Chapter 443: The Part You Played

Leaving the Lee Theatre, Wei Ming drove Amin to the nearby Xi Ji Stir-Fried Spicy Crab to eat Cantonese cuisine.

This was also his last night in Hong Kong; his flight was tomorrow.

He asked Amin not to see him off tomorrow, because at the airport he’d likely be discussing work with A Long and Xiao Gu, leaving no time for her—so tonight was their final farewell.

They planned to stay out until late before heading home.

Over dinner, they continued talking about the finals of the New Talent Singing Awards.

Wei Ming said: “Actually, it’s better not to enter. With your fame, you could easily sit on the judging panel. Now that you’re competing yourself, if you win, people will say you’re bullying newcomers; if you lose, it’s even worse—you can’t even beat a newcomer, how will you survive afterward?”

Amin: “I didn’t think that far. I just feel it’s unfair to the other contestants. The songs you wrote for me are so beautiful, most judges know me, and even if they don’t, they’ll give you face—scores will inevitably be biased. Besides, winning this title means little to me, but for many, it’s a chance to change their lives. So I’ll withdraw.”

Wei Ming gently took Amin’s hand: “Whether you continue competing or choose to withdraw, I’ll support you. Here’s what I’ll do—I’ll write you a song before I leave tomorrow. If you want to compete, sing this one; if not, wait until I come back next time and sing it for me.”

“Oh, you’re writing another one? No, don’t bother—staying up late hurts your health.” Amin shook her head, worried for her giegie.

Wei Ming smiled: “Then I’ll write it tomorrow morning. Tonight, give me more inspiration—maybe I’ll even dream up the lyrics and melody.”

“I envy geniuses like you—writing songs is as easy as drinking water,” Amin admitted, harboring her own dream of being a songwriter. “I’ve tried writing too, but nothing satisfied me.”

Wei Ming advised: “Writing songs is indeed hard, but you can start by practicing modern poetry. And get into the habit of carrying a notebook and pen everywhere—capture every fleeting spark of inspiration.”

“Poetry? I’ve written some too.”

“Oh? Any piece you’re satisfied with? Let me hear it.” Wei Ming smiled.

Amin pursed her lips and shook her head—she had one, but was too shy to share.

So Wei Ming encouraged her to speak up boldly.

“How about this—you recite one, and I’ll recite one to match.”

Zhou Hui Min’s eyes darted playfully: “Deal!”

But not in the restaurant—after dinner, they drove to Victoria Peak to catch the breeze, where Zhou Hui Min recited her own little poem.

“He took my soul,

I took his heart,

Love is this equality,

This balance,

A single spark of understanding,

Binding hearts as one,

I took his soul,

He took my heart.”

After finishing, she blushed, stealing a glance at Wei Ming.

Wei Ming smiled and nodded: “Looks like this is a poem about love.” And it’s a circular poem too~

But who is the “he” in the poem? Hard to guess.

Amin didn’t dare ask for his opinion on the poem. Though A Ming didn’t write much poetry, everything he wrote was a classic—he surely wouldn’t approve of her childish little piece.

“So what kind of poem will you recite for me?” Amin asked.

“Also about love.”

Beneath the mountain wind, Wei Ming gently embraced Amin and whispered in her ear: “The greatest distance in the world is not between life and death...”

The poem was long, and Wei Ming recited it in Mandarin, but Zhou Hui Min listened with rapt attention, deeply moved—each rising stanza filled her with surging love.

The final lines: “The greatest distance in the world is between a bird and a fish—one soars through the sky, the other dives deep into the ocean.”

After hearing the entire poem, Amin collapsed into Wei Ming’s arms. She had offered only a child’s essay-level verse, yet he returned a classic love poem. She asked: “How long did you prepare this poem for me?”

She didn’t believe he’d composed it in a short time.

Wei Ming: “I prepared it for twenty-one years—just to say it to you now.”

Amin, being a young girl and not a seasoned lover, was utterly lost and intoxicated by Wei Ming’s obvious flattery—she wished she could give him everything she had.

“A Ming.”

“A Min.”

“Who’s that?”

A patrol officer passed by, shining a flashlight their way—Wei Ming and Amin hurried into the car and left.

After parking, they sat in the car for a long time—so long that Amin nearly memorized the entire poem.

“I’ll submit it to the Ming Pao for you,” Amin said. “Such a beautiful poem shouldn’t be heard by only me.”

Wei Ming withdrew his hand: “As you wish.”

Later, this poem was falsely attributed online to Tagore because of his “Stray Birds,” but it had nothing to do with him—it was essentially a netizen’s creative adaptation based on a line from Zhang Xiaoxian’s novel, a collective work with many versions; Wei Ming chose the most classic one.

Because of the poem’s power, Amin felt impulsive tonight, and Wei Ming didn’t hold back either.

Amin felt A Ming treated her too well—so well that she wanted to give him everything.

Fortunately, everything remained within bounds; before midnight, Wei Ming returned Amin home.

Seeing her daughter return unharmed, Zhou Ma finally sighed in relief and fell asleep quickly—but Amin tossed and turned, unable to sleep.

She thought of Mei, who had a profound love affair at thirteen. She was older than Mei had been then—why, why was she still less brave?

Mei, too, couldn’t sleep. Third place in the semifinals—what song should she choose for the finals to win the championship?

Just as Zhou Hui Min told Wei Ming, the title meant little to her, the darling of the music scene—but for herself, it was a chance to change her destiny completely.

Wei Ming still had energy; early the next morning, he and Xiao Hong headed for the airport. He gave Lin Ni a letter to pass on to Amin.

This time, Old Wei and Xu Shufen saw the siblings off at the airport. Old Wei reminded Wei Ming about the children’s study trip in Shanghai.

Meanwhile, A Long was taking Gong Ying, Zhang Yimou, and Feng Xiaoning to the airport. Even Xiao Gu Wei Lingling and Li Zhi came—the entourage was impressive.

Wei Ming first briefed Li Zhi: “Once my film starts shooting domestically, you’ll need to buy Kodak film stock for me. Can you handle this?”

“Consider it done!” Li Zhi planned to learn production and become the woman behind Wei Ming.

Wei Lingling said: “When you get back, watch the films made by Meiyingchang. Finish them within this year. If you do, I’ll give you a foreign exchange bonus—and we can hire them for Season Two of Transformers, even at a higher price.”

The producer was raising the price because Transformers’ profits were sky-high. Another reason: currently, toy companies pay to air Transformers on TV—but next year, it might reverse: TV networks will beg to air it, paying the toy companies instead.

Wei Ming also reminded her: “I’ve already designed the main characters. Now, Lang Ning must design and develop new Transformers himself—continuous iteration keeps the series alive. We can’t settle for kids buying just one or two toys.”

They aimed to empty every American kid’s allowance!

And Transformers currently targets boys—later, they’d need to figure out how to make girls spend too.

Wei Lingling trusted her nephew could find ways to make girls spend. In just half a month away, he’d directed a supposedly divine short film and secured three years of prime weekend advertising slots with ATV—all thanks to his brilliant mind.

Finally, Wei Ming walked up to A Long, whose eyes were dark with fatigue. Gong Ying still fretted: “I’m only going for a few days—don’t you dare stay up late again. I’ll make your parents watch you.”

“I know. Before, I was rushing. Now it’s done—I won’t push myself like that anymore.”

Over the past half-month, A Long revised and scrapped repeatedly, finally completing the first chapter of Dragon Ball.

Of course, he was satisfied—but whether it passed depended entirely on Wei Ming’s judgment. He trusted Wei Ming’s taste unconditionally.

The first chapter depicted Sun Wukong living alone after his grandfather’s death, training, then meeting Bulma, explaining the Dragon Ball’s wish-granting dragon, and, after being tricked by Bulma, setting off with her to find the Dragon Balls.

Looking at A Long’s Wukong, Wei Ming felt a rush of nostalgia—it felt right, finally right!

“This art style is so comfortable, and the paneling—so advanced, incredibly advanced!”

A Long said: “You told me to study great action films, and I read some film books—it really helped.”

Wei Ming kept flipping through the pages; Xiao Hong leaned in too—and then saw the scene of young Wukong stripping his pants to fish with his tail.

Though Wukong was a child, Xiao Hong still blushed—Brother A Long’s drawings were too improper.

Wei Ming thought: This is nothing—original versions had far more outrageous scenes. He felt some parts dragged the pacing, so he cut a lot.

A Long drew over twenty pages; the final page showed Bulma leading Wukong out of the mountains—the beginning of a legend that would last decades and span the globe.

Seeing Wei Ming’s satisfied expression, A Long relaxed—he’d now slowly hand over Qin Shi Ming Yue to Liang Zi and focus entirely on Dragon Ball.

The day The Maniac Comic became a weekly manga was the day Dragon Ball debuted.

Before that, A Long planned to visit masters in Hong Kong and Foshan, drawing inspiration from their martial arts.

“You could also visit the sets of Cheng Long, Hung Chin Bao, Yuan He Ping—they might offer something useful,” Wei Ming reminded.

Wei Hong: “Enough, brother—we should go.”

A Long hugged his wife one last time, watching them enter the boarding gate.

On the way, Zhang Yimou heard Wei Ming ask Wei Hong: “How much did you end up making from your 200,000?”

Wei Hong: “We made 50,000 total.”

Zhang Yimou: “...”

Wei Ming: “That’s fine. The stock market’s been weak—earning this much is already good.”

But Wei Hong didn’t agree: “Even knowing the market’s weak—and likely to stay that way—you can still make money. I was just too conservative at first. Now that I’m leaving, I’ll have to stay conservative too.”