Chapter 44: Old Driver, Take Me With You (Please Follow!)

Wei Ming, though tall, was agile; he had mastered the skill of climbing trees as a survival technique under Old Wei’s guidance since childhood.

He figured if the Olympics had this event, he’d be a strong contender for silver.

As for why not gold?

Didn’t Old Wei already have that?

Wei Ming swiftly reached the spot where the white kitten was perched, while his senior stayed below to comfort the philosopher Mr. Feng Youlan, who was genuinely worried about his cat.

Peking University had many stray cats, especially in Yannan Garden, where the spacious, sparsely populated environment was ideal for wildlife, and many elderly professors loved cats, often leaving them food—making it the cats’ favorite gathering spot.

Mr. Feng was among the top of these cat-obsessed professors; his daughter, the writer Zong Pu, had written numerous essays about her father’s antics with cats.

“You’re Mei’er, right? Truly, your name suits you~” His fur was long and smooth—he was clearly a lion cat, a female kitten, but not heterochromatic.

Wei Ming had already pulled down his sleeve; the kitten was pretty, but in its panic, its tiny claws were sharp.

“Don’t be afraid, Uncle will be gentle~”

He soothed the kitten in a soft voice, then suddenly grabbed its nape and yanked it off the trunk, pulling it into his arms with one arm.

Mr. Feng watched in dread, fearing both that Mei’er might get hurt and that the young man might fall.

After securing the cat, Wei Ming performed a one-handed descent, moving with astonishing speed, like a primitive man.

Mr. Feng took Mei’er from Wei Ming’s hands and thanked him repeatedly: “Thank you, young man, come in, have some tea.”

Wei Ming politely declined, adding: “Sir, cats are better than humans at climbing trees, and this tree isn’t even tall—next time, don’t panic; it’ll learn to come down on its own.”

“I know other cats can climb, but Mei’er is slow-witted and hasn’t mastered this skill yet.”

“Meow~” Mei’er stretched out its soft white hind legs comfortably in its master’s arms.

Wei Ming: Sleazy cat!

Mr. Feng added: “And Mei’er is so beautiful, she attracts cats—just now, a stray tomcat chased after her trying to make friends, which scared her so badly she climbed up.”

“Oh, was there a stray cat just now?” the senior asked.

“Yes, a yellow one.”

Seeing how deeply the old man adored his beloved cat, Wei Ming didn’t want to crush his illusions—the man was simply acting the doting father.

In your eyes, a pretty little kitten; in a tomcat’s eyes, those flashy tortoiseshell or calico cats are far more attractive—that’s the real cat beauty.

After leaving Yannan Garden, the senior sized up Wei Ming: “Little Wei, you’re quite good at climbing trees?”

“Let’s put it this way—I’ve slept in trees before.”

“Why sleep in a tree?”

“When I was little, I ate the family’s New Year meat. If I hadn’t slept in the tree, my dad would’ve used my butt meat for the holiday.”

“Hahaha, you,” the senior laughed heartily, “well, here’s a somewhat dangerous task—wanna give it a try?”

“What task?”

The senior brought him to the front of the big dining hall, where a persimmon grove stood; October was peak harvest season, and the lower fruit had already been picked clean by students—only the high-up ones remained.

Since ripe persimmons fall naturally, they sometimes hit people; even if they miss, the soft, mushy mess on the ground is a nightmare to clean.

Wei Ming glanced at the tree height—this?

“Get me a pair of shears, and have a few more people below with cloth bags ready—you can’t handle it alone.”

His own family had a persimmon tree much taller than this; since age ten, picking persimmons had been his job.

Soon Wei Ming climbed a tree with shears in hand; those who climbed often knew a tree’s limits by instinct.

He moved along the main trunk, cutting what he could reach, snapping off branches he couldn’t and tossing them down—since they’d be out of reach next year anyway, what use were they?

After finishing one tree, he climbed down and up again, shifting positions—sure enough, several people couldn’t keep up with his pace.

As a campus security officer, Wei Ming had the added prestige of being a writer, was handsome, and was the nephew of Director Wei—leaders treated him differently, Peking University female students and some male students admired him, and it was impossible for colleagues not to make snide remarks.

But seeing him lead by example, fearless of danger and fatigue, the rustic honesty and integrity of this country boy made several who’d mocked Wei Ming feel deeply ashamed.

Just then, Wei Anping passed by and saw Wei Ming in the tree—it reminded him of his childhood in the countryside; this little Ming really did resemble Jiefang.

Pfft, no way did Ming resemble him—he was far superior, how could a firefly compete with the moon?

When Wei Ming finally climbed down, Wei Anping walked over.

“Director Wei.” Wei Ming followed protocol, addressing him by title during work.

“Hmm.” Wei Anping came over first to commend everyone’s efforts.

The senior immediately said: “The real credit goes to Little Wei—we old bones aren’t nearly that agile.”

Then Wei Anping pulled out two newspapers from behind his back: “Yesterday’s and today’s Wenhui Daily—I only remembered this because I saw young people in the office reading your novel. This is your first published story—worth keeping.”

He added: “I’ll bring you the third copy tomorrow after I finish reading it.”

Meaning: he was also following the serial.

Wei Ming: Followers are angels!

Seeing Wei Anping about to leave, Wei Ming quickly grabbed a branch heavy with bright red persimmons.

“Director Wei, we have too many here and can’t eat them all—why don’t you take some?”

Wei Anping didn’t refuse; he slung the branch over his shoulder and headed back to his office.

By four in the afternoon, Wei Ming was off duty; they’d gathered several baskets of persimmons, and the senior let Wei Ming, the biggest contributor, decide the distribution.

Wei Ming took only two heavily laden branches for himself and had the rest shared among all colleagues.

The senior said: “Got it—I’ll tell them it was Wei Ming’s treat, haha.”

The persimmons were still hard, so when Wei Ming got home, he placed them out to dry near the South Gate.

At this time, Liu Zhenyun hadn’t finished class, Biao was still on guard duty, and Mei Wenhua was at the Winter Games figure skating rink, polishing the ice—he was especially good at it.

!

So he slung a bag over his shoulder, returned five books to the library, then borrowed a few more.

Then he went to the school bus fleet, where, besides sedans, there were many large buses.

Peking University now had a branch campus in Changping, and every day buses transported professors there to teach; today’s acquaintance, Wang Xiaoping’s future husband, the famous director Zheng Xiaolong, studied there.

Outside, someone was servicing a vehicle; Wei Ming asked a question and quickly found Master Liu.

Liu Wenjie had just returned from a run and was sipping tea and reading the paper.

“Oh, Little Wei, when did you get back?”

“Master Liu, I just arrived,” Wei Ming said, pulling out his bag, “I didn’t let you down—the wine’s here. I know you’ve been craving it—I brought it right after my shift.”

“Oh, no rush, no rush,” Master Liu took it, then noticed Wei Ming had slipped back five yuan.

“Hey, why give me the money? That’s inappropriate—and five yuan at that!”

Wei Ming smiled: “They sold it for fifteen, so five yuan was the change.”

Knowing Wei Ming didn’t care about his meager labor fee, Master Liu chuckled and accepted it.

“Little Wei, how about I treat you to dinner tonight? Pick any restaurant—you name it,” Master Liu said generously—how much could a meal cost?

Wei Ming waved him off: “Master Liu, no need for dinner—the Chinese Department girls are lined up to treat me, but I do have a favor to ask.”

He pulled out the Da Qianmen cigarettes he’d bought earlier and offered one to Master Liu—these cost 0.39 yuan per pack, a decent brand.

In his past life, he smoked; too many bitter things. This life, he avoided it—but it was useful for socializing.

Master Liu sighed in relief, took the cigarette and lit it—when someone asked a favor, it was fine; he hated owing people and carrying that weight.

Then Wei Ming mentioned wanting to get his driver’s license.

Master Liu exhaled smoke: “Leave it to me—you don’t need to do anything, just wait for me to call you.”

Then he explained the licensing process to Wei Ming.

First, get a letter of introduction from your unit, then go to the Vehicle Supervision Office to pick up forms and register.

Then, have a senior driver from your unit with over three years’ experience serve as your instructor, sign and stamp the paperwork—Master Liu was the obvious choice.

Then you’ll receive two booklets: one on Traffic Rules, one on Mechanical Basics—study them yourself, apply for the written exam after six months.

After passing that, you’ll take the road test—without a year, you won’t get the license.

Hearing Old Liu’s explanation, it sounded complicated; back then, there were no driving schools—without a seasoned driver like Master Liu guiding him, he’d never manage.

Master Liu clapped Wei Ming on the shoulder: “Once you get your license, you planning to join our school bus fleet?”

“I’m just afraid you won’t take me,” Wei Ming grinned.

“Someone like you? Everyone will fight over you. I’ll tell you—our bus fleet sees real big shots. Know who I just picked up the president for?”

“Who?”

“Oh, nobody special—just a president. American.”

Master Liu calmly blew two smoke rings; they rose slowly—one formed the character “ Niu ,” the other the letter “b.”

………………

(ps: one formed the character “ Yue ,” the other the character “ Piao ”)

(End of Chapter)