Chapter 471

Actually, this matter was easy to solve—if Wei Ming had just called ahead to turn off the streetlights, the neighbors would have scattered, and he could have slipped in under cover of night to steal the scent.

But those details could wait; right now, Wei Ming led the two women into the inner courtyard and opened the painting and calligraphy room.

Zhu Lin twirled a strand of hair around her finger: “It’s late at night and you’re not sleeping—why all of a sudden do you want to admire paintings?”

Wei Ming told them: “I saw the news today—Zhang Daqian just passed away in Taiwan.”

“Oh, so what?” Zhu Lin asked again; she wanted to sleep—otherwise her period would come again.

Wei Ming: “With Zhang Daqian dead, his artworks’ prices will surely skyrocket. I’ll pick out a few pieces from here with repetitive themes—or ones I don’t like—and when you go to Hong Kong, Xiao Xue, give them to Ah Long to handle for me.”

He opened a crate and pulled out paintings according to their labels: “Oh, also take out some Qi Baishi and other deceased artists’ works—have him dispose of them all.”

Wei Ming certainly wasn’t short of money—whether RMB or foreign exchange—so Gong Ying was curious: “Why sell them at all?”

Wei Ming glanced at the room full of painting and calligraphy crates: “Because we hold too many. Contemporary art like this must circulate to drive up its value.”

Seeing they still didn’t understand, Wei Ming sat on a crate and explained: “My father bought them for 300,000 Hong Kong dollars, but if they were in Hong Kong, these pieces would be worth at least several million.”

“Ah!” Both gasped—they hadn’t realized their uncle had stumbled upon such a massive bargain.

Wei Ming: “That valuation is based on Hong Kong’s current market acceptance of these artists’ works. When these pieces appear at auction and one after another fetches high bids, the theoretical value of all other works by the same artist rises too. So I need to release some pieces to stimulate the market and lift the value of the ones I hold.”

Watching them process this, Wei Ming asked: “Do you think I’m too calculating?”

Gong Ying shook her head: “I’m just curious—you gave away a million without a second thought. How high do you expect these paintings to go to make you go through all this trouble?”

Wei Ming held up one finger. Zhu Lin: “Ten million?”

Gong Ying took a deep breath: “He probably means one hundred million.”

Because she knew how rich Hong Kong people were—Gong Ying had told her about a businessman nicknamed “Hong Kong Superman” whose fortune was conservatively estimated at ten billion Hong Kong dollars.

Just as Zhu Lin was about to express disbelief, Wei Ming smiled: “I meant ten billion.”

“What!?” Even Gong Ying couldn’t grasp it—these paintings? This couldn’t be right.

Wei Ming: “Even a hundred billion is conservative. If our national strength grows and the people prosper, the wealthy who control most of the wealth will naturally buy anything of high value. Once cars, yachts, and private jets no longer satisfy them, irreplaceable art will naturally enter their view.”

Of the paintings Wei Ming had seen, few had sold for over a hundred million, but several had fetched tens of millions; even relatively ordinary pieces sold for hundreds of thousands, though calligraphy was cheaper.

The two sisters stared, mouths slightly open, blinking—then Zhu Lin suddenly asked: “You just said ‘the wealthy who control most of the wealth’—surely it can’t be that extreme.”

Wei Ming: “Don’t think it’s impossible. Aside from me, do you think Xiao Mei and Biaozi’s wealth compares to ordinary people’s? And Xintiandi keeps expanding. If policies loosen further, I guarantee Xiao Mei will make Xintiandi ten times bigger—the gap between them and ordinary people will only widen. Enough about that—it’s beyond our control. We just need to live our own lives well.”

At that moment, Gong Ying looked at the scroll in her hands—it felt heavy. These paintings were worth so much.

Earlier, Wei Ming had asked her to pick a few to give to her father and brother—she’d have to make sure they stored them properly; someday they might be worth a small car.

He’d also asked Zhu Lin to pick some, but Zhu Lin’s parents didn’t care for art—so Zhu Lin asked Wei Ming to give her two papers on weapons and medicine. Wei Ming told her to go play with herself, and she left.

After picking ten paintings for Gong Ying, Wei Ming told her to pack them and asked: “When are you leaving?”

Since Wei Ming asked, Gong Ying had to tell the truth—her family visit entry procedures were still pending and not easy to complete.

Wei Ming slapped his forehead: “Hong Kong’s entry rules have tightened lately. This kind of thing should be handled through work channels. Xia Meng sent me a letter saying she’s coming to Beijing soon—I’ll ask her to help.”

Gong Ying nodded. Wei Ming announced: “Alright, let’s sleep.”

Only then did Zhu Lin, who’d been yawning, perk up—here she could relax; back at Tuanjiehu, she had to watch out for neighbors on all sides—no one dared let loose.

Meanwhile, as the three of them were going at it with wild abandon, a trio of thieves arrived at Nanluoguxiang.

One of them said: “Big Brother, I’ve scouted it—a big house. A woman lived there before, but lately no one’s been around, not even at night. They say there’s a color TV inside!”

A color TV cost a couple thousand—steal one, and they’d have enough to eat for months.

But when they reached the alley, the streetlights were blinding—especially one right next to the gate.

Under the light, they had no courage to stand by the wooden door.

They glanced over—no lock on the outside, meaning someone was home—and they grew even more timid, walking right past. The scout got punched by Big Brother.

This is “unoccupied”?

Even if no one was home, they still didn’t dare work under streetlights.

This kind of work couldn’t be done in the light.

The next day, Wei Ming, refreshed and alert, opened the inner courtyard door.

The courtyard had two gates—even if you breached the first, there was still the second, and then the bedroom door.

Plus, the outer courtyard had two bicycles—any ordinary thief would’ve given up on seeing them.

But Wei Ming still wasn’t satisfied. He thought thieves, besides fearing light, also feared one other thing: “noise.”

He touched the gate between the inner and outer courtyards, wondering if he could install a motion-triggered alarm—like the siren on a police car—that would terrify any thief with a guilty conscience.

Once it rang, they’d flee immediately.

To solve this, Wei Ming returned to Peking University—rare for him—and asked a classmate in electromechanical engineering for help, claiming his home had just been burgled.

Everyone was happy to help Professor Wei Ming and offered ideas.

They had ideas but no money, so Wei Ming called Wei Hong and told them to get materials from her for experiments—even if they failed, it’d count as social practice.

A few days later, Xia Meng arrived in Beijing, bringing the Mandarin script of “Paper Butterfly.”

Given Xia Meng’s status, Wang Yang summoned Siqin Gaowa for a meeting at Beiyingchang, and they finally secured her as the lead actress.

Wei Ming, as the intermediary, was present. After the deal was settled, he mentioned his request to Xia Meng.

She readily agreed—Gong Ying mainly worked for her family’s clothing factory, and Xia Meng’s husband had recently aligned with Langning Company and planned to open a clothing factory in Shenzhen, since Langning had plenty of land and allocated a small plot for them to rent.

“Little Wei, is your film ‘The Sheep Herding Class’ finished?”

Wei Ming: “Still doing final adjustments—it should be ready to watch this weekend.”

Xia Meng: “Good, I’ll wait until I’ve seen it before leaving.”

During this time, Wei Ming introduced Gong Ying to Xia Meng.

On the weekend, Ge You arrived early at his parents’ home at Beiyingchang—he was grown now and usually lived in the unit dormitory.

Today was the first informal screening of “The Sheep Herding Class” at Beiyingchang—he couldn’t miss it. Not just him—his father and mother would come too.

On the other side, Tian Zhuangzhuang, Chen Kaige, Feng Xiaoning, and Feng Xiaogang—specifically invited by Wei Ming—also arrived.

Tian Zhuangzhuang and several other classmates’ “Red Elephant” had finished post-production, so they wanted to see what another young director’s film from Er Yingchang was like—whether it was really as good as Kaige claimed.

As for the other key member, Zhang Yimou, he didn’t come—besides the distance, his daughter had just been born, and his wife hadn’t left the postpartum confinement.

In his past life, his “daughter” was born the day before they decided to shoot “One and Eight” in Guangxi, so her birthday marked the last day of their ordinary lives—and she was named Zhang Mo.

But in this life, Zhang Yimou didn’t join the others’ “One and Eight”—he joined Wei Ming’s “The Sheep Herding Class,” so his first daughter was named Zhang Fangchun.

“Oh, Brother Han, come in, come in.”

After arriving, Feng Xiaogang didn’t sit down—he stood by the door as a host, his obsequiousness earning disdain from Tian Zhuangzhuang and Chen Kaige, the sons of directors.

But Feng Xiaogang didn’t care—he hadn’t seen Mingye in ages; he had to make a good impression.

Han Sanping and Mi Jiashan were still studying at the Film Academy; Wei Ming had treated them to meals twice before, and Han Sanping often visited Beiyingchang to check on post-production progress—this premiere naturally couldn’t miss them.

Of course, Gong Ying and Zhu Lin couldn’t be absent either—they cared even more about the film’s quality than the participants, for they’d seen the effort and sacrifice Wei Ming had poured into it.

He, who loved sex and comfort, had spent months buried in the mountain villages of the southwest, living without any quality of life—this film clearly held his greatest expectations.

Finally, the two studio heads and Ms. Xia Meng arrived. Everyone was present. Wang Yang and Xia Meng politely insisted that Yu Lan sit in the center—it was Er Yingchang’s day.

The film wasn’t shot chronologically—it opened with the naughty boy blocking the village chief’s chimney, revealing that the village school had no teacher.

So the first character to appear was Xi Zi—Xi Zi and Le Le sat right between Gong Ying and Zhu Lin; as the film’s biggest star, Teacher Xi had also been invited.