Chapter 332: He

A super-large jet airliner lifted off from Beijing Capital Airport and shot straight into the sky.

Several members of Peking University's debate team watched the ground buildings shrink rapidly outside the window, their excitement beyond words.

Just a few years ago, they were all bookish students who read only the classics—how could they have imagined one day sitting aboard a giant iron bird with wings, like characters in a movie?

Only Zhou, the team leader in charge of this overseas trip, and Li Ye showed remarkable calmness.

Zhou was experienced from multiple overseas trips, but Li Ye needed no explanation—he'd spent his past life burning cash on luxury, even upgraded to first class for the "air squat service," so he was truly well-traveled.

After takeoff, Qin Yongsheng noticed Li Ye sitting calmly with eyes closed, so he gently nudged his arm.

"Li Ye, does your ear hurt?"

Li Ye opened his eyes and smiled. "We're all the same species. If your ears hurt, mine wouldn't be different. It's normal—just a matter of time before you adapt."

In truth, Li Ye felt zero discomfort; since arriving in this world, his bodily functions had continuously improved, and his adaptability was extraordinary.

"Oh~"

Qin Yongsheng didn't ask further and silently opened his mouth to breathe, like Pavlov's dog in summer, hoping to ease the ear pain.

Li Ye observed and guessed Qin's eustachian tube function was poor—severe enough that even after takeoff, he still hadn't adapted.

So he hesitated, pulled a pack of gum from his pocket, and handed one stick to Qin Yongsheng.

"Try this gum—it's supposed to help."

"."

After trying it, Qin's ear pain noticeably lessened.

"Give me one too."

"Me too."

"Li Ye, why didn't you bring this out earlier? My ears have been aching for ages!"

The other classmates quickly joined in, asking Li Ye for gum.

Li Ye sighed, reluctantly handing out the gum while grumbling, "These are from my girlfriend—giving you one each is generous. Don't get greedy!"

Wen Leyu was thoughtful—knowing Li Ye was going to Lijiapo, she'd packed him a "tropical travel kit": cooling oil, sunscreen, mosquito repellent, PPA—all bought at Friendship Store.

Qin Yongsheng smirked mockingly. "Pfft~ You're just a womanizer."

Qiao Dapeng, the oldest among them, sighed. "Well, don't put it that way. Li Ye truly believes in love above all—I deeply admire him."

Li Ye's decision to give up studying abroad had spawned several versions of rumors.

One version claimed he stayed on the mainland for Wen Leyu, choosing romance over opportunity—admirable, yet tragic.

In stark contrast were those who wrote flowery love poems daily but, the moment an overseas chance appeared, rushed toward it like moths diving into flames—eight times more eager.

Yang Chen whispered with a smile: "Lost at the east, gained at the mulberry. I really envy Li Ye—by the time we graduate, his kids might already be buying soy sauce."

Qiao Dapeng teased: "Then again, what if you get adopted as a son-in-law by some local billionaire while studying abroad?"

"."

Yang Chen and Qin Yongsheng froze, unsure how to respond.

After all, they weren't going to Lijiapo to become billionaires' sons-in-law—they were going to learn skills and serve their motherland.

But Li Ye murmured softly: "Then they'd better tell us where their ancestral graves are—we'll go light a little incense for them."

"Hahahaha~"

"Cough! Pay attention to your image!"

Zhou, the team leader, gave a mild reprimand, and the excited youths instantly fell silent, sitting upright with eyes forward, desperately playing the role of refined students.

Li Ye smiled faintly, a touch of bitterness in his heart—this whole act had been rehearsed.

If he'd heard this decades later, he'd think it rigid and absurd—like North Korea's soccer cheer squad, every celebration move perfectly synchronized.

But now, standing inside it, he felt the deep imprint of the era.

We were behind, but we wouldn't bow our heads. Amid everyone's mockery and disdain, we held our heads high, proud and unbowed.

Nearly three hours after takeoff from Beijing, the plane reached Hong Kong's airspace, preparing to land.

"Li Ye, are we in Hong Kong? Give me a stick of gum—otherwise my ears might hurt again."

"Give me one too."

"Me too."

"Fasten your seatbelts."

"I want gum, you cheap bastard. I know how to buckle up—I learned it once, no need to help."

"Fasten it! Hong Kong's Kai Tak Airport is one of the world's most dangerous—do you have time to chatter?"

"What? Don't scare us!"

Qin Yongsheng and the others fumbled to fasten their seatbelts, then checked them repeatedly.

Of course, Li Ye's gum was saved.

Fear worked better than any gum.

In the early 1980s, many mainland flights to overseas destinations stopped over in Hong Kong, indirectly fueling Kai Tak Airport's prosperity.

But Kai Tak's landing conditions were terrible: surrounded by mountains on three sides, packed with skyscrapers, and with a short runway.

To put it plainly: Kai Tak had suffered 12 aviation disasters, killing 270 people—its accident rate ranked among the highest in the world.

As the plane descended to low altitude, Li Ye kindly warned his classmates.

"The plane will make a sharp turn soon—don't panic, or you'll draw attention."

No sooner had he spoken than their plane suddenly banked sharply right, the entire fuselage tilting.

Qiao Dapeng sat beside the right window, staring blankly as the angle between the plane and the towering buildings below shifted, his mind flooding with mathematical formulas.

"It's leaning… oh no, we're done!"

Hearing Qiao's muttering, Yang Chen and Qin Yongsheng turned to look—and their faces paled, hearts racing.

In that instant, all three forgot Li Ye's warning and decided he was a jinx.

But Kai Tak was always like this.

At other airports, planes align with the runway kilometers ahead and descend slowly. At Kai Tak, surrounded by mountains, the plane must execute a sharp turn at just 300 meters altitude.

This high-risk maneuver—simultaneously banking low, between mountains and skyscrapers—existed nowhere else on Earth. Only skilled pilots qualified to fly into Kai Tak.

"Squeee~"

The plane touched down, tires screeching loudly against the runway.

Li Ye's three classmates turned to him, glaring with bitter resentment.

They blamed him—if he hadn't warned them, they wouldn't have panicked. They'd have just boarded, clueless.

Especially Qiao Dapeng—he felt he'd nearly suffered social death.

So embarrassing.

Li Ye glanced at them, then subtly pointed to a blond old man on the left side of the cabin.

The three leaned over and saw the old man making the sign of the cross over his chest.

Li Ye said: "People who fly this route often coin a term: 'Kai Tak Heart Attack.' Your reaction? Pretty good."

The three looked around and realized no one had noticed them—only then did they relax.

They didn't notice Li Ye's faintly smug smile.

Li Ye, as a Dongshan native, was generally generous.

But when it came to Wen Leyu, he became stingy—he'd already said the gum was from his girlfriend, yet they kept asking for more.

It was like in the future: your girlfriend gives you a box of chocolates, and your buddies demand a share.

During the layover in Hong Kong, Li Ye bought several packs of gum at the duty-free shop and handed one to each of them, leaving them touched and ashamed.

"Li Ye, you still have Hong Kong dollars?"

"Yeah, I had some left from last time—used it all up this trip."

"Hong Kong is so prosperous, but everything's so expensive—this tiny thing costs several dollars…"

Qin Yongsheng fiddled with the gum, its colorful wrapper looking like it was made of banknotes.

"Hong Kong's like this—rich people and ordinary folks coexist. Wages are high, but prices are too. Many ordinary people save their whole lives and still can't afford a single apartment."

As Li Ye explained Hong Kong's reality to Qin and the others, a man with a side part in the same waiting area suddenly turned around and launched into a rapid stream of Cantonese.

Qin Yongsheng and Yang Chen didn't understand, so they asked Li Ye: "What's he saying?"

Li Ye looked at him coldly. "Don't know. I don't understand bird calls."

"."

The side-parted man stared for several seconds, then started jabbering again—but as Li Ye's gaze grew colder, his voice trailed off, sounding blustery yet weak.

Someone who grew up fighting has a different look in their eyes than someone who grew up arguing.

Li Ye was the kind who could take on thirteen at once—he couldn't possibly lack a certain aura.

But before Li Ye could escalate, another man with glasses walked over and berated the side-parted man in loud, sharp words, dismantling him within minutes until the man flushed with rage.

The side-parted man stood up and shoved him—but the moment his hand touched the glasses man's chest, he jerked back as if electrocuted and collapsed into his seat with a thud.

The side-parted man froze. Everyone around froze.

The conflict happened too fast—no one saw what occurred.

But Li Ye saw: the glasses man practiced traditional martial arts—and he was skilled.

After sitting stunned for a moment, the side-parted man picked up his luggage and left without a word.

The glasses man walked over to Li Ye and the others, smiling: "Don't take him seriously. We're all children of the flower—no one should look down on another. People like him, narrow-minded and petty, are extremely rare."

The glasses-wearing man's expression and tone were warm, but Qin Yongsheng, Yang Chen, and others all grew wary.

Because the man's accent carried a faint hint of the other side of the strait.

Before leaving Jingcheng, Li Ye and the others had undergone specialized discipline training, which included relevant precautions.

Yet as Li Ye studied the man before him—around thirty years old—he couldn't shake the feeling that he looked familiar.

Finally, it was the man's broad, square face that triggered the memory.

"Sir, are you surnamed Wen?"

"How do you know I'm surnamed Wen?"

The glasses-wearing man with the square face stared at Li Ye, utterly astonished.

Li Ye smiled: "Not only do I know your surname is Wen, I also know that seven years ago you called for 'reviving Huazhao culture and promoting national spirit,'

and that you were imprisoned by the other side on charges of 'propagating for the bandits' for privately hoarding Chairman Mao's poetry and circulating works by Ba Jin, Cao Yu, Shen Congwen, and others."

"."

At these words, not only did Mr. Wen freeze, but Qin Yongsheng and the others were stunned too.

These two brief sentences contained a great deal of information.

Propagating for the bandits?

Which bandits?

Need I say more? Look at whose books he was hoarding.

Li Ye's few words clearly confirmed the man's "Huazhao identity" and dispelled Qin Yongsheng's suspicions.

Mr. Wen stared at Li Ye for two seconds, then extended his hand: "Hello, I'm Wen Rui'an. Young brother, you are..."

Li Ye shook his hand with a smile: "I'm Li Ye. I know about you because I know Pei Wencong from Tawang Literature Publishing House—he told me many things about you."

"Li Ye?"

Wen Rui'an frowned slightly, then suddenly asked: "Are you Seven-Inch Blade?"

Li Ye, surprised, said: "I didn't expect you'd know of this obscure nobody. A pleasure to meet you."

"You're no obscure nobody—you're being too modest, far too modest."

Wen Rui'an sat down right beside Li Ye, warmly saying: "I came to Lijia Po to attend this exchange just to meet you! I never expected to run into you here—this is fate, brother!"

Watching the enthusiastic Wen Rui'an, Li Ye felt a quiet surge of satisfaction inside.

Though transmigrants had their own unique prestige, sitting down to talk with a martial arts master still brought a sense of accomplishment.

Though many modern readers had differing opinions on Wen Rui'an's works, no one could deny he was the most outstanding wuxia novelist after Gu, Liang, and Jin.

And this man didn't just write wuxia—he genuinely embodied the spirit of the xia.

Wen Rui'an was originally from Meixian, Guangdong Province; his father, Wen Weimin, had once served under Hua Shuai, then later settled in Malaya after some incident.

During his youth, Wen Rui'an lived through the turbulent period when the Malay, Huazhao, and Bai-Xiang communities jointly fought for independence, and he witnessed how, after independence, the Malay government restricted Huazhao education.

Later, he crossed the strait to study, founding the Shenzhou Poetry Society with the mission of "reviving Huazhao culture and promoting national spirit."

Wen Rui'an revered Huazhao martial arts; influenced by his father, who excelled in Hong Quan, he trained rigorously in fist and footwork, mastering Northern short-range strikes, Tan Tui, Yang Family Fist, and Shaolin Tiger-Crane Double Form.

After founding the poetry society, he advocated the joint study of literature and martial arts, naming the society's location "Shijian Mountain Villa."

Between discussions of poetry and prose, members practiced martial arts, even adopting pen names like "Jianxiong," "Qingyan," and "Sao Yue."

Hundreds of members spread across Taiwan, bound by strict discipline—upon a single order, hundreds could gather overnight from all corners of the island at Shijian Mountain Villa.

Look, just look—why did this martial arts master create such a vast jianghu?

Because at first, he truly wanted to become a "Zong Piaozizi" himself!

"Young brother, I visited Pei Wencong last year, but he revealed nothing about you—he's stingy to a fault.

When you go to Lijia Po, we must talk properly. Several of my friends are very interested in your school..."

"I'm not a school," Li Ye replied modestly with a smile. "I just like writing Huazhao historical stories—I wouldn't dare claim to have founded a sect."

"No, no, no—you're still too modest."

Wen Rui'an shook his head repeatedly: "After reading your novels, we all felt ashamed—we've got Huazhao's deep culture in our hands, yet we keep writing petty, narrow-minded jianghu tales."

Hearing this, Li Ye finally caught the drift.

His "Shuofeng Feiyang" and Yang Yu's "Wangxiang Gujun" might not have had high literary merit, but they drew on Huazhao's five-thousand-year cultural depth.

Across the entire Confucian cultural sphere, which other nation's history could offer such rich historical-warfare material? Which could support a grand historical novel?

Only Japan came close—able to write about Oda Nobunaga and Toyotomi Hideyoshi, about their Warring States era,

but even then, it was just tens of thousands of troops maneuvering within a few hundred li—like building a Daoist altar inside a snail shell, still radiating a petty, narrow feel.

But in Huazhao history, wars with over a hundred thousand troops were countless, brilliant stratagems were countless, outstanding generals who planned from afar were countless.

Even palace intrigue dramas, dominated by backstabbing, had endless material—history records countless powerful empresses and concubines, countless schemes to climb to power.

Under these conditions, dare anyone else compete?

Who else?

The center of the universe?

Their king had to petition Huazhao for formal investiture to ascend the throne! When crushed by enemies, they sent urgent eight-hundred-li dispatches begging Huazhao for aid!

So when "Huanzhu Gege" aired in the center of the universe, its popularity reached such heights it was banned.

That is, they halted broadcasting—wouldn't let it air anymore, lest viewers be led astray.

As for places like Malaysia and Luzon in Southeast Asia? Forget it—small-scale stuff, no one reads historical works, historical TV dramas just lose money.

"Actually, jianghu and history each have their merits—jianghu is more down-to-earth. Mr. Wen's wuxia novels are still very popular on the mainland..."

"Also, many on the mainland are working hard to promote historical culture—for example, Lanhai Publishing in Daocheng. If you ever get the chance, I hope you'll visit the mainland and see for yourself."

"Of course I'll go if I get the chance—I definitely will."

Wen Rui'an was only thirty, not much older than Li Ye, and their conversation flowed easily.

But they'd only talked a few minutes when Zhou, the team leader, rushed over and interrupted them.

He'd initially thought Li Ye was just chatting with a stranger, but seeing them grow increasingly animated, he had to come over and check.

He bore responsibility—he had to supervise and protect Li Ye and the others.

But when Zhou heard Wen Rui'an's strait accent, he immediately ushered Li Ye and the others aside, and never gave Li Ye another chance to speak, not even during boarding or landing.

Everyone arrived safely at Lijia Po and, under the reception staff's arrangements, checked into a mid-range hotel.

Yet even this mid-range hotel amazed Qin Yongsheng and the others.

"Li Ye, you wanna shower? If not, I'm going!"

"Didn't you just shower? Even virgins don't bathe this often."

"This place makes you sweat too easily—I'll be quick, then it'll be dinner time."

Li Ye could only watch as Qin Yongsheng happily sank into the bathtub again, savoring the feeling of having an entire bathing space to himself.

In mainland China during the 1980s, unless you belonged to some special group, ordinary people rarely had access to such clear, private bathing conditions.

"Knock knock knock~"

After the knock, Zhou and Yang Chen and Qiao Dapeng entered.

"Comrade Li Ye, let me briefly explain the situation—I hope you won't misunderstand my intent."

Zhou waved for Li Ye to sit, then said: "I spoke with Mr. Wen. Though he clearly showed strong patriotism, we must prepare for any possibility."

Li Ye asked, puzzled: "What preparation? He's not going to kidnap me, is he?"

"Better safe than sorry," Zhou said gravely. "I asked Mr. Wen—your cultural exchange invitation includes several writers from the other side...

We haven't formally established relations with Lijia Po yet. If anything unexpected happens, it'll be hard to handle—so better safe than sorry."

Li Ye stared at Zhou, utterly baffled by his excessive caution.

But Zhou continued: "We've discussed it and think you should take at least two classmates or teachers with you to the gathering. If they refuse, you'd better not go."

Seeing Li Ye's confusion, Zhou added: "This is the best solution—first, it ensures your safety; second, you're now somewhat famous—be careful, or someone might find fault with you later."

"."

Li Ye looked into Zhou's eyes and finally understood his protective intent.

He was a professional—he understood these things better than Li Ye did.

"Thank you, Zhou Team Leader. I'll call and ask—if they won't allow it, I won't go."

Li Ye called the cultural exchange contact and said several literature enthusiasts wanted to join him.

They didn't reply immediately; half an hour later, they called back and said yes.

"Li Ye, Li Ye, take me along!"

"Take me too! Don't play favorites!"

Several classmates immediately surrounded Li Ye, like a pack of foodies waiting for a freshly baked delicacy.