My era, 1979!

Chapter 112 A Series of Good News (Seeking votes at the beginning of the month! 6.2k votes!)
Xu Chengjun eventually remembered that there was something he hadn't done.

I suddenly woke up from my dream.

Damn it, I haven't written a single letter yet!

How to do!
When in doubt, write a love poem!
By the way, let me go back to writing a letter a month ago!
"

Manshu:

When I opened the letter, the evening breeze of Fengyang was probably brushing against the window frame.

I just came back from the threshing ground, my trouser legs still covered in wheat grains, and my hands still carrying the sweet scent of wheat. I remember the day we parted, you tiptoed to slip me a little notebook at the station, the three orchids on the title page gleaming softly under the lamp. You said, "Three letters, and if you miss one, I'll be fined ten pounds of dried sweet potatoes." So I didn't dare delay, and now, with the residual warmth of the stove, I'm writing you the first one.

My days in Shanghai were like a vibrant dream, but returning to Xujiatun, I realized that the brightest light in that dream was the black and white dress you gave me. You always said I understood the subtle nuances in "The Scenery of Wuxi," but you didn't know that the image of you standing on the platform was the scene most deserving of being written into a poem—

The square neckline was perfectly fitted, and the A-line skirt swept across the steps, making even the wind seem to slow down. I'm always afraid that the memory will fade, so I hid that image in my notebook, next to the orchids you drew. Flipping through it makes the days feel much warmer.

During the day, we run around in the fields, the hot wind carrying dust to our faces. Look, how much vitality is hidden in the village life—Sanya chasing iron hoops across the fields; Aunt Hanzi's steamed sweet potatoes are fragrant in the stove, and I remember you saying, "Shanghai sugar is not as sweet as the sugar at home."

I want to tell you all these little everyday things, as if you were sitting by the field, counting the cloud shadows on the haystacks with me.

Last night, I revised "The Unbreakable Red Silk" until late. After finishing writing about the love story of Gu Daqiang and Huang Siyuan, I thought of you again—your rapture while listening to "Wuxi Scenery," your excitement while discussing poetry, and even the way your eyes sparkled when you scolded me for being "meddlesome." Every time I talk to you, it's like picking up scattered starlight. When I gather enough, even the characters I create have warmth.

There was still a draft of a poem I wrote for you tucked inside the notebook, and the candlelight flickered.

"To the universe you are a speck of dust, but to someone you are their entire universe." Manshu, do you know that these words kept me tossing and turning for half the night? I used to think that literature was my universe, but I only understood after meeting you that the real universe is someone who will fold your poems into paper boats and put them into the river of their heart; someone who will think of the wheat in your hometown and look forward to hearing you tell stories from the fields.

I will return to Shanghai next month, and then I will tell you how the wheat waves lap against the fields on a spring night, just like the words we didn't finish saying, gently swaying in the wind.

Though the letter is short, the sentiment is deep; the porridge on the stove should be boiling.

May the documents on your desk not disturb your peaceful sleep.
May the gentle moonlight always accompany you outside your window.

When I return,

I'll explain in more detail later.
The starlight and the aroma of wheat along the way.

Cheng Jun
July 29th night in Xujiatun

"

He himself felt tired of writing it.

but!
No problem~
Why did the letter from July only arrive in September? Is there a delay in mail delivery in rural areas?
Xu Chengjun was still not reassured, so he put in even more effort!

He then stuffed in three more three-line poems.

Three-line poems are truly a wonderful thing.

Write a dozen or twenty words and people will say: Wow, so beautiful, so romantic!

"

"Fengwu"

Spring cherry blossoms, autumn osmanthus, winter frost and snow

Every year the scenery is vibrant.

"Not as good as having you by my side"

"

"affection"

Stars shift and constellations change.

As the seasons change,

Our friendship runs deep.

"

Qinghui

You are not an adornment of the sky.

You are the ruler of the night.
The moonlight shines brightly, all because of you.

"Chengjun, what are you writing!"

Xu Chengjun was engrossed in writing a three-line poem under the kerosene lamp when he was startled by a sound behind him.

It turned out that it was Liang Xiaobin who got up in the middle of the night.

"I'm revising the manuscript; I can't sleep because I have something on my mind."

The words were perfunctory, but little did they know that the draft was being blown by the wind outside the window right in front of Liang Xiaobin.

He paused, then read aloud: "A sky full of stars?"

"No, do you have to include love poems in your novel?"

As he spoke, he sobered up a bit: "Goodness, I was wondering why you weren't sleeping. You were writing love poems in the middle of the night, weren't you!"

"Something's up? Tell your brother?"

"Shut up!"

"Vulgar! What do you mean by writing love poems!"

"This is a celebration of life!"
-
The next morning, Liang Xiaobin got up and saw Xu Chengjun already there packing up manuscripts.

With a shifty look on his face, he ran up to Xu Chengjun and asked, "Chengjun, I remember you were writing love poems there last night? Which girl were you writing them for?"

"I've been through this before, let me analyze it for you!"

"What love poems are you writing? You've had too much to drink!"

Xu Chengjun, without batting an eye, took out the book "Tribute" and handed it to Liang Xiaobin.

"I spent the whole night writing this poem. I was deeply moved by the heroic deeds of those who fought in the Sino-Japanese War. I couldn't contain my emotions!"

"It is true?"

Liang Xiaobin picked up "Tribute" with suspicion and read it carefully for a long time.

"Patriotic lyric poetry?"

"I vaguely remember the phrase 'a sky full of stars'?"

"Yes, it was there at first, but then I had other ideas and deleted it!"

"It's really not a love poem?"

"That's not true!"

"How can the poems I write for my country with such deep love not be considered love poems?"

Xu Chengjun looked completely innocent and spread his hands.

"Holy crap! Is this how you play it?!"

"Then you really need to learn from Gu Cheng. He's really good at writing love poems and flirting! I'm not saying this to you, but there are definitely plenty of pretty girls at Fudan University. Don't be too arrogant, just settle for less! Start dating first!"

Liang Xiaobin winked and made faces.

"Brother, there are some things I need to talk to you about to understand."

cooked!

We're still too familiar with each other!
Xu Chengjun looked at him speechlessly. This man was originally very polite and had a very good manner.

However, after drinking, one's behavior becomes unruly.

Learn from Gu Cheng?
Should he imitate him by killing his beloved wife with a knife and then hanging himself?

Today is the last day of the seminar, and the theme is poetry.

Poets like Gu Cheng and Liang Xiaobin, who had been silent for four days, delivered an explosive speech today.

Why the silence?
Because there is an invisible barrier between poetry and novels.

Novelists think that poets only write a few lines and can't achieve anything.

Poets think that novelists who rely on a lot of words to convey emotions are not good enough. Do you know what the charm of "the water of the great river comes from the sky" is?
It's roughly similar to making movies and singing.

People like Xu Chengjun have a somewhat detached status; they can dabble in almost anything, since they're involved in cross-industry ventures.
The poetry scene in 1979 was actually quite simple. It was in the midst of the ideological liberation movement at the beginning of the reform and opening up, a crucial year for breaking free from the shackles of literature and art and ushering in a "new era" for contemporary poetry.

On January 14, a national poetry writing symposium convened by the Poetry Journal was held in the capital, marking the first gathering of poets since 1966.

High specifications,

At the meeting, Xu Chi emphasized that "poetry is a long sword reaching to the sky, poetry is a torch," and called on "let our new poets spread their wings of imagination and beat them, sing and fight for the Four Modernizations, burn and fly for the Four Modernizations."

This symposium sparked a nationwide wave of poetry writing.

The current poetry scene presents a pattern of two peaks standing side by side: the "Returning Poets" and the "Misty Poets".

Poetry not only reflects on history, but also awakens to the value of the individual and looks forward to the future.

The former is an older poet who was suppressed and is now resuming his creative work; the latter is a young person.
And coincidentally, there are representative poets from both of these schools in the current literary circles of Anhui.

They were all acquaintances of Xu Chengjun.

Gong Liu, Liang Xiaobin, and Gu Cheng.

These three people have quite a history. In June, Gong Liu publicly published "A New Topic - Starting with a Few Poems by Comrade Gu Cheng", which kicked off the debate on Misty Poetry.

The seminar focused on the theme of Misty Poetry, and Yan Zhen and Gong Liu gave presentations.

When Yan Zhen mentioned Misty Poetry in his report, he named Liang Xiaobin and Xu Chengjun as representative poets of "Misty Poetry" in Anhui.

Gong Liu raised an objection: "I think it is difficult to summarize Xu Chengjun's creative style as obscure poetry. His creative style is not tragic, but full of positivity and exploration of life. It should belong to the category of natural lyric poetry."

Therefore, the meeting spent half an hour discussing which faction Xu Chengjun belonged to.

The outcome is uncertain.

During his speech, Liang Xiaobin took out a piece titled "Salute" by Xu Chengjun.

One theory is that Xu Chengjun created it on the spot last night, which once again brought the seminar to a climax.

Host Yan Zhen invited Xu Chengjun to the stage to explain the creative process behind "Salute" and to discuss the future development of poetry themes.

The poets present gave "Homage" high praise, and the discussion about poetry ended amicably.

It has to be high, they know how much of a troll this guy can spew!
The key point is that these trolls have their own allies behind them. Do you think we can't see that Gong Liu is implicitly supporting Xu Chengjun?
After the seminar, Xu Chengjun stayed in Hefei for two more days.

One is that "The Granary" is about to be published, and things aren't urgent at Fudan University.

Another factor was that, under Chen Dengke's coordination, the Provincial Federation of Literary and Art Circles provided Xu Chengjun with a large number of cases related to war themes, the Third Front construction, and monkey fighting.

This gave him sufficient grounds to demonstrate and revise the content that was in doubt.

What surprised Xu Chengjun the most was that the Provincial Federation of Literary and Art Circles also found him three other retired or returned soldiers who, like Xu Jianjun, had participated in the self-defense counterattack against the enemy.

In an office of the Provincial Federation of Literary and Art Circles, Xu Chengjun sat facing three veterans.

He compiled the questionable parts of the novel and prepared to conduct expert interviews with the three veterans using the "Delphi method".

The veteran leaning on a cane was named Zhao Weihong. His trousers hung loosely, tied to his knees with a coarse cloth strap. He sat down slowly, but deliberately pulled his prosthetic leg further into the chair, as if to make Xu Chengjun uncomfortable. Behind him were two young men, one of whom was named Li Dayong, who had scars from artillery shell grazes on his arm.

The other one was named Wang Gensheng, and he spoke with a slight Anhui accent.

"Comrade Chengjun, we've heard you're a great writer and want to write our story,"

When Zhao Weihong spoke, her voice was a little hoarse.

“When Chairman Chen told us this yesterday, I took out my old military medals and cleaned them overnight.”

"It's not that I want to show off, but I feel that the battles fought by our Anhui people in the south should be remembered by someone."

“I understand, my brother is just like you.”

Xu Chengjun quickly poured tea for the three of them. Hot water was poured into the enamel cups, and in the rising steam, Zhao Weihong's gaze fell on the first draft of "The Unbreakable Red Silk" on the corner of the table.

"Uncle Zhao, Brother Li, Brother Wang, I haven't finished revising this manuscript yet. I called you here today to ask what the real battlefield is like?"

"For example, when you're on a flanking mission, do you really carry your comrades' belongings with you while marching?"

Li Dayong spoke first, unconsciously touching the scar on his arm: "Why didn't you take it? My squad leader and I are from the same hometown. On the day he sacrificed his life, he stuffed his pen into my hand and said, 'Dayong, if you can go back, please give my mother a message.'"

"Later, I carried that pen with me for half a month. The paint on the cap was worn off, but I didn't dare to throw it away. It wasn't just a pen; it was the squad leader's keepsake."

He paused, his voice lowering, "Just like you said about Huang Siyuan in your manuscript, who hid half a wooden comb..."

On the battlefield, who hasn't hidden something belonging to a comrade? Maybe a notebook, maybe a handkerchief, thinking you could return it after the war, but many never got the chance.

Xu Chengjun then took out a few more paragraphs and read them aloud to the three people in front of him.

Their gazes were deep and thoughtful.

His face held a mixture of reminiscence and sighs.

"Comrades, do you think this is written reasonably?"

At this moment, Wang Gensheng placed the enamel mug on the table with a soft "clang": "Comrade Chengjun, putting everything else aside, I think your line 'walking out stepping on broken glass' is fine!"

"When our company was in Lang Son, the position was blasted into scorched earth by artillery shells, and there were shrapnel everywhere. We rushed up barefoot, and the soles of our feet were covered in blood, but no one complained of pain."

He suddenly smiled, but his eyes were a little red. "But don't write too bitterly, we have our fun too."

"During Chinese New Year, we used tin cans to cook dumplings. The dumpling wrappers broke, and the soup was full of meat filling, but we still fought over to drink it!"

Xu Chengjun took notes quickly with his pen.

He then asked Zhao Weihong, "Brother Zhao, during the Third Front construction, did people really carry steel bars up cliffs?"

Zhao Weihong joined the Third Front construction project in a later batch than Xu Jianjun, but she did not join the army during the Third Front construction period.

This was something the Provincial Federation of Literary and Art Circles went to great lengths to find.

Zhao Weihong put down her teacup: "Back then, when we were building the railway, there were no machines. We relied entirely on digging and carrying by hand. There were twelve people in a shift. They would climb up the cliff by stepping on the cracks in the rocks. Their palms would bleed from the steel chisels, but no one dared to slack off."

"To put it nicely, we wanted to finish building the railway as soon as possible so that the children in the mountains could see the outside world sooner."

"To put it bluntly, we just wanted to finish this as soon as possible so we could go home and see our families."

"I miss home, I really miss home!"

He looked at Xu Chengjun with a serious expression in his eyes. "Comrade Chengjun, if you're going to write something, write about the 'stubbornness' of us Anhui people—we're not afraid to die in battle, we're not afraid of hardship in construction, and we can overcome anything if we have our families in our hearts."

The three of them talked back and forth, from the sniper shots on the battlefield to the moonlight on the third line, from the comrades' entrustment to the wheat waves in their hometown.

As Xu Chengjun listened, he felt the words in his hands gain increasing weight.

Huang Siyuan's hand hiding the wooden comb, Xu Jianjun's back view as he climbs the cliff, and Gu Daqiang's appearance with a crutch on one leg.
It represents not just the three prototypes, but countless heroes who sacrificed their lives in war and construction.

In the Writers' Association office, Zhao Weihong's crudely made prosthetic leg cast a long shadow on the floor, Li Dayong's scars glowed lightly red in the light, and Wang Gensheng's enamel mug gleamed faintly.

The best writing is to carve these passionate stories, stroke by stroke, onto the paper.

So that future generations will know that there was once a group of soldiers who used their blood and bones to support the country.

"Uncle Zhao, Brother Li, Brother Wang,"

Xu Chengjun closed his notebook and shook hands firmly with the three men. "Thank you. I will definitely write your stories well so that more people will know that you were all outstanding, whether on the front lines or on the battlefield!"

Zhao Weihong patted his shoulder firmly: "Good! We'll wait and see! When it's published, we'll buy a copy even if we have to use our crutches, and read it to our fallen comrades."

After seeing off the three veterans, Xu Chengjun suddenly felt like writing a second letter to Su Manshu.

Let's just write August 15th as the date.
He wanted to tell her that he had met the most lovely person today, and that their story was more moving than any romantic poem.

Because it was a love letter written with one's life, a love letter about home, country, and perseverance.
-
8 month 27 day.

Before the publication of "The Barn", some unexpected good news arrived.

This month, the Poetry Journal published four poems by Xu Chengjun: "Foxtail Grass on the Hillside," "Daily Slices," "Look," and "Imagination."

The poetry journal is a monthly publication, and this is its eighth issue. Alongside Xu Chengjun's poems, there are also Shu Ting's "Motherland, My Beloved Motherland" and "This Is Everything".

Xu Chengjun was quite surprised, as the quality of these four poems was not top-notch.

But surprisingly, all of them were adopted.

It may be related to fame.

After all, "The Fitting Mirror" has been incredibly popular in literary circles lately.

Riding the wave of trending topics is not a new phenomenon in the 21st century.

This has existed since ancient times.

Since the poetry journal was published on August 16, although it has been released, there are currently no follow-ups regarding the publication of these four poems.

When submitting his manuscript, Xu Chengjun left his home address in Dongfeng County, but he did not expect to receive the notification of acceptance so late.

The letter was brought by Qian Ming. The young man had successfully achieved his dream and was admitted to Beijing Foreign Studies University.

When I visited Xu Zhiguo and Lu Xiulan at Xu Chengjun's home, I heard that there was a letter from Xu Chengjun, so I volunteered to go to the capital to report and delivered the letter from "Poetry Journal" to Xu Chengjun on the way.

Xu Chengjun knew that his submission had probably been successful when he touched the letter.

In this day and age, you'll generally receive a reply whether you submit a manuscript or not. There are two types of letters: if you receive a thick, long letter, it's definitely a rejection letter.

If it's a thin letter, it's almost certainly a notification of acceptance of the manuscript.

Rejection letters came in various forms, including printed, mimeographed, and handwritten, but most were mimeographed.

The acceptance notice may simply inform the author that the manuscript has been accepted and provide a general outline of the publication schedule.

However, poetry cannot be judged by common sense; sincerity is a good thing.

Because Xu Chengjun submitted his letter relatively late and the quality of his poems was quite good.

The acceptance notice was sent along with a sample copy, so it was much thicker than expected.

Wang Yansheng, the editor of the poetry journal, replied to Xu Chengjun:
Comrade Chengjun:
Spread the letter good.

Your poems "Foxtail Grass on the Hillside," "Daily Slices," "Look," and "Imagination," which you previously submitted to the Poetry Journal, have been reviewed by the editorial department. We were delighted to read them.

Your words carry the simplicity of the soil and the warmth of life. "Foxtail Grass on the Hillside" uses ordinary grass and trees as a metaphor to write about the resilience hidden in the mundane world; "Daily Slices" captures fragmented scenes of life, yet reveals an unusual perspective; the latter two poems, in the unfolding of thoughts, hide sincere questions. This sensitivity and enthusiasm for life and for one's inner self is precisely the moving power in contemporary poetry creation.

After discussion by the editorial department, it has been decided to accept these four poems for publication in the eighth issue of this year. Due to the earlier publication date, two complimentary copies of the journal will be sent with the acceptance notice, along with the payment. Please check your mail for receipt.

If you have any suggestions for revising the poem, please reply to our organization within half a month of receiving this letter; if no adjustments are needed, we will edit and proofread it according to the existing version.

I look forward to reading more of your works that are rooted in life and full of heartfelt sentiments. Best wishes for continued success in your writing!
Wang Yansheng, editorial department of Poetry Journal

November 1979, 8"

Four poems were angrily published in a top-tier domestic poetry magazine.

Xu Chengjun gave a thumbs-up to the air.
In this day and age, wouldn't you consider him a poet?
To properly reward Qian Ming, who had accompanied him all the way, Xu Chengjun simply organized a gathering, inviting his old buddies Zhai Ying, Lao Chen, and Ma Shengli, with the theme of "Sharing Victory, Double the Happiness".

The location was chosen to be Juhongsheng, which is no ordinary restaurant.

Going back, it can be traced back to "Juhongyuan" during the Guangxu period of the Qing Dynasty. In 1956, it followed the trend of joint public-private ownership and became a state-owned enterprise in 1964. During a special period, it was briefly called "Lixin Restaurant" until 1979 when it finally picked up the "Juhongsheng" signboard again.

Specializing in Shouzhou cuisine, a prestigious and authentic branch of Anhui cuisine.

As soon as I entered, I spotted Zhai Ying, still as daring and unconventional as ever.

Still the familiar bell-bottoms.

He had barely sat down when he started teasing, "You two, Qian Ming and Xu Chengjun! You two kept it a secret and sneaked into university? Are you trying to compete with us 'cultured people'?"

Old Chen was overjoyed to see them: "This is fantastic news! We have to celebrate! This meal is on me, and I'll fight anyone who tries to take it from me!"

"So you have to treat us then~"

Ma Shengli, standing next to him, smiled with narrowed eyes: "Brother Xu, you've had a lot of good things happening around you lately. I also have a hidden gem here!"

"Ma Shengli!"

"Cousin, my brother Xu is no stranger to us, what are you afraid of?"

Xu Chengjun glanced at Ma Shengli's "ill-intentioned" look, then at Zhai Ying and Lao Chen, who were sitting inexplicably close.

Suddenly, a chill ran through him, and his mouth formed an "O" shape: "The two of them? Could it be... something's going on?"

Damn it, I knew something was off between them a long time ago!
One is overtly flirtatious, the other is subtly flirtatious—they're a good match!
Qian Ming, standing to the side, looked completely bewildered, scratching his head and stammering, "What about the two of them? I don't understand."

Ma Shengli couldn't hold back any longer: "Who else could it be? My cousin and Sister Zhai! My cousin originally told me to keep it a secret, but Brother Xu, you've done something big, so I had to hurry up and share the good news with you!"

Old Chen's ears turned red, but he still stubbornly and frankly admitted it.

Yes, we're together!

That's good, it's not enough for us to just have a child!

Seeing his shy expression, Zhai Ying simply took over the conversation and revealed, "Last time after dinner, I teased him, saying, 'How old are you? Aren't you going to find someone to settle down with?' He couldn't resist the teasing and confessed his feelings to me directly. I figured that beating around the bush was pointless, so I just asked, 'Will you marry me?'"

"That's how it was settled!"

After listening, Xu Chengjun immediately gave Zhai Ying a thumbs up.

Sister, you're really something else!

"Then are we even considered matchmakers?"

"That definitely counts!"

The three of them teased Old Chen and Zhai Ying for a long time, making Old Chen blush even more, before finally letting the couple go.

Before they could even rest, Ma Shengli suddenly changed the subject: "Brother Xu, when will your article 'The Granary' be published? I'm really looking forward to reading it!"

Xu Chengjun casually uttered two words: "Tomorrow."

"tomorrow?!"

Ma Shengli's eyes widened in surprise.

That's just an act.

On August 28, Xu Chengjun's "Granary" was published as the lead article in the fourth issue of Anhui Literature, along with his poem "Time".

(End of this chapter)