Chapter 85: Good News and Big News (710 First Subscription Request)

“Snow Sister, you’re waiting for me!” Wei Ming parked the car in front of Gong Yu and planted his long legs firmly on the ground.

Gong Yu had arrived early, hoping to wait for Wei Ming to enter together.

But seeing Wei Ming in person, her mood wasn’t as calm as she’d expected.

Because she had already seen the introduction to Wei Ming in *Beijing Literature and Art*.

Wei Ming, age 18.

He was so young!

Gong Yu had assumed they were only about four or five years apart—after all, though Wei Ming’s face was youthful, his conduct was steady and composed. Who could have guessed he was eight years younger than her?

When she cut the line, he might still have been wearing diapers!

Hearing Wei Ming call her “Snow Sister,” Gong Yu pouted: “Don’t call me Snow Sister. Call me Snow Auntie.”

“Alright, Snow Auntie.”

Gong Yu: “...”

Her blood pressure shot up on the spot—this brat was so infuriating!

Wei Ming parked the car and hurried after her, walking shoulder to shoulder as they entered.

Fengze Garden was one of Beijing’s Eight Great Gardens, a famed old-school Shandong cuisine restaurant that had changed names twice before recently restoring its original name.

It had hosted many foreign dignitary banquets, so prices were naturally high—Li’s family choosing this place showed real sincerity.

“By the way, what have you been busy with lately?”

Wei Ming smiled, and Gong Yu reluctantly replied warmly: "I'm performing in plays; recently I went to Northeast China for a goodwill performance."

“Wow, is it snowing in the Northeast now? Is it cold?”

Gong Yu: “We went to Shenyang—it’s cold, but no snow yet. I heard Heilongjiang is already blanketed in snow.”

Wei Ming laughed, then suddenly remembered something: “Judging by your name, you were probably born during a snowfall, right? Is your due date coming up?”

You little brat, why ask that? Gong Yu didn’t answer, only said: “It’s still far off.”

On the second floor, they saw the little girl’s mother.

She apologized: “I was just about to come down to check if you’d arrived—you’re here so early, I’m so sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Not at all, not at all.”

Once inside, the little girl immediately called out “Dry Mom.”

Gong Yu picked her up and kissed her affectionately; the girl’s mother reminded her: “Say hello.”

The little girl glanced at Wei Ming: “Hello, brother.”

Wei Ming frowned: “I’ve told you countless times—call me Uncle.”

Hearing this, Gong Yu’s heart stirred slightly.

The little girl pouted—didn’t I used to be told to call him Brother? Who changed my memory?

Eventually, the girl reluctantly switched to “Uncle,” and Gong Yu couldn’t help smiling more.

Though it was one of the Eight Great Gardens, it had been reformed under socialism—no famous dishes like scallion-braised sea cucumber, and since there were ladies present, they didn’t order Nine Turns Large Intestine—what a pity.

But the fried meatballs, crystal pork knuckle, and stir-fried tripe were excellent—better than what Wei Ming would eat in the future, clearly prepared by a master chef.

Before leaving, Wei Ming suggested using his new camera to take a few group photos as keepsakes; the most meaningful one was taken by the girl’s father—Wei Ming, Gong Yu, and the little girl together.

He also received two addresses, which he would mail later.

Outside the restaurant, Wei Ming asked Gong Yu: “Snow Sister, how did you get here?”

This time she didn’t correct him about “Snow Auntie”: “Oh, bus.”

“Is that the stop around the corner? I’ll drive you there.”

“Yes, Little Snow, let Xiao Wei take you,” others also suggested.

So Gong Yu got into Wei Ming’s car—this old, beat-up vehicle was honored: both Nan Gong Yu and Bei Zhu Lin had ridden in it. Wei Ming figured if it were ever auctioned, its value would at least double.

After a moment of silence, Wei Ming spoke first: “What do you think of my car?”

Huh? Gong Yu blinked—oh, he meant the car, not her.

“Hmm, pretty sturdy,” she forced a compliment.

Wei Ming turned back: “I’m asking about my car.”

Gong Yu lightly punched him: “I’m talking about the car.”

She hadn’t even touched him! But that punch really landed well~

Wei Ming laughed: “I bought this used car for forty yuan—I think I got a steal. Why don’t you buy one?”

“I don’t go out much,” she smoothed her wind-tousled hair.

“Do you find this city unfamiliar?”

“Mm, a little.”

Wei Ming analyzed: “Probably because you have no family or friends here, so it feels lonely. We’re friends now, right? And the adopted daughter counts as half-family. You should come out more often—Peking University and nearby Summer Palace both have beautiful scenery.”

Wei Ming’s words warmed Gong Yu’s heart. She softly murmured “Mm,” then suddenly realized: “Oh no, we passed it! Turn back, turn back!”

“Oh, we got so caught up talking—let’s just go to the next stop. Same thing.”

A few minutes later, Gong Yu got off the car under Wei Ming’s watchful gaze. As the car drove away, she leaned against the window and looked back—Wei Ming had already turned around and left.

Gong Yu pondered Wei Ming’s words—maybe she should truly treat him as a friend. Otherwise, she really was too lonely in this city.

Back in the dorm, Wei Ming’s camera sparked enthusiastic discussion among his roommates. Biaozi asked: “Haven’t we ever taken a group photo?”

Mei Wenhua suggested: “How about one now?”

Wei Ming said: “The basement is too dark. Let’s wait till tomorrow—take it upstairs.”

Someone else in the group knew how to use a camera, so for the first time, the four of them took a group photo—with the backdrop of Peking University’s South Gate.

As for developing photos, Wei Ming wasn’t skilled—he was used to digital cameras in the future, but he could learn, since for many years ahead, photos could only be developed.

If he couldn’t develop them himself, he couldn’t take precious photos he didn’t want others to see—so he had to master this skill.

Peking University had its own campus magazine, which included a dedicated photographer and its own darkroom.

After *Er Niu* became a sensation in literary circles, Wei Ming had once been interviewed by the campus magazine and was familiar with the staff, so he easily gained access to the darkroom with a dedicated instructor.

!

“Wait, Writer Wei, do you have a kid now?!”

The instructor guiding Wei Ming was Yang Hao, the magazine’s photographer, especially skilled in portrait photography—he could capture the perfect moment for leaders.

When he saw the photo of Wei Ming, Gong Yu, and the little girl, he exclaimed—not because he was unsophisticated, but because the woman was stunningly beautiful.

Wei Ming: “Teacher Yang, I’m eighteen, the kid’s three—what do you think?”

Yang Hao scratched his head apologetically: “Sorry, I heard people in the countryside marry young.”

“This is the kidnapped child I rescued on the train,” Wei Ming added, “and please develop several copies of this one.”

After learning photo development for a few days, Wei Ming mailed out the letters and gave each roommate a copy of their group photo.

Mei Wenhua grew fonder and fonder: “You guys feel like my bodyguards!”

To make the composition look good, they had the shortest one, Mei Wenhua, stand in the middle—and he was already bragging about it.

Biaozi tucked his photo away but looked somber: “Big Brother Wei, taking this group photo—does it mean you’re about to leave?”

He assumed that since Wei Ming was already such a famous writer, he’d soon fly away to some better opportunity.

Wei Ming laughed: “Where would I go? I haven’t even gotten my Beijing household registration yet.”

Mei Wenhua: “Got it—get the hukou and you’re gone.”

Wei Ming clamped his biceps around Mei’s head: “Little Mei, you’d better come with me—time for work.”

Today, Wei Ming, Biaozi, and Xiao Mei were on the same shift. While patrolling, they were called to help set up the venue.

Tomorrow marked the 90th anniversary of Li Dazhao’s birth—a memorial meeting would be held in the office building’s auditorium, and an exhibition on Li Dazhao’s glorious life would be held in the library.

His connection with Peking University ran deep.

In November 1917, Master Shouchang was appointed by Peking University; in January 1918, he became head of the university library. Six months later, a new library assistant was profoundly influenced by him.

Master Shouchang also guided progressive groups and participated in progressive movements—he was the first person in China to systematically spread Marxism-Leninism.

While moving and organizing exhibition materials, Wei Ming also studied this modern history—he might use it in his future novel about the Wei brothers.

Word came that Li Dazhao’s son, Li Hangchang, would attend. To avoid delaying the event, Wei Ming and the others worked two extra hours.

At the event the next day, Wei Ming saw Yang Hao taking photos and snapped two himself. Later, they met in the darkroom and compared whose photos were better.

When they returned for night patrol, they arrived at the men’s dormitory just as loud cheers erupted from the TV room.

Wei Ming and Biaozi rushed over: “What’s going on? Did the men’s soccer team win?”

In the TV room was Luo Yihé, a young poet from the class of ’79 whom Wei Ming knew.

He explained: “Comrade Wei Ming, China’s legitimate seat in the IOC has been restored!”

The TV showed a live broadcast of *News Broadcast*—just aired was hot-off-the-press news.

Earlier that day, at the IOC Executive Committee meeting in Nagoya, Japan, a resolution to restore China’s legitimate IOC seat passed overwhelmingly: 62 votes in favor, 17 against, 1 invalid, 1 abstention.

In other words, China could officially participate in the Olympics next year.

Biaozi looked confused—the term “Olympic Games” was still unfamiliar to most Chinese at the time, but well-traveled Peking University students understood its significance.

For a nation eager to rise, sports mattered immensely—everyone had heard of ping-pong diplomacy.

Back in the dorm after work, even Mei Wenhua knew about it—he’d even bought a paddle and invited Wei Ming and Biaozi to play table tennis tomorrow.

“Maybe we’ll even win gold and silver at the Olympics!” Mei Wenhua mused dreamily.

“Little Mei, table tennis isn’t an Olympic event,” Wei Ming shattered his dream.

Still, after days of continuous writing, Wei Ming dragged Mei Wenhua out to play a few games the next day—the paddle wasn’t bought to sit idle.

In the future, as a youthful elder, Wei Ming’s table tennis skill would reach world-champion level—he crushed Mei Wenhua’s interest in the sport entirely.

Besides yesterday’s good news from the Olympics, today there was another major international story, which Brother Feng, a soldier by background, had somehow heard about.

“That old Park from the Koreans got killed by his own men… what a mess…”

(End of Chapter)