Chapter 22: Excessive Enthusiasm

It was a little past three in the afternoon when Liu Yimin followed Old Sun and his two companions toward the county. Before leaving, the three of them made a point of leaving meal money on the table, but Liu Fuqing refused. Old Sun insisted, saying it was customary, and besides, the Cultural Center provided subsidies for such expenses, so they weren’t paying out of pocket.

Liu Fuqing didn’t argue further; it was common for commune cadres supporting production or conducting investigations in the countryside to eat “allocated meals” at the Liu family home. An allocated meal meant that these cadres dined with ordinary commune members, eating whatever they ate. The principle was to share meals, lodging, and labor equally—no special preparations, no alcohol, and the cadres were required to pay for their meals. Later, the regulations became even stricter: they could no longer dine at village cadre or rich peasant homes, and the Liu family stopped hosting allocated meals altogether.

The cadres eating allocated meals had to adhere to five prohibitions: no smoking, no drinking, no fish, no meat, and no free meals.

To Liu Fuqing, this wasn’t much different, except that this time, they had come specifically to see Liu Yimin.

Along the way, Old Sun talked nonstop, introducing Liu Yimin to the Cultural Center—not only detailing the staff numbers, but also explaining salaries, housing allocations, and other benefits.

Seeing Liu Yimin listen intently, Old Sun grew even more enthusiastic, launching into a discussion about literary creation.

Old Sun’s purpose was clear: he knew Director Zhang wasn’t just inviting Liu Yimin to give a lecture. This was a direct recruitment into the Cultural Center. The lecture itself was actually an assessment—a test of Liu Yimin’s character.

After chatting with Liu Yimin at noon, Old Sun’s impression of the young man had completely changed. Liu Yimin spoke confidently, showing no trace of inferiority due to his background; his words reflected education and profound understanding of literature. Learning that Liu Yimin had taught junior high classes for the brigade’s school astonished him further. Here was someone who could teach in the classroom and labor in the fields, with a physique far superior to city youths. Old Sun had seen it himself—the sweat-soaked undershirt, taut muscles beneath.

“Yimin, you’re the same year as my granddaughter, aren’t you? Her name is Sun Yihong. Do you know her?” Old Sun turned his head from the bicycle, addressing Liu Yimin on the rear seat.

“I don’t. There were several classes at the time. Comrade Sun, let me ride. I’m young and strong.”

“No need. It’s downhill, not strenuous at all!”

Liu Yimin grimaced, constantly shifting his seat. The front saddle was padded and absorbed shocks better; the rear seat, however, was just steel beneath the flesh, with all the shock absorption depending on how much cushion one had. With his slender build, his seat was nothing but bone, and by journey’s end, he felt like his tailbone was about to crack. Worse still, he had to keep up conversation with Old Sun through the pain.

“Yimin, why so quiet? What do you think of the novel ‘The Homeroom Teacher’?”

“I... I’m reading it with my backside. No, I mean, my backside hurts.”

He finally understood his older brother Liu Yiguo’s complaints—that day, he’d insisted on riding himself. To truly empathize, one must experience it firsthand.

…

As the workday drew to a close, though in truth, the Cultural Center had no fixed hours—people came and went as they pleased.

If someone arrived late, they’d say: “I was out gathering inspiration!”

If they left early: “Off to find some inspiration!”

But today, not a soul left; everyone gathered together, the chess pieces on the board still frozen in the same state as that morning—no one had the heart to continue. The reason: the mysterious writer from Ru County had been found, and according to Old Sun’s phone call, he was only twenty-two, with the mud on his clothes not yet dry when discovered.

No one could remain calm. Looking in the mirror, comparing ages, it felt as though their years had been squandered.

Director Zhang ordered everyone to stay until Liu Yimin arrived and they’d all met him. Normally, such a command would bring grumbling, but today, not a single complaint.

Even Old Li, usually quick to grumble, was silent all afternoon, flipping through the pages of “People’s Literature” magazine featuring “To Live Like a Donkey” until they were nearly worn out.

Cup after cup of tea, he tried to maintain his usual aloof, carefree demeanor, but it wouldn’t hold; his eyes kept darting toward the door.

“Old Zhang, take the Cultural Center’s letter of introduction and arrange a room for Comrade Liu Yimin at the Revolutionary Committee’s guesthouse,” said Zhang, standing urgently in the office doorway.

After several hours of jolting travel, Liu Yimin finally arrived in Ru County, passing a weathered earthen city wall, its sides covered in revolutionary slogans.

To the left: “From this moment, we must be prepared; the vast land of our motherland is a grave for invaders everywhere!” Illustrated with green-uniformed soldiers, red collar patches, military caps, and straw hats, accompanied by militiamen in propaganda art.

To the right: “Deepen the Criticism of L and K, vigorously promote light industry, actively contribute coal and grain to the nation!” The accompanying images depicted coal miners and production teams at work.

Above the city gate tower were the characters “Wang Song”—Ru County’s northern gate.

Moving further in, the architecture grew grander. The People’s Cinema, the county Revolutionary Committee, the guesthouse, and the union hall all stood here.

“That’s our Cultural Center, the most beautiful place in Ru County,” Old Sun boasted.

The Cultural Center’s entrance had a main gate flanked by two side doors. Above the main entrance, it read “Ru County People’s Cultural Center,” while the side doors bore “Let a Hundred Flowers Bloom” and “Let a Hundred Schools of Thought Contend.”

The entire gateway was imposing—square pillars, carved patterns on the base. Inside, the courtyard was filled with all kinds of flowers and plants, like a small garden.

“Yimin, now you see why I say our Cultural Center is the most beautiful. Our director loves flowers; every plant in the courtyard was planted by him. Over the past decade, the courtyard has played a crucial role—he buried many cultural relics beneath it,” Old Sun explained.

He hadn’t finished when several people hurried out from the central room, their gazes fixed on Liu Yimin. Old Li, unlike them, simply stood in the doorway, quietly observing the scene.

“You must be Comrade Liu Yimin! Welcome, welcome. I’m Director Zhang Jiuyi, but just call me Old Zhang. We’ve all studied your writings—excellent work. On the phone, Old Sun praised your youth, and indeed, you are a talented young man!”

“Yes, heroes emerge from youth, making us elders feel ashamed!”

“Hello, Director!”

“Call me Old Zhang. From now on, we’re family. Let’s show you around the Cultural Center and introduce you to everyone. Your accommodation is arranged at the Revolutionary Committee’s guesthouse. As for the subsidy, it’s one yuan and twenty cents a day.”

Liu Yimin was puzzled—how were they already family? The staff’s enthusiasm seemed almost excessive.