Chapter Nineteen: Gu Changming

“Heh, it’s nothing. This young man has a certain spark to him, and I like that.” Perhaps because of his past life, Zhang Ye always carried a stubborn air about him in his bearing and gaze, making him stand out from the crowd—exceptionally so.

“You must be Editor-in-Chief Gu. My sister always speaks highly of your erudition, saying there’s no one she admires more in the entire paper,” Zhang Ye said with a smile, showering praise as if from a bubbling spring.

“Haha, really? That’s too much; I hardly deserve it. When it comes to talent, Wang Mengzi is a match for this old fellow. She’s written several novels and is quite well-known, after all.” Who doesn’t enjoy hearing good things about themselves? Especially when spoken by a stranger—it’s all the more effective. Gu Changming’s modesty surfaced at once, and he even praised Wang Mengzi in return, clearly pleased by Zhang Ye’s words.

“You’re too kind. But I heard you’re especially fond of calligraphy, and are quite the expert yourself? When my sister told me, I regretted not being able to see your masterpieces in person. Now that I’ve met you, you certainly haven’t disappointed; you were born for scholarship.” Zhang Ye’s compliments flowed steadily, and his performance was impeccable—his expressions of admiration and wonder perfectly timed and vivid, making the faint wrinkles on Gu Changming’s face blossom like summer flowers.

Zhang Ye was eloquent and personable. In just a short while, he and Gu Changming were chatting as if they were old friends, despite the difference in their ages.

After all, he had over thirty years of life experience. By deliberately catering to Gu Changming’s interests and drawing on his own scholarly background, Zhang Ye left the editor-in-chief genuinely surprised. He hadn’t expected Zhang Ye to be a refined soul, knowledgeable about both painting and calligraphy, and soon they were deep in discussion, leaving Wang Mengzi momentarily on the sidelines.

Of course, Zhang Ye’s purpose was not merely that Gu Changming was the editor-in-chief at his sister’s newspaper. Rather, it was because Gu Changming’s son was due for a promotion in half a year thanks to exceptional service, becoming director of the Lihua County Public Security Bureau, a key leadership position. Even now, he was already the head of the county’s criminal police—a very capable man.

With his future business plans in mind, Zhang Ye naturally wanted to cultivate such connections. Especially since he knew that, later on, Gu Changming’s son, Gu Huansheng, would go on to serve as party secretary and director of the Guangyang City Public Security Bureau.

On the side, Wang Mengzi watched the scene, utterly astonished. She had never imagined that the editor-in-chief—so stern in her eyes—could get along so well with Zhang Ye. Even more incredible was the bearing and demeanor Zhang Ye now unconsciously displayed; it struck her deeply. For a moment, she seemed to glimpse a Zhang Ye in his thirties: eloquent, composed, quoting the classics and discussing great affairs with confidence.

Shaking herself from her reverie, Wang Mengzi noticed Gu Changming, in high spirits, was about to invite Zhang Ye to view his calligraphy collection. She quickly intervened, saying, “Editor-in-Chief, I’m sorry, but Zhang Ye’s mother is waiting for him to come home for dinner. It’s getting late—if he’s not back soon, my sister—well, my aunt—will worry. Let’s save the calligraphy for next time.”

Her muddled attempt at kinship titles made Zhang Ye want to laugh.

She had too many questions for Zhang Ye, not just about his deep knowledge of calligraphy, but also about the dramatic changes he’d undergone in recent days.

In her eyes, Zhang Ye could never have written such profound essays before, nor possessed such insight. It wasn’t that she underestimated him—she simply knew him too well.

Gu Changming, though visibly disappointed, quickly composed himself, saying, “What a pity. Tell you what: next time you’re free, come to my place. I’ll have my wife cook a few dishes, and we can admire my calligraphy and have a good discussion—exchange ideas and grow together.”

Just like that, their relationship had advanced to brotherhood in a matter of minutes.

Ultimately, Gu Changming was a hearty, unpretentious man—not one to be bound by rigid social conventions.

“All right, brother. I’ll certainly pay a visit when I have time. I’ll bring a few pieces of my own, and you can judge them for me,” Zhang Ye replied, bowing in the old-fashioned way, before being dragged off by Wang Mengzi, who was both amused and exasperated by their banter.

“Sis, how did things go?” Zhang Ye, knowing what was on her mind, quickly asked, hoping to preempt further questioning.

“It’s been added in at the last moment, and as the front-page headline, too. You’ll see your article in tomorrow’s paper. And don’t worry, I didn’t forget to include your little advertisement—don’t think I don’t know you’re worried about affecting Liu Wentao’s fruit shop.” Though not well acquainted with Liu Wentao, she’d heard about his situation and was glad to help, with no hint of prejudice.

“Ha, sister, your insight is truly unmatched,” Zhang Ye replied, bowing in exaggerated respect.

“Sister? Look at you, getting cocky. Hold on—don’t try to change the subject. Speak up, what’s going on?” Only now did Wang Mengzi notice Zhang Ye’s shift in address, and she put her hands on her hips, pretending to scold him.

She quickly remembered her real purpose and pressed him further.

“What do you mean? What are you talking about?” Zhang Ye feigned innocence, gazing at her with exaggerated confusion.

“Don’t play dumb with me. I’m talking about that article—and your discussion about calligraphy with Editor-in-Chief Gu. Spill it. How do you know so much?” She glared at him, as if to say, “If you don’t explain, you’ll be sorry.”

“Sis, is it so strange that I might suddenly wise up and get clever? Besides, none of this is that hard. Writing an essay is just expressing your thoughts in words—it’s not as if I’ve never written one before. As for calligraphy, you know my grandfather used to be a private tutor. He was strict with me from a young age—I practiced a lot and picked up what I could, so of course I know a thing or two.” These weren’t difficult questions, so Zhang Ye brushed them off casually, then smiled at her.

Who can really say where talent comes from? As for calligraphy, Zhang Ye’s grandfather had indeed been a private tutor, but he was by no means a master. Times had been hard—finding enough to eat was difficult, let alone buying paper for practice. Zhang Ye had actually honed his skills at university under a teacher—not a renowned artist, but certainly skilled enough to impress the calligraphy enthusiasts of a small place like Lihua County.

It wasn’t that the people of Lihua County were necessarily less talented than his university teacher, but Gu Changming’s own abilities were only so-so. So when Zhang Ye mentioned a few novel ideas about calligraphy, Gu was naturally amazed.

PS: A bit late, but at least I finished this before midnight…