name."

Wei Ming nodded. This original manuscript must be preserved carefully—it wouldn't be too much to make it a family heirloom.

While Wei Tao spoke with Wei Ming, Old Wei stood at the door, blocking Biaozi and Ah Long—he'd overheard a few names, and knew his son was discussing something monumental.

When Wei Tao finished, Old Wei checked his watch: "Good, you won't miss your flight. I'll be off then."

"Please take care—I'll see you off. We're heading down too," Wei Ming smiled warmly.

He deliberately lagged behind, handed the manuscript to Old Wei, and slipped him a bundle of foreign exchange coupons.

"Dad, when you get a chance, buy me a safe and lock this manuscript inside."

"Understood. After I see you off, I'll buy one. And…"

Old Wei said solemnly: "When you meet him, bow three times for me."

Wei Ming patted his father's shoulder, promising he'd deliver the gesture.

At the airport, little Wu Jing found everything fascinating.

"What's that? Why is it covered?" he asked, staring at a blocked mural.

Wei Ming laughed: "Behind it are naked little girls."

Innocent Wu Jing asked: "Why don't they wear clothes? Is it because they can't afford them?"

Wei Ming burst out laughing: "Maybe they just want to stay cool."

After waiting in line, the three adults and one child boarded the plane. The boy became ten thousand questions again, curious about how planes flew.

Wei Ming handed him off to patient Ah Long, who calmed him instantly with a single drawing.

"Brother Long, draw me a wolf again! A standing wolf~"

As Wei Ming and the others took off, "Mother, Please Love Me Again," filmed in northern Jiangsu's countryside, wrapped production.

Gong Ying decided to return to her home in Shanghai first, spend time with her parents, eat well, regain her lost weight, restore her best condition, then head back to Yanjing.

Though she knew Wei Ming had almost certainly gone to Hong Kong, there was still Zhu Lin—she couldn't lose face in front of her~

…

(6000 monthly votes, 7000 monthly votes bonus update!)

(End of Chapter)