My era, 1979!

Chapter 124 Standing Firm in the Downpour, Believing in Spring Even When the Trees Are Barren
The laughter hadn't yet faded from the playground.

Just as Liu Tiezhu handed the rotating red flag to Xu Chengjun, instructors from other departments ran over and handed him a note. After reading it, he paused, his Adam's apple bobbing, before he spoke: "I have something to tell you all. I have to leave at five o'clock tomorrow morning."

These words were like a sudden gust of wind, blowing away the previous commotion completely.

Lin Yimin's smile froze, and the water bottle in his hand fell to the ground with a "thud": "Instructor, why so soon? Didn't you say you were going to have a farewell dinner with us?"

Squad leader Liu Xiaoyue and deputy squad leader Xue Yanzhu stared at the instructor in astonishment.

That's right, both the class monitor and vice-monitor of Class 1 in the Chinese Department are women.

Although Liu Tiezhu was strict in training, he always spoke his mind and was sincere enough to get along well with the students in the Chinese department.

Liu Tiezhu squatted down to help him pick up the water bottle, his voice softening as he brushed against the mud on his heels: "I have other tasks, so I can't help it."

As he stood up, he saw Zhou Haibo secretly wiping his eyes, his liberation cap, stuffed with newspaper, tilted to one side. "Why are you crying? It's not like we'll never see each other again."

Liu Tiezhu tried to pat him on the shoulder, but then lowered his hand halfway through the air and turned to everyone, saying, "Comrades... cough, students!"

He suddenly realized that he hadn't addressed her correctly, which made several girls in the front row secretly purse their lips.

“These past few days with you all, I’ve seen you all, gritting your teeth to stand at attention and keeping up with the marching exercises, just like the raw recruits in our army, with that ‘even if the sky falls, we’ll stand tall’ spirit!”

He patted his chest, his voice carrying the solid energy of a soldier's rallying cry, "We soldiers are known for 'not fearing hardship, not fearing death,' and you scholars must also carry this revolutionary spirit within you! From now on, in Fudan University, study hard, master your skills, and whether you pursue academia or teach children, you must march like we do, taking one step at a time, firmly establishing your roots! And also..."

He suddenly hesitated, scratching the back of his head with his rough fingers. "All good things must come to an end, damn it, I can't explain it! Forget it, Chengjun, you explain it to me."

"Hahahahaha!"

Everyone burst into laughter.

"Instructor Liu, this kind of thing can't be left undone!" Xu Chengjun joked with a smile.

"Why not? Tell me, tell me!"

"I'll say a few words, though!"

He glanced at Lin Yimin's mud-caked trouser legs, then at Zhou Haibo's still-on newspaper cap, and finally at the old badge pinned to Liu Tiezhu's uniform.

“I remember on the first day of military training, Instructor Liu made us stand at attention. Lin Yimin secretly moved his foot toward me, but the instructor found out and punished us by making us stand for an extra ten minutes.”

People around him laughed. Lin Yimin scratched his head and smiled sheepishly, but his eyes were still red.

"You really hold a grudge, kid!"

Instructor Liu laughed and scolded.

Xu Chengjun continued, "Back then, we thought military training was too boring, and we looked forward to its end every day. But now that it's really over, I'm thinking about a lot of things—Zhou Haibo was afraid of getting tanned, so he stuffed newspapers into his hat, but during the march, he gave his last sip of water to a classmate who had heatstroke; Squad leader Liu Xiaoyue and deputy squad leader Xue Yanzhu went to the canteen early every morning to fill our water bottles with cooled boiled water; and Instructor Liu, who always said we were clumsy, but secretly cooked mung bean soup for us when we were practicing marching until evening."

"Oh, by the way, Cheng Yongxin's pants ripped and he didn't know how to sew them, so Hu Zhi sewed them for him~"

Everyone laughed.

His voice paused, and the wind blew across the playground, bringing the distant cicadas' chirping closer.

"I know that we will go down different paths in the future. Instructor Liu will return to the army to protect our country; we will return to the classroom to learn knowledge and pursue our dreams. But I want to tell everyone that youth is not just about being relaxed and having fun, but also about the sweat we shed together, the hardships we endured together, and the time we spent working together towards a common goal."

"Many years from now, we may forget the marching we did today, and the songs we sang, but we will never forget that on the playground of Fudan University, there was a group of people in green military uniforms who accompanied us through the most unforgettable period of our youth."

Xu Chengjun raised the red flag, saying, "This red flag is not for me, it belongs to all of us, and it is for Instructor Liu. Because of you, this military training has become meaningful."

"Instructor Liu is leaving tomorrow, but what these days and his past life have taught us is to stand firm in the rain and to believe that spring will come when the trees are bare."

"Dear students! Our youth, our growth, has been forged through countless trials and separations, resulting in the magnificent prosperity we enjoy today. So, don't cry, because we will all become the most spectacular scenery in each other's lives in the future."

There was thunderous applause.

No sooner had he finished speaking than Zhou Haibo suddenly stood up: "Instructor, I will never stuff newspapers into my hat again! I will study hard and protect our ideals just as you protect our country!"

Everyone stood up, and Lin Yimin shouted, "We'll miss you!"

"We can too!"

Squad leader Liu Xiaoyue led everyone in thanking Instructor Liu.

Liu Tiezhu turned his face away, wiped his eyes with his sleeve, and when he turned back, he had a smile on his face: "Silly boys, why are you crying? Study hard in the future and become a useful person to the country. That's better than anything else."

He pulled a handful of fruit candies from his pocket and handed them out to everyone, saying, "These are from the army. They're sweet, so don't cry after you eat them."

"I knew Xu Chengjun was a good talker!"

"Oh, by the way, Instructor Liu, it's good that the military training has ended here. It would be impolite to continue!"

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"
-
The kerosene lamp in dormitory 201 of Fudan University's Songzhuang campus cast a long shadow of Xu Chengjun.

There was still half a cup of cold boiled water left in the enamel mug on the windowsill. The manuscript paper was covered with revision marks for "The Box of Hope". The pencil tip paused next to the sentence "Li Changcun's frostbitten fingers".

He always felt that something was missing—details that could truly touch people's hearts.

The content and story logic are there, but what's more important is how to use the details of the story to make it more profound.

The door hinges creaked open, and Lin Yimin came in carrying freshly boiled hot water, holding a brown paper envelope in his hand: "Chengjun, this was just delivered by the post office. The postmark looks like it came from Beijing, but there's no sender's name on it."

"Thanks! Once I finish writing this novel, I'll treat everyone to a meal at a restaurant."

"What kind of nonsense is this!"

“But we have to eat at a restaurant!” Zhou Haibo winked.

"Dogtooth, eat less, your belly's getting big!"

"This is a blessing~ Aren't you envious, skinny monkey!"

This is Hu Zhi, who recently gained another nickname: Skinny Monkey.

It was started by Zhou Haibo.

"This is the true face of a youth corrupted by zbzy!" Hu Zhi scoffed.

"Get the hell out of here!"

Cheng Yongxin chimed in, "Chengjun, didn't you want to buy a bicycle? I went to Huaiguo Old (Huaihai Road Secondhand Store) and Qiujiang Road Secondhand Market yesterday and saw that there were quite a few decent parts. We can find some parts and assemble one ourselves."

Lin Yimin, a local resident, was the only one in the entire dormitory who owned a "Forever" bicycle, which he flaunted every day. Cheng Yongxin's family was better off, but they still couldn't afford a state-owned bicycle.

So, a while ago, I came up with the idea of ​​"assembling".

"That's great, I'll go check it out after I'm done with this."

At Fudan University, Xu Chengjun deeply felt the inconvenience of getting around, which led him to consider buying a car. However, he had no way to buy one.

It's not about the money; he can afford a Forever brand bicycle, which costs around 150.

The main reason was that in Shanghai in 1979, purchasing bicycles mainly relied on state-run channels under the planned economy.

You need a bicycle ticket to purchase it.

However, the problem is that bicycles are one of the "three major items" in Shanghai. The city produces about 161 million bicycles a year (dominated by Phoenix and Forever brands), but demand far exceeds supply, resulting in a long-term shortage.

Bicycle tickets are allocated by work units or neighborhoods according to a plan, and there is usually a waiting list of several months or even years.

A unit with several hundred employees can only receive 2-3 tickets per year, and some units have to allocate them by lottery or by seniority.

To bypass the queue, one must obtain tickets through "backdoor" means or by exchanging them for other tickets, such as sewing tickets or TV tickets.

Xu Chengjun didn't have a ticket.

Therefore, for Xu Chengjun, assembling goods at the secondhand market might be the best option.

At most, we can pick out some better parts.

He smiled and exchanged a few pleasantries with his roommates, put down his pen, picked up Lin Yimin's letter, and saw the words "Dongsi, Beijing" on the postmark.

It exudes a familiar literary atmosphere.

These days, Dongsi in Beijing is considered a literary mecca.

Firstly, Dongsi has many former residences of historical figures, such as Ye Shengtao's former residence on Dongsi Eighth Street, and Qian Zhongshu and Yang Jiang's former residence at No. 1 Dongsi First Street.

Secondly, it is home to numerous literary institutions and publications, including top-tier literary magazines such as *People's Literature* and *Literary Gazette*.

Xu Chengjun was puzzled. When did he start having connections with Dongsi in Beijing?

Wang Zengqi?
When he opened it, a yellowed piece of paper fell out, the penmanship was so strong it seemed to penetrate the paper, and the first two words made his eyelids twitch: "Brother Chengjun".

It's Beidao.

What does he want from me?
"Seeing your words is like seeing you in person. A few days ago, I came across four of your poems in Poetry Journal. In 'Foxtail Grass on the Hillside,' the line 'When the wind passes by, they bow their heads / Not in submission, but to tuck the sunlight / into their fluffy pockets,' I read it by the light of a kerosene lamp for half the night—not because it was cleverly written, but because you dared to express your emotions, unlike the current literary scene, where people either shout slogans of 'Four Modernizations' or hide in old papers pretending to be ignorant. Later, I found Harvest and read 'The Dressing Mirror,' and realized that you not only understand poetry, but also the human heart. The scraps of floral fabric that Chunlan hid under the bed board, the red ribbon that couldn't be burned—these are the thoughts that a living person should have, and they are rare."

Xu Chengjun leaned back in his chair and read by the light of a kerosene lamp; the edges of the pages were slightly curled.

Bei Dao's words were direct and to the point: "A few of us cobbled together a journal called *Today*. We had no publication number, no funding, the mimeograph machine was an old junk we found at the scrap yard, the paper was scraps left over from the printing factory, and we even had to use the ink sparingly. But we just wanted to leave a clean space for poetry, not to play games with them. Shu Ting, Mang Ke, and Jiang He are all here. Shu Ting's eyes welled up with tears when he read your *Imagination*, and Mang Ke slammed his fist on the table, saying, 'Xu Chengjun dares to write the truth.' I thought about it over and over, and this 'editorial board' position can't be without you. The 'light' in your poems isn't something you shout out; it grows from the soil, just like what our *Today* journal wants to do: not sing praises, not shy away from pain, but write what's in people's hearts."

At the end of the letter, Bei Dao wrote the address in great detail: "East 43rd Alley, the third gate after entering the alley, there's a crooked locust tree at the entrance, easy to find. Let's meet on the evening of the fifth day of next month. If you're willing to come, bring two pages of your unpublished poems, and we'll chat while drinking Erguotou with pickled vegetables; if you're not willing to come, I still hope you'll reply—not that I'm asking you to make up the numbers, but I feel that good poems should be together, not scattered in magazines in different places."

Xu Chengjun folded and unfolded the letter, his eyes sweeping over the words "no publication number, no funding".

He knew "Today," a landmark publication of a non-governmental poetry journal founded at the end of 1978, and the base of the Misty Poetry School.

The names of Bei Dao and Shu Ting became famous in the literary world from these mimeographed papers.

The letter didn't mention Gu Cheng, but Gu Cheng was also an early member of the Today Poetry Society.

There were actually only three core initiators of "Today": Bei Dao, Mang Ke, and Huang Rui. Compared to the former two, Huang Rui was just an enthusiast of poetry, and he appeared more as the magazine's designer.

Early members included Jiang He, Yang Lian, Gu Cheng, Shu Ting, Yan Li, etc.; Shi Tiesheng, Chen Kaige, and others also participated in contributions or activities.

The lineup is undeniably very strong.

"Today" was also a groundbreaking work of this era and has always had a strong influence in the field of poetry.

1979 was a pivotal year for its most active activities and rapid spread of influence; it could even be said that Today was the most important folk literary group in the early days of reform and opening up.

However, Xu Chengjun prepared to reply and refuse without even thinking.

It wasn't because of "no publication number, no funding".

After all, the influence of "Today" magazine is undeniable; even if it's underground, it still has more prestige than the Fudan Literature Society, which is currently penniless.

Rather, these people are a group of pure idealists.

Idealists' ideas are sometimes difficult to realize.

Just like Gu Cheng's "ideal state".

That's too dangerous, that's too crazy.

Although what they wrote was indeed magnificent, some of the poems and sentences Xu Chengjun could never have written in his lifetime.

However, as Xu Chengjun and Liang Xiaobin said when discussing Misty Poetry: the personalization of Misty Poetry has always remained at the level of elitist individuals.

This contradicts Xu Chengjun's literary ideals.

Furthermore, not to mention the political risks faced by Today in 1979.

The day after tomorrow, "Today" will be relaunched. Bei Dao went to Norway to start it up again, and it will become an overseas Chinese magazine.

Declined ~
At the same time, in a small bungalow on East 43rd Street in Beijing, the kerosene lamp was dimmer than the one in the Fudan University dormitory, and the smell of smoke mixed with the smell of ink filled the room.

Mang Ke threw the freshly printed issue of "Today" onto the wooden table, the pages still warm from the ink: "Bei Dao, are you crazy? Inviting Xu Chengjun to be an editor? How old is he? He's only been back from the countryside for two years, and he hasn't written many poems. How can he have the energy of our 'Today'?"

Jiang He sat in the corner, tapping her fingers on the edge of the table. Her tone was slower than Mang Ke's, but more serious: "Mang Ke is right. Our 'Today' is the flag of Misty Poetry. What are Xu Chengjun's poems? 'Walking Towards the Light' is good, but it's too 'orthodox' and lacks the sharpness to tear things apart. Look at his writing about 'foxtail grass' and 'granary'. They're all earthy and warm. How can they be like Misty Poetry? He can't represent us."

"Can't represent it?"

Bei Dao slammed Xu Chengjun's letter on the table, raising his voice slightly.

“Read again his ‘amber light formed by condensing light’ in ‘Look,’ and ‘kissing the earth with the warm breath stored in the earth’s cellar in ‘Imagination’—isn’t this sharpness? This is a knife hidden in warmth! It’s more heart-wrenching than my ‘baseness is the passport of the base’!”

Bei Dao greatly admires Xu Chengjun's works.

As for whether it's obscure poetry or not, he thinks it is.

He squatted down, pulled a cardboard box from under the bed, and rummaged through several stacks of newspaper clippings: "What did Gong Liu say in Wenhui Daily last month? 'Xu Chengjun's poetry is a new path outside of Misty Poetry.' Poetry Journal published four of his poems at once, and how many educated youth across the country copied his poems? His qualifications were earned by readers copying them with pens!"

Yang Lian sat on the edge of the kang with his knees drawn up to his chest, having remained silent until now. He spoke softly, “I think it’s alright. Gu Cheng said last time that he could talk about Eliot and the Book of Songs. What’s rare is that he didn’t use Western things as a gimmick, nor did he lose sight of our ancestors’ roots. Our magazine, Today, always talks about breaking the deadlock. Xu Chengjun’s arrival is just the right thing to do to fill the gap. We shouldn’t always think that only sharpness counts as poetry.”

"rustic?"

Mang Ke retorted, "What we need is to break free from our cocoons, not to dance while wrapped in sugar! He's doing his master's at Fudan University, hanging out with those old professors like Zhu Dongrun. Won't he end up making our poems all too proper?"

"You are prejudiced!"

Bei Dao picked up the Poetry Journal on the table, turned to Xu Chengjun's "Slices of Daily Life," and wrote, "He wrote 'The moment the wind stopped on the branch / The fallen leaves forgot the distant place they were going / You count the moonlight in the windowpane / The moonlight shattered into stars outside the window.' Is this the rule? This is bringing life to life! If our Today only recognizes one kind of poetry, what's the difference between us and those old fogies?"

(End of this chapter)