Chapter 321: Century Wedding

This was faster than Wei Ming expected, meaning they could go home.

According to Lao Fei, it was the Shi family's overseas prestige that made the difference; the Shis were a major Suzhou family, involved in railways, banks, and a wide range of industries, and the relevant departments certainly hoped the Shis would lead the way back to invest and build their homeland.

Wei Lingling said, "Let's go see Jueyuan first. Once the paperwork is done, we'll leave—everything after that can be entrusted to Mr. Fei."

It wasn't yet dark when the group took a taxi directly to Jueyuan No. 2 Courtyard; Li Zhi came along, but A Long was not there.

Since they didn't know when Wei Ming's business would end, A Long and Gong Ying had already returned to Beijing to prepare the Hong Kong procedures.

Because they took tricycle taxis, they hired two: Lao Wei and Wei Lingling in one, Wei Ming and Li Zhi in the other.

"Young Master Ming, I only now realize that the once-wealthy Shi family is your relative—I've even heard my grandmother mention them."

Over these days of running paperwork, Li Zhi had finally figured out the history of the Jueyuan No. 2 residence and Wei Ming's relationship with its owner.

Wei Ming spread his hands: "I've said it before—we're not rich, just have a few wealthy relatives overseas, and we haven't kept in touch for so many years, the connection's long faded."

Li Zhi thought: faded? Then how did they leave you such a big mansion?

She said aloud: "I don't care about that—I believe true ability comes from within; your talent is your greatest wealth."

This woman knew how to flatter men—Wei Ming's lips curled into a Nike Swoosh.

"I say the same to you—you've been slacking off on your English lately; you still need to learn English."

Li Zhi shyly tucked a strand of short hair behind her ear, revealing a touch of charm: "It's just that since returning, I haven't had the conditions to study."

"If there are no conditions, create them—learn from those around you."

"Then can I learn English from you? Your English is excellent—you even write songs in English—you're my role model."

Wei Ming glanced at the driver up front, who was clearly eavesdropping, and said seriously: "We're about to part ways—you won't learn the essence from me. Learn from your cousin Lingling instead; her English is definitely better than mine. When you're by her side, you must not only master English but also learn how to manage people and companies, understood?"

Wei Ming meant Li Zhi had a chance to become Wei Lingling's right-hand person and should cherish this learning opportunity—but Li Zhi clearly misunderstood.

He—he means I'll manage the family's business in the future!

Li Zhi nodded seriously: "Yes, I will!"

Soon the rickshaw arrived at Yanjing West Road. After getting out, Lao Wei pointed at the courtyard before them and asked: "Is all of this inside?"

Wei Ming nodded.

Lao Wei thought: this is truly large—more than twice the size of their current old Western-style house, exuding grandeur, clearly the property of a once-prosperous, large family.

Too bad the Shi family's eldest son, whom Wei Ming's aunt married, had few descendants, and now faced the prospect of having no heir.

There was a gatekeeper, and the old man was well-informed—he already knew the Jueyuan heir had returned from America and cheerfully opened the gate for them to take a look.

At the moment, this place served as the office of the Shanghai Electric Import-Export Company, whose leadership had also been notified.

Unlike the gatekeeper's indifferent attitude, the leadership of this state-owned enterprise regarded Wei Lingling and the others with faint irritation, yet dared not show it.

He probably thought: Damned capitalists are back again.

Wei Ming understood—the environment here was too good, and it was located right in the city center; working here felt like being a lord himself.

Later, when they had to relocate them, it wouldn't be so easy—finding another location with comparable environment, position, and space was unlikely.

Besides the three above-ground floors and some small buildings on either side of the courtyard, this half-century-old structure also had underground space capable of withstanding moderate explosions—likely designed with wartime conditions in mind.

After touring the place, Wei Ming caught up with Wei Lingling and asked: "Auntie, do you think there might be hidden treasures in Grand Aunt's house?"

Wei Lingling gave a direct answer: "There were some before—after all, they had to prepare for the possibility of failing in America, so they made several backups. But since we don't know now, we'll have to wait until we reclaim the house and dig slowly."

Lao Wei was astonished: "Oh my, I'll have to bury something in our Sihe Academy too, so it's not all destroyed later."

Wei Ming suggested: "I think you should bury some Maotai."

"Will that be worth anything later?" Lao Wei asked, puzzled. "I see a lot of people collecting stamps—maybe I should bury some stamps instead."

Wei Ming: "..."

In his past life, he knew an older colleague at the People's Art Theatre who collected stamps—he kept a whole album of rare stamps sealed away until 2025.

The next day, Wei Lingling, Lao Wei, and Lao Fei made another trip to the relevant offices, completed the paperwork, leaving only the final handover—which would require waiting until the current occupants vacated and contacted them.

Lao Wei left the contact details of the Beijing Overseas Chinese Apartment, and Lao Fei, bustling about, would earn some hard-earned fees.

He knew Wei Lingling was from Hong Kong and asked: "Could you give me some Hong Kong dollars?"

Wei Lingling asked: "Won't U. . dollars work?"

"Oh, that's even better!" Lao Fei beamed. He promised: "I'll keep pressuring that unit to move out."

Wei Lingling waved her hand: "No need to rush—we're not in a hurry to use it."

Wei Ming: "Besides, they'll pay rent before they move out." Though the rent wouldn't be high.

Lao Wei worried: "This mansion is so big—how will we ever use it regularly? What will we do with it once we get it back?"

Wei Lingling said seriously: "Here's my idea—listen, Brother. You and Ping'an are both in Beijing. If my company ever expands into mainland China, we'll definitely need an office in Shanghai, maybe even the mainland headquarters. Then I can give you money to buy this house outright, or pay market rent—either way."

"Oh, you're being too formal—if you need it, just use it. Family doesn't talk about money."

"We still need to talk about it. The company may not be mine alone—there's no need to save money for the company."

Lao Wei finally nodded with a smile, saying they'd discuss it later.

When only Wei Ming and his aunt remained, he smiled and asked: "The company you mentioned—is it the toy factory or our DreamWorks? It's DreamWorks, right?"

Wei Lingling snorted, avoiding a direct answer: "I won't return to Beijing. Tomorrow we fly straight to Hong Kong. Where are your Transformers blueprints?"

Wei Ming went inside and retrieved them—along with the previous ones, there were five characters: three Autobots, two Decepticons.

"Only five?"

"Why make so many now? Afraid someone will steal the concept?" Wei Ming said. "The toy factory's next priority is solving the technical challenges of transforming toys and cutting costs—this process will take at least a year or two. I'll draw them for you gradually."

Wei Lingling agreed, adding: "And the Transformers story text."

"Got it. You can use it directly for an animated film." But animation production takes too long—better to start with a comic version, which highlights the role of Kuangren Comics.

The next day, the four parted ways at the airport: two headed north, two south.

Watching his sister turn away, Lao Wei murmured: "When will I ever get to go to Hong Kong?"

Wei Ming knew he didn't want to go to Hong Kong—he just wanted to see his father.

Wei Ming patted his shoulder: "How about you go with A Long and the others soon?"

After all, they'd need to send some comic talent over anyway.

Lao Wei thought for a moment, then shook his head: "You say his health is still strong, so I'm not in a rush—I'll wait. When the time comes, I'll go with your mother and your sister to see him."

On his second flight, Wei Jiefang was much calmer; while reading a newspaper on his seat, he saw reports about the Sichuan floods.

The heavy rain in Sichuan had now lasted five days with no sign of stopping or easing—news reports were all bad; except for the higher-altitude prefectures of Ganzi and Aba, the entire province was submerged.

He frowned: "I wonder how your uncle and aunt are doing. Thank goodness we didn't let Grandma go back."

Wei Ming reassured him: "The countryside back home is relatively high ground—I think they'll be fine."

After all, in his past life, no one had died in the flood.

"High ground, lots of mountains—still afraid of mudslides. Don't you remember your mother's old village got buried by one?"

Lao Wei spoke, and a nearby passenger joined in, discussing the worrying floods.

The passenger was from Xingyang, Henan—his hometown had also suffered from Yellow River floods and felt deep sympathy for the people of Sichuan.

Lao Wei had his own stories about floods; though Ping'an County had no major rivers, the Hutuo River occasionally burst its banks—he'd seen his hometown flooded as a child, and people had died.

Wei Ming recalled the narrow Hutuo River near his hometown—the only route from Gouzitun into the county town—but the bridge over it was old and poorly maintained, always making people uneasy, especially when cars passed.

It wasn't until the 1990s, after several accidents, that a new one was built.

After landing, Wei Ming told Lao Wei about his plan to donate money to his hometown.

"What if we repaired the bridge over the Hutuo River?"

"Whoa, how much money do you have?" Lao Wei was stunned—he'd talked about repairing roads and bridges, but meant the road outside their gate and the small stone bridge at the village entrance.

Wei Ming asked: "How much would it cost to build a bridge?"

Lao Wei: "At least ten thousand yuan."

Wei Ming: "That's not expensive."

Lao Wei: "..."

If it affected his purchase of the Sihe Academy, Wei Ming wouldn't mention it—but if it was just ten thousand yuan, he thought it was fine.

His domestic account now held over 200, 00 RMB from foreign exchange, and The Lion King was about to be released in the U. .

Seeing his son was serious, Lao Wei nodded: "Then when we get back, I'll ask Old Secretary to check with County Chief Qin. If this really happens, all the people of Ping'an County will remember your kindness—and I'll share in the glory."

Taking a bus, the two fathers arrived at the Beijing Hotel to pick up their motorcycle.

"Wei Sang!"

Someone called Wei Ming. He turned—and it was indeed Satoda Masashi. "Satoda Sang, have you finished filming the Yangtze?"

"Finished? No, not quite—but filming's done. I'm preparing to head home." Satoda Masashi said; the footage had been reviewed and was fine for post-production.

This meeting, Satoda Masashi was eager to discuss music with Wei Ming, so Wei Ming accepted Lao Wei's invitation to lunch at the Beijing Hotel.

"Since our last parting in Shanghai, you said you wrote an English song—I've heard it now. Wei Sang, you truly don't speak until you astonish everyone; now every musician worldwide knows your name."

"Satoda Sang, you flatter me—this song was written on the guitar you gave me."

"It's my honor. Your musical talent surpasses even my imagination. I especially love 'Moonlight Shadow'—I've been playing it on repeat these past few days."

"That's my honor."

Though he didn't understand English, Lao Wei could tell from their expressions they were exchanging polite humility—he just kept eating, determined to eat the Japanese man into bankruptcy.

Honestly, the food at this foreign hotel was excellent—could rival his wife's cooking.

Satoda Masashi asked curiously: "With such a successful English song debut, are you planning to officially enter the international music scene?"

"Not really. Writing is my true passion; songwriting is just a diversion."

"That's a pity. Any new works lately?"

"I just wrote a Cantonese song—I've already found a singer in Hong Kong."

Wei Ming remembered that "First Love" had originally been a Japanese song, and had an idea: "Satoda Sang, this song is about love—perfect for East Asian tastes. Could you take it back to Japan and help me sell it? I want to earn some foreign exchange for our country."

Upon hearing this, Sada Masashi bowed his head in respect: "Wei Sang possesses a noble character that makes one feel ashamed. Don't worry—I'll sell it for you. If I can't sell it, I'll buy it myself."

As he spoke, Sada Masashi felt a twinge of guilt—he was drowning in debt and short on cash.

Just then, Wei Ming added: "Oh, I just realized this song suits you perfectly, Sada-san."

Sada Masashi's lip twitched—just as he feared, the thing he dreaded had come to pass.

"Is… is that so?"

Wei Ming asked: "You're not leaving tomorrow, are you?"

"I've booked my flight for the day after tomorrow."

Wei Ming declared: "Then it's settled—tomorrow I'll bring you the sheet music to look over."

Sada Masashi could only reply, "Yes." Wei Ming wasn't just his friend in China—he was an internationally renowned musician and writer. This song couldn't be sold cheaply; he'd have to buy it at Japan's highest composer rate.

After lunch, Sada Masashi personally saw the two off.

Old Wei burped and asked his son: "What the hell were you two jabbering about in that bird language?"

Wei Ming: "Long story short—I'm going to make money off the Japanese."

"Good!" Old Wei said. "There are so many Japanese electronics on the market—how much money have the Japanese made off us? You take some back!"

To offset the profits Japanese electronics had made from China's market was too much to ask of a small-time creator like Wei Ming—he could only hope to earn a little here and there.

So many songs had been translated from Japanese into Cantonese; if he simply translated his Chinese songs back, he could make a good profit—and Sada Masashi was the perfect bridge.

At the Overseas Chinese Apartment, only Grandma and his mother were home. Grandma, her face lined with worry, handed them two bottles of Tianfu Cola.

"Little Yang carried these all the way from home for you. I think they taste awful, but Xiao Hong says she likes them—try some."

Wei Ming took them, glanced at the fridge packed with cola, and asked: "Where's Xiao Yang?"

"She's with Xiao Hong, helping the students."

Today was the last day of their study tour; tomorrow Old Wei would return home with them.

Wei Ming took a sip of the icy cola—it had a faint herbal taste, slightly different from Coca-Cola or Pepsi, but still unmistakably carbonated.

On a July day, coming in from outside and drinking this was pure bliss.

Wei Ming burped: "Delicious, Grandma—drink more, you'll get used to it."

Grandma wrinkled her nose: "It's too expensive—I don't want to get used to it."

Seeing Grandma was down, Wei Ming quickly comforted her—she was still worried about relatives back home.

Xu Shufen wiped her hands: "Xiao Ming, come here—I need to talk to you."

"What is it?"

Xu Shufen pulled a slip of paper from the coffee table drawer: "A few days ago, an overseas call came from England."

"What? An overseas call?!" Wei Ming was stunned.

He couldn't imagine anything besides Melinda's death serious enough to warrant such a call—let alone a long-distance call from Britain, which wasn't cheap even for Melinda, let alone a Chinese family.

"It was your ex-girlfriend. Xiao Hong answered. They spoke English together." His mother frowned—she hadn't understood half of it. "She said it was important and wrote it all down here."

Wei Ming's heart sank—he remembered the night he left London, when they'd indulged in pleasure without protection. Could it be…

He took the folded note: "Mom, you didn't read it?"

Xu Shufen grew angrier: "Xiao Hong wrote it in English!"

Wei Ming laughed and unfolded the paper.

The note wasn't long, and it mixed Chinese and English—Xiao Hong's English still needed work.

After reading it, Wei Ming froze, murmuring: "She's getting married already?"

"What did it say?" Xu Shufen asked. She wasn't usually nosy, but this call was from her son's unknown first love—this was different.

"Nothing big—someone's getting married and wants me to write a wedding song for fun."

"Is… is it Melinda getting married?" Xu Shufen worried for her son.

"No, not her—it's the British Queen's son."

"What?! The Queen's son wants you to write a song? That's the Crown Prince! Do you know the Crown Prince?!"

"What? Son, you know the British King's son? Burp—does Britain even have a king? Burp…" Old Wei, having finished his Tianfu Cola, shuffled over, drawn by the gossip.

Wei Ming shook his head: "I don't know him. But I have British friends who do. Either way, it's a good opportunity—and it brings in foreign currency. If they ask, we write."

Melinda had explained clearly: Prince Charles and his fiancée were audience members of *Cats*, and thus knew Webber. Their wedding would take place at month's end.

This royal wedding would be a globally watched century event. The bride-to-be, Diana Spencer, wished for an artistic performance at the ceremony, and Webber had some recommendation authority.

Melinda learned of this through Sarah Brightman and urgently called Wei Ming, hoping he could once again unleash his inspiration and write a superb wedding song.

If the prince and princess chose his song for the ceremony, it would be nearly impossible for it not to become a global hit.

Since Sarah Brightman had told Melinda, she hoped Wei Ming would write a song suited to Sarah's voice.

This wasn't just a commissioned piece—it came with stylistic constraints. Still, no pressure. The key was simply to be selected.

One hit song was luck. If he could produce two, his creative talent would be recognized, and earning foreign currency from the European and American music scene would become easy.

The wedding was at month's end—only half a month left. He had to compose, learn the song, rehearse. Time was tight. Unfortunately, Wei Hong couldn't reach Wei Ming the past few days, so she waited for him to return.

Wei Ming's mind raced. In his past life, he'd attended too many weddings—he'd watched his friends turn into married couples, and now even their children's weddings loomed ahead.

He'd heard too many wedding songs—Chinese and English alike. This wasn't hard for him. The problem was too many choices—he couldn't decide.

He picked one, wrote out the lyrics first. Composition would take time.

He'd planned to visit Xue-jie and Lin-jie after returning, but now he'd delay that—first, earn this money from the British royal family.

That evening, Wei Hong and Long Xiaoyang returned, bringing along their cousin Qi Delong.

Wei Ming immediately repaid Xiaoyang for her train ticket: "Now stay in Beijing and rest easy. Wait until home is completely safe before returning. I'll find a way to contact them."

Long Xiaoyang nodded seriously: "Tomorrow I want to help Yunyun-jie. The business at Xintiandi is huge!"

"Fine. I'll have your cultured brother-in-law pay you a salary."

Wei Ming turned to Qi Delong: "You're leaving tomorrow. How was your trip to Beijing?"

Qi Delong hung his head: "I don't want to farm anymore. I want my kids to go to the Children's Palace from childhood."

Wei Ming patted the sturdy boy: "Then study hard. This is your only path. I heard you ranked fifth in your class—big improvement from last year. Next year, I hope you come on a study tour with a top-three grade ranking."

He'd once again used Uncle Jiefang's connections to get a train ticket to Beijing.

After dinner, Old Wei took Qi Delong back to Li Guangfu's house and stayed there overnight—he wanted to brag to Qi Kexiu and the driver about his airplane ride.

Too bad it was Li Guangfu's house. Li Guangfu, slurping noodles from a big bowl, simply said: "I've flown too."

Old Wei asked: "Where did you fly to? I went to Shanghai."

"I toured Europe with a troupe—Paris, London, Rome, Berlin—over a dozen cities. I've been to them all."

Old Wei: "…"

Qi Kexiu, who had been quietly lowering his head, finally smiled—he was truly happy today!

"Ah!" Wei Ming threw down his pen—he'd finally finished!

He checked the time—only 11 p. . Should he write another…

(Today's minimum—should I write another chapter? Also, any song recommendations? English wedding songs.)

(End of Chapter)