Chapter 456: The Maiden

Gangdan and Ba Si just played around; they were still too young to understand bear things.

But Zhou Hui was no longer a child; it was 1983, and she considered herself a sixteen-year-old young woman, with some of her female classmates already dating boys and even going to midnight movie screenings.

She felt a young woman should watch something appropriate for her age, but she dared not go to a midnight theater alone, so she chose to go to Wei Lingling’s house.

After her aunt went on a business trip, she gave Zhou Hui the spare house key because she kept the latest and most complete American movie videotapes there, and the key was meant so that Amin could take any movie she wanted to watch.

One film called “Youth Coral Island” deeply shocked Amin after she watched it; she even watched it twice, stirring her adolescent emotions intensely.

She opened Wei Lingling’s front door—after a whole week, they still hadn’t returned, and she didn’t know if Uncle Wei and the others would make it back before leaving.

Zhou Hui continued searching through the videotapes, but many of last year’s newest films were still missing, like “E.T.,” which she really wanted to watch again.

At Wei Lingling’s house, Zhou Hui also saw a Sony CDP-101, a CD player; it was said to offer an excellent music experience, quite different from vinyl records, and music circle friends claimed a revolution was coming with the new medium.

But CDs were still too rare, so Amin hadn’t bought the machine yet.

She wanted to try it, so she started searching to see if her aunt had any CDs.

As she rummaged, she spotted a videotape that looked like a Japanese film—the cover had been torn off, leaving only a corner barely attached, showing a few Japanese characters.

“What’s this movie?” Amin, curious, immediately inserted it into the VCR.

Minutes later, Zhou Hui quickly turned off the TV; these Japanese people were shameless—how could they make something like this!

Previously, Amin had loved listening to Japanese songs and even visited Japan once, thinking them a reserved people; she never imagined such blatant content was far more extreme than Li Hanxiang’s erotic films or even “Youth Coral Island.”

And her aunt—how could she watch something like this?

Zhou Hui couldn’t help wondering: Could it have been Li Zhi who bought it? Maybe she’d wrongly accused her aunt.

With her face flushed red, Zhou Hui planned to leave immediately, but when she reached the door, she ultimately didn’t open it; instead, she pulled the curtains shut, turned on the lights, turned the TV back on, and lowered the volume.

At that time, Japan’s porn film industry was in transition from pink films to AV films; the trendsetter, Murai Tohru, hadn’t officially entered the scene yet, so what Zhou Hui was watching wasn’t the typical one-man-one-woman naked battle, but a video of a Japanese woman pleasuring herself.

Amin had only known that kissing boys brought pleasure, never imagining such direct methods existed.

She stared at her own hand, restraining herself from doing anything so shameful—it was someone else’s home after all.

Yet her body on the sofa had already twisted unnaturally, her long legs twisted like ropes, and her breathing grew increasingly erratic.

Amin felt her mouth dry; she quickly took a bottle of water from the fridge.

But her hands trembled as she drank, even dripping water onto the sofa; her body seemed to climb with the actress into paradise.

This filthy place was unbearable; Zhou Hui forcibly turned off the TV, returned the tape to its place, and hurried home before dark fell.

Back home, she went upstairs to find Ni Nai, who was gossiping with Xu Shufen about entertainment news.

“That Fazai just committed suicide; they say it was because his girlfriend Lianmei wanted to break up with him,” Lin Ni said.

Xu Shufen: “Why break up? He’s tall and good-looking.”

Lin Ni: “The paparazzi say it was because Fazai’s mom disapproved, so Lianmei took the initiative to end it.”

Zhou Hui knew they were talking about Zhou Runfa swallowing disinfectant; though harmful, disinfectant and detergent weren’t as deadly as paraquat or dichlorvos, and timely rescue caused little lasting harm.

Amin also knew Jiang Dawei’s younger brother Er Dongsheng’s ex-girlfriend Yu An’an had been caring for Zhou Runfa in the hospital lately—they might get back together. Oh, she’d heard that from classmates.

They loved spreading such nonsense and sometimes tried to pry entertainment gossip out of her; ha, not a chance—her lips were sealed tight; only Aming could ever get her to talk.

Xu Shufen sighed: “So when my son picks a woman, I won’t interfere—I’ll love whatever kind he chooses, and however many he picks.”

Amin had been listening happily until now; she quickly spoke up: “Auntie, if he wants to pick several, you still need to have some say.”

“Oh, Amin’s back! How long have you been eavesdropping?” Lin Ni laughed, standing up.

Xu Shufen’s face looked extremely awkward; it was probably too late to intervene now.

“I just got here; since the door wasn’t locked, I slipped in.”

Xu Shufen stood up: “Good, Amin, stay for dinner. Uncle and I leave tomorrow; we don’t know when we’ll meet again.”

“Auntie, I don’t want you to go,” Amin rushed forward and hugged her, acting sweet.

Xu Shufen didn’t want to let go of this sweet, soft little girl either; she smiled: “You just can’t bear to give up my cooking, can’t you?”

Lin Ni quickly added: “I don’t want you to go either—Afen’s cooking is the best in the world!”

Soon after, Lao Gui returned; Zhou Ma, seeing her daughter wasn’t home, came upstairs too—the food portion was sufficient.

Zhou Hui asked: “Hey, where’s Uncle?”

Xu Shufen said: “He said goodbye to his horse friends.”

Lao Gui: “He has horse friends?”

Xu Shufen respectfully replied: “Dad, he’s always made friends easily—even in Beijing he knew many cultured old men, and here in Happy Valley he’s met several who love horses; it seems they all own horses at the club.”

Lao Gui was astonished: “Owning racehorses at the club isn’t for ordinary people.”

After arriving in Hong Kong, Lao Gui had kept a low profile and avoided socializing; even the boss of Haoli Lai had only met Zhou Ma and Liu Bin—he never showed up himself—yet his son’s social circle was broader than his own.

“Won!” Wei Jiefang exclaimed excitedly. “I told you picking the top horse was a sure thing—pay up, pay up.”

This time he not only bet officially but also placed small bets with friends, collected several checks, cashed them, and deposited them—he now had a bank account in Hong Kong, a little stash.

“Amin, this money means nothing; come help me raise horses, I’ll give you a million a year easily,” an old man said, smoking a cigar.

Another half-elderly man said: “Only a million? You’re looking down on Amin. People who raise pandas spend at least two million on horses.”

“Enough, enough, do you have to brag? You’ll die if you don’t?” Old Wei scoffed. “A million, two million—you act like you can actually afford it. Didn’t you just complain about losing big on stocks? Besides, I don’t need that. No matter how much money, going home matters more—I’m leaving for my hometown tomorrow.”

“What? Leaving tomorrow?” The old friends were heartbroken; without you, how will we win?

Winning money wasn’t the point—it was the thrill of winning. At their level, they no longer cared how much they won at the racetrack.

Because these old men had treated him to meals—good ones—and had good conversations, Old Wei had shared some insights on each horse’s performance; he didn’t always guess right, but over half his picks were correct, and even if they didn’t come first, the horses he favored almost always finished in the top three—his horse-reading skill was exceptional.

He had over thirty years of daily experience with large animals and a touch of special talent.

Knowing his friends didn’t want him to leave, Old Wei pulled out a notebook: “All of you leave your addresses—I’ll send you something good when I get back to Beijing. Can’t let you all lose money for nothing.”

The oldest old man hesitated, took the pen, wrote an address, and asked: “Amin, what are you planning to send? Not Beijing roast duck, right?”

Old Wei said: “Roast duck must be eaten fresh and hot—after days in transit, it’s inedible. Do you think I’d send you that? Am I even your friend?”

Everyone nodded.

Old Wei added: “I see you all like to pretend you’re cultured—I’ll send you some famous calligraphy and paintings: Qi Baishi’s shrimp, Xu Beihong’s horses—I can get some, I’ve got connections.”

Hearing this gift, the other old men didn’t mind his blunt tone—they all wrote down their addresses. Though not ancient masterpieces, they were tokens of goodwill.

Old Wei glanced at the addresses: “Oh, you all live around Taiping Mountain? Fine, you’ll get them before the New Year.”

Finally, under the gaze of his old friends, Old Wei said: “I’ll come back!”

Wei Jiefang drove home; the car radio alternated between reporting that “First Love: Zhou Hui” had sold over five million copies in Hong Kong, previewing Cheng Long’s movie “Project A” and Xinyicheng’s “The Best of the Best 2” for the Spring Festival, and finally playing Deng Lijun’s new song “I Hope You’ll Live Long.”

Old Wei hummed along automatically, but he’d have to say goodbye to this car when he returned to Beijing; he’d grown used to driving, and he wondered if he could ever get used to riding a motorcycle again—Beijing winters were freezing and slippery.

But thinking of his son and daughter, and Silver Fox, he’d overcome any hardship.

Seeing Old Wei, Zhou Hui returned home; finals were near, and she had class tomorrow—she had no time to see off her future father-in-law; this was their final farewell.

Old Wei was satisfied—this child had such good manners. But Xu Shufen joked about how Amin had overheard her remarks, and Old Wei felt Amin still lacked certain traditional Chinese feminine virtues.

Back home, lying on her bed, Zhou Hui’s mind was filled with the Japanese woman on TV, helping herself find pleasure—so pale, so lively, and her moans…

As she thought, a wicked little hand crossed her moral boundary.

Amin, ashamed, shut her eyes and whispered softly: “Aming, Aming~”

The next day, Wei Lingling appeared downstairs at Lao Gui’s house; she and Li Zhi had returned to Hong Kong last night, just in time to say goodbye.

But after returning home last night, Wei Lingling noticed the TV was still warm, and one of her videotapes had been moved.

She also spotted faint water stains on the sofa.

Unfortunately, Amin had already left for school today, so she couldn’t see her guilty expression firsthand.