Chapter 325: 800 Million Viewers Worldwide, MrWhy Is Here to Perform

Whether Wei Ming can attend the wedding is not up to Weber—he must seek permission from Melinda.

Then Melinda called Wei Lingling, and the aunt learned that her nephew was playing both sides, having taken on a mission in London and won the favor of the British Crown Princess, who had invited him to the wedding.

Wei Lingling felt only pride and satisfaction, but Melinda, as a British woman, felt it even more intensely, as if she'd been granted the imperial yellow robe.

Wei Lingling called Wei Ming's hotel; he wasn't there, so she asked the front desk to remind him to call back.

That night, after dropping off Amin at home, Wei Ming returned to the hotel, checked the London time, and called Melinda's company directly.

"Is there good news?" Wei Ming asked.

"The best news!" Melinda said. "Both your songs have been selected, and Princess Diana loves them—she's even invited you to attend the ceremony. I heard she only has a hundred guest slots for close friends; that's extremely precious, especially since you're a foreigner."

Though Diana's family was noble—her father was an earl, and her elder sister had once courted Charles—the Spencer family still paled beside the British royal house. The wedding had two thousand guest slots, but the bride was only entitled to invite a hundred; the seeds of conflict and misfortune had already been sown.

Wei Ming thought: Princess Diana still had a genuine heart. As the global top idol of the next decade, every move she made was headline news, drawing endless media attention, naturally generating massive traffic—otherwise, how could "Candle in the Wind" become the best-selling single worldwide?

Wei Ming wanted to meet this top idol, but a round trip would take four or five days. The wedding was on July 29, and the charity concert was tentatively set for August 8—the critical planning phase. As the overall director, how could he abandon his post?

So he refused: "I can't go."

"What can't you go?"

"The charity work I'm doing now matters more than meeting a few royal relatives. The concert is set to launch in half a month—I'm swamped," Wei Ming said. "But you could explain it to her in person. Maybe she'll invite you instead, if she thinks you're pretty."

Melinda's eyes flickered: "That actually sounds like a good idea."

To do business in Britain, connecting with such elite figures had countless advantages.

She immediately contacted Weber, hoping to convey her message face-to-face to Diana. The next day, she met Diana.

"Oh, he can't come? Is it a visa issue? Do you need me to help coordinate? The Chinese ambassador to Britain will also be attending."

Diana looked at the red-haired woman, whose height and looks were no less striking than her own. Though Westerners held stereotypes about red hair, she loved the color—it felt passionate and fiery.

Melinda shook her head: "You probably already know—he's Chinese. Right now, in western China's Sichuan, a once-in-a-century flood is ravaging the region."

"I know. There was a report in Time magazine."

"Yes. Sichuan is one of his hometowns, home to kind people and adorable pandas. This gifted writer and musician carries immense social responsibility—he's currently using his influence in Hong Kong to organize a charity concert to aid the disaster-stricken areas and victims."

"Oh, my god, that's incredible!" Diana said sincerely.

Though young and not yet famous for charity, she deeply believed in the ideal that those who prosper should help others. Anyone who did this was admirable, noble.

So even though he had refused her, Diana's respect for him deepened—and she wanted to know him even more.

"What a pity. I'm actually a reader of The Lion King," Diana asked. "Is there anything I can do?"

Unexpectedly, she offered to help. Melinda thought a moment, then said: "I'd like his music used at your wedding—so the world knows him, and more donations flow in. That would be the greatest help to him."

She didn't state a specific request, but her words solidified Diana's determination to promote him.

Diana smiled: "Weber said you recommended him. You're a truly dedicated editor."

Melinda replied: "And a competent ex-girlfriend."

"What!" Diana covered her mouth, glancing at Weber, who nodded.

Diana's eyes sparkled with gossip: "Did you fall in love because of work?"

"No. I studied at Peking University, China's most famous university. Back then, he was an employee there—specifically, a gatekeeper."

"Ah?" Diana was stunned again. She'd assumed this brilliant talent was a well-connected, cosmopolitan aristocrat—those were the ones who first accessed pop music and foreign culture.

"Yes, a gatekeeper. But now he's a librarian. He's backed by a prestigious university, and through self-study, he's reached heights no peer could match…"

Melinda spared no hyperbolic praise for Wei Ming, greatly increasing Diana's fondness for this unknown artist. No wonder a beautiful British exchange student had fallen for a lowly worker from a backward country.

Melinda: "Of course, back then he wasn't nearly this outstanding. I fell for him mainly because of his handsome face."

Diana's eyes widened: Now she was even more curious.

"Melinda, since he can't make it, why don't you go in his place? Would you be willing?"

She'd been waiting for this. Melinda feigned surprise and replied with double meaning: "I do!"

The next day, Wei Ming picked up Zhou Hui and went to Ming Pao in Central to meet Jin Yong.

He was here to beg for alms—he hoped Ming Pao would advertise their charity concert for free.

"So that's why you came to Hong Kong."

Hearing it was charity, and that Wei Ming had written many songs for free to invite stars, Jin Yong didn't hesitate—he'd donated generously to charity during his own trip back home.

"Shall I help you contact other media? Like Sin Pao or Sing Tao Daily?" he offered.

These were relatively neutral papers. Wei Ming smiled: "If you can reach Oriental Daily, I'm fine with that too."

Oriental Daily was a right-leaning paper, Hong Kong's highest-circulation newspaper—two or three times the circulation of Ming Pao—with immense influence, unlike Ming Pao's elite positioning.

After a moment's thought, Jin Yong said: "I can pass along your message, but I fear they won't agree."

Wei Ming didn't care—if it didn't work, it didn't matter.

TV ownership in Hong Kong was high—about 80% of households had TVs—so TV media had even greater influence. He also hoped Jin Yong could introduce him to ATV and TVB people to discuss television broadcast rights for the concert.

Television media was a crucial channel to expand the concert's reach.

Jin Yong said: "I'm from the same province as Sir Run Run, we have some connections. I can ask. Have you finalized the concert's time, location, and lineup?"

"Not yet. I'll give you the exact details later."

After finishing business, Jin Yong called Wei Ming back, pulled some cash from his drawer, and put it in an envelope: "This is the reprint fee for The Book of Heavenly Secrets. Serialization starts at month's end. Meeting you today saves me postage."

Wei Ming felt it—thin. But Jin Yong and Run Run shared traits—both were stingy.

Jin Yong was stingy with authors—Yi Shu had repeatedly demanded raises. Sir Run Run was even worse—his stinginess was legendary, and it cost him the chance to sign Bruce Lee, letting Shaw Brothers win instead.

So Wei Ming took Amin out and treated her to a lavish meal with the fee—and didn't even spend it all.

"Want to see a movie?" Amin suggested. Besides The Seven-Colored Cartoon Old Master Q, there was Xu Ke's The Crazy Bureaucrat—summer was full of good films.

But Wei Ming's mind was full of the concert, full of work—he hadn't come to Hong Kong to fall in love.

"Amin, no movie. Can you help me with something?"

"What?"

"You're in your school choir, right? Can you gather your teammates this summer? I want them to join the charity concert."

"Ah, us? We can?"

"Of course. But only as backing vocals for one song," Wei Ming said. Of course, Amin could stand beside the stars—she was different.

Amin said: "My teammates are all kind. I'm sure they'll agree. But my contact list is at home."

Wei Ming: "Just ask your choir teacher to organize it."

"Good idea, but the teacher's number's on the contact list—I still have to go home."

The teacher first worried her star pupil was being scammed—what charity concert? Amin, aren't you too naive? Society is cruel.

"Teacher Bai, don't worry. Tan Yonglin and Chen Baixiang are joining, and it'll be broadcast on TVB—it's definitely real. Plus, you'll get to see Ah Lun during rehearsals."

This teacher was a fan of Tan Yonglin. Hearing this, she immediately agreed to help Amin recruit. Though some students couldn't attend due to overseas trips or other reasons, enough could be gathered.

Summer had passed nearly a month. Students had shifted from initial excitement to boredom and numbness, even longing for school to resume.

Now they had something meaningful to do—and a chance to share the stage with top stars. Of course they agreed.

While Teacher Bai recruited, Wei Ming taught Amin the song line by line. It was a Mandarin song—a challenge for Hong Kong stars and students alike.

But for Gong Ying and Zhu Lin, it was no problem—they came from arts troupes, skilled in singing and dancing. After a day of training with Teacher Gu, they were ready to begin recording today.

Liu Xiaoqing stepped out of her room and knocked on the adjacent door. She wondered how Zhu Lin and Gong Ying had slept—she hadn't heard any fighting or shouting.

She didn't understand why they hated each other yet insisted on sharing a room.

Hearing the knock, Gong Ying nudged Zhu Lin on one bed: "What time is it?"

Zhu Lin opened her eyes: "Oh no! We're recording today!"

One sentence woke Gong Ying fully: "Why are you in my bed?"

Zhu Lin: "This is my bed. Don't you remember? You spilled water on it—I kindly let you stay."

Gong Ying remembered, and praised: "You're actually pretty nice."

Zhu Lin grinned and called out: "Who is it?"

"It's me—Xiaoqing."

Gong Ying: "Xiaoqing, wait a sec—we're coming out."

At the cafeteria, they were surprised to see Wei Anping, Wei Xi, and Wei Le—they'd arrived last night.

Because Lu Xiaoyan was busy with the inaugural issue of The Fairy Tale King, and Wei Anping had no school duties during vacation, he'd come to supervise his daughter's recording. Xi Zi was just tagging along.

Xi Zi was overjoyed to see Snow Mom, leaping into her arms. Gong Ying, reminded of the drama "Mother, Again I Love You," hugged Xi Zi tightly, moved.

Seeing Le Le staring blankly at her brother, Zhu Lin went over to tease her. Le Le, being sensible, called out: "Sister."

Seeing Gong Ying and Zhu Lin appear, Wei Anping's heart sank—he had one thought: Xiao Ming is in danger!

But their expressions seemed civil—he guessed they didn't yet know their nephew was also close friends with the other. Sigh. This kid didn't resemble his father at all. Who did he take after?

Most singers had arrived yesterday; those missing would come today. So recording began now, starting with solo parts.

Though each sang only one line, Gu Jianfen required everyone to record the full song individually, then combine them into one final chorus from the audio clips.

And they had to film the recording—facial expressions mattered.

The Pacific recording studio had the best equipment and environment in mainland China. Manager Liao had invested heavily—the results spoke for themselves. Wei Anping, listening, felt deeply inspired.

One day wasn't enough. Tomorrow would be nearly done.

After afternoon wrap-up, Liu Xiaoqing, visiting Guangzhou for the first time, suggested: "Let's go out. My strongest impression of Guangzhou comes from Wei Ming's descriptions of Beiyuan Restaurant's cuisine. Let's have dinner there."

Originally meant as a girls' outing—no boys allowed.

But Xi Zi clung to Gong Ying, and Xi Zi and Le Le were inseparable. Wei Anping couldn't let his children out of sight, so he added himself and his two sons.

Liu Xiaoqing was good at organizing—she flagged a taxi and headed straight there.

But when they arrived and saw the prices, she froze. Wei Ming said these dishes were exquisite—but he never said they were this expensive!

Each dish cost over ten yuan—was this affordable for ordinary people?!

Seeing Liu Xiaoqing hesitate, Wei Anping—the highest-paid, most senior, and oldest worker present—said, "I'll treat everyone to this meal."

Liu Xiaoqing immediately took the opening, praising Wei Anping: "When I filmed with Brother Jiefang, he often said you were a celestial literary star descended to earth." They had once collaborated on *The Ox and Niu Er*.

Gong Ying and Zhu Lin said nothing; in their eyes, Wei Anping was an elder, and treating younger colleagues to a meal was perfectly reasonable.

Uncle Anping now owned one-third more of an old Western-style house and collected some rent each month, but even so, this meal cost him a third of his monthly salary—he'd feel the pinch.

But these dishes really were as described in Xiao Ming's essays—refined, incredibly refined!

During the meal, Liu Xiaoqing brought up her hotel roommate, Zhang Yu.

"I heard from Zhang Yu that Chen Chong has already arrived in the U. . and hasn't started school yet—she's washing dishes to earn her living expenses," Zhu Lin asked, "Really? She's so famous back home, and now she's washing dishes over there?"

"Even washing dishes, she's earning more than we are," Liu Xiaoqing fantasized. "She probably makes in a day what we make in a month. I get the feeling from Zhang Yu that she wants to go abroad too, but she doesn't speak English—she's always got a vocabulary book in her hands now."

Chen Chong had studied English at the Foreign Languages University; both her parents had overseas experience—her mother was currently in the U. . studying and working, at the very facility that was holding the man who shot at Reagan.

Gong Ying felt a little embarrassed—she hadn't been filming lately, but she too had been learning English, as Xiao Ming had urged her to, saying she should one day see the world.

As they ate, Liu Xiaoqing shifted from Chen Chong and Zhang Yu to Gong Ying and Zhu Lin.

"New faces replace the old—right now, you two are the hottest stars in the country. Zhu Lin, has any film studio approached you lately?"

Gong Ying answered for her: "Yes, quite a few. She's already signed on for two films with Changying Studio."

"Oh?" Liu Xiaoqing said, smirking. "Of course—the ones who know you best are your rivals!"

Learning Zhu Lin had two more film offers lined up, Liu Xiaoqing breathed easier—she probably wouldn't be competing for *The Empress Dowager*.

With Gong Ying and Zhu Lin—Wei Ming's closest friends—not participating, and with her own ties to Xiao Wei and Lao Wei, this role was hers.

Back at the hotel, Gong Ying's bed was dry—she would sleep alone tonight.

But as she studied English vocabulary, Zhu Lin crawled onto her bed: "Can you understand this?"

"I've marked it." Chinese annotations.

"He told you to learn it?"

Gong Ying hummed in agreement.

Zhu Lin laughed—he hadn't told her to learn. That little rascal probably planned to lure Xiao Xue overseas someday—then she'd be the only one left in China!

Satisfied with her mental victory, Zhu Lin reached idly for the bedside newspaper and began reading the local Guangzhou paper.

Guangzhou was truly different—so much talk of business, even coverage of Hong Kong—the atmosphere felt so open.

"Oh no!"

"What's wrong?" Gong Ying asked.

Zhu Lin: "The concert Xiao Wei organized—this news reported on it!"

"Let me see." Gong Ying immediately leaned over.

"August 8th, twenty-thousand-seat stadium—Wei Ming invites Hong Kong's top male and female singers to gather as one!"

As they read, someone knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" Zhu Lin guessed it was Liu Xiaoqing again.

"It's me, Zhang Yu. Have you seen Liu Xiaoqing?"

They opened the door to find Zhang Yu, stern-faced: "It's almost bedtime—I noticed Liu Xiaoqing hasn't come back yet."

Gong Ying said, "We had dinner together and came back, but before entering the hotel, she said she wanted to buy some southern fruit."

Zhang Yu pointed to her wrist: "It's already this late—could something have happened?"

Nothing had happened—half an hour later, Liu Xiaoqing slinked back in. As for why she was late, she told Gong Ying the next day.

"I say Chen Chong and Zhang Yu are fools—thinking they have to go abroad to make money. Yesterday, I wandered into this place—people drinking tea, drinking alcohol, singing. Do you know how much you get paid to sing a Cantonese pop song there?"

Gong Ying: "How much?"

Liu Xiaoqing held up one hand: "Five yuan! Per song! Just a few minutes!"

Her monthly salary was only fifty-some yuan. Last night, Liu Xiaoqing's worldview shattered—she realized how easy it was to make money in the south. Singing? She could do that too. She was a star, after all.

At that moment, Liu Xiaoqing planted the seed of sneaking out to perform for cash.

After finishing the recording work, Gong Ying and Zhu Lin prepared to return. They gazed toward Hong Kong—but even when they reached Shenzhen, they saw no one.

At this time, Wei Ming's concert lineup added several big names.

One was Hong Kong's highest-paid female singer, Xu Xiaofeng; TVB's "Big Sister" Wang Mingquan also announced her participation. This thrilled A Min—she adored Wang Mingquan.

Wang Mingquan would not only sing but also host, paired with the new-generation host and actress Zheng Yuling—who would later play A Min's mother.

Zheng Yuling's ancestral home was Zigong, Sichuan—a disaster area—so TVB pushed her forward.

Rediffusion sent Li Xiaotian to host—he could write songs and was also an excellent host.

This gala was jointly broadcast by the two major TV stations, and Wei Ming had worked hard to make it happen.

Uncle Shao had finally agreed to broadcast—but demanded exclusive rights.

Later, Wei Ming gave up the broadcast fee, securing cooperation between the two stations—but insisted Uncle Shao attend in person. He agreed.

As long as he showed up, Wei Ming had also formally invited numerous Hong Kong tycoons—through the Xinhua News Agency's Hong Kong branch.

Room 77, Broadcast Road, Kowloon Tong.

"?"

If Uncle Shao was stingy, at least he had vision. Fang Yihua was even worse—and she saved money in every tiny detail, having learned the art well.

Uncle Shao waved his hand: "If the stage effects are truly impressive, I'll donate a little. But if you think you're going to lecture me on politics, sorry—not a single cent."

Hearing this, Fang Yihua relaxed—she'd feared the old man might get sentimental.

Uncle Shao added: "The top priority now is the broadcast on the 29th—absolutely no mistakes."

"I understand."

July 29th was the day Prince Charles and Diana married. As a colony, Hong Kong's two TV stations would broadcast the royal wedding simultaneously.

Not just Hong Kong—other Commonwealth nations like Canada, Australia, India, South Africa, New Zealand, and Malaysia would also broadcast the event on their national networks.

Even the United States, long independent from Britain, had many interested viewers.

European powers like Germany, Italy, and France would surely tune in to see what this legendary princess looked like.

So Prince Charles's wedding was a global celebration—even if global viewership didn't reach a billion, it was certainly 700 to 800 million.

On July 29th, after finishing concert duties, Wei Ming arrived at Kuangren Comics before dark. A Long and A Ying were both there.

After these days in Hong Kong, A Ying had gradually adapted to life here and broadened her horizons—no wonder everyone wanted to leave. Here, goods were abundant; with money, you could buy anything, no ration tickets needed.

The language barrier remained, but luckily, the shops downstairs in their rented building had migrants from Shanghai who spoke Shanghainese—enough to get by.

"Have you written to your sister yet?" Wei Ming asked.

"Yes—I sent letters to home and Beijing, letting them know I'm safe."

Wei Ming: "Knowing you're doing well, they'll rest easy."

"It's good," Gong Ying said, "but I'm too idle. I want to work."

A Long held his girlfriend's hand: "I told her to learn Cantonese first before working, but she can't sit still—you're making her anxious again."

Wei Ming smiled: "I can introduce you to Miss Xia Meng's clothing factory. But you won't start as a designer."

"No problem—even female workers here earn well," Gong Ying said happily.

"Alright, then tomorrow. I'm going to Qingniao tomorrow—I'll ask for you."

"Teacher Wei, come watch TV—everyone's watching the Crown Prince's wedding!" Ma Rongcheng entered.

"Oh, it's started already?"

It was quitting time, but no one wanted to leave.

First, they wanted to draw more—Kuangren Comics paid piecework, so each drawing earned money, motivating the staff.

Second, most of these kids came from poor families; many belonged to the 20% without TVs at home—here, they could watch TV for free.

The TV showed TVB—technically a broadcast, but with minimal delay. At least a hundred million TVs worldwide were watching this moment.

On screen, the streets were packed with cheering crowds; in the center, a lavishly decorated carriage, flanked by knights on tall horses.

The carriage had no windows—you could see the bride, veiled, and the solemn prince. Several colleagues from the mainland watched most intently—royal weddings like this had vanished from China for decades. Rare—truly rare.

Niu Lao chuckled: "You know what? The princess really is beautiful."

The veil was thin—it couldn't hide Diana's youthful, radiant face.

Wei Ming nodded. A Long dared not comment.

"That wedding dress is so long, so beautiful!" Gong Ying exclaimed, even imagining designing her own wedding gown someday.

A Long's classmate had just wanted to say it looked like wearing sackcloth and ashes—he quickly swallowed the words.

He asked: "Is this the Louvre?"

Teacher Chen Qing said: "The Louvre is in France. This must be Buckingham Palace."

Wei Ming corrected: "The wedding isn't in the palace—it's in a church."

This was St. Paul's Cathedral in London—Wei Ming had visited recently. Baroque style, the second-largest church in England.

As they entered, instruments began playing. Wei Ming wondered when his song would come on, while scanning the video for Melinda—she'd called back, saying she'd attend the wedding of the century.

Wei Ming carefully studied the two maids holding Diana's train—she wasn't there.

But he spotted Camilla, fleeting in the crowd—hey, that woman.

"Why's the camera always on that old lady in blue?" asked a colleague from Shanghai Film Studio.

Huang Guoxing laughed: "Brother Wei, that's the Queen of England."

"Oh, her?" The mainlanders' tone held no forced reverence.

"Then who's the old man holding the princess's arm?"

Li Zhiqing said: "Definitely the princess's father."

Along the long red carpet, the Earl of Spencer held his daughter's hand, expression resolute—then Wei Ming heard the familiar opening melody.

At Zhou Hui's home, there were now only she, her mother, and Old Ghost.

Amin called Ghost Uncle over to watch TV and enjoy the spectacle, but Ming was nowhere to be found—otherwise it would have been even livelier.

When she saw the segment where her father walked his daughter down the red carpet, Amin let out a soft sigh; even if she married someday, she would never have her father walking beside her—what a pity.

The music shifted now; the previous part had been classical chanting, but this section felt like pop music—the intro evoked a sense of holiness, tinged with a faint sadness.

Then came a familiar female voice singing, "who can say / where the road goes / where the day flows / only time…"

The song was now named: "Only Time"—Only Time…

(7, 00-word chapter, full of sincerity—please support with monthly votes! Old Buddha is feeling drained, unsure when the next chapter will come—don't wait!)

(End of chapter)