Chapter 47: Liu Rulong

These people didn’t care where Wei Ming came from or where he was going; they bombarded him with questions.

“Can I take a photo of you?”

“It’s free.”

“Just do us a favor, bro.”

Gu Changwei squeezed to the front, leveraging his youth and short stature, and was the first to grab Wei Ming’s arm.

But Wei Ming stepped back politely and pointed to a man at the back, dressed like an old farmer.

“Let him take it.”

Everyone turned to look at Zhang Yimou; he hadn’t expected to be chosen.

They were puzzled—why him specifically?

Wei Ming: “He’s older, looks more experienced.”

Hearing this, Zhang Yimou immediately flashed his signature smile—wrinkles everywhere. He was twenty-nine, a sophomore, married with no kids, but he had wrinkles.

Upon hearing Wei Ming’s choice, Gu Changwei bolted off to find Zhou Lijing from the Acting Department—his face had just as much story to it.

Since model slots couldn’t be reused, it was first come, first served; if you were late, you’d have to settle for Zhang Tielin.

Zhang Yimou didn’t care much about the model—he was the best photographer in class, could make ordinary people look stunning.

Without that skill, he never would’ve gone from auditor to full student, and he was the only one in class who hadn’t taken the college entrance exam.

“We’re from the Photography Department, shooting an assignment,” Zhang Yimou explained first, then asked, “I’m Zhang Yimou. What’s your name?”

“Wei Ming—‘ming’ as in tomorrow,” Wei Ming replied. “Can I get a copy of the photo?”

Wei Ming knew a bit about photography and could impress Professor Qu and Sister Chen, but compared to this guy, he was barely a beginner.

Zhang Yimou agreed readily: “Sure, I’ll print an extra copy.”

Zhang Yimou took Wei Ming to a willow tree on campus. Wei Ming asked: “Should I be photographed under the tree or up in it?”

Zhang Yimou: “Why climb the tree? Just lean against it.”

Wei Ming: “I’ve gotten used to climbing trees lately.”

Zhang Yimou had Wei Ming adjust his posture and expression: “Your aura would be perfect if you had a book.” Unfortunately, none were handy.

“If you’re only shooting my head and neck, I can pretend I’m reading.”

“No props? Fine, fine, fine,” Zhang Yimou clicked the shutter—very satisfied. “You’ve got strong presence. You’re not from this school, are you?”

Wei Ming: “No.”

When Wei Ming said no, Zhang Yimou didn’t press further.

“Can I take another set?” He felt strongly about Wei Ming.

“Alright.”

“Next, pretend you’re holding a small knife, carving the name of the girl who abandoned you into the tree,” Zhang Yimou assigned a prompt—upping the intensity.

Wei Ming had spent years in the People’s Art Troupe; though he never became an actor, this was child’s play. He had plenty of life experience—he’d been genuinely hurt and abandoned in his thirties.

“Wow, excellent, great, great!” Zhang Yimou framed only Wei Ming’s upper shoulder and side face, but the eyes and facial muscles were full of drama—better than the last shot.

To prevent him from shooting a third set, Wei Ming quickly asked: “By the way, I’m here looking for someone. Do you know a guy named Liu Rulong?”

“Don’t know him.”

“Then do you know where the Animation class in the Fine Arts Department holds classes?”

“Sure, but today all the Fine Arts students went to the exhibition.”

“Ah, exhibition?”

“Yeah, the National Art Exhibition for the 30th Anniversary of the Founding of the Nation—at the National Art Museum. They just left, probably not on your route. Thanks, Lao Zhang. Just give the photos to Liu Rulong.” With that, Wei Ming prepared to head out again.

Zhang Yimou had no intention of shooting more—film cost money, developing cost money, he was strapped for cash, living off his wife’s salary, and every yuan saved counted.

But what Wei Ming never expected was that as he rode to the gate, he saw a slightly round, medium-height boy with pigeon-toed steps pushing a bike back.

“A-Long?”

Liu Rulong, head hanging low, froze, then looked up, eyes wide: “A-Ming!”

A-Long met A-Ming on a starless morning; they cheered joyfully at the campus gate, but both were on bikes, unable to get close—so they stopped, leaned on each other’s shoulders, and chatted right there.

“When did you get to Beijing?!” Liu Rulong’s excitement spilled out in Cantonese.

“The day you started college, I got here,” Wei Ming laughed. “My uncle got me into a class at Peking University.”

“So you didn’t take the exam?”

Wei Ming: “No. I found another way to live.”

Liu Rulong had feared most that his best friend, crushed by three failed college exams, would collapse permanently.

!

Since he’d found another way, Liu Rulong was genuinely happy for him.

“By the way, I heard your whole department went to the exhibition. Why are you back?”

Liu Rulong sighed: “Look—my tire’s punctured. Luckily, I didn’t go far. There’s usually an old man fixing bikes outside campus, but he didn’t show up today.”

Wei Ming glanced—damn, brand-new Phoenix bicycle, probably more expensive than Mei Wenhua’s Flying Pigeon.

“Is this exhibition that important?”

“The National Art Exhibition for the 30th Anniversary of the Founding of the Nation—of course it’s important. First big art show since the Cultural Revolution,” Liu Rulong added, “But it’s fine—doesn’t close tomorrow. Today I’ll stick with you.”

Wei Ming smiled: “Wherever you are, you’re just sitting. Let’s go. Hop on, I’ll take you.”

“Hey, your bike’s pretty nice too.”

“A colleague’s.”

Mounted, they rode out. Liu Rulong checked his wrist: “Let’s take turns riding. It’s exactly ten. We’ll eat first, then see the exhibition.”

Wei Ming glanced sideways—nearly swore aloud.

If he remembered right, the watch on Liu Rulong’s wrist was a Rado!

The same one he’d seen on the billboard in Shanghai, the first product ever advertised on Chinese TV—its foreign design made it instantly recognizable.

This all-gold model was marketed as “indestructible,” and being imported, it sold for around a thousand yuan—several times the price of the top domestic brand, the Magic City watch.

“A-Long, where’d you get the watch voucher?”

“Oh, this watch? My dad gave it to me after I got into college.”

“And your bike?”

“Oh, that one I bought—no voucher either. Dad wired me Hong Kong dollars, then I exchanged them for overseas remittance coupons and bought it at the Overseas Chinese Store.”

Wei Ming knew his father had faked a divorce to protect his mother and son, and later had another daughter for A-Long in Hong Kong—but he never imagined A-Long’s dad was already this well-off.

Wei Ming, who’d planned to bring A-Long along to earn pocket money from Children’s Literature, now felt too embarrassed to mention it.

Just then, they hit a hill. Wei Ming struggled to pedal.

“Let me walk a bit,” Liu Rulong said apologetically—he was ten centimeters shorter but weighed the same.

Wei Ming insisted: “No way. Hold on tight!”

Then Wei Ming stood up and pedaled, sparks nearly flying from the pedals.

At the south gate of Peking University, Mei Wenhua wasn’t volunteering today—he was on duty in the guard booth, heart pounding, a bad feeling gnawing at him, as if something was breaking.

Just then, a phone rang.

Mei Wenhua: “Hello, this is the south gate guard post of Peking University. What? What?! Okay, okay, we’re on our way…”

(End of chapter)