My era, 1979!

Chapter 21 1979 and 2024
When Xu Chengjun pushed open the wooden door of the Workers, Peasants and Soldiers Guesthouse, the hinges creaked and groaned.

I've accomplished most of the things I needed to do in Hefei.

The days of working non-stop have finally come to a break.

These days, I've had about seven or eight different roommates at the guesthouse.

Ma Shengli, from the provincial newspaper, rented a small two-room house.

The uncle who worked at the supply and marketing cooperative went to Nanjing.

Before leaving,

Everyone advised him to stay up less late.

Advice to everyone.

Xu Chengjun didn't take it seriously; he thought the world was a mess.

How to become a literary giant?
This month, Hefei has reached a new level of heat.

The thermometer hanging above the door pointed to 36°C, and the mercury column trembled slightly inside the glass tube.

The cicadas at the base of the wall were already chirping loudly, their sounds crashing against the blue bricks and shattering into stars in the blazing heat of July.

After dealing with the various comments at the guesthouse—"The great writer is out!" "Wow, Teacher Xu is submitting another manuscript!"—it was hard to tell whether they were expressions of envy, jealousy, or genuine admiration.

He displayed the shrewdness and sophistication of a seasoned "public scholar".

Amidst the teasing from the middle-aged women and young women around the guesthouse who were "introducing their beautiful relatives," she was greeted with compliments.

Xu Chengjun stepped out of the guesthouse on July 8, 1979.

He wanted to see Hefei in 1979 without any specific purpose in mind.

Today, he is Xu Chengjun.

We need to go out and spend money!
Oh no.

I haven't received my payment yet, I have no money!

Just browsing!
I'm asking you, do you walk in the city or not?
-
The bluestone slabs on Huaihe Road were so hot from the sun that walking barefoot on them would bake them to a medium-rare state.

Xu Chengjun, wearing cloth shoes, watched the sunlight filter through the gaps in the sycamore leaves, creating shimmering spots of light on the ground.

In the shadow of the arcade, several old men squatted on small stools, smoking pipes. The embers in their pipes flickered, and the smoke rings slowly dissipated in the hot air, mingling with the aroma of fried dough sticks from afar.

past life.

On the same Huaihe Road, the asphalt surface was softened by the sun, and the exhaust fumes from cars swirled in the rising heat.

At that time, he was typing away at a hotel on this road, preparing meeting materials for the top leader.

Occasionally, glancing out the window, I can see delivery drivers weaving through traffic on their electric bikes, their helmets reflecting the light.

At that moment, a man in a vest was pushing a wheelbarrow past. The watermelons in the cart were covered with wet cotton blankets, and water was dripping from the edges of the blankets.

That natural coolness is more refreshing than any air conditioner.

A bicycle repair stall on the street corner has a sunshade set up, and the repairman is tightening the spokes with a wrench.

Several bunches of keys hung on the wire in front of the stall, swaying like wind chimes in the sunlight.

Xu Chengjun stopped and watched him apply oil to the bicycle chain, his movements extremely practiced.
-
"Popsicles—made of mung beans!" An old lady selling popsicles walked by carrying a wooden box, and white steam billowed out when the lid was opened.

Her blue cotton shirt was soaked through on the back and clung to her spine.

Xu Chengjun took out two cents, took an ice pop wrapped in oil paper, and bit into it. The ice shards made his gums go numb.

The old lady praised him several times, saying, "This young man is so handsome, tall and strong, and very upright!"

Xu Chengjun smiled and exchanged pleasantries with the old man.

In my past life, the convenience store freezers were filled with a dazzling array of imported ice creams.

You can see knives with the inscription "XX Gao".

But I can never taste that sweetness with a hint of well water flavor again.
-
We walked to the supply and marketing cooperative.

The glass counters of the state-run department store gleamed coldly, keeping the outside heat at bay.

Xu Chengjun stood in front of the "Hardware and Electrical Appliances" counter and watched the salesperson pick up a light bulb with tweezers and turn it around under the light.

The label on the counter read "25 watts, 1.2 yuan, with industrial coupons," and there were stacks of industrial coupon books next to it.

A man in a Zhongshan suit was leaning over the counter, pointing at a radio and saying, "I want the Red Lantern brand one, the kind that can receive CCTV."

The salesperson nodded, took a wooden box from under the counter, and opened it to reveal a red label with white lettering.

Moving to the fabric section, Dacron fabrics were hung like colorful waterfalls.

A young woman was discussing with the sales clerk: "Give me three feet of blue cloth to make a jacket, it has to be big enough, I'm pregnant."

When the saleswoman measured the fabric with a bamboo ruler, she deliberately left an extra half inch, saying, "She'll be born next month? Come back then and get a piece of red fabric to make a baby jacket."

The daughter-in-law blushed and smiled, her fingertips lightly tracing patterns on the cloth.

At the warehouse entrance at the back gate, two porters were carrying sacks inside, the sacks printed with "Shanghai Soap." Their backs were bent like bows, and sweat dripped down their necks and into their collars.

In the logistics warehouses of the future, conveyor belts will transport packages to various destinations, and the sound of scanning codes will be heard everywhere.

There is no denying that the power of technology has changed the times.

But we will never see this kind of carrying that is supported by the spine again.

The power in the shouts of workers is the most moving vitality.
-
At the dark green counter of the post office, people in line were all clutching envelopes in their hands.

Xu Chengjun stood at the end of the line, watching the girl in front of him stick stamps on envelopes. The eight-cent stamps featured Tiananmen Square. She licked the glue and worked diligently.
-
Inside a public phone booth, a man in overalls was shouting into the receiver: "Dad, I found a job in Hefei, at a machine tool factory. Uncle Chen introduced me, and they provide room and board!"

His voice was choked with sobs, his fists were clenched so tightly they turned white, and the microphone cord was stretched taut.

Xu Chengjun stood outside the pavilion waiting, listening to him say, "I'll send money home next month after I get my salary."
That choked-up announcement of good news was more heart-wrenching than any high-definition video.

A crowd gathered in front of the newsstand, and the People's Daily headline on its front page was in bold: "Construction Begins in Shenzhen Special Economic Zone."

Someone pointed at a photo in the newspaper and said, "That building is really tall, even taller than the Hefei Hotel!"

The person next to him curled his lip and said, "What does this have to do with us? It's more important to get a couple more pounds of grain."
-
The auntie at the mail window was stamping the envelope with a "snap," leaving a red mark.

She looked up and asked Xu Chengjun, "Where should I send it?"

“Fengyang, Xujiatun,” he said.

The aunt nodded and tossed the letter into the mailbag behind her. "Leaving the day after tomorrow, it will arrive in five days."

I mailed a letter to my parents yesterday.

This morning, I wrote about 1000 words.

Give it to Xu Laoshi, give it to Zhao Gang, give it to Xinghua.

What the original owner hid from, and what he respected.
Xu Jiatun.

Having been out for so long and missing work hours, there should be some explanation.

The letter included an official correspondence from Anhui Literature.

Xu Chengjun touched the letter in his pocket.
The moment the postmark falls is the most solemn beginning of longing.
-
Coming out of Cuozhaoshan Lane and turning west into Gulou Lane, the character "拆" (demolish) on the blue brick wall was covered with lime and then reappeared.

At the alley entrance, a general store had a wooden board set up, on which were displayed nails, thimbles, and red ribbons. The stall owner had written "Thimble Three Points" on the board with chalk, and the writing had turned blue from being soaked in rainwater.

A man in a Zhongshan suit squatted in front of the stall, picked out an iron skewer, and gestured that he wanted one that could hold two pounds of meat. He was a self-employed individual preparing to make kebabs.

At the base of a wall in the middle of the alley, several old men were playing chess around a stone table, their stools so low they were almost touching the ground.

The bamboo chessboard was polished to a shine, and the chess pieces were made from ground apricot kernels; the black ones were coated with ink, while the white ones remained their original color.

"have eaten!"

The old man in the white coat pushed the white piece forward, and his opponent slapped his thigh and laughed, "You fooled me again!"

Xu Chengjun stood to the side watching; the lines on the chessboard were almost worn flat.

Beside the well, several women were washing clothes. The "bang bang" of the washing sticks hitting the stone slab startled the sparrows in the trees.

Their loud voices, mixed with laughter, carried far on the wind: "Your man went to sell face cream?"

"What? Just a job running errands for the factory."

Water splashed onto their floral cloth shoes.

When I returned to Huaihe Road, there was a photo of a couple in military uniforms in the glass window of the state-run photo studio. The Chairman Mao badge on the man's chest was shining, and the woman's braids hung down on her red silk jacket.

The shop window was painted red and read "Two cents for one inch, five cents for three inches," with customer pickup slips pasted all over the bottom.

A photographer in a white coat was carrying a tripod out, his lens covered by a black cloth and pointed at the street. "Come on, take a picture of this arcade building. It's going to be demolished next month."

The loudspeakers at the entrance of the department store were playing "The East Is Red," the melody swirling in the hot air.

Girls wearing polyester shirts walked in hand in hand, the ribbons at the ends of their braids bouncing with each step.

A little girl stared at the plastic dolls in the shop window, her eyes shining like well water. Her mother pulled her aside and said, "We'll buy them when your dad gets his salary."
-
On the way back to the guesthouse, the dim yellow light of the streetlights made the road surface look like a crumpled piece of yellow cloth.

Xu Chengjun walked forward, stepping on his own shadow. He saw someone carrying a hoe home, the sound of a bicycle bell ringing. A sack on the back of the bicycle swayed back and forth, filled with freshly picked cucumbers.

The lights at the Workers, Peasants and Soldiers' Guesthouse were already on at the street corner.

Xu Chengjun quickened his pace, watching his shadow on the wall grow longer and shorter.

He knew that forty years from now, Hefei would have skyscrapers and bustling traffic.

But at this moment, this city, scorched by the blazing heat of July, has etched its most genuine warmth into his very bones.

At that moment, he suddenly had some inspiration and wanted to write something.

How can a time traveler leave a mark on this era?
How about a dialogue between 2024 and 1979?
Xu Chengjun propped his head up.

I need to write, but not now.

Although the spring breeze has blown into Luzhou,
However, discussing artificial intelligence seemed a bit too hasty.

(End of this chapter)