Chapter 295: Wei Ming Arrives in Hong Kong, Ah Min Awaits with Bated Breath (Seek Follow >)

Taipei Beitou villa district, Wei residence.

His three wives and his younger sister-in-law had gone shopping; at nearly eighty, Wei Muchun put on his reading glasses and began reading the May issue of "Shouhuo," which his powerful former student had just delivered two days prior.

After waiting months and reading for days, he finally reached the ending—much like the fate of the three siblings in the story: they fractured, each went their own way, and a fictional fourth brother was invented.

He read the final chapter, the last paragraph, over and over, mentally replaying the scene where the brothers, having endured all trials, met with a smile and buried their grudges; the old man could no longer hold back—he wept freely, calling out to his father and mother in a dialect he himself barely recognized anymore.

Before his wives returned, Wei Muchun quickly composed himself and called his sister, Wei Lindi, in San Francisco.

"Did you read the novel I had Lingling give you?"

In a spacious Chinese-style estate in San Francisco, a refined silver-haired woman in a qipao hugged a lazy orange cat: "I read it. It was frustrating—neither here nor there."

"The ending's out now. I finished it. I'll mail it to you right away."

"Great," replied the silver-haired woman on the phone, "but have you listened to the record I sent you?"

"I listened, but I don't like foreign songs. It was some tribute to John Lennon—I don't even know who that 'Lennon' is."

Wei Lindi said: "But the lyrics and melody of this song were written by the same person as 'The True Path of Life Is Sorrow.'"

"Huh?" Wei Muchun was stunned—could that kid even write English songs? He'd thought "Water Flower" in Cantonese was already his limit.

Wei Lindi added: "And this song is now a hit across Europe and America—it topped the Billboard chart. Lingling hums it all the time, unaware the songwriter is related to her."

At this, Wei Lindi let out a light laugh.

"Where's Lingling? Is she with you? I'd like to speak to her."

"No," Wei Lindi said, "it's graduation season—she's probably out with classmates for a party."

"Party or date? Has she started dating?" Wei Muchun asked, worried.

"Don't worry—I'm watching her. Lingling's pursuing two degrees; she has neither time nor interest in romance, and her standards are high."

Wei Muchun grunted: "Lindi, after reading Wei Ming's novel, I was deeply moved. Brothers are brothers, kin are kin—blood is thicker than water. After decades, some things should be let go. My feelings for Xiao Ning aren't any less than yours."

Over the years, Wei Muchun had kept in touch with his brother and sister, but the two siblings had never contacted each other directly—always through Wei Muchun or Wei Lingling.

Even regarding the recent matter of Lao Yangfang No. 2, Lingling might have to travel to Hong Kong—and possibly even back to the mainland.

Wei Lindi sighed: "Big brother, I'm tired. I'm going to rest."

"Oh, right—it's nighttime in America now. Goodnight, Lindi. When you see Lingling, tell her to call me back."

Hong Kong, Lo Wu Railway Station.

Located in the North District of the New Territories, it's the first railway entry point into Hong Kong, right next to Luohu District in Shenzhen; mainland passengers must clear immigration here.

Since Wei Ming and Ah Long both spoke Cantonese, communication was no problem.

Outside the station, a eighteen-year-old Zhen Zidan held up a sign with Wei Ming and Zhao Debiao's names.

After finishing "Heroes Born in Youth," he returned to Hong Kong with Yuan Xiangren, became Yuan Heping's disciple, and joined the Yuan Clan, now working as a stunt double.

He wouldn't have had the emotional intelligence to pick them up himself—it was Yuan Xiangren who sent him, worried they'd be lost in a strange land.

"Teacher Wei, Brother Biao, over here!" Danny grinned, flashing a row of white teeth—mostly out of fear of Biao's temper, afraid Biao would punch him.

Wu Jing glanced at the sign: "Teacher Wei, isn't my name missing from the sign?"

Wei Ming: "You can't even read. What's the point of writing it?"

"I know my own name!" Little Wu Jing pouted.

Seeing someone had come to meet them, Ah Long pulled Wei Ming aside: "Ah Ming, I didn't expect anyone to pick us up—I actually arranged for someone too."

Wei Ming asked: "Is your uncle coming to get us?"

"No, it's me…"

"Senior, here, here!" A giant figure held up a sign bearing Liu Rulong's name and a cartoon sketch of Ah Long—looking exactly like a giant panda.

Xu Jinjiang was only twenty then, clean-shaven, with long artistic hair, a youthful face, and towering nearly one meter ninety; Wei Ming and Biao looked small beside him.

He was a month older than Ah Long; both had studied under Guan Shanyue, the master of the Lingnan Painting School, and Ah Long became senior by virtue of entering a week earlier.

Wei Ming knew well the bond between Ah Long and Xu Jinjiang—they had once admired many of Xu's artworks together, and Ah Long had said: "I never imagined my junior could express himself so powerfully—he's usually so reserved."

Though separated for years, they had maintained correspondence; now reunited, they fell into easy familiarity as if no time had passed.

Wei Ming looked between the tall Xu Jinjiang and the short Zhen Zidan: "Good. Now we have connections in Hong Kong. Who's driving?"

Zhen Zidan looked embarrassed: "I don't earn much, but I can afford a taxi fare."

Xu Jinjiang, prepared, jingled his car keys: "I borrowed a friend's car—follow me."

It was a typical bread van—the kind you could cram a hundred people into.

Wei Ming pulled Zhen Zidan: "Danny, come with us—we're going to Qingniao Film Company. Maybe Miss Xia Meng can give you a role."

Hearing this, not only Zhen Zidan perked up, but Xu Jinjiang did too—he asked Wei Ming's identity. Since arriving in Hong Kong, he'd worked on film sets using his art skills, but without connections, opportunities were scarce, so he'd enrolled in TVB's actor training program.

Whether the company needed an art director or an actor, he could handle either.

In the car, Ah Long began introducing the friends' identities, focusing on Wei Ming.

He wrote novels, screenplays, and songs—several songs Xu Jinjiang had heard were actually his.

Zhen Zidan had already heard Biao brag about this on set; hearing it again, he still found it impressive. Since arriving in Hong Kong, Wei Ming's songs remained popular—key hits for Zhang Mingmin and Tan Yonglin.

But what surprised him most: "Is 'Moonlight Shadow' also Teacher Wei's work? That song's huge in Europe and America!"

Biao slapped his shoulder from behind: "Didn't I tell you? The guy who wrote the fairy tales is the same one—Wei something? 'Wei' is 'why,' right? You're American—how'd you forget English?"

Biao spoke, so Danny could only nod obediently—his mind racing: Teacher Wei was a cultural and entertainment all-rounder, a one-man crew—could he write a script to launch him?

After all, they knew each other, had even eaten together.

Xu Jinjiang laughed aloud, silently observing—clearly, this Peking University professor, Teacher Wei, commanded great respect.

Ah Long then asked Xu Jinjiang: "Do you know anyone in the manga circle?" This was why he'd told his junior to pick them up—after all, he and Ah Ming knew nothing about Hong Kong's manga scene.

Wei Ming: "Hey, don't count me in."

"Senior, you're drawing manga now?!" Xu Jinjiang exclaimed—they'd both once dreamed of becoming great artists like their teacher.

Ah Long scratched his head: "It's about making money—no shame in that."

"True—I'm learning acting too, trying to scrape by as an actor," Xu Jinjiang sighed. Everyone had fallen.

Wei Ming: "Hey, you haven't fallen all the way yet."

"Oh, you're becoming an actor too?" Zhen Zidan eyed him—this guy looked fearsome, not as approachable as himself—he'd never make it.

"Yes, I joined TVB's actor training program—more skills never hurt," Xu Jinjiang admitted honestly. "Maybe a crew will hire me as an art director because I can act."

Xu Jinjiang knew only a little about manga—he recognized names like Huang Yulang, Shangguan Xiaobao, and Shangguan Xiaowei and their works.

Zhen Zidan, however, knew them inside out.

"Wow, 'Dragon Tiger Gate' is so cool—I'll tell you, do you know the Electric Lightning Dragon Drill…"

"Dragon Tiger Gate" was Huang Yulang's masterpiece, originally titled "Little Hoodlum"; Zhen Zidan had even starred in its film adaptation.

He could recount the feuds and alliances among manga artists clearly—clearly, since arriving in Hong Kong, he'd devoured manga.

Wei Ming asked Zhen Zidan: "What comics did you like in America?"

"My mom was strict—I had to practice martial arts and piano, no comics allowed. But I knew Superman, Batman, Spider-Man were huge—oh, and the Fantastic Four. My male classmates were all fans; girls were obsessed with Barbie."

Xu Jinjiang shook his long artistic hair: "You play piano? What kind?"

"Piano."

"So you're an artist too—my apologies," Xu Jinjiang reached out to shake Zhen Zidan's hand in the front seat.

The car lurched violently—Biao shook him, shoving Jingzi in the middle: "Xu Jinjiang, focus on driving!"

Both Zhen Zidan and Xu Jinjiang flinched—Xu Jinjiang, even in his imposing height, was nowhere near as fearsome as Biao.

Wei Ming smiled: "Xiao Xu, how much does a secondhand bread van like this cost in Hong Kong?"

"Not much—just a few thousand," he clarified, "Hong Kong dollars. You're not thinking of buying one, are you? My friend wants to sell it to buy a used sedan."

A few thousand wasn't expensive. Wei Ming checked it out—spacious, no mechanical issues. A hundred people? Exaggerated. Ten? Easily squeezed in.

With all the running around ahead, a car would be a big help.

"Tell your friend I want it—give me a good price. I'll use it for a few days, then let Old Ghost drive it—no problem."

"Sure, I'll try to negotiate you a better deal," Xu Jinjiang said.

Soon, the car reached Sham Shui Po in Kowloon—a textile hub where Miss Xia Meng's husband had opened a garment factory, though business was mediocre.

Later, the couple founded Qingniao Film Company, also located here.

At this moment, Miss Xia Meng had just met with a young man.

She didn't hide anything: "Making 'Fleeing to the Sea' requires shooting in Hainan—that's mainland territory. Think carefully—once you sign, there's no turning back."

Liu Dehua: "Miss Xia, may I go back and consult my company?"

"Of course," Miss Xia stood and shook his hand. "I look forward to working with you—I have high hopes for you."

Twenty-year-old Liu Dehua felt dazed—he had an urge to sign right now, but he wasn't impulsive. He still dreamed of stardom through TVB.

After bidding farewell to Miss Xia and Xu Anhua, Liu Dehua descended the stairs—then someone called out to him.

"Hua Zai!"

Liu Dehua saw a crowd—some sleepy child cradled by a muscular man, and in the center, a guy even more handsome than himself.

"Oh, Ah Jiang," Liu Dehua greeted—he and the others were all from TVB's tenth training class.

This batch produced some talent: besides Liu Dehua, Xu Jinjiang, and Liang Jiahui—the most famous—there were Wu Jiali, Qi Meizhen, director Zhang Zhiliang, and Lian Jin, who yelled "I'll kill you!" in "Crazy Stone."

Xu Jinjiang: "These are my friends. This one's from America; the rest are from the mainland. This is my painting senior, this is my senior's classmate, this is my senior's classmate's colleague, this is my senior's classmate's colleague's junior—ha, all family."

Liu Dehua's lip twitched: What a "family."

Wei Ming asked: "You're here for an audition?"

"Huh? How'd you know?" Liu Dehua jumped, startled—was this guy psychic? Some White Dragon King?

Wei Ming: "This is Qingniao Film Company's office. You're studying acting—why else would you be here? Haircut? That's logic."

Liu Dehua was even more stunned—logic explained the first part, but haircuts? How did he explain that?

Even Xu Jinjiang, who rarely socialized, didn't know he'd once studied hairdressing!

Could it really just be a wild guess?

"What's this senior brother's classmate called?" Liu Dehua asked carefully.

"Wei Ming. Just call me A Ming."

Liu Dehua had heard the songs A Ming wrote, but he could only remember Tan Yonglin and Zhang Mingmin.

After exchanging a few pleasantries, Liu Dehua left—he still needed to consult the company about whether to take this film. He was just an unknown nobody, having just played a henchman beside Zhou Runfa in TVB's "The Kings of Comedy," and had been scolded by the director for adding unauthorized lines.

But "Sons of the Neon Night" was a lead supporting role—and a cinematic one at that!

After Wei Ming and the others went upstairs to announce their arrival, they quickly met Ms. Xia Meng, accompanied by Xu Anhua. When she saw Wei Ming, her eyes lit up—he was so handsome. If Liu Dehua didn't take the role, he'd be perfect.

She'd assumed they were here for an audition—but it was a misunderstanding.

"Little Wei, A Long is here too~" Xia Meng knew both of them, but she'd only seen Biaozi and Wu Jing in films—one less fierce than on screen, the other seemingly taller.

She was surprised: "I knew you were coming, but I didn't expect it so soon—our film doesn't even release until next week."

Wei Ming smiled: "If we come next week, it'll be too late. I came early to see if I can help with anything."

Xia Meng wasn't truly invested in this film—she preferred art films. But the director and cast had been hard to lock down, and mainland authorities had high expectations for her. When little Wei volunteered, she greenlit this cross-strait martial arts film. Still, she preferred art films, so she'd never once visited the set.

Still, she hoped for profit: "We've done everything we could. All cinemas in the Shuangnan circuit have posted new film notices, and 'Ta Kung Pao' and 'Wen Hui Bao' will help promote it."

"And then?" Wei Ming asked.

"What else can we do? You mean TV stations? Those are too expensive. Our costs are low, and our expectations are low." Xia Meng felt she'd done all she could.

Wei Ming asked again: "So what's the projected box office?"

Xia Meng thought: "Three million."

How much it earned on the mainland didn't matter—she only needed three million Hong Kong dollars in Hong Kong to break even, which would let "Sons of the Neon Night" move forward. Any extra overseas earnings would just be a bonus.

In his past life, Hong Kong's box office was roughly this number—but that was 1983, ranking only around 40th among Chinese-language films that year.

A three-million-dollar box office in 1981 would've placed it around 20th—the difficulty was very different.

Though Wei Ming was confident his script had more appeal, he hadn't personally overseen every action sequence.

So he asked: "Auntie Xia, can we watch the film in advance?"

"We can't screen it here. Since you're here anyway, stay at Changcheng's dormitory—you can watch it there."

Xia Meng didn't refuse. Young people, full of passion after making a film, always wanted to see it as soon as possible—she'd felt the same when she was young.

The left-wing film base had gradually shifted from Houwang Temple Studio to today's Clear Water Bay. Changcheng, Fenghuang, and Xinlian all filmed mostly here, including post-production and some studio scenes for "Shaolin Temple."

Xia Meng personally brought the group over, arranged their lodging first. Though Qingniao was her private enterprise, it was still regarded as a left-wing film company—staying in a dorm was no big deal.

Then she took a few of the kids to watch the full version of "Heroes Born from Youth."

It differed slightly from Wei Ming's memory: Xu Xiaoming was a newcomer, but he handled action films well—thanks largely to the Yuan Family Team's hard work.

The biggest surprise was Biaozi. First, credit went to Wei Ming's script—the character was average in the novel, but once Biaozi was cast, Wei Ming reshaped him into someone like Yan Xiaoguo.

To the heroes, he was a villain who slaughtered loyal officials. But in his own eyes, he was loyal to the throne, purging traitors for the court—a good, righteous man. His few appearances in the film were all stunning.

Especially the final battle.

Wei Ming hadn't seen the climactic group assault on the main villain during his visit—he never imagined such a thrilling sequence filmed in the breathtaking Jiuzhaigou. Dialogue and action blended seamlessly, lasting nearly half an hour, sending adrenaline soaring.

Biaozi himself participated in choreographing the action. He'd actively applied the new action principles Wei Ming had taught him.

In the end, Biaozi collapsed into a lake as colorful as a painter's palette—purely the definition of beautiful, powerful, tragic.

After watching, Biaozi, Wu Jing, Zhen Zidan, and the two non-participants, A Long and A Jiang, all burst into enthusiastic applause.

Especially Biaozi—he now felt terrifyingly strong. Only the entire cast barely managed to defeat him.

Even Xia Meng, watching for the second time—even though she disliked violent films—thought the movie was well-made. Young audiences would surely love it.

Wei Ming was certain this film was far stronger than its original timeline counterpart. It might not have the elegant, floating choreography of "Shaolin Temple," but its comedy was just as strong, and its action intensity was higher.

But would a great film guarantee great box office?

Actors, promotion, and screen scheduling were all crucial.

Ah—screen scheduling. Wei Ming asked a key question: "Auntie Xia, how many cinemas across Hong Kong will screen our film?"

"All eight cinemas in the Shuangnan circuit."

Wei Ming rubbed his chin. Only eight?

And if he wasn't mistaken, as left-wing film power waned, quality films were scarce—these eight cinemas probably drew far fewer audiences than Shaw Brothers or Golden Harvest.

The left-wing circuit was called Shuangnan Circuit, named after its two flagship theaters: Nan Hua and Nan Yang.

In Central and Western District on Hong Kong Island stood Gao Sheng Theater, also part of Shuangnan Circuit—though it was ancient, outdated, and carried a nostalgic 20th-century charm.

Add weak films, and audiences naturally dwindled.

But recently, Zhou Hui, drawn by affection, had become a regular, often coming to absorb left-wing cinema, immerse herself in Mandarin, and try to find common ground with A Ming.

She'd just watched "The Herdsman," imported from the mainland and adapted from A Ming's novel. She'd even included her review in the letter she'd just mailed.

She found A Ming's literary works somewhat difficult, but this film was excellent—no surprise, since A Ming himself adapted it. She heard it was based on his father's stories.

Oh, the lead actress was also stunning—unforgettable at first glance.

Today, she passed by again and happened to spot the new poster for "Heroes Born from Youth."

Wasn't this the novel by Wei Kuangren, who wrote "The Ancient Terracotta Warriors' Love Story"? And now it was a film?

She didn't recognize any of the actors or the director. But when she saw the screenwriter's name, A Min's eyes sparkled.

Wei Ming? A Ming!

……

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(End of chapter)