Chapter 45: Go Easy on the Pedaling! (Please Follow & Vote!)

From what Master Liu meant, this person is coming to Peking University for a lecture—Wei Ming won’t get to see him.

But he could guess why the lecture was being held at Peking University: the state hoped to boost student exchanges, taking advantage of the Sino-American honeymoon period to send more university students to study in America.

It was said that even the Class of '77 had already begun competing for government-funded study-abroad slots; Qiang from the Law Department wanted to go too, but because he was too outstanding, the school kept him in the Youth League Committee.

The state knew full well that study-abroad programs often turned into meat buns thrown to dogs—never to return—and these were the best meat buns the country had.

But they couldn’t afford not to send them; a decade of academic exchange had been severed, many disciplines had suffered generational gaps, and without outside knowledge, the nation’s progress would only slow further.

Even if only half of ten who went returned, it would still be worth it.

Master Liu told Wei Ming to wait for his news—he’d help him get an introduction letter from his superiors.

After leaving the school bus team, Wei Ming returned to the South Gate, where Mei Wenhua, volunteering for the National Games, had already come back and was sitting inside with Biaozi.

Wei Ming asked: “Where’s Feng Ge? Still not off duty?”

Biaozi sighed: “Feng Ge said he won’t be coming.”

“Why not?”

Mei Wenhua chuckled: “Sister-in-law’s here!”

“What?”

Zhao Debiao: “She’s in our dorm.”

“Oh!”

Zhao Debiao: “It’s not what you think—Feng Ge just felt having one more person would burden you, so he thought maybe we should reschedule.”

Wei Ming: “It’s just one more person—I invited someone else too. Happy occasions don’t need to be so calculated.”

These days, even with money, there weren’t many ways to spend it; besides a few big-ticket items, it was mostly eating and drinking—and even that was limited by ration coupons.

So Wei Ming told Biaozi to go downstairs and invite them: “If you can’t do it, let Wenhua go. If he can’t get them, I’ll visit three times like Liu Bei.”

Biaozi had barely gone down when Liu Zhenyun ran up.

Wei Ming told him to wait a bit longer—the group wasn’t all here yet.

“No rush. Oh, here, take this.” Liu Zhenyun handed Wei Ming a sixteen-page booklet, its cover a yellow background with a man bowing, holding a small flower, and three large characters: “Weiminghu.”

The characters were written by Mao Dun—this was the inaugural issue of “Weiminghu.”

“Wow, it’s already printed!” Wei Ming quickly took it; Mei Wenhua also leaned over, gazing with envious eyes.

He flipped through a few pages and saw “Ideal” placed at the very front—he felt a small warmth; this generation of university students still had room for others.

“I thought you were just amateurs dabbling, but your production quality is quite refined.”

“We just don’t know if we’ll break even—many senior students have already poured their own money into it,” Liu Zhenyun sighed.

When fundraising was first mentioned, he got carried away and didn’t contribute; otherwise, he’d be starving now from unsold copies.

“How much are you selling it for?”

“Three jiao.”

“Three jiao isn’t expensive—it’s the same as ‘Yanjing Literature,’ cheaper than ‘People’s Literature.’”

Liu Zhenyun blushed: “How could we compare to them? But if we went any lower, we truly couldn’t recover costs.”

“I understand—they print in hundreds of thousands, use large-scale equipment, and control costs tightly. Your small workshop can’t compete.”

The more you print at once, the lower the cost per copy.

Just then, Zhao Debiao had already brought up Qiao Feng and Mu Rong.

Mu Rong was a classic Shandong woman—warm, outgoing, and good-looking; after being repeatedly called, she’d grown a bit haughty, and she’d long been curious about Wei Ming, the “extraordinary man” her husband spoke of. Now that she’d met him, she confirmed he was indeed extraordinary.

As they walked, they introduced themselves; no one resented Liu Zhenyun as a university student, and besides, Mu Rong was also a Peking University student—though she hadn’t been admitted through the entrance exam.

Mei Wenhua began calculating: last time four people ate for five yuan; now with six, how much would it cost?

How much had this kid earned in royalties to be so generous!

“By the way,” Qiao Feng asked Wei Ming, “I saw two newspapers on the table—one article had an author named Wei Ming. Same name, or…?”

“That’s me,” Wei Ming explained. “While revising my manuscript in Shanghai, I got bored and went out for a walk. An idea struck me—I wrote a short story and submitted it to the Wenhui Daily. It got accepted, and they paid me quickly.”

Mei Wenhua: “No wonder!”

Liu Zhenyun: “That’s allowed?”

Mu Rong congratulated: “Xiao Wei, you’re amazing! Does this count as double joy?”

“Shouhuo” was one joy; “Wenhui Daily” was another. Liu Zhenyun chimed in: “Our ‘Weiminghu’ magazine is about to launch officially—with Wei Brother’s poetry, it’s triple joy.”

Mei Wenhua chuckled: “But this third joy comes with no royalty.”

Wei Ming: “Actually, there’s also ‘Yanjing Literature’—it should be published next month too. And this story’s prototype came from Feng Ge.”

Mu Rong: “That one person and one ox on our hometown mountain?”

“Yes. So someday I want to treat Feng Ge and Sister-in-law to a special meal alone—without Feng Ge’s material, I wouldn’t have written that story,” Wei Ming said sincerely.

Hearing this, Qiao Feng felt honored; though he couldn’t write, inspiring a writer was still a meritorious deed.

Zhao Debiao was also inspired: “Ming Ge, if I tell you stories from our Shichahai Sports School, and you write a novel based on them, does that mean I inspired you too?”

Wei Ming: “Does your sports school even have stories worth writing?”

Biaozi racked his brain, then sighed: “Hmm… maybe not. But my own life story is pretty legendary.”

“Oh?” Everyone turned to look at him.

“Since I was little, I listened to tales like ‘Three Heroes and Five Gallants’—I always dreamed of being a knight-errant. At seven, I decided to roam the martial world. Unfortunately, that same afternoon, my mother dragged me back home. My butt was bruised, but she sent me to Shichahai to train in martial arts for ten years. Does that count?” Biaozi blinked, eagerly awaiting approval.

!

Wei Ming thought: “That sounds like a regular runaway.”

Everyone burst out laughing.

Mei Wenhua scoffed: “Ming Ge writes literature—this has nothing to do with literature. It’s me—I grew up in a military compound, played with older kids, took part in many famous battles around the Four-Nine City. You know Xiao Hun Dan? I was one of the witnesses when he died.”

Wei Ming laughed: “Mei, when Xiao Hun Dan died, you were only eight or nine—did you really fight back then?”

“Heroes always emerge young,” he adjusted his glasses—hard to see any heroism there.

After some idle chatter, they reached the Changzheng Canteen. Since there was a lady present, they didn’t order alcohol, so even with six people, they only spent five yuan.

But this still made Liu Zhenyun gape—all the dishes on the table were unavailable in the school canteen, each one with meat!

During the meal, curious about his experiences, Wei Ming recounted what he’d seen in Shanghai—none of those present had ever been there.

Giant billboards, the Bund's lovers' wall, toad cars, and more.

Listening to Wei Ming’s vivid descriptions, it felt like they were there. Qiao Feng thought this was Wei Ming’s talent—he’d only stayed a few days but observed the place so thoroughly, he could casually write an article that got published.

As they ate, Wei Ming mentioned his plans for tomorrow.

Tomorrow, his senior had arranged a night shift for him, so he could spend the day looking for Liu Rulong at the Film Academy.

“Tomorrow I’m visiting a classmate in Zhuxin Zhuang, so I need to borrow your bike. Who’s using the bike tomorrow?”

Zhao Debiao: “I’m not!”

Mei Wenhua reluctantly added: “Neither am I.”

Wei Ming: “Then I’ll take Wenhua’s—it’s a new bike, easy to ride.”

Mei Wenhua: “You know it’s new, right?”

“Mine’s new—you ride gently, okay?” Mei Wenhua insisted repeatedly.

Finally, he couldn’t help asking: “You’ve got so much royalty money—why don’t you buy a bike?”

“Do you have the quota?”

“I don’t, but you can buy secondhand—no quota needed, and cheaper.”

Mei Wenhua really hoped Wei Ming would own his own bike, so he wouldn’t wreck Mei’s new one.

Wei Ming took this to heart—he’d get his watch quota soon; he’d buy a new watch with after-sales guarantee.

Actually, whether the bike was new or old didn’t matter—as long as it rode. He planned to switch to a car in a few years, or maybe use a motorcycle as a transition first.

“Do you know where to find a secondhand one?”

Seeing Wei Ming interested, Mei Wenhua said: “I’ll ask around for you.”

Qiao Feng and the others also offered to keep an eye out.

Mu Rong smiled: “Xiao Wei, is your classmate a guy or a girl?”

“Sister-in-law, he’s a guy. Why? You wanna set me up?”

“If you ask, tomorrow I’ll bring you one. Our medical institute has plenty of women—beautiful, smart, and especially fond of literary youths!”

(End of Chapter)