Chapter 46: The Enthusiastic Editor

“Passengers, you are now on Express Train No. 61 from Zheng City to Yanjing. We will arrive at our great capital, Yanjing, at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. The People’s Railway serves the people. We are the March Eighth Youth Team from the Zheng City Train Depot…”

There was no direct train from Ru County to Yanjing, so a transfer in Zheng City was required. The line from the small county town was mostly deserted; Ru County was a minor stop, primarily used by coal trains.

It was only after boarding at Zheng City Station that Liu Yimin truly understood what it meant to be crowded—it was even worse than the holiday rush. The carriage was so packed that those standing could barely find a spot for their feet. Some had their toes stepped on and kept crying out in pain.

“Who’s standing on my foot?”

“It’s because you’re wearing big shoes, blocking my way!”

With his luggage slung over his shoulder, another bag in hand, and his ticket clamped between his lips, Liu Yimin finally located his hard seat after much difficulty. Hard sleeper tickets were hard to come by, and as for soft sleeper—one needed a certain status for that.

It was already past eleven in the evening when he boarded. As the train pulled out of the station, darkness shrouded the world outside. The green train, creaking and groaning, pierced the night fog, rumbling toward Yanjing at fifty kilometers an hour.

In the seventies, this speed was already considered express! The train was designed to go even faster, but frequent stops and other factors brought the average down to around fifty.

And this was an express that didn’t stop at the small stations. Local trains from Zheng City to Yanjing sometimes stopped at thirty or forty small stations, taking twelve to twenty hours. The most outrageous ones stopped at over seventy stations—Liu Yimin would never take those, convinced that after twenty hours, his backside would be numb beyond repair. Seeing the dense timetable, Liu Yimin couldn’t help but applaud the railway workers.

Settling into his hard seat, Liu Yimin shifted to test the stiffness. It truly lived up to its name: a hard wooden bench that made his backside ache. He fetched some clothes to pad the seat, and only then did he manage to doze off, leaning against the carriage.

Around five in the morning, after a sleepless night spent adjusting his posture, Liu Yimin was finally roused by the crowing of a rooster somewhere in the train. He prepared to get up and head for the toilet, but as he shifted his weight, he felt something odd beneath his feet. Looking down, he saw a hand swiftly withdrawn, followed by a groan and a grumble from below.

“Comrade, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize someone was sleeping down there!” Liu Yimin apologized.

The person underneath, knowing he was in the wrong, said nothing more.

After using the toilet, Liu Yimin made his way to the dining car for a meal—it was surprisingly tasty.

Though the scheduled arrival time was eight, it was nearly nine-thirty before the train actually pulled in. As the arrival announcement echoed through the carriage, Liu Yimin squeezed his way, worm-like, toward the exit.

“Passengers, we have arrived at our great capital city, Yanjing! We come from all corners of the country, working in different fields. Let us all learn from the model workers, shine in our own posts, and contribute our part to the Four Modernizations of our motherland!”

Sometimes it felt as if he wasn’t walking at all, but was simply carried along by the crush of people ahead and behind. The person in front, burdened with luggage, had a bulging bag that kept brushing against Liu Yimin’s head, while a rooster clucked noisily right by his ear. Suddenly someone shouted, “Whose chicken has made a mess? Whose chicken?”

“Stop shouting—don’t you know good luck comes from chicken droppings?”

Only after leaving the train station could Liu Yimin finally take a deep breath of fresh air. On the square outside Yanjing Station, workers were still at work, and photographers from the state-run photo studio were taking portraits.

Behind him rose the imposing Yanjing Station and its massive clock tower, adorned with portraits of the country’s leaders and all kinds of revolutionary slogans. Officials and cadres visiting Yanjing for work or conferences loved to have their photos taken here as a memento.

Next, Liu Yimin found the bus to the editorial office of Poetry Journal. The bus was even more packed—an old-fashioned articulated bus, two carriages joined together, crammed with well over a hundred people. The rear carriage wobbled dangerously, making the ride unbearable for many, especially the older comrades, who groaned and complained of motion sickness.

Fortunately, Liu Yimin’s journey was brief. In less than ten minutes, he got off at Chaoyangmen Inner Street. Walking west along this street would take him directly to the north gate of the Forbidden City, and just behind the north gate was Nanluoguxiang.

The editorial office of Poetry Journal was at No. 85, East Four South Street—a walk of less than five minutes from the stop. People’s Literature and Art was at No. 166, Chaonei Street, also about five minutes away. The Poetry Journal office shared its compound with the Writers’ Association and the Federation of Literary and Art Circles. In his letter, Zou Huofan had told Liu Yimin that his accommodation would be arranged at the Writers’ Association guesthouse.

With heavy luggage on his back, Liu Yimin finally reached the entrance of No. 85 and let out a sigh of relief. Smiling at the elderly gatekeeper, he said, “Sir, could you tell me where the Poetry Journal editorial office is? Here’s my letter of introduction—Comrade Zou Huofan invited me.”

The old man, neatly dressed in his work uniform, gave Liu Yimin a suspicious once-over before accepting the letter and verifying his identity.

“You’re a poet?”

“You could say that.”

“So young? Hold on a moment, I’ll call the editorial office to confirm. There’ve been a lot of imposters lately, all wanting to see the editors. If you’re genuine, someone will come fetch you. There are a lot of courtyards inside—you’d never find your way.”

The gatekeeper quickly dialed the editorial office. “What’s your name?” he called over his shoulder.

Before Liu Yimin could reply, an excited voice on the other end shouted, “Is that Liu Yimin? Comrade Liu Yimin, are you here?”

“Yes, that’s Liu Yimin. Hurry and come get him!”

In about three minutes, Zou Huofan came running out, wiping his glasses with a handkerchief as he moved.

“You must be Comrade Liu Yimin? I’m Zou Huofan. It must have been a tough journey by train!”

“Editor Zou, nice to meet you! I’m Liu Yimin.” Liu Yimin extended his hand with a smile.

Zou Huofan glanced at the letter of introduction, beamed, and then took Liu Yimin’s luggage from him, repeating his thanks for making the trip.

“All of us at the editorial office have been looking forward to meeting you. There’s even a fellow townsman of yours here. I’ll take you to the guesthouse and get you settled in first.”

The guesthouse was much better equipped than the one in Ru County, with all the necessary amenities in the room.

“A writer who was revising a manuscript for People’s Literature and Art just stayed here a few days ago. Comrade Liu Yimin, your board and lodging are covered by the editorial office. I’ll give you some meal tickets later—just use them in the canteen, no need for cash. If you need anything, just let me know. This is a great location—Wangfujing is right next door.”

Zou Huofan spoke warmly.

“We?” Liu Yimin raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, I only recently started at Poetry Journal. I was staying at the Ministry of Culture’s guesthouse, but it was converted from an air-raid shelter—far too damp. So I moved to the Writers’ Association guesthouse too, right next door to you.”

Zou Huofan tried to help Liu Yimin unpack, but was gently refused.

“All right then, settle in. Rest a bit—I'll come by at noon to call you for lunch.”

Before leaving, Zou Huofan reminded the attendant to take good care of Liu Yimin.