Chapter 39: Wei Ming

Wei Ming had no girlfriend; on the bus back to Peking University, Professor Qu brought up the topic with him.

“Once your papers are published, even female students from Peking University will be fighting over you.”

Wei Ming smiled and asked, “Then may I ask, Professor Qu, which department at Peking University has the most beautiful female students?”

Professor Qu laughed. “Why are you just like the young man in your novel—only caring about looks when looking for a partner?”

“Because hearts are hidden behind ribs, so at first you only go by appearance.”

Professor Qu shook her head, but after thinking it over, she found it had some truth—wasn’t the beginning of romance always drawn to outward things like faces and figures? Old Jin had pursued her saying he found her attractive.

“I mainly teach Chinese literature; female students in the humanities tend to be more beautiful, but foreign language students are more fashionable, since most come from cities and some are even children of high-ranking officials, yet…”

She paused. “Yet even the most beautiful foreign language student still falls short compared to Comrade Gong Ying.”

Of course—she was the universally acknowledged Number One Beauty of the 1980s, her few works etching her into generations.

They parted from Sister Chen Rong at the bus stop; Chen Rong lived in the People’s X Newspaper compound and got home earlier.

Since she’d called ahead to announce her return, her husband and children were all waiting at home, and her youngest son had even returned from Tank Regiment Six on the outskirts of Beijing.

The youngest, Liang Huan, hugged her mother and asked if she’d bought him White Rabbit candy.

Chen Rong smiled warmly. “Bought it, bought it.”

Liang Tian, whose eyes were so small they were nearly invisible, leaned over. “Mom, I want White Rabbit too.”

“How old are you? You look like a White Rabbit yourself!” Chen Rong teased, then turned to her eldest son. “Xiao Zuo, have you heard of Wei Ming at school?”

Liang Zuo nearly blurted out: “Ideal is a stone, striking sparks; ideal is fire, lighting the extinguished lamp…”

Their father, Fan Rongkang, put down his newspaper. “Whose poem is this? I’ve never heard it.”

Liang Zuo: “It’s Wei Ming’s—Peking University’s famous temporary worker poet. His poems are being passed around campus, even next door.”

Liang Tian asked curiously, “What kind of temporary worker is he?”

“He stands guard at the gate.”

Chen Rong said: “Don’t look down on his job—I worked with him editing for ‘Harvest.’ His talent seems innate; the editors praised him highly, and I never expected he also had poetic talent.”

Fan Rongkang was astonished—a man who wrote poetry and published fiction in ‘Harvest,’ yet was merely a gate guard at Peking University? Peking University truly harbored dragons and tigers.

“How old is he?” Old Fan asked his wife.

“He’s not very old, but we call each other brother and sister. Xiao Zuo, you want to write novels, right? Learn from him—he’s incredibly skilled.”

Liang Tian leaned over and teased: “Bro, you should call him ‘Uncle.’”

Liang Zuo’s face flushed red—he thought, Do you even know how old he is? He’s younger than you!

He remembered Wei Ming stood guard at Peking University’s south gate. He narrowed his eyes and silently swore: South gate, huh? Heng ! From now on, if I walk through the south gate, I’m that!

When Wei Anping spoke to Wei Ming in Shanghai, they’d agreed: the first meal after returning would be at home.

So Wei Ming dropped Professor Qu off at her home in Weixiu Garden, then headed straight to Wei Anping’s place.

Both Uncle Anping and Aunt Xiaoyan were home, preparing dinner in the kitchen.

Wei Anping looked at his dusty nephew. “Xiao Ming, sit on the sofa and rest.”

Lu Xiaoyan set down her knife for a moment. “That trip must’ve worn you out.”

“Not bad—I’m still young,” Wei Ming said, downing a cup of tea leaves, then opening his luggage.

“Aunt, this is the silk scarf I bought for you on Nanjing Road—see if you like it.”

Hearing she’d received a gift, Lu Xiaoyan was genuinely delighted. She eagerly unwrapped it and held it up against herself. She owned scarves, but none compared to this one—she assumed it was because Shanghai scarves were better quality, when in truth it was Wei Ming’s refined taste.

“Why’d you spend money on this?” Lu Xiaoyan scolded with a smile.

“No problem—‘Harvest’ paid me an advance on my royalties: 160 yuan. This is nothing.”

“Wow!” Lu Xiaoyan exclaimed. “Xiao Ming, your income already surpasses your uncle’s!”

Wei Anping earned 13th-grade salary: 159 yuan monthly—just barely edged out by Wei Ming.

Wei Anping didn’t feel jealous that his nephew earned more, but he did resent the gift for his wife—his eyes kept glancing into Wei Ming’s bag.

Wei Ming slapped his forehead. “Oh! Almost forgot—Uncle, this is ginseng and cinnamon tonic wine I brought for you—contains ginseng and longan, replenishes qi and blood, and your wife can drink it too—half a liang each time.”

“Oh! Ginseng wine? This is far too valuable!” Wei Anping scolded, then turned to Lu Xiaoyan. “This is way more expensive than that scarf!”

Wei Ming: “Oh, this one’s free.”

Wei Anping: “...”

Lu Xiaoyan: “Gagagaga!”

!

“Wait, how can wine be free?” Wei Anping asked, baffled.

Wei Ming explained: “The bus driver, Master Liu, who took us to the station, asked me to bring him a bottle. So I bought some—this wine was popular in Shanghai earlier this year because it was the first domestic product ever advertised on TV.”

“Ah, now you mention it, I think I remember,” Lu Xiaoyan said, since their family owned a TV.

Wei Ming: “I was curious about this, so I visited the pharmaceutical factory and the TV station, then wrote a short story in my spare time and submitted it to ‘Wenhui Daily.’ The factory had business ties with ‘Wenhui Daily’ and happened to see my article—out of gratitude, they gave me two bottles.”

He opened his bag, revealing three labeled bottles of medicinal wine: “One for Master Liu, one for you, Uncle, and the last one I’ll take back to my parents.”

Hearing how capable and filial his nephew was, Wei Anping felt deeply satisfied. With so much joy, why not open this bottle tonight?

“By the way, haven’t Xi and Le gotten out of school yet? I brought them gifts too.”

Lu Xiaoyan carefully folded the scarf. “Since you’re back, go pick them up from kindergarten—we’ll finish dinner.”

“Alright.” Wei Ming pulled a large bag of White Rabbit candy from his bag.

“Oh no, don’t give them so much—just one or two candies to taste.”

Wei Ming smiled. “These are for Xiao Hong. Their gifts are underneath.”

This was Wei Ming’s second time picking them up after school; this time, the elderly men and women nearby actually started chatting with him.

“You’re Wei Anping’s nephew, right?”

Clearly, Uncle Anping had been promoting him at school these past few days—Wei Ming nodded in confirmation.

The old woman praised: “Good lad. Families with children hate child traffickers the most.”

Evidently, she’d heard of his heroism from the school newsletter or her children.

The old man beside her said: “I heard you’re getting published in ‘Harvest’? When?”

“November.” Clearly, he’d heard of Wei Ming’s writing talent.

When the dismissal bell rang, seeing Wei Ming waiting for them, Xi and Le ran faster than ever—especially Xi.

“Ming-ge, you’re finally back!” Xi’s eyes sparkled as he held out both hands—bro, hit me with some candy artillery!

And Wei Ming smiled, placing the candy in his hand…

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(End of Chapter)