Chapter 392

"Wei teacher," Qiao Feng called out to Wei Ming.

Wei Ming laughed and sighed: "Brother Feng, you're teasing me—call me Xiao Wei or Xiao Ming, either's fine."

Brother Feng laughed heartily: "Then I'll call you Xiao Wei teacher."

"Fine by me. What's that?" Wei Ming pointed to what he was holding.

"This isn't mine to confiscate—it's a cassette tape the students gave me, titled 'Wishing You a Safe Journey.'"

Wei Ming took it to look: it was a bootleg recording on blank tape, but lately it had become wildly popular among Peking University students and even among graduating classes across Yanjing, with Tsinghua, Beijing Normal, Beihang, and Beijing Foreign Studies all singing it.

"They'll just have to wait a bit longer—official Pacific imports should be out soon," Wei Ming said, handing it back, and the two walked side by side toward the May Fourth Playground.

Speaking of this year's undergraduates, Qiao Feng felt deeply reluctant—they'd enrolled in 1978, when he'd just arrived at Peking University and was in charge of campus security, so he'd watched them grow up.

Starting today, these young people will step into vital positions across society; whether or not they become pillars of the nation, society expects them to "shine like stars, illuminating Shenzhou."

In four years, many things had changed: they'd been welcomed by Secretary Zhou and President Zhou, and now they were being sent off by Secretary Han and President Zhang; the school cafeteria had added several new stalls, and several familiar senior professors had passed away.

"Wei teacher, over here!" Liang Zuo waved to Wei Ming, surrounded by their classmates.

None of them wore graduation gowns—boys wore Zhongshan suits, girls wore plain-colored blouses.

There wouldn't be a tassel-moving ceremony, but they would receive their bachelor's degrees.

The venue was already set up: a banner behind them read "Peking University's First Bachelor's Degree Conferment Ceremony." Wei Ming spotted Yang Hao from the school magazine taking photos, and he raised his own camera to wave at him.

"Don't go anywhere after this—this might be our last meal together. I've already reserved tables at Changzheng Cafeteria—everyone come."

"Long live Wei teacher!"

"I love you, Wei teacher!"

Wei Ming watched his students walk up one by one to receive their certificates; another twenty-seven outstanding graduates were also honored—he knew most of them well. That's how networks form.

After the ceremony, he headed to dinner and spotted Liu Zhenyun—better to go together.

Seeing his older brothers leave, Old Liu was heartbroken; he didn't know when he'd see them again.

"No need to say anything—everything's in the wine," he said, eyes red, downing his first glass.

Besides the degree conferral, the afternoon saw a meeting of school leadership to honor last year's outstanding workers, including Wei Anping, who oversaw the Production and Management Office, and he was especially commended for raising the profit contributions from four factories to the school by 150%—meaning 1981's total reached 250% of 1980's!

Considering Wei Anping often needed to coordinate with multiple key government departments, and his rank was too low to be heard, the Production and Management Office was restructured into the School Assets Department, and Wei Anping's rank was elevated to deputy provincial level.

He was now just two ranks away from deputy ministerial level—the level of secretary or president—though for some, those two ranks were impossible to cross in a lifetime.

Wei Anping's advantage was his youth: at thirty-nine, a deputy provincial official, he still had over twenty years ahead.

Actually, thirty-nine as deputy provincial wasn't that unusual—next year, Qiang from the Youth League Committee would also reach deputy provincial level, and he was twelve years younger than Wei Anping.

To celebrate, Wei Anping had Wei Hong notify her brother to join him for hot pot at Donglaishun that evening—right now, Wei Ming was slumped over his desk, feeling awful.

It wasn't the departing students he was mourning—he'd just drunk too much at lunch; the students' emotions had surged, they'd all sung "Wishing You a Safe Journey" together, and Wei Ming had gotten swept up in it.

Meanwhile, in Hong Kong, Zhou Hui was dressed in formal attire, escorted by Lao Gui and Lin Ni to the Lyric Theatre in Tung Lo Wan, the venue for the Top Ten Chinese Golden Melody Awards.

Also with them were Wei Jiefang and Xu Shufen—Amin had gotten them two tickets so they could hear live if Wei Ming's song won.

"Go get 'em, Amin—we hope to see you perform," Xu Shufen held Amin's small hand.

Hearing her aunt say that made her nervous; Amin had been in the industry for a while, and several of her songs had gained decent recognition, but she'd never performed them publicly—her largest audience had been her own class.

Inside, her uncle and aunt sat in the general audience seats behind; Amin walked forward and spotted Brother Zhang Mingmin, though his seat was also toward the back, near Rong Shao and Chen You.

Zhou Hui's seat was much closer—she sat beside Tan Yonglin; soon Zhong Zentao arrived, and the two older brothers had her sit between them, shielding her from unwelcome glances, like devoted guardians.

She couldn't help wondering: was seating arranged by whether you'd won an award? Could it be she'd actually won?

She voiced her suspicion to them; Ah Lun replied: "Those in the back have no chance of winning—they're just here to listen. We up here at least have a shot."

"Huh? Why?"

Zhong Zentao chuckled: "You don't know the selection rules for the Top Ten Chinese Golden Melodies, do you?"

Amin: "Isn't it fan voting plus judges' scores?"

Tan Yonglin: "There's one prerequisite: only songs that reached number one on the Hong Kong Radio's 1981 Chinese Song Chart weekly rankings qualify. Old Zhang and Ah You never had a weekly chart-topper."

"Huh? Not one?" Zhou Hui said. "'Only by Trying Can You Win' is more popular than all my songs combined."

Ah B said: "It's just a tiny bit more popular than 'Let Everything Go,' but no use—after the charity concert, Ah Ming released over a dozen great songs all at once, all competing for chart positions, yet only two ever reached weekly number one."

"Huh?"

Tan Yonglin nodded: "First, Xiao Feng's 'Ups and Downs' dominated for four weeks; no other song could break through. Then, unexpectedly, Ah Ming's own 'Pearl of the Orient' gained even stronger momentum, dethroning 'Ups and Downs' and holding the top spot for a full month."

"What about 'Tomorrow Will Be Better'? That song should've been the biggest."

Tan Yonglin: "Because it was a group song with no single vocalist pushing it, it always stayed second or third—top ten for three straight months."

Zhou Hui pointed to herself: "What about me and Ah Ming? We didn't push either."

"Your 'Prayer of a Young Girl' came out late, during a low point for new releases, and managed one week at number one. Ah Ming's 'Pearl of the Orient' likely benefited because other singers dared not release new songs—there were almost no new releases then, so his late surge carried him to the top," Tan Yonglin explained. "I had 'Looking to the Future' from earlier this year. Ah B, you tell your own story."

Zhong Zentao grinned: "Last month, 'Mistakenly in Love' exploded. 'Let Everything Go' was a movie theme song—thanks to the film's popularity, the song revived and surprisingly hit number one in December."

Tan Yonglin: "Same thing happened with 'The Great Wall Never Falls'—since the TV drama's broadcast didn't overlap with the concert, it also won a weekly chart-topper."

Wei Ming wrote over a dozen massively popular songs, but because they were released simultaneously, only a few became chart-toppers—songs like 'Only by Trying Can You Win,' 'Like an Old Friend,' 'How Much Wind and Rain,' 'Melinda,' 'Fondly in Love,' and many others sold out, yet none even qualified for nomination.

That's why now, when artists release albums, even having two or three good songs out of ten is considered a success—and they always release one lead single first, then push the whole album to promote a second single, otherwise rankings and award chances suffer.

No choice—the rules are the rules. But good news: after the host took the stage, he announced a few small changes to this year's Top Ten Chinese Golden Melodies.

"In addition to the ten fixed Golden Melodies, we're adding three new awards: the 'Best Chinese Pop Song' for composers and the 'Best Chinese Pop Lyrics' for lyricists."

"That's right. And there's also a prestigious Golden Needle Award, honoring music professionals who've made outstanding contributions to Hong Kong's music industry and the Chinese pop music scene—covering singers, behind-the-scenes composers and lyricists, and other industry figures. But note: this award is not annual—if no one qualifies, we may leave it vacant."

Understood: the "Golden Needle Award" would become the highest honor of the Top Ten Chinese Golden Melodies, akin to a lifetime achievement award.

Huang Zhan in the front row glanced around—he figured it would be him or Old Gu, though if it went to an even more senior veteran, that was fine too.

The award ceremony began.

"First, this is a very special song—the singer isn't a professional; you can only buy it as a single, yet it achieved gold record status—or you can just order a burger or fried chicken at Hollandia Fast Food and hear it there too..."

Li Zhi, listening at home, immediately knew: that little girl Amin had won!

The judges had no taste! Little Li shook with anger—she was in the bath—but then she remembered the song's composer and lyricist was Ah Ming, and her mood calmed.

Onstage, Ah Lun, Ah B, and their friends behind were ecstatic, cheering wildly for her—especially Old Wei and Xu Shufen, who were overjoyed.

In their eyes, after winning this award, Amin was now a singing artist—perfect match for a writer.

At the host's invitation, Zhou Hui walked gracefully onstage—unfortunately, TV viewers couldn't see this moment; only the live audience murmured, "So beautiful."

No one expected such a pretty, youthful girl—press photographers frantically snapped photos; the mysterious amateur singer Zhou Hui had officially debuted!

In truth, 'Prayer of a Young Girl' wasn't as widely sung as 'First Love,' but 'First Love' was released during the charity concert's overwhelming spotlight and never even made the weekly top ten.

The hosts were very curious about Zhou Hui, asking her age, grade level, and even asking the audience if she was beautiful—the crowd shouted in unison: "Beautiful!"

Now, teenagers listening on the radio knew: their favorite singer was a fifteen-year-old beauty—too bad they couldn't see her yet.

The host then asked about her relationship with Wei Ming—a question both industry insiders and the public cared deeply about: "Why has he written so many songs for you?"

Amin: "What other relationship could there be? Including me as the singer, this song is entirely his."

"Actually, we're pen pals—we first met through letters," Amin would never admit they were lovers, even though the host kept hinting at it; they'd done nothing, and this protected both her and Ah Ming.

After answering the host's questions, it was Amin's turn to perform 'Prayer of a Young Girl.'

Though only fifteen, she'd studied under Dai Sicong for nearly a year, and since this was Ah Ming's song for her, she'd sung it daily, polishing every line until it was flawless—so she delivered it effortlessly.

Though her voice was slightly tight at first from nerves, she soon warmed up, revealing a commanding presence—nothing like a child her age.