Chapter 326: Wei Ming Wins Glory in One Battle, Mr. Why Becomes an International Sensation!

What a beautiful song—it carries a sacred, otherworldly quality, perfect for a wedding.

At this moment, girls across Hong Kong, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, even the United States, Japan, and Korea—girls like Zhou Hui who dream of fairy-tale princes and princesses—blushed with pink fantasies and softly sang along.

But Amin also detected a faint sorrow in the melody and lyrics.

That line: "why your heart sighs / as your love flies / only time."

And this one: "why your heart cries / when your love lies / only time."

The lyrics didn't seem to overflow with pure happiness.

Wei Ming stared at the beautiful face behind the veil on screen—indeed, this song, "Only Time," composed by Irish singer Enya and her sister after experiencing life and death, was often used at weddings, but it wasn't about love.

So Wei Ming, for extra insurance, wrote another wedding ballad perfectly suited to the occasion—but what truly moved Diana was this less conventional song.

Just as the song says, love may vanish, fate may be capricious, but only time endures—it heals wounds, restores normalcy, and grants answers.

It carried a faint sorrow, yet possessed a unique charm that transformed sorrow into strength.

Princess Diana was captivated by this song's distinctive, stubborn spirit; as she walked the aisle and saw Camilla beside her—her husband's mistress—she felt even more certain her choice and persistence were right.

Listening to the song, she told herself: Let time speak—we'll see. I won't yield to you.

Camilla Rosemary Shand was no ordinary aristocrat; she had once carried on an affair with Charles while still dating another man, later married that man, bore him children, and even had her son name Charles as godfather.

They remained entangled even after Charles married Diana; he continued to maintain close ties with this woman, whose beauty and character were inferior to Diana's.

Shortly before the wedding, Diana discovered Charles had carefully selected an expensive bracelet for Camilla, engraved with their initials—her composure nearly shattered then.

Charles claimed it was a breakup gift, yet today Diana saw that these two still talked on the phone daily after their "breakup."

At the ceremony, Camilla, among the guests, looked more like she was showing off; Diana didn't catch it clearly, but Camilla's wrist likely wore that bracelet.

"Ah~" Wei Ming exclaimed in front of the TV.

The cartoonists immediately asked: "What's wrong, Teacher Wei?"

Ah Long adjusted his glasses: "Ah Ming just saw his ex-girlfriend."

That fiery red hair was unmistakable—so vividly red, rare even overseas.

The ex-girlfriend? That British exchange student? Gong Ying wanted to take another look, but it was gone in a flash—the camera had already cut to Thatcher.

The mainland visitors had all read reports about Wei Ming and knew he'd dated a foreign girlfriend; the Hong Kongers were stunned.

Ma Rongcheng exclaimed: "Teacher Wei, your ex-girlfriend must be nobility—how could she be invited to a British prince's wedding?"

But Wei Ming calmly replied: "She's not nobility. She was standing in for me."

"Standing in for you?!" The young men were even more astonished—did Teacher Wei have ties to the British royal family?

Then Ah Long said: "This song was written by Ah Ming, so they invited him to attend the ceremony."

The songwriter and the two wedding dress designers were both invited.

"What?!" Both the Hong Kong group and the mainland visitors turned sharply to Wei Ming—this beautiful, sacred English song was written by you?

This is insane!

It wasn't just the song's quality—it was being chosen for such a monumental occasion; that was unimaginable, even the mainlanders found it unbelievable.

Princess Diana walked the aisle for over three minutes; when she and her father reached Archbishop Robert Runcie, her father placed her hand in Charles's, and the chorus "who knows—only time / who knows—only time" faded softly.

The song ended, its echo lingering.

The background music shifted to a choir's chant, as if transitioning from a modern, individualistic world back to medieval tradition.

Princess Diana's bold choice stunned global audiences—unforgettable, clearly a new song, no one knew its title, singer, or composer—but they remembered its melody.

Even the young princes and princesses behind the Queen whispered among themselves, saying how lovely the song was and promising to ask the bride for a copy.

Queen Elizabeth II frowned slightly, thinking how unseemly—why choose such an untraditional song? Now it had stolen the spotlight.

Sitting in the audience, Melinda heard people behind her discussing the song; she turned and gasped, covering her mouth—was that Princess Grace Kelly of Monaco?

A stunning beauty!

In her youth, she starred in Hollywood, collaborated with Hitchcock on several classics, and won an Oscar.

Though now fifty-two, she remained elegant and beautiful.

The gregarious Melinda struck up a conversation with her, telling her the song was called "Only Time," composed specially for the wedding by a renowned musician and writer, performed by Sarah Brightman.

Grace Kelly had never heard the name before, but she knew Sarah Brightman well.

"The Sarah Brightman who sang 'Moonlight Shadow'? That song dedicated to John Lennon?"

"Yes—and she wrote that one too," Melinda kept promoting.

At that moment, the archbishop spoke, the couple listened; when the ceremony ended, a middle-aged East Asian man beside Melinda asked:

"You mean the Wei Ming from China?"

Melinda replied in Chinese: "Are you China's ambassador?"

He was delighted—finding a foreigner speaking fluent Mandarin in Britain was rare.

From his expression, Melinda knew she was right: "That's him. China has produced a genius unmatched in history—truly a national treasure."

The ambassador's mouth opened slightly, stunned, then he asked: "Are you Wei Ming's former international student girlfriend?"

Now it was Melinda's turn to gape; she scratched her head, utterly embarrassed.

The ambassador smiled faintly—he'd read domestic news. Though the girl exaggerated a bit, if true, this was perfect material to publicize back home!

After over an hour, the wedding ceremony ended; Wei Ming waited for his second song, "I Do," by the British band 911—less popular, but perfect for proposals or weddings.

But he didn't hear it—it must be part of the post-wedding performance at Buckingham Palace.

Then the prince and princess emerged from the church; the princess removed her veil, sat in the open carriage, and waved cheerfully to the crowds and cameras.

Elegant, beautiful, confident—this princess had restored much of the British royal family's tarnished reputation.

From tomorrow, her image would appear on most English-language newspapers worldwide, becoming a symbol of an era.

And when people spoke of this young imperial princess, perhaps someone would recall the soul-striking song she walked down the aisle to.

What was the name of that song?

Watching the wedding end, Zhou Hui Min, feeling wistful, began wondering.

The phone rang at home; she answered it herself and learned—the song was called "Only Time."

After watching the wedding broadcast, Wei Ming urged his staff to rest early, then went to his office and called Zhou Hui Min's home.

He told her: "I'll send you the sheet music for 'Only Time' tomorrow, but I think it might be too difficult for you."

Zhou Hui Min blinked, paused, then burst into a delighted scream: "You wrote it?!"

Wei Ming's lips curled into a Nike-style smirk.

But Zhou Ma, eavesdropping, was uneasy—her daughter's lips were practically pouting.

Meanwhile, at PolyGram's London headquarters, several executives watched the prince's wedding live.

PolyGram was the king of classical music; several pieces in the wedding were under their copyright, yet after watching the entire ceremony, all executives shared the same thought.

"We must sign that walkway song!"

"Find out who sang it!"

"Don't let EMI get it first!"

PolyGram, founded in 1972, was formed by the merger of Germany's Polydor (under Siemens) and the Netherlands' Phonogram (under Philips).

This German-Dutch joint venture headquartered in London, with Asian operations centered in Hong Kong—now the strongest record company in Hong Kong, home to Deng Lijun and Tan Yonglin.

EMI had a longer history and was British-born, formed in 1931 by the merger of the British Gramophone Company and Columbia Records UK.

Both PolyGram and EMI had headquarters in London, fiercely competing yet jointly driving the cassette standard.

EMI's president also recognized the immense commercial value of the song and its creator, immediately dispatching staff to track down the composer—no way it could fall into PolyGram's hands.

But MCA (Universal) in the U. . smiled quietly—they swiftly transferred the third payment to the artist; Sarah Brightman was already signed, the song now belonged to MCA, and they were preparing to promote it.

Under the gaze of 800 million viewers worldwide, the song made a stunning debut—"Only Time" would surely surpass "Moonlight Shadow" in commercial value.

Two consecutive hits of top-tier quality—they needed to reassess their relationship with him; such talent must be held onto!

Currently, Wei Ming's novels and music were all managed internationally by DreamWorks; these two new songs were also contracted through DreamWorks with MCA.

But to contact DreamWorks, you had to call a desk at Macmillan Publishers.

Of course, the line was busy—Melinda wasn't working today; she'd just attended the wedding and made a transoceanic call to Wei Ming, who had now returned to his hotel. He heard many guests, including Princess Grace and China's ambassador, discussing the song.

Wei Ming smiled: "Now you can invite Sarah to Hong Kong."

"Only Time" also suited grand tragedies—after 9/11, it was often used to mourn the dead, and it would add international prestige to this concert.

"Yes, Sarah should be performing at Buckingham Palace now. I'll ask her tomorrow—smart people know what to do."

Wei Ming wrote two songs and made her world-famous—who would dare offend such a top-tier musician?

If not for Melinda's connection to Wei Ming, Sarah might have pursued him herself; compared to the young, handsome, and gifted Wei Ming, her other mentor Webber was just gifted.

The next day, Wei Ming drove to Zhou Hui Min's place, handed her the sheet music for "Only Time," and teased: "If Sarah Brightman comes to Hong Kong to sing this, would you sing with her?"

Amin shook her head like a rattle: "Just say it outright if you want me to embarrass myself."

She knew her limits—Sarah was a singer aiming to be a musician; she was still just an amateur.

Though she'd studied with Teacher Dai for a month and improved greatly, she could only handle light, girlish songs—singing "Only Time" without touching souls was just whining.

Wei Ming patted Amin's head: "Practice first—I'm going to Qing Niao."

Xia Meng's Qing Niao had received Hong Kong box office shares and overseas rights for "Heroes Born in Youth"; besides Japan, it had sold to several Southeast Asian markets and now had two films in production.

But "Farewell China," directed by Ann Hui, was still in script revisions and hadn't yet gone to Hainan to shoot—thankfully, this allowed Wei Ming to invite Lin Zixiang, a powerhouse vocalist, to the concert.

The other film, "Seven Days' Mistake," was directed by Tan Jiaming, a representative of the New Wave, known for "Killing" starring Lin Qingxia and Qin Xianglin.

Tan Jiaming discovered a young girl named Ye Tong, only eighteen, but brimming with talent and presence.

But the male lead hadn't been cast yet.

Wei Ming entered and first praised "Heroes Born in Youth" to Xia Meng: "It's wildly popular on the mainland."

"I estimate over a hundred million people have seen this film."

Xia Meng had also read left-wing newspapers and knew that mainland audiences' enthusiasm for films surpassed that of Hong Kong's.

She said, "After finishing these two films, we could consider another co-production, but neither has started shooting yet."

She then explained the current problem she was facing; Director Xu was meticulous, and Wei Ming couldn't interfere, but the male lead, Wei Ming, had ideas.

"What do you think of Sammi Cheng? I just wrote him a new song—it feels perfect for 'Mistakenly Married for Seven Days.'"

Over the past few years, Sammi Cheng had mostly developed in Taiwan, collaborating with Lin Fengjiao on 'A Small Town Story' and 'Good Morning, Taipei,' and with Lu Xiuling on 'Parting and Reunion' and 'Dress of Dreams.'

He always worked with Qiong girls, carving out a romantic leading man image.

Xia Meng thought for a moment; his image suited the role: "But would he be willing to return to Hong Kong to act?"

Wei Ming smiled: "He's currently preparing his second Cantonese album—he's likely fully returning to Hong Kong. I'll speak to him; it won't be a problem."

After all, the song he wrote for him was his most important career milestone—even Ah Lun and Rong Shao felt envious upon hearing it; after singing it, Sammi Cheng knew he'd secured his place in Hong Kong's music scene.

Wei Ming helped Aunt Xia Meng solve her problem, then raised his own.

"It's just a job, no problem—let her come over," Xia Meng agreed readily.

Originally, her and her husband's clothing factory had been barely surviving, but after Biaozi ran an ad campaign, it showed signs of revival—men's wear was selling extremely well, and they needed more staff.

Then she contacted Zhang Yaorong to inspect the Hong Kong Stadium; there was still over a week left, and a team was still using the venue—they could only begin setting up on August 4.

Uncle Yao had experience, but Wei Ming had far more post-era experience—he often took his girlfriends to concerts, especially Leon Lai's, because Leon held the most.

So Wei Ming offered some feasible suggestions that greatly inspired Zhang Yaorong; indeed, a genius was a genius—he could apply insights across domains, his mind was simply too sharp.

The two discussed stage designs the entire afternoon; Wei Ming was as energetic as a spinning top, and before dark, he rushed over to Maniac Comics again.

One, to tell Ying the job news; two, to discuss with Long a collaboration between 'Maniac Comics' and 'The Fairy Tale King,' since last time he'd been too absorbed in watching TV.

"I plan to place this kind of comic—blending science education with cute pets—on the mainland."

In 'Maniac Comics,' such comics serve only as light relief, but they'd be novel to mainland children.

If 'The Fairy Tale King' contained only text, it would feel dull; children naturally love comics.

Long had no objections: "Then what about the payment?"

Wei Ming smiled: "They can only pay in RMB."

"That's fine—we can use it to subsidize the colleagues on the mainland. But my two classmates have only been here half a month and now don't want to leave—they've become obsessed with sock tea."

Are you sure it's sock tea and not socks?

Wei Ming laughed harder: "Capitalism is too corrupting—so we must focus on economic development. Once everyone has enough to eat and drink, and can casually watch TV, they won't look up to the outside world."

Later, Wei Ming inquired about the progress of several works in 'Maniac Comics.'

One month remained before 'Maniac Comics' relaunched; it was tentatively scheduled as a biweekly, with the ultimate goal of becoming a weekly, modeling itself after 'Weekly Shonen Jump,' aiming to become the Huangpu Military Academy of Chinese comics centered in Hong Kong and radiating across Asia.

Wei Ming checked: 'Feng Yun' had already drawn two chapters, but it wouldn't appear in the first issue—they'd hold back more drafts, since Ma Rongcheng was taking the lead for the first time and working slowly.

'Qin Shi Ming Yue' could already support seven or eight issues and was the most beautifully rendered.

'Li Wang' and 'Happy Ghost' had each drawn four or five chapters and would be the main features of the first issue alongside 'Qin Shi Ming Yue.'

There were also various short stories—enough to fill one issue. Wei Ming demanded that three full issues be ready before the official launch, ensuring the magazine wouldn't halt even if all main artists vanished for a month.

"Alright, you should get some rest," Wei Ming said, turning to leave—then he remembered something. "You rented a two-bedroom apartment, right? How do you sleep?"

Long answered honestly: "My parents have one room, Ying has one, and I sleep on the sofa."

Wei Ming patted his shoulder: "Brother, keep it up."

Long solemnly replied: "I'll draw well—I'll do short stories too, besides 'Qin Shi Ming Yue.'"

Wei Ming: You still don't get it.

Driving back to the hotel, Wei Ming saw someone waiting at the entrance—Song Duanyu from Xinhua News Agency, with his colleague Zhao Liuyi beside him.

"Teacher Song, Teacher Zhao, why are you here so late?"

Song Duanyu asked: "Teacher Wei, we received a cable from overseas and need to verify something with you."

"What's it about?"

The middle-aged Zhao Liuyi said: "Teacher Wei, we want to confirm: Was the song 'Only Time' played at Prince Charles's wedding written by you?"

Wei Ming: "Yes."

The two exchanged a delighted glance, then had nothing more to say—they could publish the news tomorrow declaring Teacher Wei as the composer.

Watching them leave, Wei Ming entered the hotel lobby—only to find someone else still waiting.

"Auntie Wei, what's wrong? Did the Transformers development hit a snag?"

Wei Lingling said: "It's not that easy, but that's not it. I want to ask—do you have VIP seats for the concert? I'd like to attend."

"Of course, but those VIP seats are reserved for Hong Kong's big families—you…"

"Don't worry—I'll donate too. Several hundred thousand is no problem."

"When did you get so rich!?" Wei Ming was stunned.

"It's not my money—it's Grandpa's gesture of goodwill toward the motherland."

Wei Ming "oh"ed—he'd heard that Taiwan's grandpa knew about his recent Hong Kong activities, and yesterday he'd even heard Wei Ming's new song at home.

The old man was deeply pleased: the Wei family truly produced talent—none of them were dead weight.

But Wei Muchun knew Hong Kong's tycoons, except a few noble exceptions, were pure businessmen—even charity was profit-driven; he feared his nephew's concert might flop, so he specifically allocated funds for Wei Lingling to support it, as his own small gesture toward the people of Sichuan.

"Also, will you invite any Taiwanese singers to the concert?"

"Huh?" Wei Ming paused. "Which Taiwanese singer's got the guts?"

"Just say yes or no."

"Of course—I'm inviting the British too. Taiwan is an inseparable part of China—I welcome them with open arms!"

…

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(End of Chapter)