Chapter 78: The Ambitions of "People’s Literature and Art"

"Did he really agree to join our gathering?"

On the way back, Chu Hong asked the question so many times that Zhu Lin began to subconsciously doubt himself, wondering if he’d misheard back then.

"What do you all think of Comrade Liu Yimin?"

"Polite—not like some people who act all arrogant just because they’re talented!"

"But the gift we gave him last time, he probably didn’t eat it. I gave him salty crackers, and he said they were sweet."

They burst out laughing.

The so-called dance Zhu Lin mentioned was really just a gathering, an expanded poetry reading where, at most, a few more people would sing some songs. Ballroom dancing was still taboo in the country—considered a decadent bourgeois practice.

...

Winter in Yanjing was truly bitter. It wasn’t even December, and Liu Yimin already felt that his padded trousers weren’t sufficient. The northwesterly winds, born from the Siberian cold front, now howled through the night, flinging sand that battered his face; he couldn’t help but taste the gritty dust in his mouth from time to time.

Compared to Ruxian, the sand in Yanjing was thicker and heavier—breathing it in felt authentic, to say the least.

Chen Dazhi, from Jincheng, took the cold in stride as something ordinary. Liu Zhenyun had been a soldier and came from north of the Yellow River; though he was lightly dressed, he was vigorous and energetic. Liu Yimin shivered uncontrollably, while Li Xueqin, who had come from the south, was so cold he seemed to have aged a generation overnight—he’d become what the locals called the grandson.

Liu Yimin was planning to save up some ration tickets to buy an army greatcoat or find another way to get one. Just then, his family sent him a brand new coat.

His elder brother Liu Yiguo wrote in his letter that he had managed to get hold of a blue army greatcoat through some connections, and, hearing how cold Yanjing was, sent it to him. In the letter, he told Liu Yimin not to worry about the family and to focus on his studies. He’d now been transferred to work above ground, was officially a cadre, and his income had increased.

The Mining Bureau was a good work unit. Every winter, all the departments tried to secure more coal quotas to distribute coal tickets to their workers for heating. To win extra quotas, it was necessary to make the right gestures, so the Mining Bureau was enjoying its best welfare season—handing out various supplies and tickets at every opportunity.

With the blue army greatcoat draped over his shoulders and a Lei Feng hat on his head, his ability to withstand the cold increased exponentially. Walking through the campus, he received countless envious glances.

"I really envy you for having such a good brother!" Li Xueqin stroked the thick greatcoat, nearly drooling.

"You say that, but isn’t my brother lucky to have such a good younger brother? Comrade Li Xueqin, you still have three years to go. At Yanjing University, you must learn to adapt. Revolutionaries are always full of fighting spirit."

Liu Yimin patted him on the shoulder and headed toward the library.

Unexpectedly, he bumped into Zhang Manling on the way. She was holding a book, and when she saw Liu Yimin, she greeted him warmly and proudly displayed the book in her hands, "Yimin, ‘Eugenie Grandet.’ I waited in line for three hours to get this—the very last copy. Do you want to read it? I’ll lend it to you first."

"No need, Manling. You queued so long for it; you should read it. I haven’t even finished studying the Chinese classics yet, so I’ll hold off on the foreign ones for now!" Liu Yimin declined with a laugh.

"You’re so modest! If you haven’t figured them out, no one in the Chinese department except maybe the professors has. Wait a minute—have you read it already?" She stopped, giving him a skeptical glance.

"You’re sharp. I’ve read a bit, but not in depth."

"Where did you read it?" Zhang Manling asked curiously. Foreign classics had only recently become available, and each release drew long lines. Liu Yimin hadn’t been seen among the buyers.

He thought for a moment and replied casually, "I spent some time at the ‘Poetry Journal’ editorial office. Some of the senior people there had a copy, so I borrowed it."

She nodded, then sighed ruefully, "You beat me to it again. I thought I’d be the first to read it. Since you’ve already read it, tell me about Grandet—the miserly villain of the capitalist world."

"I—"

"I’ll do your lunch dishes for you at noon!"

"Deal!"

In the eighties, foreign classics had a profound impact on Chinese literature. The character of Grandet in ‘Eugenie Grandet’ became shorthand for a stingy friend. If someone was miserly, you could just call them ‘Grandet’—it was an insult that sounded cultured and let you show off your literary knowledge.

"Is this the novel you’re writing now? The title is interesting—‘Wolf Smoke Over Beiping.’ Still, I’ll catch up to you sooner or later," Zhang Manling said, unwilling to concede.

"Comrade Manling, the most important thing in life is to surpass yourself!"

"A great writer always has a ready answer!"

...

Inside the editorial office of ‘People’s Literature and Art,’ Cui Daoyi was buried in work. The sample issue for No. 12 had already been printed. Editor-in-chief Zhang Guangnian, after reviewing the manuscripts, had directly approved a reprint—thirty thousand extra copies compared to the first batch last month.

Cui Daoyi glanced at the sample issue: on the cover, an old man and a yellow dog were depicted. Amid endless desert and rolling sand dunes, an old man in tattered yellow military uniform walked through the wilderness with a shovel on his back, a yellow dog at his side. Both faced away from the viewer, but if you looked closely, the dog seemed to be glancing back at the reader.

"Old Cui, the whole office is pinning their hopes on Comrade Liu Yimin’s story—thirty thousand extra copies printed!" Zhang Guangnian said with a smile, though there was a trace of worry in his voice, afraid the issue wouldn’t sell out.

"I’ve read it; the content is solid. And it’s timely—just as the yellow sand is raging through Yanjing. It’ll show readers our country’s efforts to combat desertification and let them appreciate the hardships of the forestry workers."

Cui Daoyi was at ease, without the anxiety that troubled Zhang Guangnian. Editors had seen all sorts of manuscripts, but this story moved them all—how much more so the readers?

"‘Harvest’ is about to resume publication, and with Old Ba presiding over it, our national journal’s reputation won’t count for much. With this issue, we’ll show Old Ba that ‘People’s Literature and Art’ isn’t just a lightweight! I gave my word to the Writers’ Association leadership—guaranteed a baseline of half a million copies sold."

All the major magazines were preparing to resume publication, and rumors were circulating that publishers would soon launch new magazines—so the pressure on Zhang Guangnian was intense.

"If Liu Yimin’s piece can push us up to seven hundred thousand copies, I’ll treat him to a meal at Yanjing University. And get this—when I went to see the Writers’ Association, Old Wan actually asked me if I knew Liu Yimin!"

"Old Wan? You mean Jiabao Gong?" Cui Daoyi was startled. For someone of his stature to mention Liu Yimin, it clearly wasn’t casual. With his status, he’d never mention a newcomer without a reason.

"Yes, of course I said I didn’t know him—never met him."

Cao Yu, real name Wan Jiabao, was a figure whose every move could shake the world of literature and art.

"Old Zhang, if you’ve never met him, why not offer some praise? You could’ve said: ‘My junior is talented, humble, and of noble character...’"

No one yet knew how ‘People’s Literature and Art’ would sell, but the people at ‘Today’ magazine were already overjoyed. Ever since posting notices at universities and parks, they’d received a flood of subscription requests—letters with money slipped inside, some people even coming to their courtyard to hand them cash and words of encouragement.

"I told you—once our poetry gets published, there’s no place for Liu Yimin!" Zhang Pengzhi boasted, and then regaled everyone with the story of running into Liu Yimin while posting up the magazine.

"Heh, that country bumpkin said our stuff was pretty good!"