Chapter 297: Best Granddaughter-in-Law Candidate

From the old ghost's mouth, Zhou Huimin learned that Wei Ming had come to Hong Kong—he really had come!

The 14-year-old girl, smitten with romance, was thrown into disarray that very moment, unable to sleep well all night, her heart brimming with excitement over the prospect of becoming family with Wei Ming.

If Ah Ming is investing in Haoli Lai, what's the difference between investing in Haoli Lai and investing in me, the heiress of Haoli Lai? We're all eating from the same pot—aren't we already one family?

She even wondered whether Ah Ming had decided to invest because of his kinship with the old ghost, or because he'd often heard about Haoli Lai from her letters and was simply catering to her tastes.

At this Haoli Lai shareholders' meeting, Liu Bin, who had performed admirably in secret operations and now held a managerial role, was officially granted half a percent of dry shares and received Haoli Lai's highest salary package.

The old ghost had once said, "What's most precious in the twentieth century? Talent!"

So he felt Liu Bin's salary ought to be higher than his own and Zhou Ma's—a single remark that made Liu Bin, a socialist university graduate from the 1960s, sigh, "There are good people among capitalists."

Wei Ming was the third-largest shareholder, having acquired twenty-five percent of shares with a mere few ten-thousand-dollar U. . investment.

The Zhou mother and daughter, along with the old ghost, each held thirty-five percent.

Whether Wei Ming allied with the old ghost or teamed up with Ah Min, he could directly gain controlling interest in Haoli Lai.

But Wei Ming was unaware of this share distribution; he merely asked the old ghost to calculate the funding gap, promising to fill it himself, and didn't care how many shares he'd get—just let the old ghost decide.

It's just for fun—a fast-food shop, not something to rely on for earning a bride.

While Haoli Lai was dividing its cake, Wei Ming was a guest at Li Hanxiang's home—this was the real matter he cared about.

Li Hanxiang's two daughters, Li Dianlang and Li Dianxin, were both present.

Director Li, nicknamed "Li Heizi," had nothing remarkable about his appearance except his height; his daughters were no great beauties either, but the two sisters were in their twenties—youth itself was capital, and with family upbringing, their attire and style were always fashionable and attractive, so they generally held themselves in high esteem.

When they heard from their mother that a guest from the mainland had suddenly arrived, they'd expected to see a country bumpkin—but instead they saw a tall, handsome man, 183 cm.

He reminded them of Chow Yun-fat, who had become a sensation in Hong Kong with "The God of Gamblers," one of the rare tall stars in Hong Kong's film scene—but compared to this man, even Wen Qiang's looks and bearing were overshadowed.

Wei Ming had come to discuss with Li Hanxiang the screenplays for "The Burning of the Yuanmingyuan" and "The Empress Dowager"—but there was little to discuss; Li Hanxiang had read the scripts and was extremely satisfied, far exceeding expectations, every detail perfectly matching his vision.

Wei Ming thought to himself, of course—after all, in the original timeline, Li Hanxiang himself had been deeply involved in these scripts.

As for the subsequent filming and casting, that was a matter for China Film and Beiyingchang to handle—nothing to do with Wei Ming.

As soon as Wei Ming entered the house, Director Li led him into his collection room to admire his lifelong treasured artifacts.

"I don't show these to just anyone," Old Li said, brimming with pride.

Because the room wasn't large, everything was crammed tightly—every surface visible was an antique: a Yongzheng blue-and-white dragon-patterned globular vase, a Liao dynasty green-glazed leather-sack flask, a Luoshan kiln flower-glazed large jar, and more.

Even the chairs they sat on, seemingly ordinary, were Ming dynasty antiques—perhaps once the favorite of some high-ranking minister.

The key was he only took in, rarely gave out, which infuriated his wife—every penny in the house had been spent by this old fool on these worthless trinkets.

Wei Ming couldn't help comparing them with the collections in Old Wei's Sihe Academy—why did Old Wei's pieces feel more refined?

After leaving the collection room, they entered the study, where a neat stack of manuscripts lay on the central desk, one page open—clearly a screenplay.

"Oh, this is the screenplay for 'Wu Song' I'm writing for Shaw Brothers," Old Li volunteered. He had a deep fondness for classical literature—like the Kangxi-era illustrated complete edition of "Jin Ping Mei" he'd once tried to lure Wei Ming with, which he considered a crown jewel of his collection.

Though this time they weren't directly filming that story, any Wu Song film would inevitably involve his sister-in-law and the official—or perhaps use Wu Song as a cover to film Jinlian?

"Who do you want to cast as Wu Song?" Wei Ming asked, seeing the script and suddenly forming some ideas.

Li Hanxiang shook his head: "It's not up to me—it's decided by the company. The boss wants to test if there's chemistry between me and Zhang Che's favorite disciple, so the director will probably be Ti Lung."

At 35, Ti Lung's hairline had already begun receding—he hadn't been the boss in years.

Wei Ming nodded; Old Li was equally resigned. The film world had long since moved beyond his and Zhang Che's era, so both eventually chose to go north and co-produce films, trying to reclaim their glory.

Li Hanxiang did indeed produce two classic Qing palace dramas, and while Zhang Che's few films weren't quite classics, their reach in mainland China was still notable.

Just as Wei Ming was about to leave, Li Hanxiang finally brought up the pricing of the two screenplays.

Since he had issued the invitation, he was supposed to pay in Hong Kong dollars—but he didn't know whether the mainland partners would agree to pay, so he hadn't settled with Wei Ming yet.

Wei Ming waved it off: "When and in what currency you pay doesn't matter—but could you do me a favor in a couple of days, Director Li?"

"You mean promote 'Heroes Born in Youth'? No problem," Old Li grinned.

Wei Ming shook his head. A direct promotion wouldn't work—Old Li had little clout now; they'd need another approach.

Today, Wei Ming confirmed with Xia Meng which films would be competing against "Heroes Born in Youth" in the same release window.

Since it wasn't yet Hong Kong's summer season, there weren't many strong new releases; Xia Meng had previously mentioned only Wu Siyuan's "Ah Can on Duty" as a serious contender—"Ah Can" was now a derogatory term for mainlanders, later adopted by mainlanders themselves and turned into a joke aimed at Hong Kongers.

But today Xia Meng received fresh news: Hollywood's "Superman II" was about to premiere in Hong Kong simultaneously with North America—the Christopher Reeve series.

The 1978 "Superman" had made it into Hong Kong's top ten films of 1979, so it had some audience foundation.

Xia Meng expressed pessimism, but Wei Ming thought "Superman II" had arrived at the perfect time.

"Aunt Xia Meng, could you help me arrange meetings with reporters from Ta Kung Pao and Wen Hui Bao? I'd like to treat them."

Xia Meng nodded: "They'll help promote our film—it's only right that I treat them. I'll pay."

Another day passed. Wei Ming had arranged everything, and two days remained until "Heroes Born in Youth" officially premiered.

Over the past day, Wei Ming had driven his van back and forth across Kowloon and the New Territories, gradually adapting to Hong Kong's driving rhythm—though he still hadn't set foot on Hong Kong Island.

Wei Ming wanted to eat at Haoli Lai near HKU, have dumplings at Wan Chai Ferry, and dine on seafood at the Jumbo Floating Restaurant in Aberdeen.

Especially Haoli Lai—Zhou Huimin, the heiress, rushed straight to the shop after school, even sneaking in at lunchtime, just hoping to catch a glimpse of the other shareholder.

The old ghost watched, beaming. Aside from the age gap, Ah Min was, in his eyes, the perfect granddaughter-in-law candidate.

Beautiful, kind, artistically inclined, and not overly intelligent—wasn't this exactly how a wealthy family chose a daughter-in-law?

And this girl had been raised under the old ghost's watch since childhood—he knew her inside out.

But this young man Wei Ming seemed indifferent to this pen-pal meeting, wholly focused on his business.

So Ah Min not only failed to see Ah Ming, but later couldn't even spot Uncle Ghost at the shop.

At Lai Yuen Amusement Park, Wei Ming, Biaozi, Ah Long, Xiao Wu Jing, and Zhen Zidan arrived wearing T-shirts printed with "Heroes Born in Youth."

Those seven bold, elegant ink characters were still Wei Ming's own handwriting—he wasn't a calligraphy master, but his practice had given his strokes structure and strength.

Their arrival initially drew little attention at Lai Yuen—until they reached the territory of the elephant "Tian Nu."

This Asian elephant, once raised by the old ghost, was now the star attraction and crown jewel of Lai Yuen Zoo. In this small Hong Kong place, people rarely saw such a massive creature.

Having lived at Lai Yuen for over twenty years, Tian Nu had become a cherished memory for a generation of Hong Kongers—many children took pride in having a photo with him.

But Tian Nu's own story was tragic: in the 1950s, as a young calf, he arrived in Hong Kong with a Burmese circus; when the circus went bankrupt and couldn't afford to feed them, the family was split up and sold off—little Tian Nu was bought by Lai Yuen Zoo.

But as Tian Nu grew larger and the zoo's animal population increased, his living space shrank—such a huge elephant was confined daily to a space no bigger than a three-room, one-living-room apartment.

Fortunately, years ago he met his "father," who truly loved him and taught him many skills, turning him into the zoo's star, featured repeatedly in the news, a Hong Kong top-tier celebrity—the elephant equivalent of Kwan Tung.

But soon after, his father left, returning only occasionally to visit and chat with him.

Today, his father had come again—he was going to teach him a new trick.

Through the old ghost's connections with zoo staff, Lai Yuen Zoo launched a new attraction today: Elephant Tug-of-War!

Since the opening of Ocean Park in 1977, Lai Yuen Amusement Park had faced unprecedented crisis—visitor numbers dwindled, and no effective countermeasures had worked recently.

The elephant tug-of-war did attract crowds to the zoo area, lively and noisy—but that alone wasn't enough; it mainly drew Lai Yuen's existing audience.

Unless there was a special breakout moment.

At that moment, Tian Nu's keeper, Ah Kun, the old ghost's disciple, began explaining the rules to visitors.

"Buy one bunch of bananas for Tian Nu, and you can play tug-of-war with him. Tie the banana to the red mark on the rope. Tian Nu stands three meters from the red mark, but you stand ten meters away. Whoever is pulled across the line beneath the banana wins."

A visitor asked: "What's the prize if you win?"

"All winners will receive free admission to Lai Yuen Amusement Park and Song City for the next month!"

The reward was somewhat attractive.

Then someone asked: "Can any number of people join?"

"No more than fifty people, because our rope is only this long—but for every five extra people, you must buy one more bunch of bananas as a reward for Tian Nu. Even if you lose, you can still take a photo with Tian Nu."

Then staff showed the banana prices—holy cow, are you robbing people? If fifty people showed up, the banana cost would be steep, and you still might not win.

But if you won, you'd get fifty free monthly passes—equally expensive!

Monthly passes—who wouldn't love monthly passes?

At that moment, a scholarly man with glasses, looking like a university professor, analyzed: "An average adult male weighs about 70 kg, while Tian Nu weighs roughly 5, 00 kg—a difference of 70 times! Tug-of-war ultimately comes down to weight—so you'd need seventy strong men just to budge Tian Nu!"

This discouraged many eager visitors—until a brilliant man stepped forward: "Why seventy? My wife, my son, and I are enough."

He was a round-faced, middle-aged man with glasses—add a bit of beard and he'd be the dream man of the gay community.

His 17-year-old handsome son urged: "Dad, don't be crazy. The three of us can't possibly pull an elephant."

His wife, Li Guozhen, looked at her husband with full confidence.

Ni Kuang was a literary figure, even claiming a spot among the "Four Great Wits of Hong Kong," but few in the crowd recognized his face.

His son was about to study abroad; today, the couple had brought him here to revisit their favorite childhood dating spot, for nostalgia.

Unexpectedly, the park had introduced a new gimmick. Having written some so-called sci-fi novels, Ni Kuang felt himself wise—he didn't explain his reasoning to the crowd, but simply bought a bunch of bananas, determined to be the first to make a fool of himself.

Wei Ming, watching from afar, hadn't expected Ni Kuang to appear here—truly, heaven was helping him!

He recognized that old face instantly—it was the future father-in-law of his goddess Zhou Huimin. He couldn't fathom how Zhou the Jade Maiden's eyes had gone blind.

Zhou the Jade Maiden's legs, her face, her figure—Wei Ming couldn't help imagining, swallowing hard.

At that moment, Ni Kuang added to the staff: "But I have one request—we want to face Tian Nu directly in the tug-of-war. We don't want to be staring at an elephant's rear end—that's no fun."

Hearing this, many in the crowd, including his son Ni Zhen, suddenly understood—ah, that's the trick!

Ni Kuang's idea was: if the elephant faced the banana and pulled, was that even tug-of-war?

It was just using a rope tied to a banana to lure the elephant forward—ha, who came up with this brilliant plan?

Originally, the plan had been for Tian Nu to stand with his back to the contestants and the banana.

Now, with Ni Kuang's sudden request, the keeper Ah Kun glanced nervously at his master, the old ghost.

The old ghost smiled inwardly—you vastly underestimate Tian Nu's discipline. He gave a thumbs-up.

The keeper then announced: "We cannot guarantee no one will get hurt—but please trust Tian Nu's decades-long reputation of never harming anyone. If everyone's ready, then… ready, set, go!"

…

(Two days without touching the computer—the old Buddha is slowly regaining his rhythm; today I can only write this much. Thank you for your understanding—I'll definitely deliver more in a few days!)

(End of chapter)