Chapter 369

Wei Ming hadn't visited the female dormitory in a long time; he used to come often during patrols, to ensure peace and safety.

Thinking back to when he first came to Peking University as a gatekeeper, these students had just been sophomores; now they were about to enter society, some even preparing to marry, and Wei Ming had heard several good news stories along the way.

The six-person dorm now held at least twenty people, with more crowded at the door—mostly women, few men; the few boys were all backbone members of the Chinese Literature Department—Chen Jiangong, Liang Zuo, Su Mu, Huang Ziping—while the girls were primarily from Chinese Literature, with others from History, Foreign Languages, and Law, all humanities majors; as everyone knew, Teacher Wei favored the humanities.

"Warmly welcome Teacher Wei to Room 304 for guidance!" Wang Xiaoping led, and the dorm erupted in applause and laughter.

Wei Ming had been busy arranging affairs in Hong Kong and Europe and America, so he'd grown distant from the students; before singing, he chatted with them to slowly rebuild familiarity.

"Teacher Wei, that article you published in the People's Daily was amazing—I never imagined such injustice still existed in the world!" Huang Ziping was referring to the article on Mandela, which Wei Ming had translated and published, sparking a nationwide Mandela craze; official media later reprinted related reports from European and American newspapers, sustaining the momentum.

Liang Zuo said: "It's just a bit too translated—doesn't even sound like your writing."

Wei Ming smiled: "That's exactly what I wanted—the translated tone. But later I'll write some original Chinese pieces about my overseas experiences. Enough about me—where are you assigned, Liang Zuo?"

University graduates' assignments typically spanned the entire fourth year, usually finalized two months before graduation.

Liang Zuo said: "I've been assigned to the Ministry of Education."

A great post—Wei Ming asked about others he knew: Su Mu was assigned to the Film Academy, Chen Jiangong chose to become a professional writer at the Writers' Association, Cen Xianqing went to the People's Daily, Wang Xiaoping joined People's Literature, and he even joked, asking Wei Ming to submit his new overseas essays to him.

How come everyone got such great posts, all eager and ambitious to accomplish big things—how am I supposed to get emotional now?

Finally, a philosophy department girl said she'd been assigned to Daliang Mountain; she was a girl from Hebei who'd never even seen mountains, and looked frail.

Students who knew the conditions of Daliang Mountain felt sympathy for her; the cheerful atmosphere plummeted, and a few others reluctantly shared their own less-than-ideal assignments.

The state's assignment principle forbade refusal—everyone must comply, or face five years' exclusion from state-owned units and loss of cadre status.

Only when this year's graduates finish will a two-way selection policy be introduced, giving students some autonomy in choosing their posts.

Though people in this era had high ideals, some came from remote rural areas, especially girls who knew certain places were unfit for survival, even life-threatening; not everyone willingly volunteered for the harshest regions, especially when comparing with close classmates— the better their assignments, the harder it was to reconcile their own fate.

At this thought, Wei Ming moved his hand—a single note floated out—and the room fell silent; he began his performance.

"The day you knew you were leaving, we didn't say a word."

"When the midnight bell rang, opening the door to parting, it couldn't break through your deep silence."

Wei Ming wasn't a skilled singer, but some songs were simple, and he'd sung them so often, they came easily; some students whispered comments: "So beautiful."

"The day I saw you off to the very end, we didn't say a word."

"When the crowded platform squeezed the hearts of those seeing you off, it couldn't squeeze out my deep sorrow."

One girl thought of her boyfriend—he'd left campus early, going far away; on that day at the train station, they hadn't said a word, just like the song—she stayed in Yanjing, and neither dared promise whether their love could survive.

"I know you have a thousand words, ten thousand thoughts, yet won't speak them."

"You know I'm worried, I'm heartbroken, yet dare not say them."

Wang Xiaoping recalled seeing Cha Jianying off to America—the airport lounge, two close friends clinging together, words unspoken: "Don't worry, Xiao Cha—I'll definitely come to America to find you. Wait for me there!"

When Wei Ming sang, "When you pack your bags, shed that glory, I can only let tears stay deep inside," the theme finally landed!

"Wish You a Safe Journey," the graduation anthem—and those lyrics had just made some students break down, tears welling in their eyes; they could already picture the day they'd leave campus.

That line also revealed a truth: once they left Peking University, their Peking University halo would fade; whether their future lives remained brilliant depended on their performance at their posts—that was another exam, another fate.

Tears were contagious; first only a few girls with poor assignments cried, then close friends who'd soon be separated embraced and wept.

When Wei Ming finished the entire song, the mood was perfect—everyone in the dorm, and the girls outside the door, couldn't help whispering sobs; they realized this was already the second time Wei Ming's song had made them cry.

Though crying, the students still offered Wei Teacher sincere applause; Huang Beijia asked Cen Xianqing: "Room leader, did you learn it?"

Cen Xianqing wiped her tears: "Learn it in one go? Impossible."

Li Zhihong said: "Can Teacher Wei sing another one?"

Li Zhihong said, "Then let Teacher Wei do another one, okay!"

Everyone cheered; Liang Zuo hurriedly handed his teacup to Wei Ming to moisten his throat.

Wei Ming handed the lyrics to Liang Zuo: "I'll sing, you copy—then pass them around."

Wei Ming handed the lyrics to Liang Zuo: "I'll sing, you write them down, then everyone passes them around."

"Wait—I need to record it." Wang Xiaoping pulled out a tape recorder and blank cassette; lyrics were easy to remember, but the melody needed this.

"Wait, I'm going back to get my recorder too!" Several other girls rushed off to record it for learning.

After passing the lyrics to the girls, Liang Zuo begged Wang Xiaoping: "Sister Xiao, let us boys have the tape—just lyrics won't stop us from singing off-key."

Wang Xiaoping naturally refused, but Wei Ming waved his hand: "I'll come to your dorm and sing it again—remember to record it."

When Wei Ming arrived at the male dormitory, even a few girls followed to hear the live version; the boys were numerous—even Liu Zhenyun from the '78 class came to join, and the song brought him a wave of melancholy.

In half a year, it would be their turn; the assignment issue now loomed before every student. He'd secured some chance to stay in Yanjing due to his achievements, but his dorm mates were all honest rural boys who'd just studied hard—six months from now, he'd be at the train station, wishing them a safe journey.

In another half year it would be their turn, and at this moment the issue of job assignments had already landed before every classmate; he had some confidence in staying in Yanjing due to his achievements in university, but the few brothers in his dorm were all honest rural students who, in half a year, would likely be the ones sent off at the train station, wishing each other safe travels.

When Wei Ming returned to Tuanjiehu, it was past eleven; Xue Jie was still waiting for him, with something to say.

"I'm leaving for Shanghai tomorrow."

"What? Only half a month of training!" And so sudden.

"The film shoot schedule changed," Gong Ying sighed, "so I have to return early for script readings. But Wu Lao said my current level is already sufficient for filming—just don't let your practice slip, keep training."

Gong Ying had long prepared for separation, yet gently hugged Wei Ming: "It's just a pity I won't be here for your birthday."

Gong Ying had long prepared for parting, yet she gently embraced Wei Ming: "It's just a pity I won't be able to celebrate your birthday with you."

If Xue Jie hadn't reminded him, Wei Ming would've forgotten—in a few days was Amin's birthday, then his own.

Wei Ming kissed Xue Jie wildly: "Didn't know you were so sentimental—have you thought of giving me a gift early?"

Gong Ying: "I'm wearing Lin Jie's clothes today—isn't that enough?"

Wei Ming: "Not enough—you've used that trick before."

"Then…" Xue Jie suddenly got out of bed and pulled from the wardrobe a… calendar!?

Gong Ying blushed: "Here, take this."

Wei Ming froze: "This is… a 1982 calendar?"

"Yes, the studio commissioned it to generate revenue—it goes on sale next month."

Wei Ming flipped through it—it was a proper calendar, just trendier than usual, with some winter outfits.

"These clothes look just like Xintiandi style."

"They are Xintiandi—where else would you find such fashionable clothes?" Gong Ying said. "I suggested it—said Xintiandi would gladly provide clothing for free—and they agreed. These few pieces were even designed by Aying."

"With so many top actresses wearing Xintiandi clothes, not asking for payment is already a favor," Wei Ming smiled, then suddenly asked, "Why are you the only one here?"

Gong Ying laughed: "Liu Xiaoqing, Li Xiuming—they shot too. Some are on the same calendar, some are separate."

"Then theirs won't sell as well as yours." These fashionable clothes suited Gong Ying better; Sister Xiaoqing and the others suited simpler styles.

Gong Ying pinched Wei Ming lightly: "When I'm gone, hang this calendar up—when you miss me, flip through it."

Wei Ming grinned—so now it's you keep me close, and I hang you on the wall.

He put down the calendar, picked up Xue Jie: "When I miss you, I'll fly over to see you—I won't suffer for your sake."

Gong Ying wanted to say no, it'd look bad if seen—but the words died on her lips; when they were truly apart for long, she might not be so stubborn now.

She tenderly stroked the rascal's face, then made him lie down, close his eyes—she still had another gift for him.

The next day, Wei Ming personally saw Gong Ying off to the airport, watching her board the plane to Shanghai.

After dropping her off, he returned to campus; he'd just finished reading "1587, a Year of No Significance," bought in Frankfurt.

The book had no Chinese edition yet, but the Zhonghuashu Bureau colleague who'd gone to Germany with him said: "Soon."

And it would be the original author's own "translated writing," but the author had lived overseas for thirty years, his Chinese had grown rusty, and now Classical Literature expert Shen Yucheng was polishing it.

Correct—this book, beloved by plant lovers, was originally written in English; upon release this year, it sparked fierce reactions in American academia and was adopted as a textbook by multiple elite universities.

Ming Dynasty stories were quite interesting; Wei Ming set the book down. It had been a month since returning from Frankfurt—he felt his speed reading English originals was getting faster.

This past month, Wei Ming hadn't written much; now he wanted to try English composition again.

He pulled out a new notebook, a spaceship image flashed in his mind—perfect.

Wei Ming ate dinner on campus, then wandered to the male dorms to chat with graduating students; occasionally, he heard "Wish You a Safe Journey" drifting from the next room.

"What did you just say, Pan?" Wei Ming asked Pan Weiming, a '78 Chinese Literature student, Liu Zhenyun's classmate, and current student union chair.

"Old Pan, what did you just say?" Wei Ming asked Pan Weiming, who was from the Class of '78 Chinese Literature Department, Liu Zhenyun's classmate, and current student union chair.