Chapter 62: Sister

Wei Ming squatted down and smiled at the little girl.

The little girl smiled back at him. “Hello, Uncle.”

Uncle? I’m only fifteen years older than you!

“Can you call me Brother?” Wei Ming asked her.

The little girl looked back at her parents; they were both smiling.

Wei Ming pulled out another Big White Rabbit candy—he always carried them now; they worked wonders with kids.

“Thank you, Brother!” The little girl was quick to adapt.

The leader praised Wei Ming a few more times, and only then did he realize the news from the city had already reached back.

Wei Ming: “It was just luck—I saw it, I couldn’t pretend I didn’t.”

“Good job. I’ll tell your uncle when I get back. I won’t disturb you further—go ahead and chat.”

No sooner had the leader left than the girl’s mother burst into tears, bending her knees to kneel before Wei Ming.

Luckily, Wei Ming reacted swiftly and stopped her.

“Comrade, don’t do this—I’m not worthy.”

The girl’s mother, eyes wet with tears, said: “My husband and her grandfather are in uniform and can’t bow properly, but I’m not—I owe you everything. Without you, what would become of our family?”

They had only one child; when she went missing, the mother fell seriously ill and had only just been discharged from the hospital.

After some conversation, it came time to express their gratitude.

They had already sent Wei Ming a banner of thanks; now they gave him a huge bundle of food—premium mooncakes, Maotai, canned goods, both fruit and meat, filling an entire sack.

After several rounds of refusal, Wei Ming finally accepted it, and then they insisted on treating him to dinner.

It was nearly dark, the post office was about to close, and Wei Ming urgently needed to collect his royalty payment—he genuinely declined.

At that moment, the elderly Mr. Li, who had been silent until now, spoke up.

“I’m from Dingzhou—we’re actually fellow provincials from Hebei.”

“Respected hero, greetings,” Wei Ming saluted him.

Elder Mr. Li waved his hand with a smile: “There aren’t any decent restaurants nearby. I hear you’re leaving early tomorrow to return home. How about this—we set a time, and when you come back, we’ll meet at a proper restaurant in the city to properly thank you. What do you say?”

Since the elder had spoken this way, Wei Ming couldn’t refuse.

The little girl beamed: “Grandpa, can we invite Dry Mom too?”

“Of course.”

“Dry Mom?” Wei Ming frowned—who was this new person?

The girl’s father explained: “A few days ago, our unit watched a performance by the General Political Department’s drama troupe. I remembered the police officer mentioned another comrade from the General Political Department who was with you—a woman named Gong Ying. So we brought the child to visit Comrade Gong Ying. The child has a special bond with her and has taken her as her Dry Mother.”

And the girl carried a task from her Dry Mother—before leaving, she slipped an envelope into Wei Ming’s hands.

“Oh no, no—I can’t accept money. That’s a matter of principle!”

The girl’s mother laughed: “It’s not money—it’s a letter from your Dry Mom. She asked her to deliver it to you.”

“Ah?”

Wei Ming didn’t open the letter right away—he checked his watch; he was out of time!

After seeing them off, he met Mei Wenhua at the South Gate, handed him the “thank-you gift bundle” to take back, then hurried off to the post office on his bike.

At the window, he finally opened the letter—the combined royalty payments from three newspaper reprints totaled fifty-five yuan.

Additionally, Poetry Magazine wrote to notify him: their October issue had reprinted “The Ideal,” and awarded him five yuan in royalties.

The money was small, but Wei Ming’s reputation as a poet would soon spread nationwide through Poetry Magazine—he’d likely attract another wave of fanatics.

Back then, poetry fans were as fierce as future internet followers.

Though he’d spent over two hundred today, he’d earned sixty—his cash flow was back above two hundred seventy yuan!

After collecting his royalties, Wei Ming finally opened Gong Ying’s letter.

The envelope read: “to Wei Ming—from Gong Ying.” Wei Ming couldn’t help but smile.

The contents surprised him—he’d assumed Gong Ying, smitten by his looks, had written to make the first move.

Instead, it was a letter of comfort. Over the past days, Gong Ying had seen several authoritative newspapers publish harsh critiques of “Spring River Water Warms First the Ducks,” some with biting language, and it had deeply troubled her.

She feared the young Wei Ming couldn’t bear the social pressure, so she wrote to reassure him—not to take those words to heart—and even shared examples from people she knew.

“At least my parents read your novel and praised it endlessly—you must be a writer with a brilliant future. My father even went out of his way to buy a bottle of medicinal wine. Just think how impressive you are…”

Looking at Gong Ying’s elegant handwriting and the quiet care behind her words, Wei Ming felt a warm glow in his chest.

At the end of the letter, she’d left her office’s phone number and address.

“...If you feel weighed down, you can always come to me.”

What a kind, understanding sister. Still inside the post office, Wei Ming dialed the number right away.

Soon, someone called Gong Ying over.

“Is this Comrade Wei Ming?” Gong Ying’s voice trembled with delight.

After a moment’s silence, Wei Ming said: “Thank you, Sister Xue.”

The two then had a brief but meaningful conversation.

!

Gong Ying had mustered courage to write that letter; now that she knew Wei Ming’s spirit remained steady, she felt relieved.

Wei Ming then teased her about adopting a Dry Daughter.

“I should’ve let the girl call me Uncle. Now she calls me Brother—you’ve been lowered a generation by default.”

Hearing his complaint, Gong Ying covered her mouth, laughing uncontrollably.

“I think she’s adorable. And honestly, I really do resemble her mother.”

“Ah, really? I didn’t notice.”

“I do.”

After Mei Wenhua brought the gift bundle back, Zhao Debiao stared at it, drooling: “When will I ever get to do something heroic?”

Then Qiao Feng returned with a second shock.

“Good news! Today, when Xiao Ming went into town, he encountered a knife-wielding robbery—and he subdued the criminal again!”

“What!” Zhao Debiao slumped onto his bed. “Why do I never get lucky like this?!”

Mei Wenhua snorted: “If I recall correctly, Wei Ming invited you to come along, but you said you needed to nap.”

That was true. Thinking he’d turned down a chance at heroism, Biaozi felt even more regretful.

“I’m such an idiot. I thought staying on campus was enough, but I didn’t realize the real opportunities are in town. Next time Ming Ge goes into the city, I’m going with him—he always runs into trouble. There’s something weird about him!”

“Who’s talking behind my back?!” Wei Ming pushed open the door with his left hand, sleeves rolled high, proudly displaying the Mudo-brand all-steel wristwatch on his arm.

Amid the others’ admiring murmurs, Wei Ming opened a meat can and a fruit can, dividing them among the four roommates.

After all, he’d subdued the criminal, so Feng Ge and Biaozi deserved credit; as for Mei Wenhua—he might not have earned credit, but he’d earned effort, since he’d cleaned the car.

Then Qiao Feng asked about Wei Ming’s deal with Zhu Lin.

Wei Ming laid out the radio and turned it on.

“Good quality—only seventy yuan. That sister’s nice too,” Wei Ming said, smiling as he rubbed his back.

After tuning a bit, he found a storytelling program.

It was Yuan Kuo-cheng’s “Peach Blossom Village,” also known as “Fist of the Little Tyrant,” a tale from Water Margin about Lu Zhishen.

Biaozi murmured: “Yuan Laoshi tells it well, but the story’s too old-fashioned. Nothing like Ming Ge’s wuxia tales.”

Wei Ming: “No, no, no—that’s Jin Yong’s. But if you want to hear it, fine—I’ll tell you a segment today.”

He was just about to begin when a guy came downstairs.

“Xiao Wei, there’s a phone call for you!”

Wei Ming went upstairs—it was Zhu Lin calling.

Her voice, crackling through the line, trembled with excitement: “She’s born! It’s a girl!”

(End of Chapter)