Chapter 67: Large Sum (Request Monthly Tickets and Follows!)

After leaving the Wei household, the villagers continued to chatter in awe, convinced many wouldn’t sleep a wink that night.

The accountant Jia Saner didn’t return home but went straight to Team Leader Zhao Chun’s house and recounted everything he’d seen that day in detail.

Zhao Chun’s wife was washing his feet when she heard the accountant’s words; Zhao Chun immediately wiped his feet and exclaimed in disbelief: “Bought all that stuff! Is writing novels really that profitable?”

Accountant Jia: “Unlikely. I heard most novelists are broke—maybe Wei Anping bought them.”

Speaking of Wei Anping, Zhao Chun felt a pang of bitterness—he’d always seen this elementary school classmate as his lifelong rival, yet while he hadn’t even finished junior high, Wei Anping had effortlessly gotten into Peking University.

Later, he joined the army, but only as a lowly private, while Wei Anping, after graduating, entered the military and rose several ranks above him!

Now he was just a village official, while Wei Anping was rumored to be a powerful department-level cadre at Peking University.

The team leader was displeased, but the old party secretary was delighted.

He didn’t care about the quality of the liquor—he only feared Wei Ming might go astray.

To reassure the old man, Wei Ming pulled out a copy of the People’s Daily he’d bought at the station; the front page carried Fan Rongkang’s article defending Duck Knows.

First, the People’s Daily’s reputation alone was formidable—still authoritative in this era.

Second, Wei Ming explained: “This author, Fan Rongkang, is deputy editor-in-chief of the People’s Daily. His article essentially reflects the paper’s stance, and the People’s Daily’s stance means the nation’s direction. So reform and opening-up are inevitable—the economy must be revitalized, and no one will pick at petty faults anymore.”

Wei Ming didn’t think Sister Chen Rong was meddling in politics—this article by Fan Rongkang was clearly triggered by top-level policy signals, though perhaps it didn’t need to come from him personally.

Oh, he’s indeed Liang Zuo’s biological father—Fan Rongkang is a pen name; his real name is Liang Da.

Zhou Xingbang sighed: “Going out really changes you—you’ve matured and gained insight. Compared to you, we still don’t fully grasp the policies.”

Wei Ming replied humbly: “I’ve just read a few more newspapers and attended more lectures. Those who truly understand grassroots realities are people like you, veteran cadres.”

After seeing off the old party secretary, Wei Ming could finally focus on eating. Though there wasn’t a single meat dish, his mother’s cooking was unmatched—especially this final dish of spicy peppers stir-fried with eggs; the simpler the dish, the more it showcased skill.

But the mooncakes were hard as rocks—five-nut filling, with mysterious green and red threads inside that turned his stomach.

Still, how could one skip mooncakes on Mid-Autumn Festival?

Soon after the old party secretary left, Uncle Qi also departed, so Wei Ming took out the iron-box mooncakes gifted by the Li family.

To his surprise, some had pork filling; he opened a can of meat too—Wei’s household had finally had a real feast.

Old Wei savored it happily but scolded: “I know you can earn money now, but don’t be so reckless—you still need to save.”

Wei Ming: “All these foods and drinks, except the White Rabbit candies, weren’t bought by me—they were gifts.”

“Huh?” All three pairs of eyes turned toward him.

Wei Jiefang pointed at the Maotai and medicinal liquor: “This… this was also given to you?”

Wei Ming: “Yes.”

“Bro, why?”

Wei Ming pulled out a school magazine and pointed to Uncle Anping’s article: “Because of this.”

Three heads leaned close; Wei Ming added: “The medicinal liquor was given by a pharmaceutical factory in Shanghai; the Maotai, cans, and mooncakes came from the little girl’s family.”

“Bro, you’re incredible—both literary and martial!” Wei Hong read fastest and praised quickest.

Wei Ming handed her a stack of study materials: “This pile is for you—used by top schools in Haidian. Work hard; Tsinghua and Peking University are calling.”

Back then, high schoolers never complained about having too many study materials—they were thrilled. Finding reliable materials and practice exams was incredibly hard; these were scarce resources.

“I won’t take Tsinghua—I’ll take Peking University!” Wei Hong declared. “Then I’ll be with you and Uncle Anping.”

Wei Ming laughed: “Fine. If you get into Peking University, I’ll get Uncle to transfer me to the cafeteria—you can come to my window for meals, and I promise my hand won’t shake.”

“Not just steady—give me a full, overflowing spoon!”

His parents laughed too—good days were waving at them.

After eating and finishing the mooncakes and canned meat, his mother and Wei Hong began making up his bed—his parents slept in one room, he and his sister in another, sharing a single kang.

Thinking how Wei Hong was now a young woman, it was awkward, so Xiao Wei suggested to Old Wei: “Dad, the shed burned down—why not build a west room?”

“Why?”

“For me to live in.”

“We’ve got plenty of space. And building a house isn’t free.”

“Money isn’t the issue.” Once they’d left, Wei Ming revealed his final card—he slapped two stacks of cash into Old Wei’s hands. “Is this enough?”

Two stacks meant two hundred yuan—he’d specifically exchanged them for one-yuan notes to make them look thick.

Old Wei, his wife, and Xiao Hong froze in shock.

“Son, you’ve got watches, tape recorders—and now this much cash? Are you earning too fast?”

Old Wei’s heart raced—he hadn’t yet heard the slogan “the rich lead the poor.”

Wei Ming: “It’s not that fast—I prepaid the royalties for two upcoming novellas—one publishing in a few days, the other next month.”

Even after the explanation, Old Wei was stunned—his son could prepay such a sum? What immense prestige that required.

He was practically a rising star of the literary world!

Xu Shufen said: “A small west room doesn’t need all that—take back a stack.”

Wei Ming smiled: “Mom, I didn’t empty myself—I kept some. Use the rest to improve the house—table lamps and radios need batteries, stop selling eggs, keep them for eating, and Xiao Hong needs nourishment.”

“Mom, can we raise a pig?” Xiao Hong asked, poking her head in.

Wei Ming slapped his thigh: “Great idea! When it grows, we won’t sell it—we’ll eat it. Mom, you know how to cure bacon—make plenty this time.”

At this moment, Wei Jiefang had already started swallowing saliva: “How about we go buy one tomorrow?”

At that moment, Wei Jiefang was already salivating: “Shall we go buy one tomorrow?”

Wei Ming suggested: “Dad, let’s go to the town’s livestock market. I need to enter town anyway—I’ve got things left with Old Yang, and I’ll return the bike.”

Because riding the motorcycle was too bumpy and the luggage too heavy, Wei Ming had left the pickled vegetable jar at Old Yang’s.

Wei Jiefang knew every market in the county—Chengguanzhen had the widest variety and best selection, and tomorrow happened to be market day.

“Alright, let’s go to Chengguan Market!”

“Bro, I’m coming too!” Wei Hong eagerly said.

Perhaps due to today’s overwhelming shocks, Wei Hong couldn’t sleep and begged her brother to recount his month in Beijing and his business trip to Shanghai.

Wei Ming remembered he hadn’t shown her the photos from Shanghai—he let her look.

The next day, the photos ended up in Wei Jiefang’s hands—he’d keep them.

“Shufen, you’re really not coming?” Old Wei asked after breakfast.

Xu Shufen: “I’ll prepare this chicken—you’ll have chicken stewed with mushrooms when you get back. And with so much stuff at home, how can I leave?”

“Alright then.” He turned on the radio and placed it beside her to keep her company.

Early that morning, Old Wei led a donkey from the team’s livestock shed, hitched it to the cart, and laid down straw padding.

Wei Hong chose to ride on her brother’s motorcycle.

Just outside the village, they spotted a stubborn little boy carrying a bundle.

Wei Jiefang chuckled: “De Long, what are you doing?”

Qi Dexlong, Qi Kexiu’s son, said: “Uncle, Dad beat me last night—I can’t stay here anymore!”

Wei Ming asked his nine-year-old cousin: “Why?”

Qi Dexlong fumed: “He says there’s no reason—he just doesn’t like me. What did I do?”

Wei Jiefang laughed harder: “Get on, I’ll give you a ride.”

Qi Dexlong glanced at Wei Ming’s motorcycle: “Brother Ming, can I ride with you?”

Wei Ming patted the fuel tank: “Climb on.”

Once aboard, the bundle pressed against Wei Ming’s chest.

Wei Ming asked: “What’s in your bundle?”

Qi Dexlong: “My dad’s clothes—all of them!”

…

[81] (End of Chapter)