Chapter 333: Wei Ming Reaches Heaven, the Iron Warrant of the Dan Book

Zhou Huimin realized that Ah Ming had changed the route—this wasn't the way home, nor the route to kindergarten!

As a girl just coming of age, she couldn't help feeling excited, nervous, hopeful, and a tiny bit afraid—but then she thought of that small square chip and felt it should be safe; after all, it was a big-name brand.

The car passed through the underwater tunnel and arrived in Kowloon; the two of them said nothing along the way.

But when she saw the hotel before them, Zhou Huimin froze—this didn't seem right.

Wei Ming: "You've never stayed in a hotel before, and it's really late now—let's just spend one night here."

Before them stood one of Hong Kong's most famous luxury hotels: the Peninsula Hotel, owned by the Kadoorie family.

Under the gossiping glances of the front desk staff, Wei Ming led the girl upstairs; their room was on the same floor as Melinda's, a premium suite.

Just a single room—Ah Min felt it was larger than her entire home.

Wei Ming said: "Call home first to let them know you're safe, get some rest, and if you have any problems, go to Room 330 and find Melinda."

"What about you?"

Wei Ming: "I'm going back to my own hotel."

"But it's so late~" Ah Min muttered, head bowed.

Wei Ming: "So I'll just crash in Melinda's room for the night?"

"No way!"

Wei Ming laughed and poked her head: "Don't go imagining things at your age—I'll just pop over to Melinda's, say a word, and leave."

After he left, Zhou Huimin, uneasy, peered through the door crack at the hallway.

She saw Wei Ming knock on Melinda's door—but didn't go in.

"You're finally here? I was about to fall asleep," Melinda yawned, wearing a robe, eyes half-closed, radiating allure.

Wei Ming stood at the doorway: "It's too late—I won't come in. I have to visit Xinhua News Agency tomorrow."

"Is it because of that little girl?" Melinda smiled. "Ah Min?"

Wei Ming pinched her chin: "To keep my energy up, I'll treat you properly tonight—no holding back."

Today had truly been exhausting—he'd stood nearly all day, his mind tense the entire time.

"Alright," Melinda opened her arms and asked for a hug.

Wei Ming: "Ah Min is staying in Room 315. Since it's so late, she didn't go home—if she has any questions, help her out."

Melinda froze—what did he mean by leaving her beside me?

"Tomorrow, the Governor is inviting me and Sarah over—and he wants us to bring you too," Melinda remembered.

Wei Ming: "If I'm free in the afternoon."

"Then afternoon it is."

Seeing Ah Ming leave Melinda's door and head for the elevator, Ah Min smiled and closed her door, then called home.

"Hello, is this Ah Min? Why aren't you back yet?" Zhou's mother asked anxiously—she clearly hadn't slept.

Zhou Huimin: "Mom, I'm not coming home tonight—it's too late. I'm staying at a hotel."

"What? A hotel? Where's Ah Ming?" Zhou's mother's face hardened. "Get him on the phone."

Zhou Huimin knew her mother had misunderstood. "Ah Ming dropped me off at the hotel and left—he booked me into the Peninsula Hotel as a reward, but he's not staying here."

"Really?" Zhou's mother still wasn't convinced.

Zhou Huimin looked out the window: "Ah Ming has already driven off. His hotel is about ten minutes away—I can give you the hotel's name and number. You can call in twenty minutes to check."

Hearing her daughter say this, Zhou's mother huffed: "Come home early tomorrow."

"Got it, Mom. The room is huge, and the bed is so soft—I'll make sure you stay in a place like this someday," Ah Min said.

Zhou's mother was slightly moved but retorted: "I'm the one who'll get you into a place like this—my new Fast Food Palace is opening soon. Just wait to become your fast-food princess."

After hanging up, Zhou Huimin stared curiously around the room—the bathroom was this big? And there was a bathtub!

But she was utterly exhausted; she took a quick shower and went straight to bed.

This was her first time sleeping on such a large bed—over two meters wide. She rolled over several times and still didn't fall off; it could easily fit three people, barely four.

Wei Ming didn't even shower. On the drive back, he was distracted; once in his room, he barely had time to kick off his shoes before collapsing into sleep.

It wasn't just today—over the past several days, he'd stayed up late composing music, or discussing arrangements and performances with Li Xiaotian and others. For the past week, he'd slept only four or five hours a night.

Starting today, he could finally sleep a full night.

He didn't know how long he'd slept, but when Wei Ming woke the next morning and glanced at his watch, he froze—oh no!

This wasn't Melinda's watch—it was the Japanese digital watch Lin Jie had given him!

Too busy to notice the details.

Wei Ming took off the watch—it was already past eight. He really was a hard worker—he'd only slept at two a. . and still hadn't overslept until noon.

He couldn't fall back asleep. He got up, turned on the TV, and just caught ATV's replay of yesterday's charity concert.

Switched to TVB—there it was too, replaying; they were just singing "Only by Striving Will We Win."

This concert would leave a deep impression on Hong Kong's people for a while.

Last night, Shaw Yat-fu had invited Wei Ming to record a TVB program, but Wei Ming politely declined—he planned to return to Yanjing tomorrow. The album's production and distribution would be handled by professionals; he wanted to enjoy his dwindling vacation.

After school resumed in September, he truly intended to work seriously and focus on creation.

Downstairs, the front desk girl immediately said: "Mr. Wei, someone's here to see you."

When he checked in, she'd been cold toward him—but now her eyes sparkled as if emitting electricity.

Two foreigners immediately stood up in the lobby—one tall, one short; the shorter one held a camera.

"Hello, I'm Clark Parker from the BBC, and this is my colleague Peter Kent," said the tall one in Cantonese—he clearly knew Hong Kong well.

Wei Ming shook their hands.

Clark said: "Last night's charity concert was truly unprecedented—even internationally rare. My colleague and I watched the entire thing, but we weren't invited by the organizers."

"Oh dear, our organizers were terribly negligent," Wei Ming said, feigning regret.

"No problem—we heard it clearly on TV, and we can buy the album. We'll support it," Clark added. "Can we interview you? We want to tell British audiences about this, and also build hype for 'The Legend of the Heavenly Book.'"

Wei Ming had a collaboration with the BBC on 'The Legend of the Heavenly Book'—this Clark must have been instructed by London. Wei Ming gladly agreed.

"But I need to visit the Xinhua branch office—time is limited," Wei Ming glanced at his watch.

"Then let's talk on the way. Peter, you drive."

Peter drove; Wei Ming and Clark sat in the back and conducted the interview, covering the creation of "Only Time," the Sichuan flood situation, and the motivation and preparation behind the charity concert.

"The economic loss from the Sichuan flood reached 200 million RMB. This donation from Hong Kong citizens can ease the immediate suffering of the victims, and I also urge international humanitarian organizations to lend aid to China," Wei Ming concluded.

In most cases, donations can't fully cover disaster losses—but every bit helps.

Getting out of the car, Wei Ming walked into the branch compound. He didn't even need to show ID—after last night's broadcast, few in Hong Kong didn't know him. The two young guards on duty had watched the live stream and admired him deeply.

Inside, Director Wang first introduced Wei Ming to several heads of major state-owned enterprises in Hong Kong—each of high rank, even Ah Ping's level of authority had to bow and shake hands with them.

Wei Ming remained composed, neither humble nor arrogant, maintaining the dignity of an artist—he'd never pursue a political career in his life.

Once you enter that system, no matter how talented or influential you are, how brilliant your books, if you're a section chief, you bow before your division chief; if you're a division chief, you smile before your bureau chief; they can label you insane and you become insane—no fun at all.

But China is officialdom-centered. Without climbing the bureaucratic ladder, international influence becomes your best shield—like Cheng Long at his peak, a national icon.

Wei Ming could do the same—start with the Times and the BBC.

After meeting these potential contacts, Director Wang told him the results of last night's concert.

"Including donations from tycoons, ordinary spectators, and ticket sales—we raised 145 million Hong Kong dollars. Xiao Wei, you've done a great deed!"

…

"How much? What did you say?!"

In Beijing, at the Hong Kong Office, Lao Liao received news in the morning about yesterday's charity concert.

"145 million Hong Kong dollars! Nearly 50 million RMB—and that doesn't include future album profits, which are also part of the donations!" the secretary was also excited.

"Good, good, good!" Lao Gong said three times. This result far exceeded his expectations—it meant what? That across the strait, we are one family; decades of separation hadn't driven Hong Kong compatriots away from the mainland.

Of course, Xiao Wei's contribution was indispensable—he proposed the idea, invited the singers, and wrote the songs.

"Do you have a detailed list of donors?" Lao Liao asked.

"Yes," the secretary handed over a fax: Guo He Nian, Ho Ying Dong, Li Jiacheng—all names Lao Liao knew well.

The list was even more detailed—it recorded even Cheng Long's expensive watch. Lao Liao said: "That person has always cared about the disaster in his hometown—I'll report this immediately."

Just as he was about to leave, he added: "Do you have a video recording of the concert?"

The secretary replied: "Yes—it's scheduled to arrive with this morning's flight, but hasn't arrived yet."

Lao Gong sat back down: "Then wait. I'll take the tape with me when I go."

Then Lao Gong pressed the recorder on his desk—the Mandarin ensemble version of "Tomorrow Will Be Better" began to play. This time, "Gently wake the sleeping soul, slowly open your eyes~" was sung by Le Le the child.

This cassette was titled "Tomorrow Will Be Better." Besides the title track, it included representative songs by several participating singers, like "Fragrant Memories," "On the Field of Hope," and "Young Friends Meet Again"—a true best-of compilation.

Lao Gong received the cassette immediately. Zhu Lin, Gong Ying, and other performers also received theirs in recent days, and nationwide sales began today.

At Zhu Lin's home in Tuanjiehu, she and Gong Ying did yoga while listening.

Gong Ying was fully absorbed, but Zhu Lin felt this was unseemly—her thoughts drifted to that brat in Hong Kong.

After completing a full cycle of qi circulation, Gong Ying frowned at Zhu Lin: "You wanted to learn yoga, yet you're not focused. Fine, I won't come tomorrow."

"Don't go! I'm leaving soon—he won't come back. Won't you keep me company?"

"Already leaving so soon?"

"Yes, Changying Studio has been pressing me—they're starting filming by month's end. I need to go read scripts with the other actors," Zhu Lin sighed. "I don't know if I'll get to see him before I go."

Gong Ying: "Don't worry—if he doesn't come, tell him to go to Northeast China to see you. You can always write him love letters."

"Oh? So Little Xue, you're an expert at this?" Zhu Lin laughed.

"I'm not! I'm just giving advice," Gong Ying lowered her head. She felt strange—advising her boyfriend to visit another woman. We're rivals, after all!

She'd almost forgotten her three-year pact with Zhu Lin.

At this point, "Tomorrow Will Be Better" had finished playing; Zhu Lin turned off the cassette player: "How about we go watch a movie?"

"Are we watching 'Heroes Among the Young' again?" Gong Ying begged, "Even if it's good, we can't keep watching it like this."

During the days when Wei Ming and his sister were away, Gong Ying had already accompanied Zhu Lin to see it three times—the last time was the day before yesterday—and it was still packed every screening.

Zhu Lin: "Not that one. Hasn't Liu Xiaoqing's 'The Mysterious Buddha' just been released? Let's go see that."

"Oh, that's fine, wait a moment," Gong Ying glanced out the window, "The sun is too harsh—I'll put on some sunscreen."

Zhu Lin: "Oh no, I only have a tiny bit of sunscreen left—use it sparingly!"

Gong Ying pulled out a bottle of cosmetics, its label written in English; both of them now used foreign cosmetics, all bought by Wei Ming with foreign exchange coupons from Friendship Store—items even mainland stars had never seen.

Liu Xiaoqing found it strange: her face and arms had darkened a shade since summer, yet Gong Ying and Zhu Lin remained fair-skinned, and she'd never seen them carry umbrellas outdoors.

What puzzled Liu Xiaoqing even more was why Wei Ming hadn't returned yet—she was still waiting to discuss her research and views on the Empress Dowager Cixi role with him.

Too eager, she had even visited Wei Jiefang, but Old Wei said his son had been sent to Hong Kong on official business, without specifying what it was.

Earlier, Liu Xiaoqing had read in the newspaper that Wei Ming had written a song for the British Prince's wedding, and that the British Princess was deeply grateful—he was said to have become wildly popular overseas.

Could Teacher Wei have gone abroad? Could he be like Chen Chong and not plan to return?

The mainland public didn't yet know what Wei Ming was doing in Hong Kong, and reports about the charity concert hadn't surfaced yet—but in Shenzhen and other Pearl River Delta areas, the news had already spread.

Because this region was extremely close to Hong Kong, people could pick up ATV and TVB broadcasts by setting up fishbone antennas, even if the signal was poor, it was better than nothing.

"Did you watch TVB yesterday?"

"No, the signal was bad yesterday."

"Oh no, how could you miss it? What a shame!"

"What show was it? Was it the Miss Hong Kong pageant?"

"Far better than Miss Hong Kong in swimsuits—it was the 'Tomorrow Will Be Better' charity concert. If you didn't hear it, it's the greatest regret of your life!"

At that moment, a third person joined in: "I didn't watch it yesterday either, but I caught the replay today—three parts fate, seven parts hard work."

Chorus: "Only by striving can you win."

These two who had seen the concert began trading lines like secret code, singing back and forth.

Though they'd only watched it once and couldn't sing every song, they could hum at least a few lines of each song's climax.

As for the one who hadn't seen the concert, he immediately went home and told his uncle, who dealt in smuggled tapes, about it.

The two reached a conclusion: "If we could get a batch of tapes from this concert, they'd sell like crazy!"

At this moment, Wei Ming, Melinda, and Sarah were guests at the Governor's House—he'd never been there before.

During his past visit to Hong Kong as a tourist, he'd passed by it; back then it was called Government House, but since it wasn't open to the public, he hadn't gotten to see inside—it was a 130-year-old complex of gray-roofed, white-walled buildings.

At this dinner, everyone mainly talked about music and literature, avoiding politics—which suited Wei Ming perfectly.

Naturally, they discussed music like "Moonlight Shadow" and "Only Time," and literature inevitably turned to "The Lion King," which carried the legacy of Shakespeare.

This children's work was highly praised in British literary circles; its theory of "the cycle of life" made it appealing not just to children but to adults as well.

Wei Ming had brought a copy of the English picture-book version of "The Lion King" as a gift, personally signed by himself.

Upon hearing that "The Lion King" was to be adapted into a musical by Webber, the MacLehoses were eagerly looking forward to it and said they'd bring their grandson to see it.

Wei Ming and his two guests had afternoon tea at the Governor's House; when they stepped out, it wasn't yet dark, so he treated them to some Chinese cuisine and a horse race, then saw them back to the Peninsula Hotel after nightfall.

As for Zhou Huimin, early that morning, Zhou Ma had taken a taxi to pick her up, whole and unharmed.

That evening, as Wei Ming and Melinda experienced earthly bliss in their hotel room.

In Beijing, Liao Gong hurried out from some office under starlight and moonlight, clutching a piece of calligraphy.

It was a gift from someone to the young Wei Ming; even Liao Gong hadn't expected the boy to receive such an honor and praise.

Liao Gong planned to have it mounted and give it to him when Xiao Wei returned.

The next day, Wei Ming prepared to depart.

First, he went to the Holiland store to say goodbye to Old Ghost.

He'd been there for over half a month, but due to official duties, he hadn't had time to properly spend time with the old man—it was truly a conflict between duty and filial piety.

Old Ghost: "Don't give me that nonsense. How could you take Ah Min to the hotel?"

Wei Ming: "She said she wanted to stay at a hotel, so I let her experience it—I didn't stay with her."

"Good thing you didn't stay together—if you had, her mother would've fought you to the death. Even if you had any ideas, you should at least wait two years."

Wei Ming stayed silent, not arguing—because he certainly had ideas, oh, Min, but was waiting two years still not safe enough?

Old Ghost added: "Before you leave, don't you want to see her? She didn't go to class today."

Wei Ming asked: "Is Zhou Ma not at home?"

"She's at the new shop."

"Alright, I'll go see her right away."

Wei Ming's flight was in the afternoon; he'd already given Ah Min time, even skipped the Maniac Comics.

Seeing Wei Ming arrive, Ah Min quickly pulled him inside: "Did anyone see you?"

"What's wrong?"

"We're celebrities now—we need to guard our privacy. Yesterday, when I went out, people surrounded me, asking if I was the girl who sang 'Tomorrow Will Be Better.'"

Wei Ming laughed: "I just got recognized at Holiland too—guess I'll need to change my style."

He wanted to be famous, but not so famous that everyone recognized his face—yesterday's public performance was already a big sacrifice for him.

Ah Min pulled out a thick stack of newspapers: "If you hadn't come, I was going to the airport to see you off—keep these."

"What's this?" Wei Ming saw it was today's newly released Ming Pao.

"I found all these at newsstands—reports about the charity concert. Look, even the right-wing papers praised you, saying you should stay in Hong Kong."

Stay—break ties with the north—and you'd become one of them.

Wei Ming skimmed through the newspapers; Ah Min had marked every article about him and the concert—clearly, she'd been doing this before he arrived.

The little girl knew how to charm—he felt moved, and this time, as they parted, he hugged her tightly.

The sudden intimacy made Ah Min feel as refreshing as eating ice cream at noon; she hugged him back, unwilling to let go.

Meanwhile, Liao Gong's secretary brought the calligraphy to Rongbaozhai, asking their most skilled master to mount it.

When the master saw the signature, he froze.

Then he stared at the five characters: "Heroes Among the Young"—no matter how he looked, he felt four hidden words within: "Iron Warrant of Merit!"

(9980 average subscriptions—everyone, please subscribe fully! Get the badge and I'll add extra chapters!)

(End of Chapter)