My era, 1979!

Chapter 17: The Manuscript Revision Meeting and the "Thirty Newcomers"

On August 15, 1979, in the conference room of the old Western-style building of the Anhui Federation of Literary and Art Circles, the morning light slanted in through the wooden lattice window.

Enameled mugs were placed at both ends of the long table, their rims covered with dark brown tea stains, and the cigarette butts in the ashtrays had piled up into small mounds.

Xu Chengjun, clutching the manuscript of "The Granary," took a deep breath and pushed open the door. The thick smoke in the room made him frown.

"Ah!"

Everyone at the long table looked up in unison.

Well, that's a good start!

Xu Chengjun smiled.
-
"Everyone's here, let's begin."

Zhou Ming stubbed out his cigarette in the jar.

"Let me introduce you first. This is Xu Chengjun, a former educated youth from Fengyang and the author of 'The Granary'."

He pointed at Xu Chengjun, then turned to the people present.

"This is Mr. Su Zhong from the Provincial Federation of Literary and Art Circles, the head of the review section of 'Anhui Literature'; Mr. Liu Zuci, the head of the poetry group; Mr. Liu Xianping, the editor-in-chief of the novel group; the two poets, Gong Liu and Han Han; and Mr. Qian Niansun, a literary theorist."

Xu Chengjun bowed very earnestly.

His gaze swept over these writers, critics, and poets who have left a significant mark on the literary history of Anhui and even the whole country.

Time seemed to stand still at that moment.

I suddenly remembered a book I found in the library during my university years called "Forty Years of Anhui Literature".

The black and white photograph on the title page shows Su Zhong's hand holding a jujube wood pipe, Liu Xianping's patched shirt elbow, and Gong Liu's blue-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, all exactly the same as those in front of us.

"Let's start by having Comrade Xu explain his creative process." Zhou Ming tapped the table and glanced at everyone. "We're not going to go through formalities today; let's get straight to the point."

Xu Chengjun cleared his throat, his voice carrying the lingering tone of Fengyang dialect: "I wrote 'The Granary' because I personally witnessed Xu Laoshi in Fengyang, the prototype of Xu Laoshuan in the novel, picking up the leaked wheat grains one by one and hiding them in a cloth bag. He said, 'What leaked from the collective granary will eventually be accounted for.'"

This reminds me that a granary is not just a place to store grain, but also a container for the farmers' innermost thoughts and feelings.

He opened the manuscript and pointed to the chapter on "Granary Wall Marks": "Some of these marks are deep marks from 1958, while others are shallow marks from 1978."

The deepest sorrow is bitterness, the shallowest is sweetness. When Old Xu was carving marks on the scale beam, I noticed his hands were trembling. Not because he was afraid of being discovered, but because he was afraid of betraying the land.

Su Zhong suddenly interrupted, tapping his pipe on the table with a crisp sound.

"This imagery is good. But I want to ask, when you wrote 'Old Xu's Hidden Cloth Account,' were you trying to depict the conflict between the individual and the collective, or were you trying to record history?"

“Yes, both.” Xu Chengjun looked directly at Su Zhong. “Last year, the actual yield difference per mu was on the books: 300 jin per mu for collective land and 528 jin per mu for private plots.”

“Professor Su, I have read your book, ‘On Rural-Themed Creative Writing.’ In it, you said that ‘real pain is more powerful than false light.’ I kept thinking of that sentence when I was writing ‘The Granary.’”

Su Zhong raised an eyebrow, twirling his pipe halfway in his palm: "Oh? Tell me then, where is your 'pain sensitivity' hidden?"

"Hidden in Xu Laoshuan's cloth tent."

Xu Chengjun opened the manuscript and pointed to the line "45 jin of wheat leaked". "When he recorded the leaked wheat, he deliberately engraved the three characters 'collective warehouse' lightly and 'private plot' darkly."

This wasn't intentional; it was the farmer's instinct that made his hand slip. Just as you wrote, the land never lies.

Liu Xianping suddenly laughed, “I was sent to work in the countryside in Dingyuan in 1962. Your details are more accurate than my interview notes from back then.”

"Because history is there." Xu Chengjun's voice was not loud, but it made the smell of smoke in the room fade.

Gong Liu stubbed out his cigarette in the jar: "That's a powerful remark! Change the ending of your 'key melts into plowshare' again. How about 'when molten copper overflows the engravings, it's like watering old debts into new seedlings'?"

Xu Chengjun smiled. It is a poet's nature to pursue subtle expression.

He memorized "Oh, the Great Forest" three or four times during his university years.

"Teacher Gong Liu,"

Xu Chengjun looked up and said, “I’d like to add a sentence: ‘On the day the plow went into the soil, Old Xu counted the marks on the barn wall and suddenly realized that the depths and shallows added up were just enough for this year’s wheat seeds.’”

Suffering must yield something tangible to make those days of hunger worthwhile.

Gong Liu slapped the table and laughed, "What a 'real thing'! He's much better at talking than us old bones!" At this moment, Qian Niansun opened his notebook, his pen nib resting on the paper.

"Let me put it another way. The most valuable thing about 'The Barn' is that it makes the 'collective ledger' and the 'cloth-covered private ledger' intertextual."

"Xu Laoshuan was afraid of being criticized for privately dividing the grain, but he couldn't help but scatter wheat seeds in the corner of the granary. This kind of contradiction is not a weakness of character, but the most real mental state of this period. Your character has thoroughly expressed this mentality."

These words warmed Xu Chengjun's heart more than any praise.

He recalled the "hesitation in 79 literature" he had analyzed when writing a thesis in his previous life.

Now, it is being spoken by someone who experienced it firsthand, and their own novel has become an annotation.

“But I have a question,” Su Zhong suddenly said, pointing his pipe at the “528 jin” section. “This number is too eye-catching and could give someone something to use against me.”

“Teacher Su,” Xu Chengjun hesitated, “that’s actually all there is to it. If I changed it, it would be dishonest to this land.”

He paused, his voice not loud but unusually firm, "If literature doesn't even dare to speak the truth, it might as well go home and sell sweet potatoes!"

The meeting room fell silent.

After a moment of silence, Zhou Ming slammed his fist on the table: "Well said! I guarantee that the numbers in this manuscript will not be changed, I, Zhou Ming, guarantee it!"
-
I was having lunch at the Federation of Literary and Art Circles' canteen.

Liu Zuci put a piece of braised pork into Xu Chengjun's bowl. This middle-aged man, who had just turned forty, had historically discovered young poets such as Gu Cheng and Liang Xiaobin, becoming an important driving force behind the rise of poetry in the new era.

His eyes were filled with admiration: "Your spirit is like that of Gong Liu in his youth. Let me give you a heads-up, the editorial board has already decided that 'The Granary' will be the lead story in the September issue of *Anhui Literature*."

He nodded, noticing that Xu Chengjun's expression remained expressionless.

"I came here today not actually for your 'Barn.' It's for your poem about time."

"Your poem 'Time' was shown to me by Editor Lin, and both Gong Liu and I think it's extremely well written."

“I am preparing the first collection of poems by thirty new writers. You are a very new writer and poet from Anhui. I would like to include your work ‘Time’ and would like to ask for your opinion.”

Xu Chengjun's hand holding the chopsticks suddenly paused.

When he looked up, his eyes were already sparkling: "Is Teacher Liu talking about the 'Thirty New Talents' that will include Gu Cheng, Liang Xiaobin and others?"

Liu Zuci raised an eyebrow and smiled: "Oh? You've heard about it too?"

"Uh"

"I heard Editor Lin mention it briefly. This collection is likely to shock the whole country when it comes out. After all, even I, in Xujiatun, have heard of Gu Cheng's 'A Generation'."

That's nonsense.

He had never heard of "thirty new talents" in his life, but he had in his past life.
Never mind, those were all class assignments!

Gu Cheng's "A Generation", Liang Xiaobin's "The Snow-White Wall" and "China, I've Lost My Key".
Just memorize it!

However, this collection did have a significant impact nationwide.

Historically, this album and the launch of the magazine "Today" in the same year echoed each other in the north and south, jointly marking the official debut of "Misty Poetry".

Poets such as Gu Cheng, Liang Xiaobin, and Han Dong thus came into the national spotlight, directly contributing to the holding of the "Youth Poetry Festival" in 1980.

He suddenly remembered something and scratched his head: "But my 'Time' magazine, Editor Lin said it will be published in September, so I'm afraid it won't make it in time for the first issue's debut..."

"What's the big deal?"

Liu Zuci added another spoonful of soup to his bowl, saying, "The first draft was finalized in October, and the emphasis is on 'freshness' rather than 'newness'."

Gu Cheng's "A Generation" has been circulating endlessly in independent publications, yet it still gets published in Beijing's magazines, doesn't it? The "broken porcelain piecing together a window" in your poem, with its somber tone, perfectly complements the ruggedness of these thirty families.

He pulled a brown paper envelope from his pocket and pushed it over: "Here, this is the submission guidelines for the column. How about writing two more articles this month? Don't be shy, even short sentences picked up from the fields are fine."

"Imagine your poem being placed alongside 'A Generation,' so that readers can see that even the soil of Fengyang can produce sharp and insightful sentences."

You know what, it's actually quite appealing!

(End of this chapter)