Chapter 367

After the payment for his Frankfurt trip manuscript arrived, Wei Ming specifically went to the bank to withdraw ten thousand yuan, hoping to see if his balance had surpassed two million—only to be invited to the branch manager's office for tea.

Literal tea-drinking: the branch manager and deputy manager personally brewed it for him, while whispers outside the office speculated wildly about him being a millionaire.

No one suspected anything; after all, Wei Ming was a well-known major depositor within the bank, his account always holding six-digit sums and occasional substantial foreign exchange.

Moreover, the manager had read the news: while it didn't specify how much Wei Ming earned, it highlighted how wildly successful his works were overseas, bringing in massive foreign currency for the nation.

So a little over a million was acceptable.

The branch manager mainly wanted to meet Master Wei and request an ink inscription.

"We heard Master Wei stunned foreigners with his calligraphy in Frankfurt—could you grace us with a piece?"

This was exactly what Master Wei had hoped for; recently, he'd been diligently practicing at Wu Lao's home and had significantly improved—he was eager to show off.

Fortunately, the manager was a cultured man, and his office had the necessary tools.

But Wei Ming knew his place: he was writing for the manager, not for the Bank of China—even if it was just a branch, no scholar could presume to instruct it.

So he wrote a famous saying targeting bankers' integrity: "A thousand gold passes through my hands, yet not a single coin clings to me."

The manager was delighted; he could see Wei Ming's calligraphy surpassed his own, and the phrase was perfect—something worthy of being a personal motto.

"Once framed, I'll hang this in my office until I retire."

Wei Ming was equally pleased to receive such recognition; back at Tuanjiehu, he proudly told Gong Ying about it.

"Mm-hmm, you're the best."

Gong Ying was calmly practicing calligraphy; the act seemed to lend her, even without ancient attire, a touch of classical elegance.

Wei Ming didn't dare disturb her, quietly admiring.

When she put down her brush, Sister Xue said: "You've been staying here a long time—shouldn't you go home for a few days?"

Wei Ming pulled her close: "I've been away so long—suddenly going home might make my parents suspicious."

"Hmph, you're just trying to take advantage of me."

Wei Ming looked at her seriously: "Are you tired? Why not rest today?"

Gong Ying blushed deeply; she was indeed tired—every day, he asked and she gave, she thought he'd eventually tire, but it was she who grew exhausted.

The high frequency of physical intimacy combined with intense calligraphy practice was exhausting.

So that night they hung a "no battle" sign; Wei Ming held her gently, and Gong Ying even thought: If Lin Jie were here, it'd be better.

Immediately after, she scorned herself—how could she think such a thing? So shameless.

Besides, if Lin Jie were here, with two of them, he'd surely collapse.

Wei Ming disagreed—he was twenty, at his peak.

Last night he'd just said "rest today," but by morning, it was already the next day.

"Sister, time to get up and work!"

When Wei Ming arrived at work, refreshed, he stared at the newspaper on his desk and sighed again—translate his own work? He wasn't a translator.

For Xinhua's assignment, he'd originally planned to rewrite it in Chinese, but found that too easy; curious about other professions, he decided to approach the article with a translator's logic.

So in the afternoon, he visited Mr. Yang Xianyi's home again—not only to discuss preparations for translating "The Right Path of Humanity Is Suffering," but also to learn from the two masters how to translate from English to Chinese.

Perhaps this would help him write directly in English later.

He studied translation here, then went to Wu's house at five to practice calligraphy—his days were full.

The Hong Kong Ming Pao translations came out earlier.

As a loyal reader of Ming Pao, Wei Lingling hadn't seen the article yet—her sister Li Zhi had seen it first.

She wanted to improve, so she always reviewed the family's newspapers first, then filtered content for Lingling, highlighting especially noteworthy pieces.

But Li Zhi wasn't interested in South Africa or apartheid; she wanted to read how much money Wei Ming earned in Germany and how wildly he was adored.

That's the stuff—energizing!

When Zhou Hui saw Wei Ming's article, she felt his great character shining brightly.

While she still cared about little cats and dogs, Wei Ming was already pondering grand themes of race and humanity.

She also realized she now had "Mandela" as a new essay topic.

In class, she was savoring Wei Ming's article when her best friend entered and complained: "The Crazy Comics just raised their price to four yuan per issue!"

Hui defended: "It was on sale before—no one can run at a loss forever. Only if the magazine makes money can it keep producing good works for you."

She took her friend's comic: "Huh, it's thicker too—great value!"

Her friend snatched it back: "I'll read first—after I finish 'Qin Shi Mingyue' and 'History Miao,' then you can have it."

The girl wanted to read "Qin Shi Mingyue," while several boys in class accepted the doubled price of Crazy Comics just to follow "Feng Yun"'s sequel—soon, several copies of Crazy Comics appeared in the classroom.

This was the latest fashion item among students, even more popular than "Dragon Tiger Gate" and "Bruce Lee," and the doubled price hadn't slowed its sales momentum.

Zhou Hui smiled: "No need—I'll buy my own later."

Friend: "Buy? The nearby shops are sold out—wait, there's a new comic too!"

Since dropping out of school, Zhou Xingchi had held many jobs, but none lasted—he'd decided to take the TVB training class next year, convinced he'd become an actor.

Now he worked at a teahouse; after a long day, he returned home to see his neighbor's schoolboy reading "The Academy."

"Wow, new issue—and it's thicker!"

"It's pricier too, Star Brother—if I finish reading, I'll sell it to you for two yuan—I paid four."

"You little rascal~" Zhou Xingchi's eyes darted, "Unless you give it to me now—I'll return it after I finish."

The boy hesitated, then said: "Two yuan?"

"Deal—come get it tomorrow." He planned to stay up all night.

He was also following "Qin Shi Mingyue" and "Feng Yun," but preferred the funny ones: "Sandy's Diary," "History Miao," and "Happy Ghost" was good too.

But now he noticed a new comic: "The Academy," starring a handsome guy named Wen Xingxing, everyone called him "Ah Xing."

Ah Xing was a top officer of the Flying Tigers, sent undercover to a middle school by his superior Cao Dahua, where he met a beautiful, curvaceous teacher named He Min—leading to a series of hilarious events.

As he read, Zhou Xingchi laughed uncontrollably, making his neighbor's mother and sister bang on the wall, telling him to go to sleep.

He then read under the covers with a flashlight—he wasn't easily amused, but this story's contrast between police and students packed in dense gags.

The artist was Gan Xiaowen; Zhou Xingchi had seen his short comics before. This story wasn't even finished in ten pages, making him even more eager for Ah Xing's next school adventures—if only he could date Teacher He, it'd be perfect.

After finishing "The Academy," Zhou Xingchi suddenly didn't want to return the comic to the neighbor boy—how could he dodge paying?

The last page of "If History Were a Bunch of Miao" mentioned this comic would collaborate with Langning Toy Factory to produce History Miao dolls—sparking excitement among many readers.

At this moment, Wei Lingling was in a factory meeting discussing how to make the History Miao toys.

Some thought plush toys were best—after all, cats are soft.

Others insisted on plastic toys, since they had Taiwan backing; Wei Muchun had plastic manufacturing there, and the toy factory could become a downstream industry.

In the end, Wei Lingling decided to pursue both lines—production might exceed expectations, but History Miao wasn't baseless; it had original source material.

"By the way, what issue number is this Crazy Comics?"

Wei Lingling called Crazy Comics; Ah Long told her: "We printed 100, 00 copies."

"100, 00 already!" Wei Lingling said. "That should put it among the top comic magazines in Hong Kong."

"Top among general comics—if you count single-issue sales, it's third after 'Dragon Tiger Gate' and 'Bruce Lee.' Both those top comics sell over 100, 00 per issue."

In just over two months, reaching this level was impressive—meaning at least 100, 00 people already knew History Miao.

But Liu Rulong wasn't satisfied—he wanted to be number one in Hong Kong comics, even number one among Chinese comics—he aimed to fully surpass Huang Yulang.

As for whether to increase print runs next issue, market feedback suggested some risk.

At that moment, Wei Lingling suggested: "Let me introduce you to a friend—might help your magazine sales."

"A friend?"

The next day, Gong Biyang landed in Hong Kong from Taiwan and visited Crazy Comics.

He'd long heard from Wei Ming about this comic magazine he invested in; yesterday, he'd finished assigning the translation of "The Lion King" picture books and planned to fly straight back to San Francisco—until a phone call summoned him to Hong Kong.

Gong Biyang had seen Hong Kong comics before—in Chinatown—but their influence was tiny, mostly silly stuff like "Old Master Q."

He'd also heard of typical Hong Kong comics like "Dragon Tiger Gate," but thought they'd have no market overseas.