My era, 1979!

Chapter 144 "Economic Powerhouse" and Slow Three
In early November.

Dusk had just fallen over the treetops of the plane trees on Fudan University's Handan Road campus.

A few rays of yellow light shone through the wooden windows of the Songzhuang dormitory.

At the desk by the window, Hu Zhi was moving a dark green "Red Lantern" brand semiconductor device onto the windowsill, its metal antenna stretched straight.

Every evening at 7:30, he would tune into the Shanghai People's Radio station and listen to the evening news with Xu Chengjun and a few others.

This is one of the few forms of entertainment available in this era.

"Hurry up and adjust! It's almost 7:30!"

Li Cunshan from next door, 203, rushed in carrying a wooden stool with a broken leg. The stool was still stained with engine oil from repairing bicycles that afternoon. "I made an appointment with the guy in 302 to come over tonight to hear news from Daqing Oilfield. Their plant ran out of crude oil last month and is waiting for a resupply!"

No sooner had he finished speaking than the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Several boys from room 301 crowded at the doorway, some clutching half a bag of spiced beans, others with laptops tucked under their arms: "Hu Zhi, can you turn the volume up? Our dorm wants to hear too!"

"no problem!"

Xu Chengjun and the entire 201 dormitory became the "star" dormitory in the building.

Hu Zhi smiled as she turned the knob, and the buzzing sound of electricity gradually weakened, like a swarm of small insects.

Then the announcer's deep voice rang out, carrying the unique tremor of a digital radio wave: "The following is an economic news report from Heilongjiang Province: Daqing Oilfield's crude oil production exceeded 4200 million tons in the first ten months of this year, maintaining a stable annual production level of 5000 million tons. The well operation team innovated a layered water injection process, increasing the daily production of a single well by 12%..."

"Wow! 4200 million tons!"

Zhou Haibo, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, suddenly leaned forward, not even noticing that his military green satchel had slipped off his lap. "Our Shanghai Machine Tool Factory stopped production for two days last month, just to wait for oil from Daqing, right? My cousin works as a technician at the factory, and he said that the oil storage tanks in the warehouse are all empty!"

Lin Yimin, who was on the lower bunk, was making malted milk powder in an enamel cup. The milk powder stirred in the hot water, creating circles of white ripples, and the aroma filled the entire dormitory.

As he nodded, a little milk stain appeared on the rim of his cup, which he casually wiped with his sleeve: "Last week, the department heard an industrial report, and the teacher said that half of the coal and crude oil from Heilongjiang Province would be supplied to East China!"
"Our physics lab's generator only got going last month thanks to fuel transported from Daqing; otherwise, we couldn't have done any experiments."

Hu Zhi reached out and turned the volume up a bit more. The warm voice from the radio drifted over to agricultural news: "The Second Team of the Fifth Branch of Youyi Farm in Heilongjiang Province, thanks to the introduction of large combine harvesters this year, has 21 employees cultivating 1.1 mu of wheat fields, with a yield per mu increasing by 80 jin compared to last year, making it a national demonstration unit for agricultural mechanization..."

Cheng Yongxin, who was squatting on the ground wiping his sneakers, straightened up and said with a smile, "My hometown is in a rural area of ​​Zhejiang. If we could have a machine like this, we wouldn't have to stay up all night during the autumn harvest."

Xu Chengjun grinned.

Lin Yimin: "Chengjun, what are you laughing at?"

Xu Chengjun: "I wonder if there will come a day when Heilongjiang's economy will be among the worst in the country, while the rural economy of Zhejiang, where Cheng Yongxin lives, is highly developed, and its light industry can meet the needs of production and life."

Zhou Haibo, without even looking up, said, "How could that be? The three northeastern provinces are now the economic leaders of the country! This year, Heilongjiang Province's economy is leading the nation!"

Xu Chengjun: "Really?"

Official data shows that my country's GDP in 1979 was only 4101 billion yuan.

At that time, the vast majority of Chinese people did not know what the term GDP meant.

That year, the province ranked first in the country was Heilongjiang Province, with a GDP of 187.2 billion.

Today, the economies of the three northeastern provinces and SX province are basically among the worst in the country.

"That's not it!"

"Now many people think about being assigned to the three northeastern provinces after graduation, especially Liaoning Province."

"Jihai, isn't your family from Jixi?"

"Yes, it's really cold where we are now."
-
Before the lingering summer heat of 1979 had fully subsided, a "different kind of wind" was already sweeping across China.

The wind carries the smell of paint, the sound of trouser legs brushing the ground, and the scent of freshly printed poems on paper.

These two months happen to be the time when Xu Chengjun is most "rushed" to meet deadlines. His pen and his name are following this trend and plunging into the era.

In early October, the area outside the red walls of the National Art Museum of China in the capital suddenly became lively.

Twenty-three amateur painters with no "official titles" spread their paintings on the ground and leaned against the wall. They had no grand themes, only the eyes and eyebrows of ordinary people and the everyday life of the streets. With abstract lines and contrasting color blocks, they directly challenged the rule that "realism had the final say" that had prevailed for the past few decades.

Someone frowned and asked, "What kind of painting is this?"

Some people squatted in front of the painting for a long time, feeling that "this is the life we ​​should be living."

Later, people recognized that this was the "first appearance" of Chinese avant-garde art, an aesthetic that had been suppressed for too long, finally daring to breathe in the sunlight.

At the same time, young people across the country were secretly "tinkering" with their pants.

Widen the trouser legs and tighten the hips, and wear a pair of "bell-bottoms" that can sweep up wisps of wind when you walk, making them ten times more eye-catching than a Zhongshan suit or military uniform.

A teacher at the school gate held up scissors and said that this was "the tail of the bourgeoisie" and needed to be cut off.

But young people insist on swinging their trouser legs even wider and pairing them with a pair of large-framed aviator sunglasses.

The logo on the lens was deliberately left on; it was a mark of being an "imported product," a small pride that had been hidden for over a decade and was finally daring to show.

On the dirt road in Pulandian, Liaoning, Li Shichen's shop has also put up a new sign: "Hair Perming".

It costs 2 yuan per session, which is almost half a month's wages for an average worker, but the girls and wives in the neighborhood still line up to get their straight hair permed into curls.

The monotonous "short, ear-length hair" that was ubiquitous in state-run barbershops suddenly lost its appeal.

The winds in the countryside are starting to blow in a more "beautiful" direction.

Amidst all this bustle, Xu Chengjun's busyness is hidden in the manuscript paper and ink.

In mid-October, when the new issue of Poetry Journal was published, readers discovered some unusual sentences.

Bei Dao's line, "Baseness is the passport of the base," hit me like a punch to the heart.

Shu Ting wrote, "I must be a kapok tree beside you," a line that is both gentle and powerful.

Turning to the back, Xu Chengjun's "To You in the Old Days" and "Writing Spring Poems" are also there.

There are no slogans, only a deep appreciation for the days and a contemplation of the past, hidden in subtle symbols that warm the heart of the reader.

At the end of the month, the poetry journal *Stars* gave it another push: as soon as Gong Liu's commentary was published, the whole country was talking about "Misty Poetry".

It turns out that those "not straightforward" sentences weren't "incomprehensible," but rather that young people finally have a new way of speaking, able to express their innermost thoughts without being bound by rigid frameworks.

Now that Xu Chengjun is mentioned again, no one thinks of him as a "poet in a small circle".

He stood alongside Bei Dao and Shu Ting, and when the title of "natural lyric poet" was mentioned again, it carried the recognition of an era for "fresh expression".

The wind is still blowing.

In early November, Teresa Teng's "Tian Mi Mi" (Sweet Honey) began circulating underground.

This trend led to the popularity of family gatherings and semi-public salon-style ballroom dances.

This also stirred the hearts of these "lazy and lustful" men in group 201.

The agricultural news on the radio had just ended when the buzzing sound of electricity started again.

Zhou Haibo suddenly jumped up from the edge of the bed, his military green satchel slamming onto the floor with a "thud," startling Lin Yimin so much that the malted milk powder in his hand sloshed and left a white stain.

"Don't turn it off! Don't turn it off!"

He rushed to Hu Zhi's side, pointing at the semiconductor display, "I just heard from some guys from other schools that the East China Normal University Literary Society has an 'event' tonight—not a poetry reading, but a dance! It's semi-public, and people from other schools can come in!"

prom?

What the hell?
The dormitory was silent for two seconds, then it started to get noisy again.

"Yes! Ballroom dancing!"

"Let me tell you, that was incredibly exciting!"

Cheng Yongxin's shoe-shining cloth froze in mid-air, forgetting to shake off the white dust from the shoe brush: "A dance? You mean...the kind where you dance while hugging?"

His hometown is in rural Zhejiang. He had only ever seen group dances in the commune hall, where men and women would stand half an arm’s length apart and sway to the beat of “one, two, one”. He had never heard of a dance where people “would hug each other and dance”.

Li Cunshan put half a bag of spiced beans on the table. Two beans rolled out, but he didn't pick them up. "Really? Aren't you afraid the school janitor will check?"

There was a hint of nervousness in his voice, but the corners of his mouth were already turned up.

Even the "Old Three Classes" (referring to students who graduated from high school in 1966, 1967, and 1968) have their day!
I just heard on the radio that Daqing has enough oil, and now there's this exciting news. Young people can't help but be drawn to "new" things.

Hu Zhi stuffed the semiconductor into the drawer, her fingers pausing for a moment: "I heard that East China Normal University is more lenient with regulations, using an old lecture hall, drawing the curtains, and even having student council members keep watch."

He usually liked to read poetry with Xu Chengjun and was considered the most "steady" in the dormitory, but everyone could hear the hesitation in his words.

As stable as it may seem, who wouldn't want to witness the "excitement hidden behind the curtains"?
They were all boys in their early twenties.

Hormones surge and people get excited.

Can you endure it?

Lin Yimin took a sip of malted milk powder, which burned his teeth, but he still swallowed it down: "My sister works at a textile factory in Shanghai. She said that their factory also has private dance parties. They were caught by the Party Secretary once, but later they changed it to a 'cultural exchange meeting,' and they still danced."

As he spoke, he glanced at Xu Chengjun and asked, "Chengjun, have you been there?"

Everyone in the room immediately turned to look at Xu Chengjun.

He was sitting at his desk revising a poem, red and blue pencils between his fingers, the paper covered with circles and revisions.

As the only "big boss," Xu Chengjun is like a "stabilizing force."

This also became a habit in 201. Whether it was listening to the radio to talk about the economy or whether bell-bottoms should be worn, everyone liked to see his attitude first.

Xu Chengjun looked up, put the pencil on the manuscript paper, and said, "I'm not going."

His tone was crisp and decisive, without the slightest hesitation: "I've been commissioned to write a commentary for 'Hand Talk' and it's due the day after tomorrow. I'm also short something for the inaugural issue of 'The Wave,' so I don't have time."

He wasn't pretending to be aloof; he was genuinely busy.

Since my poem was published in the Poetry Journal, I've had half a drawer full of requests for submissions and letters from readers. I even have to squeeze in time to eat.

And what's so exciting about dancing ballroom dance?

Do you know the Crazy Horse Show?
"No, Chengjun!"

Zhou Haibo immediately went over and placed his hands on the edge of Xu Chengjun's desk, almost knocking over the ink bottle. "Just go take a look! I'm not asking you to jump. You'll only stay for half an hour at most!"

Think about it, there are bound to be artsy young people from other schools there, and maybe even people who read your poetry. It'll be a perfect opportunity for you to exchange ideas!

Cheng Yongxin also put down his shoe brush and chimed in, "That's right. I heard from that guy that there's a girl at East China Normal University named Yang Xuehui who writes really good poetry and has even published something in 'Mengya' magazine. Maybe she'll go there too."

"She's pretty, why don't you chat with her? Don't worry, we definitely won't tell your sister-in-law!"

Lin Yimin slammed his enamel mug on the table: "There are six of us in the dorm. It would be so boring without you."
"Besides, if you don't go, and the school staff checks, we won't have anyone 'educated' to explain to them!" This half-joking, half-serious remark made Li Cunshan and Hu Zhi laugh.

Xu Chengjun looked at the expectant faces in front of him, nodded helplessly, and didn't want to spoil the mood: "Okay, half an hour is fine, I'll go back after I'm done watching."

"Hey, no problem!"

Afterwards, the group of students rummaged through drawers and cabinets and found a bunch of lard jars, then combed their hair into adult styles.

It was already completely dark when I left the Songzhuang dormitory.

The streetlights on Handan Road only lit one at a time, casting long, dim shadows.

On the street, I encountered a few young people wearing bell-bottoms, their trouser legs making a "rustling" sound as they swept the ground, and they were also wearing sunglasses.

No, pigeons!
What are you pretending for in the middle of the night?

Zhou Haibo curled his lip: "Pretentious!"

He stared at the man's pants and whispered to Cheng Yongxin, "Damn it, I'll save up and buy a pair next time!"

Cheng Yongxin didn't speak, he just nodded vigorously.

The old lecture halls of East China Normal University are hidden in the northwest corner of the campus, right next to the wall.

Before I even got close, I could hear Teresa Teng's "Tian Mi Mi" drifting out from inside, accompanied by the distinctive "buzzing" sound of a tape recorder. It was soft and gentle, completely different from the revolutionary songs I usually listened to.

Even the most honest Li Jihai blushed upon hearing this.

"Isn't this considered decadent music?"

The classroom door was ajar, with a dark green curtain drawn, and a sliver of red light peeked through the gap.

Some people wrapped flashlights in red cloth and hung them on the ceiling as "colorful lights".

It's become even more like a "foot massage parlor" than a "foot massage parlor".

Zhou Haibo pushed open the door, poked half his head in, then quickly pulled back, waving to the people behind him: "Come in quickly! No one's checking!"

"You're so generous! Don't act like a spy has come to town!"

Upon entering, Xu Chengjun was stunned.

The tiered classroom, which is usually used for classes, had its desks and chairs moved to the corner, leaving a small open space in the middle where about twenty people were scattered.

Some people were chatting while leaning against the edge of the table, some were gently swaying their feet to the beat of the music, and a couple was dancing.

The boy was wearing a white shirt, and the girl was wearing a floral dress with her hair styled in small curls that fell over her shoulders.

The dance steps were slow and graceful, the boy's hand gently resting on the girl's waist, and the girl's hand resting on the boy's shoulder with an indescribable tenderness.

"Holy crap... this works? You just hugged him?"

Zhou Haibo leaned close to Xu Chengjun's ear, his voice extremely low, but his eyes were fixed on the dancing couple, shining brightly.

That girl has a really nice waist!
This guy is no good!

Cheng Yongxin stood to the side, his fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of his clothes, also stunned.

It was the first time he had ever seen a girl wearing such a figure-hugging dress; the floral print on it looked like spring flowers blooming on the fabric.

"Is that Yang Xuehui?"

Hu Zhi suddenly pointed to the window, and Xu Chengjun looked over and saw a girl wearing a beige knitted sweater with permed hair, the ends of which were gently curled, talking to someone.

I heard that he is a sophomore at East China Normal University and is quite well-known there.

She's good-looking and has some talent for literary creation.

The favorite of literary and artistic youths in this era.

Her profile was soft, and she had a small dimple when she smiled. In her hand, she held a dog-eared copy of "Poetry Journal," the very issue that had published Xu Chengjun's work last month.

Just as Cheng Yongxin was about to walk over, he was stopped by a girl wearing bell-bottoms.

The girl, holding a tape recorder, smiled and said, "Hey classmate, wanna dance? It's a slow waltz, easy to learn!"

The waltz is one of the classic ballroom dance styles. Its core characteristics revolve around three major elements: rhythm, steps, and grip. The waltz of 1979 also followed this basic framework.

Cheng Yongxin's face flushed red instantly, and he took half a step back. Zhou Haibo pushed him from behind, saying, "What are you afraid of! Just keep up with the beat, I'm watching you!"

"on!"

"Don't embarrass our 201st Division, Lao Cheng!"

Cheng Yongxin followed him with a stiff upper lip, despite his usual air of authority and arrogance.

At this point, he's just a coward.

Xu Chengjun didn't join in the dancing fun; instead, he leaned against the corner of the wall, watching the scene before him.

Someone stepped on the other's foot, and both of them laughed, their voices soft but relaxed.

Someone was secretly checking their watch, probably worried about the school checking dormitories.

Some people even brought notebooks and handed them over during breaks in the dancing, asking for an autograph.

They were all young people like them, a little reserved, yet unable to hide their desire for new things.

"Xu Chengjun?" Suddenly someone called his name. Xu Chengjun turned around and saw Yang Xuehui.

She was still holding the Poetry Journal in her hand. She walked up to him and smiled, "When I saw you come in, I felt like you were there. 'To You in the Old Times' is so well written. It makes me feel like I really saw someone from the old days."

Xu Chengjun was taken aback, not expecting anyone to greet him, then smiled and said, "Thank you."

He pointed to the dancers in the middle and asked, "Do you usually hold dances like this?"

"Just these two months,"

Yang Xuehui glanced at the middle, her peach blossom eyes slightly raised, "It's great that we can dance and chat together now. Look at how they dance, they're much more relaxed than the group dances we used to do."

Everyone needs moments of relaxation like this in life, right?

Xu Chengjun nodded.

Before 1979, in the group dances organized by the school, everyone lined up and stepped in the exact same way, and even their laughter had to be in rhythm.

Ballroom dancing isn't necessarily a good thing.

But at least it has a sense of life.

Some people stepped off the beat, some laughed out loud, and some even secretly added a little spin.

Xu Chengjun smiled and exchanged a few pleasantries with her, signed his name, and wrote a message for her. Yang Xuehui quickly thanked him.

This also aroused the curiosity of those around them.

When people learned that it was Xu Chengjun, there was a small commotion at the scene, and after a few autographs were signed, the scene quieted down.

"Hey! Xu Chengjun! Come quick and take a look!"

Zhou Haibo suddenly called out to him, and saw Cheng Yongxin dancing with Yang Xuehui's friend. Although his steps were a little stiff, he had a smile on his face, and the girl was patient and slowly guided him to the beat.

Zhou Haibo stood to the side, swaying his hand to the music and humming "Tian Mi Mi" softly.

Xu Chengjun walked over, and Zhou Haibo leaned in: "Chengjun, look at Cheng Yongxin, isn't he improving fast! Next time, let's have a 'sharing session' in our dorm. I'll borrow a tape recorder from my cousin!"

Xu Chengjun: "Comrade, in which aspect of progress are you referring?"

Cheng Yongxin's dancing became more and more natural, and he even put his hands on the girls' waists, just like the others.

Zhou Haibo: "Could it be micro-management?"

Xu Chengjun: "."

Inside the tiered classroom.

The red light of the flashlight fell on people's faces, Teresa Teng's singing was soft and gentle, some people were dancing, some were talking about poetry, and some were secretly laughing.

A "different wind" blew not only outside the art museum and onto the bell-bottoms on the street, but also into the dance steps of these young people and into the light in their eyes.

Around 10 o'clock, someone shouted, "The school janitor is going to check the dorms!"

Everyone panicked instantly and quickly packed their things.

As they left the lecture hall, Yang Xuehui handed Xu Chengjun a note: "This is my dormitory address. Can I call you next time there's a poetry gathering?"

Her eyes were filled with expectation.

Xu Chengjun just laughed it off.

The handwriting on the note was delicate, and she casually handed it to Lin Yimin: "When we organize a joint journal launch involving multiple schools in the future, it should be of some use to contact her."

Lin Yimin: "I've let down the beauty, Chengjun!"

Xu Chengjun shrugged: "There's nothing I can do, I'm already in my arms."

Lin Yimin: "."

On the way back, Zhou Haibo kept saying, "It was so worth it! I'll come again next time!"

Xu Chengjun: "Is that worth it? You're just a lecher!"

Zhou Haibo: "Chengjun, you're talking a lot today. I still think you were more likable before."

Xu Chengjun: "If you're into gay relationships, go find Hu Zhi. He's more suited to be a 'rabbit master' (a male prostitute). I don't support him."

Hu Zhi silently raised her middle finger: "Fuck."

Cheng Yongxin was unusually talkative, saying that the girl taught him to dance the slow waltz and they also talked about "Stray Birds".

"It's autumn now, don't act like you're in spring!"

Why didn't you mention Cheng Jun?

"Cheng Jun was issued in the summer."

Xu Chengjun: "Get lost."

(End of this chapter)