Chapter 36: "A Generation" Manuscript Approved—Invite Him to Yan Capital!

Zou Huofan rose, manuscript in hand, pacing in the middle of the office as he read aloud. Each time he recited the lines, he adopted a different tone, as if searching for various ways of expressing emotion, carefully pondering the meaning within the poem.

The other editors stood to the side, arms crossed over their chests or supporting their chins with one hand, their hips resting against the edge of a desk—lean figure divided into four parts—as they silently recited the two lines in their hearts.

“Has anyone noticed,” Zou Huofan exclaimed, suddenly stopping and turning to his colleagues, “that the more you read these two lines, the deeper their flavor and feeling become? ‘The night bestows upon me black eyes, yet I use them to seek the light.’ Night and light—two opposites. Dwelling in darkness, yet yearning for brightness. The poem never defines what darkness is, nor what light is, leaving us boundless space to contemplate.”

“Exactly, night and light!” Deputy Editor Ge Luo agreed. “After all we’ve been through, we’re finally about to see the light.”

Yan Chen glanced at the editors around him, thinking he ought to contribute. He cleared his throat and spoke: “It all connects; everything is woven together. The poem is titled ‘A Generation.’ Isn’t it obvious what it refers to?”

“In ‘O Motherland, My Dear Motherland,’ there’s a line: ‘You fed me, the confused me, the thoughtful me, the passionate me, with your wounded breast.’ The confused me is the one lost in darkness; the thoughtful me seeks the light; the passionate me is the one who, having found light, is filled with fervor.”

“After the poet finds the light, he becomes exuberant, brimming with hope! These two poems, one following the other, are consistent in their thought. Comrade Liu Yimin is truly remarkable!”

After Yan Chen finished, the others reflected—yes, that’s precisely it. The editor-in-chief always analyzes more deeply than the rest.

“Yes, Comrade Liu Yimin is a remarkable poet!”

“A truly remarkable Liu Yimin!”

“The ‘black eyes’—what a clever image. It implies that in our pursuit of truth, we must see with our own eyes, trust what we witness, instead of relying on hearsay. This poem isn’t only relevant now; it applied when we moved from the White Zone to the Northwest, and will fit the future as well.”

“Man must ceaselessly pursue light, pursue truth!” Zou Huofan declared loudly.

“Black eyes—clearly a poem written by a Chinese. Those foreign noses won’t understand it; they don’t have black eyes,” Ge Luo teased, leaving everyone stunned for a moment before bursting into cheerful laughter.

Seizing the moment, Zou Huofan asked, “Old Yan, what about the manuscript fee?”

“Seven yuan!” Yan Chen answered without hesitation. Deputy Editor Shao Yan opened his mouth but said nothing; he’d witnessed the combativeness of Ge Luo and Old Zou before and knew better than to provoke them. If he voiced dissatisfaction, it wouldn’t stop with just those two today.

Yan Chen then turned to Ge Luo: “Old Ge, have you ever heard of Liu Yimin before? He’s your young countryman!”

“Never heard of him before, probably a young man just emerging, maybe even a local educated youth,” Ge Luo replied uncertainly.

“Old Zou, when you reply to Comrade Liu Yimin, ask if he’d be willing to come to Yanjing. Our ‘Poetry Journal’ is planning to host a writing workshop to nurture young poets. We can also invite Cui Daoyi from ‘People’s Literature and Art’ to join; both magazines could run workshops. I believe Old Cui would be delighted.”

“Alright, I’ll write right away. I’d love to meet Comrade Liu Yimin, who writes both well and swiftly!” Zou Huofan said happily.

Yan Chen returned to his office, pondered for a while, then came back to the editorial department: “Let’s put these two lines of verse directly on the cover, not inside the main issue. The main issue will feature ‘O Motherland, My Dear Motherland!’ Readers who don’t subscribe—when they see these two lines on the cover, how can they resist subscribing?”

Yan Chen chuckled slyly; though a man of letters, he now wore the face of a shrewd businessman.

……

At the end of August, rumors about the results swirled everywhere; the entrance to the Revolutionary Committee was crowded daily by those eagerly awaiting the news. Officials from the committee always replied: “It’ll be in a day or two.”

Old Zhang told Liu Yimin that this year’s college entrance exam scores would be published—a practice not done before, so they lacked experience. The regional admissions office would send transcripts to the county education bureau. Current students would pick theirs up at school; independent candidates at the committee’s education bureau.

“Originally, transcripts were to be sent to each commune, but the committee feared mistakes along the way, so our county will distribute them centrally,” Old Zhang reassured Liu Yimin, having asked the education colleagues himself.

“Good!” Liu Yimin nodded.

Old Zhang was about to leave, but couldn’t help turning back: “Yimin, aren’t you worried at all?”

“What’s there to worry about?”

“You, you…” Old Zhang saw Liu Yimin’s confidence and, feeling vexed, gulped down a few mouthfuls of plain water. Afterward, he glanced at Old Sun, thinking that tea brewed from reed roots tasted better.

Yi Hong, that child—he missed her when she didn’t come!

On August 28th, the committee announced via radio that exam results would be published the next day, the message relayed through the communes to all production brigades. In an instant, everyone knew the scores were about to be revealed.

On the morning of August 29th, the Revolutionary Committee’s entrance was packed; when committee staff arrived, they had to climb over the wall.

“My goodness, has the regional office delivered the scores yet?” Committee Director Yang Yushan called out to the sweating education bureau chief.

“They said they’d arrive at nine, with police and militia escorting.”

“Go down, have the candidates line up, and get the guesthouse to send over a few buckets of water. Assign some staff—on such a hot day, with everyone crowded together, don’t let anyone go thirsty!” Yang Yushan urged.

“Understood, I’ll handle it right away!”

Liu Yimin hadn’t planned to come, preferring to drop by in the afternoon. Old Zhang insisted on dragging him out early to the committee, finding a cool spot to rest. Even the other members of the cultural center’s creative group sat atop the flat roof of their building, observing the committee’s activity—they could spot Liu Yimin from there.

Old Zhang wasn’t swayed by Liu Yimin’s confidence, but feared he might not handle his results well.

Seeing Old Zhang, Yang Yushan glanced at the young man beside him and recognized Liu Yimin. He came over to greet him.

“This must be our county's young writer! Hello, you’re quite handsome. Old Zhang, the cultural center should take good care of talented young people.” Yang Yushan shook Liu Yimin’s hand and patted his shoulder warmly.

Liu Yimin greeted him, and Yang Yushan asked, “Are you settling in at the cultural center? The cinema is right next door. Coincidentally, I have a few tickets; young people enjoy movies, take them and go.”

“Director Yang, forget the movie tickets—do you have monthly passes? Give me some monthly passes!”