Chapter 52: What

The happiest person about Wei Ming buying a bike was Mei Wenhua, since his brand-new Feidi was still between Wei Ming’s legs.

Only when Wei Ming had his own mount could he rescue Little Feidi.

Wei Ming didn’t want to keep riding other people’s bikes either—he was kind-hearted.

“Oh, did Brother Feng come back? Where is it?” Wei Ming asked hurriedly.

Then Mei Wenhua pointed to a pile of rusted scrap beside the gatehouse.

“Uh…”

Calling it scrap might be an exaggeration, but it was covered in rust, its original shape nearly unrecognizable—Wei Ming hadn’t even realized it was a bike at first.

“This bike seems pretty old.”

Mei Wenhua, like a salesperson, boasted: “Looks old, but it’s sturdy.”

That much was true—in this era, industrial products prioritized “durability,” and it was common for a single bicycle to be passed down through generations.

Seeing Wei Ming still hesitating, Mei Wenhua frantically wiped the emblem: “Look, the brand—Yongjiu!”

The three major bike brands today—Phoenix, Yongjiu, Feidi—were all guarantees of quality and symbols of status.

The more Mei Wenhua pushed it, the more Wei Ming hesitated: “This bike’s probably older than me—am I riding it, or is it riding me?”

Wei Ming feared it wouldn’t last until he could afford a car.

“What’s wrong with being old? Old things know how to care for you—this bike will last another ten years easy,” Mei Wenhua said. “If you think it’s too worn, I’ll polish it till it looks brand-new!”

“Oh, go ahead and polish it.” After all, you’re the best at polishing.

At that moment, car horns blared behind them—a senior guard was about to let a vehicle pass, and it pulled up beside Wei Ming.

Liu Master from the school bus fleet waved at Wei Ming: “Little Wei, get in—I’ll take you to the Vehicle Supervision Office.”

Liu Master was efficient—he’d already issued the referral letter, so Wei Ming could officially begin driving lessons.

Wei Ming sat in the front passenger seat and handed Liu Master a cigarette, lighting it for him.

Liu Master puffed away, again thanking Wei Ming for bringing the wine.

“I don’t know what’s going on lately—my father-in-law even heard about this Ginseng and Cinnamon Nourishing Wine. When he came over for dinner, I pulled it out unexpectedly—hah, the old man was overjoyed.”

Wei Ming smiled, wondering if it really had something to do with his novel.

Then Liu Master began driving while giving Wei Ming on-the-road instruction.

Back then, there were too few cars on the road—roads were mostly for bicycles, and traffic lights were incomplete, so much of Wei Ming’s future driving experience would be useless.

At the Haidian Vehicle Supervision Office, they registered, took a physical exam, and picked up study materials—all guided by Liu Master—for a total of two yuan. Liu Master also signed his name, officially becoming Wei Ming’s master.

That’s the advantage of having a unit—without one, you couldn’t even spend those two yuan.

Today Liu Master was free and wanted to teach Wei Ming, but Wei Ming had to work in the afternoon, so they gave up. Liu Master only urged him to read the two books he’d received.

Back at school, Liu Master dropped Wei Ming off at the South Gate.

Then Wei Ming saw a bike at the gatehouse—old, but spotlessly clean, not a single rust mark, especially the emblem, which gleamed in the sunlight.

Wei Ming couldn’t believe it: “Did you get another bike?!”

Mei Wenhua rubbed his waist: “Same bike—Yongjiu.”

Wei Ming sincerely marveled—at its former filthy state, he hadn’t known where to even begin.

Mei Wenhua beamed: “I used up several sheets of sandpaper—I didn’t even have time to eat. Now does it meet your eye? Go ahead and ride it.”

“Wait.” Wei Ming went back to his dorm to change into his uniform, thinking he’d ride it straight to work if it was good, then pay Brother Feng later.

But as soon as he got on, he noticed a problem.

“The brakes don’t work—no, there’s no brake cable at all!”

Mei Wenhua: “Uh, just ride slowly. Besides, your legs are long—you can brake with your feet.”

Wei Ming rode a bit further, then stopped.

Not foot-braking—the chain on Tom’s bike had snapped!

Wei Ming sighed: “Little Mei, maybe we should just forget it.”

“Don’t say that!” Mei Wenhua panicked. “These are minor issues! By the way, there’s an old master mechanic near Tsinghua—I’ll push it over and get it fixed!”

Wei Ming switched back to his smaller Feidi: “Then let’s wait till it’s fixed—I’m going to work.”

Wei Ming brought his backpack to work, ready to sneak in reading time for The Tale of the Demonic Subjugation.

Though it was vertical, read right-to-left, and in traditional characters—severely challenging Wei Ming’s reading habits—there was no alternative in this era.

But as he read, he grew used to it—especially traditional characters. Though he’d learned simplified characters in school and even endured the brief Two-Stroke Simplification campaign, reading traditional characters posed no real difficulty.

In the original Tale of the Demonic Subjugation, it was an old monk who found the swan egg; the child born from it was named Egg Monk, and by fifteen he was already a giant in the mold of Lu Zhishen.

He repeatedly stole the White Ape’s Ruyi Manual, teamed up with the old fox Saint Auntie and other demons to learn magic and wreak havoc, then incited Wang Ze to rebel. Eventually, enlightened by the White Ape and the Nine Heavens’ Mystic Lady, he transformed into Zhuge Suizhi—one of the Three Suis—helping Wen Yanbo suppress the rebellion, a morally ambiguous figure.

But for children’s fairy tales, this wouldn’t do—so Egg Monk became the cute, righteous Egg Boy, shifting from a controversial character to a hero, standing firmly against the three foxes and feudal bureaucrats. Yes, the new story Wei Ming planned to write was none other than The Legend of the Heavenly Book—one of the Three Masterpieces of the Shanghai Animation Studio, and the last to be completed!

The Three Masterpieces were: The Monkey King: Conquering the Heavens, adapted from Journey to the West; Nezha Conquers the Dragon King, adapted from Investiture of the Gods; and this one, adapted from The Tale of the Demonic Subjugation.

And The Legend of the Heavenly Book had undergone the most radical adaptation—it was nearly an entirely new, subversive story.

Its themes still offered vast interpretive possibilities forty years after its release, a work of enduring artistic vitality.

To stand shoulder-to-shoulder with The Monkey King: Conquering the Heavens and Nezha Conquers the Dragon King despite having the least-known source material—its talent was undeniable.

Wei Ming wasn’t in a rush to write—he’d first thoroughly digest the original. Though these classical fantasy novels varied in quality, reading them felt like reading modern web novels: wildly imaginative, a bit wish-fulfilling, occasionally tossing in a bit of smut—hmm, a thoroughly engaging book.

For dinner, Wei Ming ate as usual at School Canteen One, having nearly forgotten the taste of the staff canteen.

Liu Zhenyun, helping him with his schedule, envied him: When would he ever become famous enough to be invited to meals every single day?

After work, Mei Wenhua was still waiting by the gatehouse, like a wife watching for her husband’s return.

“Big Brother Wei, try it again—it rides perfectly now. I replaced several parts.”

To spare his Feidi the indignity of being ridden, Mei Wenhua had really gone all out.

Wei Ming gave it a test ride—hey, you know what?

!

This Yongjiu was taller than the Feidi, perfect for Wei Ming’s long legs, rode faster, and had responsive brakes.

“Alright, I’ll take it!” Wei Ming reached into his pocket. “How much did the repairs cost?”

“Huh?” Mei Wenhua froze—he was going to pay?

Little Mei instinctively tried to play it cool: “Actually, it didn’t cost much.”

“How much is ‘not much’? Two yuan?”

“Two yuan’s plenty!”

Wei Ming handed Mei Wenhua two yuan—between the polishing and repairs, the service was worth every cent.

Wei Ming chuckled—now he was officially a bike owner!

Mei Wenhua was happy too—he hadn’t eaten all day!

Back in the dorm, seeing Qiao Feng, Wei Ming thanked him for helping find such a good bike.

"Oh, what kind of good bike? Don't you feel embarrassed about riding it—if you think it's embarrassing, I'll take it back and get you another one."

“No no no, it’s great. By the way, how much did it cost?”

Qiao Feng: “It belonged to an old guy from the Summer Palace’s logistics. Give him forty yuan—I’ll handle the paperwork later.”

What? Only forty yuan? Far below Wei Ming’s budget.

A brand-new bike cost at least a hundred yuan, and you needed a bike ticket—Liu Rulong’s Phoenix cost over 180, and Mei Wenhua’s Feidi, bought by his family, cost 150.

“It’s this cheap?!” Wei Ming blurted.

“That bike was in terrible shape—I thought it was overpriced. But since it doesn’t need a ticket, it’s good enough.”

Wei Ming shook his head: “Not good enough.”

But now he faced a new problem.

His budget had been around a hundred yuan—he’d spent only forty. Now he had over two hundred yuan in cash.

Should he buy something else?

Qiao Feng: “What are you scheming?”

Wei Ming smiled: “I’m thinking of buying my parents a radio—but I don’t have a ticket.”

They had no TV, no entertainment—having a radio would make their rural life less dull.

Biaozi, bedridden on sick leave, said: “If you don’t care about new or old, you could try the Trust Store—might find something suitable, and no ticket needed.”

“Trust Store?”

Wei Ming had heard of it, but didn’t know much—he’d lived in Beijing mostly after the 90s, when Trust Stores had long declined.

So Biaozi explained the “Trust Store,” which specialized in secondhand goods.

They sold radios, bikes, watches, furniture, clothes—you could buy, or even consign items for sale.

“But whether you find something you like is pure luck—I used to browse there all the time when I first arrived,” Qiao Feng added, glancing at his watch. “Oh no, I’ve got to go—I’m meeting my wife for a movie.”

“That’s important—go ahead.”

Biaozi sighed: “I wish I could go see a movie with Yanzi too.”

Wei Ming was about to retort when a senior guard came down calling: “Little Wei, phone call—said it’s from Shanghai!”

“Huh? A call from Shanghai?”

…

(End of Chapter)