Chapter 302: One Husband, Two Wives, Three Songs

Zhu Lin had been separated from Wei Ming for a week and missed him desperately; for the past few nights, she'd tossed and turned in bed like a wriggling maggot.

She looked at Gong Ying—they'd been apart even longer; surely she missed him even more.

Zhu Lin spoke plainly, asking questions that made Gong Ying blush.

"We're still rivals for his affection. You asking me this, Zhu Lin, you've crossed the line."

"Don't be shy, just tell me."

"I won't say—it's personal privacy." Gong Ying firmly refused; a person shouldn't, at least not should she!

Zhu Lin: "Fine, don't say it. Poor us, stuck alone in empty rooms, while that brat is probably living it up somewhere."

"He wouldn't."

"Maybe not in Hong Kong, but once he's in Britain, who knows?"

"Britain?" Gong Ying seized on the key point, staring intently at Zhu Lin.

"You didn't know?" Zhu Lin smirked. "If I'd known, I wouldn't have mentioned it. It's nothing much—just work-related."

She briefly explained that Wei Ming had been invited by an opera company due to The Lion King. Gong Ying instantly lost all desire to sleep.

Her mind raced with thoughts: What if Xiao Wei just stays in Britain and never comes back?

Such things weren't rare in China after Reform and Opening—especially in the arts world.

"Enough, stop imagining," Zhu Lin, ever carefree, said. "If he doesn't come back, you go back to your Gao Lao Zhuang, and I'll go back to my Hua Guo Shan."

Gong Ying: "You're the pig. You're surnamed Zhu—you should go to Gao Lao Zhuang. I'll go to Hua Guo Shan."

Zhu Lin laughed heartily: "Fine, I'm the pig, you're the monkey. Look at you—so thin, just like Sun Wukong."

"I'm doing this for a role—I'm trying to gain weight," Gong Ying argued. Her body was just like this; no matter how much she ate, nothing changed.

"Alright, sleep, sleep." After bantering with Gong Ying, Zhu Lin stretched out, legs splayed, lying flat on her back.

Gong Ying: "Didn't we come here just to wash up and leave?"

"Oh come on, it's already this late. If I take you back to Beiyingchang, then go home myself, will I even make it to class tomorrow? Don't worry—I'll just wake up early. No one will know."

Zhu Lin, drenched in sweat and feeling blissful, fell asleep quickly. Gong Ying, half-asleep, still wondered what Xiao Wei was doing in Hong Kong.

He was eating.

He and A Min had grabbed a quick meal at a street stall near her home—mostly A Min ate, while Wei Ming, already full, just watched her.

Before eating, A Min offered a prayer. Wei Ming wasn't surprised; she'd been raised in a church school, so having such beliefs wasn't strange at all.

During the meal, Zhou Huimin finally got a chance to talk about the English song. With Hong Kong's more developed film and music industry, A Min's detailed account gave Wei Ming a far clearer sense of the song's success than Melinda's brief telegram had.

Indeed, riding the wave means striking while the iron's hot! And he'd hit two at once—both Lennon and Reagan had significantly boosted the song's popularity.

Though earnings hadn't been settled yet, this song's short-term profit for Wei Ming might rival that of his two children's books.

By the time he dropped Zhou Huimin off, it was late. Her mother had already returned home, waiting anxiously.

Old Ghost's house was higher up; he stood by his window and spotted Wei Ming dropping A Min off.

Good kid—he's quietly pulling off big things!

"A Min, why are you back so late?!" Zhou's mother said sharply.

"Mom, we had a basketball game today, then played a bit longer afterward." Zhou Huimin had the school basketball as proof.

The excuse was solid; her mother couldn't press further: "Do your homework tomorrow. Go to bed early tonight."

"Okay, goodnight, Mom."

Back in her room, Zhou Huimin immediately rushed to the window, watching Wei Ming walk away. She knew he couldn't see her, yet she silently waved.

So happy—so incredibly happy!

This pen-pal meeting hadn't ended in disappointment. A Ming was even more handsome than in his photos, and even more impressive than she'd imagined.

He could already speak Cantonese with her. Compared to him, her Mandarin was weak—she still needed to practice.

And A Ming said he already had some inspiration—he'd start writing songs for her as soon as he got back, and she was his source of inspiration.

Actually, Zhou Huimin didn't want him to write too quickly. She wished to spend more days with him, under the pretense of helping him find inspiration.

Only when Wei Ming's figure vanished from sight did Zhou Huimin turn away, returning to her desk.

Not to do homework—today was too meaningful. She had to write a diary before sleeping, every word brimming with sweet satisfaction.

Wei Ming took a taxi directly. On the way back, he composed two songs, both inspired by his hours with A Min.

But both were Mandarin songs. Though he planned Cantonese versions too, writing them would be harder and take more time.

By the time he reached Changcheng's dormitory, the third song for A Min was already brewing—this one would be in Cantonese.

He didn't know which song she liked best, so he'd write several and let her choose.

He entered his room to find Biaozi and A Long still awake, waiting for him. Only Wu Jing had already fallen asleep in the next room.

Looking at the pile of goods on the bed, Wei Ming smiled: "Did you spend all 5, 00 Hong Kong dollars?"

Wei Ming had given them the red envelope from Liu Jialiang to spend on shopping. Clearly, today's haul was substantial.

Biaozi exclaimed: "Yeah! Hong Kong's goods are so diverse—way more than Guangzhou or Shenzhen."

"Of course. That's why so many people want to stay here."

A Long scratched his head, thinking of his father: "A Ming, since you're back, we're going to sleep. We were worried something happened to you out there."

Biaozi: "Yeah, yeah. My wife told me to keep an eye on you for Zhu Lin."

A Long whispered: "I'm keeping an eye on you for Gong Ying."

Each of them had a mission.

"Alright, sleep. We've got things tomorrow."

A Long perked up: "Are we going to submit to Yulang International tomorrow?!"

Wei Ming had previously mentioned wanting to publish Qin Shi Ming Yue through Huang Yulang's network, seeking a more autonomous collaboration.

"Uh, that…" Wei Ming said, "I've got something important to do tomorrow. You go alone, A Long. Present our terms. See what conditions Huang Yulang offers. You've seen his comics and his team's work—our material is a generation ahead. The advantage is ours."

"Huh?" A Long, introverted, hesitated. He knew Wei Ming wanted him to stand on his own, but he was just a creator.

Wei Ming knew he was putting him in a tough spot: "Fine. Let Biaozi go with you. If Huang Yulang tries to use force, can he out-brawl Biaozi?"

Biaozi worriedly asked: "A Ming, what's this important thing you're doing? You haven't been corrupted by capitalism, have you?"

"Get lost. I'm planning a grand tour of Hong Kong to gather inspiration for future Cantonese songs and Hong Kong films." Wei Ming declared with righteous certainty—half-truth, half-bullshit.

The next morning, Gong Ying nudged Zhu Lin: "Did you hear? The ginkgo tree called out. Could it be Xiao Wei's parents arrived?"

Zhu Lin pulled back the curtain, rubbing her eyes: "Dogs bark at dawn—it's normal. Don't overthink it."

"That's a rooster. Come on, let's go. I'll treat you to fried liver." Gong Ying poked Zhu Lin, urging her to get up.

Zhu Lin giggled: "Fine, you're paying."

"I'll pay, I'll pay."

They changed into yesterday's clothes, restored the room to order, then hurriedly left the sihe courtyard.

Around the corner, Xu Shufen stared at the courtyard gate. She'd arrived early today and found it locked from the inside.

With the city's poor security, Xu Shufen didn't confront it directly. Instead, she hid in the shadows, waiting for her husband, Old Wei.

But before Old Wei arrived, the gate opened. She never imagined it would be Zhu Lin and Gong Ying stepping out together—Zhu Lin riding a bicycle, Gong Ying sitting behind her, both leaving together!

Long after they turned the corner and disappeared, Xu Shufen remained frozen in shock. She'd always assumed these two girls were rivals, that her son was playing them both.

Now it seemed her thinking was outdated—they clearly didn't mind each other's presence at all!

Muttering to herself, Xu Shufen entered the courtyard and headed straight for the master bedroom.

Though Gong Ying had tidied up, traces remained. Xu Shufen instantly confirmed someone had slept here last night.

She checked the other bedrooms—no signs of use.

Conclusion: Last night, Gong Ying and Zhu Lin had slept here—and they'd shared the same bed!

"My son is too capable!" Xu Shufen didn't know whether to be proud or worried—how had he convinced two such outstanding girls to willingly become co-wives?

The world had gone mad!

The Zhou household.

Zhou's mother had left for work early. On the table was money she'd left for her daughter.

She used to prepare breakfast, but as her career grew, breakfast became money—Zhou Huimin had to buy her own.

Zhou Huimin took the money and checked her reflection in the full-length mirror.

She nodded in satisfaction: "Looks a bit grown-up now, but not too mature."

She wore a black fitted short-sleeve top, underneath which she'd put on a bra she rarely wore, making her chest appear fuller. Below, a white knee-length skirt revealed her pretty legs.

She washed her hair, forcibly straightened her slightly wavy locks, then braided two small pigtails—one on each side—looking playful and cute.

Finally, she slung her backpack over her shoulder—otherwise, if her mother came home early, she'd be caught skipping school.

She waited outside the housing estate for A Ming. When her stomach began to rumble, A Ming arrived in his van. "I saw a stall selling beef balls. Want some?" Wei Ming shook the items in his hand.

Zhou Huimin replied: "I don't eat beef."

"I was worried I bought too little. Perfect—I'll enjoy it myself." Wei Ming grinned and bit into another ball. Delicious—chewy and satisfying.

Zhou Huimin felt embarrassed: "Do you think I'm too troublesome?"

"Why would I? Everyone has dietary preferences and taboos. Not eating beef is fine—it's a kind creature."

Zhou Huimin asked: "What about you? What don't you eat?"

Wei Ming thought: "Stargazing."

"What's that? Sounds romantic."

Wei Ming sighed: "It's a British dish. You're better off not knowing."

British food~ Zhou Huimin immediately thought of A Ming's ex from Britain—he still couldn't let go.

Later, Wei Ming accompanied A Min to a street stall for curry fish balls, accepted one from her, and they began their fieldwork tour.

Where on Hong Kong Island's Central and Western District is the wind strongest? Of course, it's Victoria Peak.

In his past life, Wei Ming had climbed Victoria Peak, but that was decades later—by then, the Peak Tower stood atop it, and inside was Madame Tussauds; now, none of these existed.

The two strolled along the winding mountain road, savoring the fresh morning air of the hills—no wonder the rich loved to settle here.

Zhou Huimin, following up on her refusal to eat beef, mentioned how as a child she'd been pecked by a chicken, so she was terrified of them—but she had no aversion to eating chicken.

"Look, this scar on my hand? That's from a chicken's beak." She held out her slender, pale hand to A Ming.

Yesterday, playing basketball had blackened her small hands; today, Huimin had washed them again and again before letting Wei Ming examine them closely.

"Wow, that wound looks serious. In our rural hometown, chickens weren't even on the list of scary animals—geese were truly fierce. But braised goose in an iron pot? Absolutely delicious." Wei Ming swallowed hard.

Huimin knew A Ming was a food lover: "When we reach the peak, we can have dinner at Victoria Peak Restaurant."

"It's a Western restaurant, right?"

"Exactly."

Wei Ming hadn't eaten Western food in a while.

The restaurant had nearly a century of history, built of red brick in British style, radiating deep historical charm, and its open-air terrace offered a direct overlook of the scenery below—perfect for dining and relaxing.

Besides, there were plenty of rich people atop Victoria Peak; maybe over dinner they'd even meet some tycoon or wealthy heir.

Huimin had never dined here before. Though her family had gained some wealth, their spending level hadn't risen yet—she still preferred street stalls.

But today, treating A Ming, she'd brought every penny of her pocket money.

After ordering a few dishes, Wei Ming simply pulled out his newly applied-for HSBC credit card and settled the bill.

"I should've treated you," Huimin muttered, fidgeting with her skirt hem.

"You're a student—why treat me to something so expensive? When we get down the mountain, treat me to some local snacks instead." Wei Ming smiled faintly.

"You ordered so much—will you even have room left after we go down?" Huimin laughed.

"No problem. Western portions are small."

One steak, one Indian roast chicken, one seafood platter, one Thai-style beef salad, and one dessert—that was all. Before eating, Wei Ming took a photo of Huimin and the tableful of food; unfortunately, he had no Moments to show it off.

"Let's get someone to take a photo of us together," Zhou Huimin suggested. After searching around, her attention was drawn to a handsome man nearby.

Wei Ming followed her gaze.

Worried Wei Ming might misunderstand, Huimin whispered quickly: "He's some kind of singer."

"Not 'some kind'—it's Chen Baiqiang."

Huimin was stunned: "You know him?!"

"I've heard 'Tears Flow for You,'" Wei Ming smiled.

Seeing Wei Ming wasn't bothered, Huimin relaxed. Chen Baiqiang's fans were mostly schoolgirls; she'd once thought Danny was handsome, but compared to A Ming? He was barely passable.

Chen Baiqiang hadn't ordered yet; he kept glancing at his watch, as if waiting for someone.

A while later, someone arrived from behind. Huimin whispered to Wei Ming: "Chen Baiqiang seems to be dating—some girls in our class are gonna be heartbroken."

Wei Ming turned to look. Huimin didn't recognize the girl, but Wei Ming did.

Nineteen-year-old He Chaoqiong was among the most beautiful of the tycoon's children, with a stunning figure—perhaps due to her mixed heritage, she already looked fully matured before turning twenty.

But from how they interacted, they seemed newly acquainted, still getting to know each other.

Chen Baiqiang looked nervous. His family was merchant-class—his father owned a watch shop—but compared to the Ho family of Macau, he was nothing.

Wei Ming stared a little too long; now it was Zhou Huimin's turn to be jealous. She immediately plopped a chicken leg onto his plate.

Wei Ming smiled: "What if I sold Chen Baiqiang a song?"

"You were thinking about that just now?"

"Yes. I came to Hong Kong for three things: see you, see Lao Gui, and make money."

Huimin felt better, pouting: "You promised me first—you have to respect order."

"Actually, I wrote you three songs last night."

"Three?!" Huimin's eyes sparkled—A Ming's talent was overflowing!

Wei Ming added: "But two are Mandarin songs—I'm still figuring out how to translate them into Cantonese. The Cantonese one isn't fully composed yet."

"But you promised just one song~" Huimin felt shy—A Ming's songs were too valuable, too precious.

Wei Ming: "Inspiration can't be held back. I wrote more—you can pick your favorite later."

Huimin: I thought they were all for me~

Still, even one was fine—it'd be the best of the best. She grew even more eager.

Before Chen Baiqiang and his companion finished their meal, Wei Ming and Huimin left. Before departing, they had someone take a photo atop the peak—this was their first, deeply meaningful picture together.

In the afternoon, at Wei Ming's suggestion, Huimin took him around HKU. Besides Holley, the area had many street snacks.

Speaking of Hong Kong University, Lin Xi was currently studying in its Chinese Department—he was truly a genius. The three songs Wei Ming wrote for Huimin happened to be lyrics by Lin Xi.

It wasn't that Wei Ming favored his work—his hit rate was simply too high to avoid.

But that was fine—it meant future singers wouldn't lack signature songs at concerts. He was doing a good deed.

Zhou Huimin said: "HKU and our school are on the same Po Fook Hill Road. My mother's greatest wish is for me to get into HKU."

Wei Ming asked: "Do you think you can get in?"

Huimin shook her head sadly: "Forget HKU—even getting into university seems impossible."

It wasn't her fault—getting into university in Hong Kong was brutally hard. Just having a Form Five diploma was decent; Huimin had even completed two years of pre-university? That was considered high education.

Though Hong Kong had only five million people, it had very few universities. Strictly speaking, only two public ones: HKU and CUHK.

There was also the Hong Kong Government College of Advanced Industrial Studies and Hong Kong Baptist College—neither counted as universities yet, with extremely limited enrollment.

Even HKU and CUHK, due to their narrow scope, enrolled far fewer students than comprehensive universities on the mainland.

Because local university spots were so scarce, many well-off Hong Kong artists studied overseas—Chen Baiqiang, whom we just saw atop Victoria Peak, had studied in America.

Wei Ming offered Huimin this idea: "You've got five years until university. I believe Holley will grow well by then. Your mother's finances should be enough to send you abroad—that's how you'll get into university."

"Studying abroad?" Zhou Huimin pondered seriously—it felt so distant. Suddenly she asked, "A Ming, does Peking University have Hong Kong students?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Huimin nodded, but didn't pursue the topic.

Five years was far off—and Beijing was far too. It was farther from Hong Kong than many foreign countries.

Wei Ming had just considered inviting Huimin to study in Beijing. Under mainland policies, if she passed even modestly, she could choose Tsinghua or Peking University—much easier than applying to American colleges.

But Hong Kong people at the time looked down on mainland universities. Huimin was a native Hong Konger, accustomed to its bustle and convenience—how could she adapt to Beijing, which was still not fully modernized?

Wei Ming dismissed the impractical thought. As dusk fell, he found a place to eat—he wanted silk stocking milk tea and fried pig intestines. This meal was Huimin's treat.

After dropping Huimin off, Wei Ming immediately returned to the Changcheng dormitory. First thing, he finalized the simplified score for the third song he'd written for her.

Soon after, A Long, Biaozi, and Xiao Wu Jing returned.

A Long slumped in, clutching his bag: "Huang Yulang refused to cooperate."

Wei Ming: "What did he say?"

"He said to cooperate, I must stay in Hong Kong full-time as a cartoonist, meet strict update schedules, maintain quality—which is hard—and the story would belong to his Yulang International. He said he'd control all future developments—I'd have no say."

Wei Ming spat: "He thinks too highly of himself. I'm offering you this for free, and now he thinks he's already ruled the martial world with no one left to challenge him? Don't worry—I'm coming with you tomorrow."

(End of Chapter)