Chapter 49: Waiting in the Snow at the Liu Residence

The guesthouse did not have private showers, but there was a communal bathhouse open in the evenings, located on the second floor. That night, after dinner in Room 306, Liu Yimin was invited by Zou Huofan to join him for a soak.

Liu Yimin readily agreed and followed Zou Huofan to the communal bathhouse.

"This is the most comfortable part of this guesthouse," Zou Huofan said lazily as he lounged in the bath. "The guesthouse at the Ministry of Culture always has boiler problems."

Most guesthouses only had showers; it was rare to find one with a bath like this. Liu Yimin sat immersed, letting the water lift and cradle his body, his muscles thoroughly relaxed.

Zou Huofan had intended to continue discussing literary creation with Liu Yimin, but as he turned his head, his gaze lingered for a few seconds on Liu Yimin’s face, then he suddenly remarked with a touch of envy, "Youth is a wonderful thing!"

Zou Huofan realized that this place was less suited for literary talk and more for boasting.

And so, the two began swapping stories, sometimes aimlessly, sometimes with purpose. Liu Yimin followed Zou Huofan’s lead, and Zou Huofan’s tales flowed freely, recounting his days as a fugitive.

"Back then, we didn’t think about the future, just wanted to say as much as we could while still alive—who knew if tomorrow would silence us? Running magazines, newspapers, joining performances. Banned, hunted. Fleeing from Hankou to Hong Kong, thought about many things, but never about being silenced.

Who would imagine a carpenter’s son could come this far? So many people in those days lived at the edge of survival."

Liu Yimin listened and responded with enthusiasm, which pleased Zou Huofan greatly. They were so engaged they didn’t notice someone approaching.

"Old Zou, bragging in front of the young again?"

The newcomer spoke with a distinct Western Henan accent, about the same age as Zou Huofan, but a bit balding, his sparse silver hair combed to the right. He addressed Zou Huofan, but his eyes, smiling, lingered on Liu Yimin.

"Yimin, let me introduce you. This is Ge Luo, our deputy editor, from Ruyang. You two are hometown fellows!"

"Hello, Editor Ge!" Liu Yimin stood and shook his hand.

"Hello, Yimin! The literary circle in Yanjing isn’t big, but it’s still rare to find a fellow townsman. When I was young, I performed underground anti-Japanese shows in our region, even visited your hometown. Don’t call me editor, Old Zou and I are both deputy editors. Just call me Comrade Old Ge!" Ge Luo scrutinized Liu Yimin through the steam, and when his eyes landed on a certain place, his reaction mirrored Zou Huofan’s.

Meeting a fellow from home brought tears to the eyes—but meeting in the bathhouse, wasn’t it a bit too exposed?

"Old Ge, I’m the first deputy editor!" Zou Huofan feigned dissatisfaction, enlivening the mood.

"First Deputy Editor Zou," Ge Luo said, settling himself between them with a smile.

"Comrade Ge Luo, please speak!"

"Comrade Liu Yimin has come all the way to Yanjing, weary from his journey. Shouldn’t our editorial department offer some practical help? We ought to give him some ration tickets, and a bicycle ticket is essential. Otherwise, it’ll be inconvenient for him to visit us, which could affect his submissions!"

"Old Ge, you’ve been waiting for me here. Of course we’ll give him what he needs. I’ll see if the writers’ union has any tickets in the next couple days. Bicycle tickets are no issue. They’re hard to find elsewhere, but in Yanjing, getting one is easy."

Reminded by Ge Luo, Zou Huofan realized that to win Liu Yimin’s heart, he truly needed to help him in daily life.

Liu Yimin glanced gratefully at Ge Luo. Having a fellow townsman was indeed a blessing. Ge Luo casually wiped his face and stood. "Yimin, come help this old man scrub his back!"

...

The news of Liu Yimin’s arrival in Yanjing was deliberately kept quiet by the editorial staff at "Poetry Journal," but Cui Daoyi at "People’s Literature and Art" heard early and made a point of waiting at Liu Yimin’s guesthouse door, staging a "standing in the snow at Liu’s door."

"Poetry Journal" still wanted to keep the news under wraps, but the literary scene in Yanjing was small, and "People’s Literature and Art" was practically a neighbor—close enough to hear the chickens and dogs.

On October 1st, this issue of "People’s Literature and Art" officially went on sale, and Liu Yimin’s second novel, "College Entrance Exam 1977," would be put to the readers’ test.

Cui Daoyi felt confident. After all, it was the first novel about the college entrance exam, and the readers would naturally empathize with it—not to mention the millions of examinees and their parents, the core audience right there.

The editorial department was already at work when Liu Yimin finally opened his door. He had slept too much during the day yesterday and couldn’t fall asleep until late at night, waking up near nine.

"And you are?"

Opening the door, the middle-aged man standing before him startled Liu Yimin. He wore a white short-sleeved shirt, blue coarse pants, cloth shoes with layered soles, and black glasses.

His features were sharp and prominent—he looked like a diplomat.

"Comrade Liu Yimin?" Cui Daoyi looked at the young man before him and asked, puzzled.

"Yes, I’m Liu Yimin!"

Cui Daoyi happily grasped Liu Yimin’s hands. "Comrade Liu Yimin, hello. I’m Cui Daoyi from ‘People’s Literature and Art.’ I heard you arrived yesterday, so I came early to visit. The staff at the guesthouse said you were very young—I thought they were joking."

Liu Yimin smiled and invited Cui Daoyi inside, opening the window to air out the room.

"Comrade Liu Yimin, just call me Old Cui. I’m actually your senior—I graduated from the Chinese Department in ’56 and came to ‘People’s Literature and Art.’ You should visit more often. You haven’t even arrived yet and already you’ve caused a stir in Yanjing’s literary circle. Many have been asking our department about you."

As he spoke, Cui Daoyi pulled out this issue’s sample copy and handed it to Liu Yimin.

"'College Entrance Exam 1977,' as a novel about the exam, is something our editorial department has high hopes for. Our editor-in-chief, Old Zhang, who also works with the writers’ association, praised your novel for its distinctive style. Compared to current works, it has a warmth. Since ‘Scar’ was published, few novels highlight stories of mutual help during difficult times."

"Old Cui, thank you for the editorial department’s recognition. I just feel that looking back isn’t meant for criticism, but to move forward. For us, the future matters more!"

"Well said—the future matters more. That view aligns with another emerging perspective in today’s literary world—though both are still taking shape. Yimin, as your senior, I must caution you: as your works gain more influence, be careful in certain matters. Don’t step into the whirlpool lightly."

Cui Daoyi didn’t spell it out, but Liu Yimin understood. He had studied modern literature in his previous life, and knew that this period and after would see debates in the literary world about whether literature should celebrate or criticize, whether it should be virtuous or otherwise.

"Thank you, Senior!"

"Yimin, do you have any writing ideas? I’d be happy to take a look." Since entering, Cui Daoyi’s eyes had been drawn to the manuscript paper on the desk.

"This is a story idea I came up with last night—just a rough outline!"

Cui Daoyi took the manuscript and glanced over it carefully. "A story about a dog?"