Chapter 44: Reluctance at the Cultural Center (Seeking Continued Reading)

After sending the telegram, Zou Huofan, Beidao, Mangke, and Shizhi left the editorial office of Poetry Magazine in high spirits. Beidao and Mangke had come over because, caught up in a sudden inspiration, they wanted to launch a magazine of their own. Writers like Liu Yimin were exactly the sort of talent they hoped to recruit.

Of course, they didn’t mention this to Zou Huofan and the others—otherwise, they’d be seen as poachers. Yet the magazine they started, Today, was doomed from its inception, a fleeting thing that was quickly shut down.

Beidao, excited, took Shizhi by the arm and invited him warmly, “Comrade Shizhi, your ‘Mad Dog’ is excellent. Let’s find a place to talk.”

Shizhi glanced at Beidao and responded coolly, “No, I prefer solitude. Loneliness is the true state of life.”

“What’s the fun in being alone? Isn’t it a delight for us all to sit together, chat, discuss our literary ideals and the future of poetry?” Mangke chimed in.

Shizhi, hands in his pockets, gazed melancholically at the buildings and passersby ahead. “Solitude isn’t necessarily joyless. At our core, every person is alone. Sometimes those who are alone are happier.”

“Then why do you come to Poetry Magazine and want to meet Comrade Liu Yimin? Don’t you prefer solitude?” Beidao teased, still smiling.

“You don’t understand. That’s simply another form of solitude.”

With that, Shizhi left without so much as a backward glance, leaving Beidao and Mangke exchanging bittersweet smiles. Had anyone else spoken this way, they would have protested immediately.

...

Inside the cultural center, Liu Yimin was lecturing until his mouth was dry, while the others nodded incessantly and then asked questions that nearly drove him to despair.

He felt like a parent teaching children—thank goodness he was young, otherwise he’d need oxygen to get through these lessons. Even so, his blood pressure was steadily rising.

No wonder they’d failed the entrance exams for two years. With such weak foundations, it would be strange if they passed. If they ever did manage to get into university, Liu Yimin would have to wonder if someone else took the exam in their name.

In the 1980s and 90s, cases of imposters taking university entrance exams were common. You’d sweat through your own preparation and exams, only for someone else to attend university in your place.

Now, the members of the creative group at the cultural center no longer discussed writing; they didn’t even play chess anymore. What could be more engaging than Liu Yimin’s lectures?

“This theorem we’ve studied several times already. If you know two sides of a triangle, how do you find the third side?” Liu Yimin paused, looking expectantly at the group, hoping someone would answer.

“The Pythagorean theorem!”

Old Li took a sip of tea, spat the leaves into his mug, crossed his legs, and replied leisurely, a hint of pride on his face, as if to say, “I understood just by listening.”

“Ah, yes, that’s right—it’s the Pythagorean theorem!” The others, as if pardoned, nodded quickly.

Director Zhang shot a glare at Old Li, warning him not to interrupt Liu Yimin’s teaching. Privately, he worried for Yang Yushan, the revolutionary committee director, thinking he’d have to remind him not to let Yang Tingting waste her time on studies.

Liu Yimin pursed his lips at Old Li and surreptitiously gave him a thumbs-up. Then, sighing, he addressed the group: “These are basic theorems. Your foundations are weak; you need more practice. Look at the grade sheets—most subjects’ scores aren’t much different, but it’s mathematics that truly separates everyone.”

In this year’s college entrance exams, a math score of fifty was above average, while twos and threes were commonplace.

As a result, Liu Yimin focused their revision on mathematics, hoping to help them improve. Once he left, they would be placed in the graduating class, studying alongside current second-year students.

Director Zhang stepped out for a while and thoughtfully returned with plenty of frozen bean popsicles to cool everyone off. He patted Liu Yimin’s shoulder and said quietly, “A teacher can lead you to the door, but cultivation is up to the individual. Don’t let it get to you!”

Liu Yimin nodded. Having taught in the village for years, his professional instincts were hard to shake, but once he accepted it, things were easier.

Later that afternoon, Liu Yimin received a telegram. After reading its contents, he folded it expressionlessly and tucked it into his pocket—the list of names was longer than the message itself.

Beidao and Mangke, worried their pen names wouldn’t be recognized, had appended their real names with their pseudonyms. When combined, their names were longer than the magazine’s own title.

Zou Huofan had asked them when they came up with their pen names. Both replied in unison, “Last night!”

Zou Huofan: “......”

Walking along, Liu Yimin suddenly paused, joy welling up inside him. Yanjing—he had to get to Yanjing quickly. Once there, no one would bother him anymore!

Back at the cultural center, Liu Yimin told Director Zhang about his plans. Director Zhang was stunned for a few seconds, his heart full of reluctance. He knew Liu Yimin would leave once school started, but leaving early made it even harder to let go.

“Yimin, when you’re home for vacation, you must come to the cultural center first. This is your home. As soon as you get off the train, you have to come here,” Director Zhang said solemnly.

“Certainly. When I’m on break, I’ll come see you right away!”

...

In Liu Yimin’s mind, Director Zhang was truly a good man. The daily subsidy of two yuan was more than he received for editing at the magazine.

Two yuan a day meant sixty a month. They’d invested heavily to keep him.

Everyone at the cultural center expressed their regret at his departure. Old Sun even teased Old Li, saying if Liu Yimin hadn’t come, Old Li’s cranky, complaining ways would never have been cured.

“Old Sun, where’s your granddaughter? Have Yihong see Yimin off!” Old Li said, raising his eyebrows, hands behind his back.

“Old Li… I’ll take you on!” Old Sun replied, gritting his teeth.

Their banter eased the sadness of parting.

Liu Yimin headed home, and Director Zhang insisted on accompanying him on his bicycle. He first stopped by the supply cooperative to buy plenty of scarce goods—having earned first place, Yang Yushan from the revolutionary committee had given him numerous ration tickets. The cloth coupons were enough for the Liu family to make two sets of clothes each for summer and winter, with some left over.

He also had plenty of household supply coupons, and even thoughtfully prepared national grain tickets for Liu Yimin’s journey to Yanjing.

“Yimin, I don’t think there’s any rush to go to Yanjing. You can stay home a few more days with your family. In Maiji Brigade, no one will trouble you.”

“Haha, Director Zhang, that’s exactly my plan—October 1st is soon enough. I’ll spend a few days at the magazine, then report for school on the fifth.”

The two rode together to the city’s edge. Amidst the roar of passing coal trucks, Liu Yimin stopped his bicycle. “Director Zhang, we’ve left the city. No need to see me off any further—it’s only a trip home.”

“A thousand miles together must end with a farewell. Well then, I’ll head back here. Once you’re in Yanjing, don’t forget our cultural center. I’ll be looking for news of you in the magazine. If I notice your literary standards slipping, I’ll write to spur you on.”

Director Zhang spoke as an elder might. He’d wanted to say he’d write to scold him, but felt it was beneath him to say so.

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