Chapter 19: Find Him for Me

Old Zhang from the Ruxian County Cultural Center was already fifty-eight this year. He had begun working at the Center in 1954 and had gradually risen to become its director. One could say that he had personally witnessed all the major events of the literary world around the founding of the People’s Republic.

He had worked here for over twenty years, and his attachment to the Cultural Center ran deep. Every morning after arriving at work, his first act was to read the latest journals and newspapers. When perusing the prominent literary magazines, he would always silently pray, hoping to spot the name of a writer from Ruxian County.

Each time, his day began with hope and ended in disappointment. The absence of any noteworthy writers from Ruxian had become a lingering worry in his heart.

The second part of his routine was to take the latest magazine, gather the seven writers employed at the Center, and hold a meeting to discuss the new articles, urging and encouraging everyone to keep writing and to produce quality work.

“As seasoned members of the Cultural Center, we should all write boldly and submit our pieces to 'People’s Literature and Arts' or 'Yan Jing Literary Review.' Don’t be afraid of rejection. The teachers have said, ‘Nothing in this world is difficult if you are willing to climb.’ All of you... ah...”

Old Zhang always ended meetings with these words. Yet, looking at his team, he could only leave with his hands clasped behind him, feeling helpless.

These men made their living by writing, and the authorities would occasionally assign them writing tasks. In this small county, their pens carried some weight, but beyond its borders, they were but obscure, insignificant figures in the wider literary world.

Some did manage to publish an article or two in 'Peony,' the magazine from Luoshi, but the highest achievement so far had been receiving a letter of revision from 'Henan Literary Review.'

Yet after all the back-and-forth edits, nothing was ever published in the end.

Old Zhang still remembered how, when they first received that letter of revision, the entire Center was elated; he himself had wept tears of joy, believing that under his leadership, the Ruxian Cultural Center would finally gain recognition across the province.

But when news came that the piece would not be published, he felt dejected for days. He had called up old acquaintances to ask about it; the reply was that the content did not align with policy and risked being labeled as poisonous. The editorial team, thinking of the author's safety, had decided to postpone publication.

That postponement, to this day, had never ended.

When Old Zhang heard that, he immediately abandoned all thoughts of pressing further. He understood well: if any work from the Center were branded as poisonous, even he, as director, could not escape blame.

He remembered an author he once knew, Yan Huiyun, whose work 'The Shepherd’s Flute' was so condemned, and the tide of criticism that followed—it still made his heart pound to recall.

In light of all this, Old Zhang felt a sense of relief: at the very least, during his tenure, the Cultural Center had never had a major mishap, and the higher-ups continued to trust him. The Revolutionary Committee often tasked them with writing, and they always completed these assignments satisfactorily.

He had thought today would be like any other—uneventful, devoid of achievement. But when he saw the name and address of Liu Yimin, it was as if he’d been struck by a bullet fired from the year 1954.

A single thought filled his mind: at last, someone from the Ruxian literary scene had made it out.

His first impulse was not to finish reading, but to dash straight to the Cultural Center’s communal office, clutching 'People’s Literature and Arts' in his hand, and call out loudly, “Put down whatever you’re doing! Has anyone here ever used the pen name ‘Liu Yimin’?”

The communal office was a large room with four or five battered desks. Some people were drinking tea and reading the paper, others had set up a chessboard in the center and were shouting, “Check!”

Slogans hung on the walls above, with phrases like “Art for the People” and so on.

Looking at his lazy subordinates, Old Zhang sighed in resignation. He knew it couldn’t be one of them—otherwise, the neighboring County Revolutionary Committee would have heard the news already.

If it truly had happened, there’s no way it would have been kept secret till now.

“Everyone, stop for a moment—does anyone know a writer by the name of Liu Yimin?”

“Writer? Aren’t all the writers from our county right here?” came a voice, lightly mocking.

Old Zhang didn’t need to turn to know who it was. The speaker was Old Li, who had received the infamous letter of revision. He wore a faded blue Zhongshan suit, the fabric washed almost white, and cloth shoes with layered soles. Even in the heat, he stubbornly refused to take off his jacket. His gray cap sat neatly atop his head, and brown reading glasses were secured by a string tied behind his ears. Ever since that incident, he had felt unappreciated and now spoke with a perpetual air of sarcasm.

Ignoring Old Li, Old Zhang declared excitedly, “A tremendous piece of news! A writer from our county has published a novella in 'People’s Literature and Arts.' What’s more, Comrade Cui Daoyi, the magazine’s editor, has written a special review—proof of just how important this work is.”

“What?” Old Li shot to his feet, incredulous, and strode forward to snatch the magazine from Old Zhang’s hands.

The others, who had been lounging in their vests, fanning themselves, and playing chess, lost all interest in their game and pressed around, eager to see for themselves.

Once everyone had read it, Old Zhang asked again, “So, what do you all think of this article?”

“Nothing special,” Old Li replied coolly. But this time, he didn’t slouch as usual; he sat up straight, refusing to show any sign of defeat.

He added, unconvinced, “If only my piece had been published...”

“Your piece? Was it as good as Liu’s? Liu Yimin’s writing starts from the smallest details but aims for the highest meaning, blending humor and mockery; his words are plain yet powerful, and above all, sharply critical,” Old Wang from the Center immediately retorted, cutting off Old Li’s protest.

Old Li snorted, having no comeback, his face dark with frustration.

In this period, literary works were subject to a hierarchy of approval. Everyone respected critical works above simple, popular fiction. It didn’t matter what you criticized, as long as you criticized something. Of course, if you criticized the wrong thing...

“It truly is an excellent piece; otherwise, Comrade Cui Daoyi would not have given it such attention. We all know Cui Daoyi’s standing in the literary world. Whatever the case, this is joyous news for our county’s literary scene. But, has anyone ever heard of Comrade Liu Yimin?” Old Zhang asked, smiling.

“No.”

“Never heard of him.”

Old Zhang frowned deeply. A great writer had emerged from Ruxian, yet as director, he knew nothing about it. If a superior were to ask him unexpectedly, it would be a serious failure on his part.

More importantly, the Cultural Center desperately needed someone like this to support its reputation. He made up his mind then and there: no matter the cost, he would bring this person into the Center.

“Director, now that you mention it, I remember something. Recently, when I was chatting with the cultural officer from Shiling Commune, he happened to mention that a few people from the local production brigades were saying someone from their area had become a writer. At the time, I didn’t pay much attention, but now I wonder—could it be someone from Shiling Commune? I just don’t know which brigade exactly.”

Upon hearing this, Old Zhang made a decision on the spot. “All right, then. Xiao Liu, Xiao Wang, Old Sun—you three go to Shiling Commune and find Comrade Liu Yimin. The Center will reimburse your expenses.”

“And if we can’t find him?” Old Sun asked, looking dismayed.

“If you can’t find him, don’t come back! You must show the revolutionary spirit of perseverance, and treat this as an opportunity to learn from Comrade Liu Yimin. When you find him, tell him the Cultural Center wishes to invite him to give a talk!”