Chapter 25: Is This How You Guard Against Comrades?

In the director’s office, Old Zhang kept drinking tea, but after shaking the cup a few times, he realized it was empty and angrily set it down on the table. After a moment, he finally looked up and said, “Yimin, do you know how good a job at our Cultural Center is? So many people want to come, but they can’t. Recently, a lot of people tried to pull strings, but I turned them all down.

Here, writers can be professionals. If you join us, you can focus on your writing. If you want to go out and gather material, I’ll approve it. You don’t have to come to the office—you can stay with your production team. Your salary will still be paid, and you’ll get a stipend for fieldwork.”

Old Zhang looked at Liu Yimin with anticipation, unable to fathom why the young man before him didn’t want to work at the Cultural Center. It was the first time, since becoming director, that someone had refused him. He felt a bit disappointed, suspecting Liu Yimin was using this as an opportunity to negotiate terms.

“Old Zhang, don’t get worked up!” Liu Yimin said quickly.

“How can I not?” Old Zhang’s hands were trembling.

“It’s because I took the college entrance exam. My results will be out soon, and if I pass, I’ll have to go to university,” Liu Yimin explained hastily.

“You took the exam? That makes sense, you’re only twenty-two, a high school graduate—it’s right that you try! It’s fine, take the exam. The results aren’t out yet; you can join the Cultural Center first. Transferring your household registration will be quick.

Yimin, the college entrance exam isn’t as easy as you think. Last year, not a single person from our county passed. Of course, I really hope you make it. University certainly has better prospects than the Cultural Center, but you should prepare for the worst, right?”

Old Zhang’s brows finally relaxed, and his mouth twitched upward before he controlled himself. He didn’t know how Liu Yimin had performed in high school, but deep down, he doubted that anyone from Ru County would make it to university this year.

He’d heard from the principal of the county high school that last year’s exam was easy, yet no one from Ru County passed. The head of the Revolutionary Committee was furious; Ru County’s education was supposed to be among the best in the region, and the committee was full of confidence—only to end up with zero success.

“Old Zhang, I think it’s too much trouble. The results are coming soon; there’s no rush. I’m pretty hopeful,” Liu Yimin said helplessly.

“Young, still young! But since you insist, I’ll agree. Whenever you want to join the Cultural Center, you’re welcome. Also, don’t go back for now—just stay here as a temporary writer. I’ll have the staff find you a room in the back dormitory, and you’ll get a daily stipend of two yuan, which adds up to more than a regular employee’s salary. How about it?”

Old Zhang had already made up his mind, just waiting for the results to come out so he could bring Liu Yimin into the Cultural Center. Young people don’t understand the benefits of the Cultural Center, but once they do, they’ll be eager to join.

“Old Zhang, one yuan is enough for the stipend. But do you have any bicycle coupons? I noticed almost everyone here has a bike; I’d like to buy one too.”

“I’ll figure out the bicycle coupon for you within two days. But the two-yuan stipend stays the same.”

Liu Yimin smiled, “That’s generous! No wonder everyone at the Cultural Center comes to work so cheerfully every day. It’s true—the speed of the train depends on the engine.”

“Stay focused and try to write another piece, even a poem,” Old Zhang urged impatiently. He wanted Liu Yimin to publish something as a Cultural Center writer, which would bring honor to the whole place. For some reason, his eyelids started twitching, and he had a feeling this young man wouldn’t stay here long. The sensation made him uneasy. After finding Liu Yimin a workspace, Old Zhang grabbed a hoe and went to repair the garden—the heavy rain earlier had washed away many spots.

“Flowers and plants are always easier to manage. Oh dear, how did this get knocked over? That rain was really heavy.”

Old Zhang was about to complain about the rain when he remembered Liu Yimin mentioning the drought. He began to reflect: had he grown too distant from the people?

The storm had come quickly and left just as fast, leaving only sparse raindrops. It looked like it might rain again soon, since the clouds hadn’t cleared. Sure enough, moderate and light rain fell for two consecutive days, easing the drought in Ru County without causing floods.

On August 10, as the eighth issue of “People’s Literature and Art” continued to sell, the novel “Donkey Gets Water” became increasingly familiar to readers. Newspaper reviews of the story grew more numerous, analyzing it from various angles.

This novel was different from typical popular fiction; many readers didn’t fully grasp it on their first read. But after reading Cui Daoyi’s commentary, they suddenly understood—there were new perspectives to analyze it from.

Then, reading the newspapers, they realized—oh, there are even more angles to consider?

Gradually, a threshold began to form in readers’ minds: could they understand “Donkey Gets Water”? Those who could, eagerly shared their insights. Those who couldn’t, to avoid being seen as ignorant, followed the crowd and claimed they understood. Sometimes, people who didn’t get it were the most enthusiastic in recommending the novel.

This wasn’t unique to “Donkey Gets Water”; it happened with many critical novels, and could be seen in other social phenomena as well.

Unlike other novels, “Donkey Gets Water” employed a comedic style, attracting many readers of that type.

The editorial office of “People’s Literature and Art” began receiving letters from readers, though few were deeply insightful. Cui Daoyi had planned to select some good letters for publication, but after reading them, gave up. Perhaps later, more thoughtful letters would arrive.

“Old Cui, ‘Donkey Gets Water’ has really boosted the sales of this issue. Many colleagues called to ask about the author and congratulated us on getting such a fine manuscript.

Write to Comrade Liu Yimin right away and let him know our whole publishing house looks forward to his next work. You can also tell him that, if he’s interested, he can join the writers’ training class run by ‘People’s Literature and Art’.”

Zhang Guangnian said excitedly.

“Alright, I’ll write to him now,” Cui Daoyi nodded. Even if Zhang Guangnian hadn’t mentioned it, he’d been planning to write.

The editorial office of “Yanjing Literature and Art” magazine had also been trying to find out more about Liu Yimin. They wanted to send him an invitation to submit, but didn’t know his address. Editor Zhou Yanru even visited “People’s Literature and Art” several times to inquire, but couldn’t get any information.

“Is the editorial office of ‘People’s Literature and Art’ made up of former intelligence agents? Their confidentiality is impeccable!” Zhou Yanru said angrily.

“Come on, Zhou, calm down. You shouldn’t say that. Old Zhang and the others are all veteran revolutionaries,” replied Zhang Denning, another editor at “Yanjing Literature and Art.”

Zhou Yanru took the teacup handed to her by Zhang Denning. “I’m a veteran revolutionary too; I spent just as much time in the frontier regions as they did. Is there any need to guard colleagues like this?”