1978 Synthetic Writers

Chapter 15 Living in a Guesthouse
seven in the morning.

A light morning mist filled Wei Ran Hutong.

Jiang Xian pushed his bicycle out of the yard with a clang, and there was a large travel bag on the back seat.

Poor at home, rich on the road. The bag was not only filled with clothes, but also a bunch of colorful tickets and fifty yuan in small change.

The alley was already bustling in the morning, and it was even more crowded at this moment, as if all the residents of Wei Ran Hutong had come to watch him.

"Is this the great writer?"

"The ears are higher than the eyebrows. This is definitely the Wenquxing descended to earth."

"This child has been smart since he was young."

"Yes, I wrote very well in elementary school and even won a certificate of honor."

"Alas, it's all because of going to the countryside. It delayed the children's development."

"."

Jiang Xian felt like the giant panda in the zoo, feeling very uncomfortable when being stared at.

He turned around and looked at the alley.

The sunlight illuminated the blue bricks and gray tiles. On the stone pier under the poplar tree, an old man was drinking tea from a purple clay teapot.

In the sky, the sound of pigeon whistles was circling, coming closer and farther away.

"The alley dweller has become a homebody."

He pedaled his 28-inch bicycle and left humming a little song.

"Don't ask me where I come from, my hometown is far away, why I wander, wander far away"

This song is "Olive Tree" by Chyi Yu, with lyrics by Sanmao. It was still a banned song in those days.

There are so many banned songs these days. Even "An Evening on the outskirts of Moscow" is a pornographic song. Can you believe it?

"Writing a pornographic song is a heretical act, isn't it?"

“But I can’t write songs.”

"It's really bald."

After riding for a short while, I arrived at No. 7 West Chang'an Street, left the scooter, and found the editorial sign of "Beijing Literature and Art".

I knocked on the door and it opened immediately, revealing a slender woman wearing grass green Dacron.

"Excuse me, is Teacher Zhang Dening here?"

"I am."

"Hello, teacher. My name is Jiang Xian, the author of The Chess King. I'm here to revise the manuscript."

Zhang Dening seemed to have heard something incredible. He stood there in astonishment, staring at Jiang Xian, looking him up and down for a long time.

"Are you Jiang Xian?"

"Yes, I have a letter of introduction from the Medical College."

Jiang Xian hurriedly took out the letter from his bag and handed it to Zhang Dening.

"Are you a student of the Medical College?"

"I'm the gatekeeper of the Medical College!"

Zhang Dening opened the letter of introduction, took a look at it, then covered his mouth and giggled.

"You are really Jiang Xian. You are too young. We all thought Jiang Xian was an 'old' writer."

"It seems I'm a few decades too early."

"Hahaha, come in quickly."

Zhang Dening smiled as beautifully as a flower and led Jiang Xian into a small office where the desk was piled with manuscripts.

"Teacher Zhou, the author of The Chess King is here."

Zhang Dening called out, and a graceful female comrade in her forties or fifties stood up from behind the pile of manuscripts.

"This is Ms. Zhou Yanru, our editorial board member. This time she and I will be responsible for guiding you in revising The Chess King."

"Hello, Teacher Zhou." Jiang Xian put down his luggage and shook hands with Teacher Zhou enthusiastically.

In fact, he had heard of Zhou Yanru's name a long time ago.

In later generations, Yu Hua has said countless times that it was Zhou Yanru who called him to inform him of the first time he went to Beijing to revise a manuscript.

"Jiang Xian, right? Don't be shy, sit down." Zhou Yanru said with a smile.

She picked up the thermos and poured him a cup of hot water.

"You're much younger than I thought."

"Teacher Dening just said that." "We in the editorial department all think so. We thought the author of "Chess King" was an old guy. You really surprised us."

"Old writers don't have the experience of working in the countryside."

"Yeah, how could we have all overlooked this?"

"Who made his writing so sophisticated?" Zhang Dening interrupted.

Jiang Xian asked, "Teacher Zhou, should I start revising the manuscript now?"

"Don't be so anxious. Go through the formalities first, settle down in the guesthouse, and take a rest. I'll tell you later about the issues you need to modify and pay attention to."

Zhou Yanru was afraid that he might have concerns, so she added something else.

"Don't worry, it's not a big problem. There are just a few places that need to be revised and polished."

“I’m not afraid of big problems, I’m just afraid of small problems.”

"Ok?"

Zhou Yanru and Zhang Dening looked at Jiang Xian with some confusion.

The fellow explained faintly: "If the problem is bigger, I can make changes for a longer period of time and stay in the guesthouse for a longer period of time."

Zhou Yanru and Zhang Dening looked at each other and couldn't help but chuckle.

"You are a child who speaks as frankly as your writing. You are really likable."

"In fact, I invited you here this time, not only to ask you to make some modifications, but also to let you take a look, to communicate, and to broaden your horizons."

"Also, if you have any good topics or ideas, you can write them down here and show them to us."

After hearing this, the stone in Jiang Xian's heart fell to the ground.

The literary world is currently in a period of transition, and this is the time for major literary journals to discover good talents among amateur authors.

As mentioned before, Beijing Literature and Art uses the "cluster grenade" method to focus on training authors with potential. People like Zhang Jie, Chen Jiangong, Wang Anyi, and Zhang Xinxin were all promoted in this way.

Now it seems that Jiang Xian is also regarded as one of the good seedlings.

In other words, as long as he can keep creating works, he can keep living in the guesthouse and get free food and accommodation!
Now I have the motivation to strive.

Of course he can continue to create.

He has an unsynthesized novella in his hands!

"Here are your meal tickets. We will cover your three meals a day. If you want to eat something else, you will have to pay for it yourself." Zhou Yanru took out a stack of colorful tickets from the drawer and stuffed them into Jiang Xian's hand.

"We will reimburse your accommodation expenses during the time you are revising the manuscript. By the way, you are a local of Beijing, right?"

"My home is in Xuanwu."

"Oh, that's not necessary." Zhou Yanru explained with a smile, "Generally speaking, when writers from other places come, we ask them to stay in Beijing for a while and visit the Forbidden City and the Summer Palace."

Jiang Xian was shocked.

What? Food, accommodation, subsidies and entertainment are all included!
In the post-epidemic era, which profession can enjoy such treatment?

You have to pay for the live broadcast and store visits yourself.

Being a writer is such a right path!
Jiang Xian followed Zhang Dening and took a brief stroll around the editorial department of "Beijing Literature and Art". When they learned that he was the author of "The Chess King", many editors were surprised and their eyes kept wandering over him.

Jiang Xian felt like he had really become a panda.

It was moved from Wei Ran Hutong Zoo to Beijing Literature and Art Zoo.

The room number of the guest house is 304.

A single room with a wire bed, a three-drawer table, a south-facing window, and a complete set of enamel washbasin, tin kettle, washbasin rack, and plastic slippers.

"Teacher Jiang, the conditions at Beijing Literature and Art are not as good as those at the Literature Society, and the guesthouse is relatively small."

"It doesn't matter, Mr. Dening, I am already very satisfied."

Jiang Xian's excitement was beyond words.

In 1978, the average living area per capita in my country was 3.9 square meters, and the average living area per capita in Beijing was 4.5 square meters.

This room is ten square meters!

How can this be an ordinary single room?
This is clearly a mansion!
Zhang Dening arranged everything, thought for a moment, and then said, "By the way, the person living next door to you is also a writer, an older lady, and she's very kind. You can come visit her when you have time and discuss writing with her."

"Which writer?"

"Zhang Jie."

Zhang Jie?

Jiang Xian's long-dead memories began to attack him.

He had learned two of the texts she wrote.

(End of this chapter)