Chapter 432

Feeling my way through the darkness, guided by a beating heart…

Zhou Hui’s headphones were connected to a Walkman, playing Elton John’s voice.

The song “Wake Me Up” is so beautiful; Amin thinks the main credit goes to Ming, who wrote it so well. She doesn’t listen to much electronic music, but this is surely the best she’s ever heard—no wonder it topped the Billboard charts!

A month ago, Elton John had planned to collect similar-style electronic tracks for an album, but was dissatisfied with all the new songs offered, so he released this one as a single instead.

It debuted in the top ten of the Billboard charts in its first week and reached number one last week, sparking an electronic music craze in Britain and America—people had never realized electronic music could be this catchy.

This single had only just become available in Hong Kong, and Zhou Hui bought several copies at once.

The promotion of “Wake Me Up” is now a major marketing point; in Hong Kong, he’s even more important than the singer—mention that it’s a new English song written by Wei Ming, and every copy sells out.

At first, Amin couldn’t even get one by queuing herself, but luckily this album was sold by PolyGram, so she used her connections to get these copies—and her own singles were also released by PolyGram, though she hadn’t signed with any company.

She was so absorbed in listening that she didn’t hear the doorbell ringing for a long while.

“Who is it? Mom, didn’t you bring your keys?”

No one answered, but through the peephole she saw a rose—someone was holding a single rose to block the view and hide their face.

“Ming? Is that you?” Zhou Hui’s voice trembled.

Wei Ming smiled and moved the rose aside, then opened the door.

He hadn’t even had time to hand her the flower before the girl threw herself into his arms.

“You finally remembered me!” Amin punched his back a few times, still a little angry.

Wei Ming quickly stepped inside and shut the door, gently patting her back.

Seeing Amin again, Wei Ming felt she had grown even more since last time—her face prettier, her demeanor more elegant, and somehow… fuller.

Xiao Hong would be jealous—she’s a year older than Amin.

Every time he saw her, Amin evolved toward perfection. Visible changes aside, her vocal skills had improved dramatically too; compared to when she first studied under Dai Sicong, the difference was obvious—now she could even hold a concert without fear.

Zhou Hui slipped one earbud into Wei Ming’s ear, and they listened to “Wake Me Up” again together.

“You haven’t heard the cassette version yet, have you?”

“No, but I’ve heard Elton perform it live—in America.” Wei Ming knew the song was selling well, judging by the money deposited into his account.

“Electronic music is still pretty hard—I’m focusing most of my energy on piano and guitar now.”

Zhou Hui reported her recent progress to Wei Ming; she loved singing and also enjoyed playing instruments, and her goal was to one day compose music that expressed her own feelings.

In his past life, Zhou Hui had real creative talent—though her major hits weren’t self-written, her albums occasionally included original compositions she had penned.

“You’re not planning to write your own songs someday, are you?”

“Of course it’d be best if I could,” Zhou Hui said, lowering her head to sniff the rose.

Wei Ming pulled out a sheet of paper from his pocket: “Then my songs must be useless now.”

Amin snatched it quickly: “Of course I still need you to write for me!”

Unfolding the paper, she saw the title: “Pink Memories.”

It was a Mandarin song; Zhou Hui skimmed it quickly: “This song fits the season perfectly.”

Wei Ming: “Want to sing it?”

“Sure.” She sat at the piano and began playing and singing.

“Summer, summer quietly passed, leaving small secrets, buried deep, buried deep, can’t tell you...”

Midway through, Zhou Hui stopped and looked at Wei Ming: “Something feels off.”

Wei Ming: “Because this is a song meant to be sung while dancing.”

“No wonder,” Zhou Hui said. “I kept wanting to stand up just now.”

“Let’s stop playing. Just sing acapella,” Wei Ming said, pressing down on the piano keys to make her stand.

Zhou Hui: “I’ve never tried this—I’m not good at dancing at all.”

“But you’d look amazing doing it,” Wei Ming said without hesitation—those legs couldn’t possibly look bad; those legs were the very definition of beauty!

Wearing a knee-length home dress, Zhou Hui memorized the lyrics, then imitated the dance moves of singing-and-dancing stars she’d seen on TV, pacing back and forth in the living room, swaying her waist and hips.

She forgot the lyrics halfway through, and Wei Ming quickly held up the lyrics in front of her so she could finish smoothly.

Then she muttered: “Does this even look good?”

Wei Ming laughed: “Too bad we didn’t record it—you’d see just how good it looked.”

Amin plopped onto the sofa. Wei Ming comforted her: “Actually, you don’t need such big movements. Go over it yourself later. Congratulations—you’ve taken your first step into singing and dancing.”

Amin leaned against Wei Ming’s shoulder: “Dancing’s tough, but the song’s beautiful—there’s a fresh Taiwanese style to it. By the way, did you get the ‘Zhi Hu Zhe Ye’ album I sent you later?”

“I got it. Luo Dayou really is incredible—every song on that album is endlessly listenable.”

“Still not quite as good as you,” Amin laughed. “So how many days are you planning to stay in Hong Kong this time? You’re not just dropping off this song and leaving, are you?”

Her smile was full of reluctance; her hands had already gripped his arm tightly, as if trying to lock him in place.

Wei Ming: “At least half a month. Besides seeing you and my parents, I’m also here to shoot a short film.”

“What? Shoot a short film?” Zhou Hui exclaimed.

Just as Wei Ming was about to explain why he wanted to shoot the short film, Zhou Hui suddenly gasped: “But Uncle and Auntie have already gone back to the mainland—didn’t you know?”

“What?!”

“What kind of thing is this?” Xu Shufen sighed. The day they returned was exactly the day their son and daughter left for Hong Kong.

“Our vacation is limited—should we wait, or fly back immediately to find them?” Xu Shufen asked again.

They still had to return to Hong Kong; though their homeland was hard to leave, modern life was truly appealing, and besides, there was their old father and the little rascal there.

“Husband, say something,” Xu Shufen nudged her husband.

Old Wei was still lost in thought—along the way, everyone had assumed they were overseas Chinese. The changes were too great.

He hurriedly said: “I don’t know how long they plan to stay, but Anping must know—I’ll call and ask.”

He first called home—no one answered. Then he called Wei Anping’s office—this time someone picked up.

“Oh, you’re looking for Director Wei? Sorry, he’s in a meeting. May I ask who’s calling?” came a woman’s voice.

“Who are you?” Old Wei shot back.

“I’m Director Wei’s secretary.”

Old Wei knew his cousin had been promoted, but he hadn’t heard about a female secretary—could this kid be corrupting already?

He hadn’t even been corrupted by capitalism yet—he couldn’t let his nephew get ahead of him!

So Old Wei said: “Tell him later that I’m his brother. I’m coming over for dinner tonight. If he’s free, call me back. Say it’s from Huajiao Apartment—he’ll know.”

At that, the secretary understood: “You’re Wei Ming’s father, right?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

Soon after, Wei Anping learned of this from his secretary and kept asking: “Did he say ‘I’m his brother’ or ‘I’m his cousin’?”

Secretary: “He said ‘I’m his brother.’”

Normally, Wei Jiefang often said that too, but right now, Wei Anping couldn’t help suspecting—was Jiefang’s phrasing hiding some deeper meaning?

Because he was busy with work, he didn’t call back. After work, he picked up several hearty dishes from the canteen and told his wife Lu Xiaoyan: “Jiefang’s back. Add two more dishes.”

Meanwhile, at Old Ghost’s house, Wei Hong and Lin Ni were staring at each other. Lin Ni had wanted to prepare dinner too, but feared cooking poorly and embarrassing herself in front of the younger generation, so she desperately searched for topics, hoping either Old Ghost or Xiao Wei would come home.

Wei Hong felt the same—the atmosphere was awkward; they were complete strangers.

This older brother was too unreliable—he knocked, heard someone answer, then slipped down the elevator before the doors closed, claiming he had urgent business, and secretly pulled a rose from the bouquet.

“These flowers are quite nice,” Lin Ni praised the bouquet Wei Hong had brought, filled with red, yellow, and blue blooms.

“Yes, my brother picked them out. He said you’re a person with refined taste—you’d surely like them.”

Lin Ni smiled: “Your brother is so romantic—unlike your grandfather. No wonder your brother makes girls remember him forever.”

“My brother? Girls? Remember him? Who?”

“Amin—Zhou Hui. You’ve heard of her, right?”

“I’ve heard of her—my brother’s pen pal. She sings beautifully, but how old is she?”

“One year younger than you,” Lin Ni glanced at Wei Hong’s flat chest—though hers was much fuller.

“And what about my brother? Does he remember Amin too?” Xiao Hong asked, curious.

“Well…” Lin Ni thought it was probably mutual, but she wouldn’t swear to it. “You could ask your brother. But if you want to meet Amin, I can introduce you—she lives downstairs.”

“Oh, downstairs, huh~”

At that moment, both women simultaneously realized the same thought: Could Wei Ming be at Amin’s house right now?

Lin Ni found a way to break the awkwardness: “Xiao Hong, want to come downstairs with me?”

“Sure!”

They went down eight floors and knocked on the door—but no one answered. Lin Ni was disappointed: “Not home?”

Actually, they had just left—Wei Ming had invited her out to see the currently showing “E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial,” since he was going to shoot a short film.

Although Amin had already seen it, she pretended she hadn’t and agreed enthusiastically.

On the way, Wei Ming explained why he wanted to shoot the short film, leaving Amin stunned—Ming was already a genius: writing songs, novels, screenplays, gifted in art—and now he was going to try directing?

Was there anything he couldn’t do?

“Ming, I’m on summer break now—do you need any help with your short film? I’ll do anything!” she said cheerfully—even if it meant appearing on camera, she’d say yes.