My era, 1979!

Chapter 133 Best wishes for your well-being
In the early autumn of 1979, in Dongsi Shisan Tiao, Beijing, coal smoke, carried by the wind, seeped into the depths of the alley, while the kerosene lamps in the small houses shone brightly.

Just as Bei Dao finished folding the mimeograph paper for the new issue of "Today," the door hinge creaked open, and Mang Ke burst in, wrapped in a faded military overcoat, clutching a piece of paper in his hand. His voice was louder than the wind outside: "Bei Dao! Look at Xu Chengjun's reply! That kid actually dared to refuse us!"

Everyone in the room stopped moving instantly.

Yang Lian's pen hovered over the manuscript paper, Shu Ting's freshly peeled orange fell onto her lap, and when Jiang He came over, her glasses still had ink stains from the mimeograph machine on them.

Bei Dao took the letter, touched the yellowed pages, and read it by the light of the kerosene lamp. When he read the sentence, "I am unworthy to hold this position and cannot help but feel ashamed," his hand unconsciously clenched.

He had anticipated that Xu Chengjun might hesitate, but he hadn't expected such a decisive refusal, without even the slightest hint of evasion.

"Hmph, I knew this kid couldn't be trusted!"

Mang Ke sat down on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed). "He's already got a big head since he just published a few poems in Poetry Journal? Does he really think he's some kind of rising star in the literary world? We at Today magazine are doing him a favor by inviting him to be an editor!"

"He was selected as one of the top 30 new talents this time."

"Among the thirty newlyweds, how many can write poetry? Gu Cheng is one, Liang Xiaobin is half a poet, who else is there?"

In September, Xu Chengjun's name suddenly appeared on the table of contents of the ninth issue of Anhui Literature—the headline of the "Thirty Newcomers" column, accompanied by a photocopy of the manuscript of "The Granary" that he wrote during his time working in the countryside.

This is truly a thunderbolt from Anhui publications!

Although local literature spreads more slowly, it still gradually and steadily expands its influence across the country.

"Thirty Newcomers" will achieve mutual success with Xu Chengjun.

In fact, Xu Chengjun's current fame is already giving back to the "Thirty New Talents" group. Among the thirty-odd poets, Xu Chengjun's fame can be rightfully ranked in the top three.

Jiang He pushed up his glasses, his gaze falling on the sentence "Fudan University is preparing to launch a school magazine" in the letter. His tone was somewhat disdainful: "I think it's just an excuse! What school magazine, what graduate courses? To put it bluntly, they just look down on our mimeographed publications without an ISSN! He's been hanging around with those old professors like Zhu Dongrun at Fudan, and he's long forgotten about being 'unofficial.' He's only thinking about getting into the system!"

Shu Ting picked up the oranges from the ground but didn't agree with what they were saying.

She recalled that half a month ago, when she was holding Xu Chengjun's book "The Fitting Mirror" and reading the passage about Chunlan hiding scraps of floral fabric under the kerosene lamp, she almost burst into tears—it was the most insightful writing she had ever read.

Unlike the slogan-driven manuscripts in the literary world today, which are as dry as cracked earth.

She said softly, "Don't say that. Xu Chengjun also attached two poems to his letter. Take a look at them first."

These words caused a half-second silence in the room.

Mang Ke pursed his lips, reached out and grabbed the manuscript. He had only read two lines when he stopped, “In the dark room, shadows are folded into rough paper / I plant rows of green in the cracks of the paper.”

Yang Lian leaned closer and looked at it carefully by the light. When he read the line, "It turns out that all the silent nights / are waiting for a spark of poetry," he suddenly slammed his hand on the table: "This poem... this is no ordinary obscure poetry! This is about our grassroots publications, about us creators who dare to express our attitudes to the times. It's all perfectly captured!"

Is he writing spring poems openly?

What a brilliant poem about spring!
Bei Dao didn't speak, his fingertips slowly tracing the lines of "Ming Dynasty Spring Poems".

He recalled his state of mind when he wrote "The Answer," the indignation that "baseness is the passport of the base," and the tenacity of "the pen tip illuminating the dawn" in Xu Chengjun's poem, which had a strange resonance with him.

Looking at "To You in My Old Days" again, the line "like a shooting star streaking across the night sky, like the refreshing coolness of a summer downpour" suddenly reminded him of the girl he bumped into in the alley when he was young. It was the same kind of unexpected heartbeat, but the years have worn away all traces of it.

"Okay, stop arguing."

Bei Dao placed the manuscript on the table, the light from the kerosene lamp casting interplay of light and shadow on his face. "Xu Chengjun's refusal isn't a bad thing."

Mang Ke suddenly looked up: "Not a bad thing? Should we thank him for rejecting us?"

"Listen to him first." Yang Lian pulled Mang Ke along, her eyes full of expectation.

Bei Dao pointed to the line in the manuscript, “The soul cracks the frozen earth / The spring breeze is but the echo of my heartbeat,” and his voice was a little deeper than before: “Look at the energy in this poem—he didn’t follow us, but he thought of the same path as us. He wrote, ‘No matter how long the dark room is, it can’t be longer than the dawn lit by the tip of the pen.’ How is this different from our original intention in publishing ‘Today’?”

He paused, then looked at the reply: "He said, 'If Today needs any articles in the future, just let me know.' This wasn't just polite talk. With Xu Chengjun's current fame, he could publish his articles anywhere. The fact that he's willing to write for our publication, which doesn't have an ISSN, shows that he knows exactly what we're doing."

Shu Ting breathed a sigh of relief and broke the orange into segments to share with everyone: "I knew Xu Chengjun wasn't the kind of person who would curry favor with the powerful. He's running the school magazine at Fudan University, maybe he's trying to carve out a new niche within the system. He and we are both working together, one in the shadows and one in the open, to find a way for poetry to survive."

Jiang He frowned, wanting to retort, but was silenced by the poem manuscript handed to her by Bei Dao.

Bei Dao pointed to the line "The tide of life washes away the marks of the past" in "To You in the Old Days": "You see, what he wrote is not personal love and affection, but the thoughts that everyone has. When we write Misty Poetry, isn't it to express this kind of feeling? Xu Chengjun knows how to knead the pain of the great era into the details of daily life."

Mang Ke didn't speak again, clutching the manuscript, his fingertips repeatedly stroking the line "That glimmer never faded."

He recalled the days when he was sent to the countryside and read mimeographed copies of "Poetry Journal" in the snow. The excitement of "it turns out that someone else thinks the same way as me" felt strangely similar to reading Xu Chengjun's poems now.

"So what do we do next?" Yang Lian asked softly, the confusion in his eyes gone.

Bei Dao carefully folded Xu Chengjun's reply and the manuscript of his poems and put them into an iron box, which also contained letters sent by readers and mimeographed manuscripts that had not yet been sent out.

He looked at the people in the room, his voice filled with determination: "What else can we do? Keep publishing our journal. Xu Chengjun may not be here, but his poems are here, and his heart is here too. It doesn't matter if he doesn't join. He's making his voice heard at Fudan University, and we're supporting him from the grassroots. Sooner or later, more people will know that there's more than one way to write poetry."

Xu Chengjun: You're just making things up.

The wind was still howling outside the window, but the kerosene lamp in the small house seemed exceptionally bright.

Shu Ting spread Xu Chengjun's manuscript on the table and circled the line "All the silent nights / are waiting for a spark of poetry" in red pen.

Yang Lian took out a new sheet of paper and began revising his unfinished poem, "Nuorilang".

Although Mangke didn't speak, he silently added a piece of coal to the stove. The firelight reflected on his face, and the fierceness from before was gone.

Jiang He watched this scene and quietly swallowed back the words she wanted to say.

He lowered his head to read Xu Chengjun's poem again, and when he read "In the dark room, I fold shadows into rough paper / I plant rows of green in the cracks of the paper", he suddenly felt his eyes tighten.

In his eyes, this poem is about their "Today".

Xu Chengjun has captured the light in the darkness with remarkable clarity!

Bei Dao leaned against the table, watching the busy figures all over the room.

"Next time, let's publish these two poems by Xu Chengjun. Let's put them up first. Even though there's no payment, we still have to show our attitude, right?"

"That's fine with me."

"As long as it's not the headline, it's fine."

1979年，《今天》在 2月、6月、9月分别出版了第 2、4、5期，第三期因铅印筹备未果而空缺。

In their plans, "Today" will be a bimonthly publication.

Therefore, Xu Chengjun's two poems will probably be published in November.

Of course, in Bei Dao's eyes, Xu Chengjun's rejection was not the end, but another beginning.

Just like the poem says, all the silent nights are waiting for a spark of poetry, and they and Xu Chengjun are going to be that spark, to warm up this winter night.

But what he didn't know was that Xu Chengjun wanted to burn this winter night, but not with them.

Laugh~——
Before the recruitment drive, Xu Chengjun received a special registered letter.

Mailroom.

Postman Mr. Wang was squatting next to a green mailbag sorting letters, his enamel cup of herbal tea still steaming, when he suddenly touched a hard envelope.

The six red characters "Anhui Provincial Writers Association" on the kraft paper cover stood out like a flame among a pile of students' letters.

"Oh, a registered letter from the Provincial Writers Association!"

Master Wang squinted at the recipient, and almost dropped his teacup as soon as he uttered the name "Xu Chengjun".

He guarded this mail and parcel point for three years. Everyone knew that there was a Xu Chengjun at Fudan University: four poems were published in Poetry Journal, a short story was published in Harvest, and he played the guitar and sang "Waiting for You to Return to the North" during military training.

The mailroom was overflowing with letters from readers that arrived recently.

A letter from the Provincial Writers Association?
Is it possible they're inviting me to join the Writers' Association?
This is a legitimate "official certification," ten times more significant than the "campus poet" titles that students make up!
Master Wang quickly stuffed the letter into his inner pocket, forgetting even to drink his tea.

He hurriedly delivered it to Xu Chengjun, and had just arrived at Songzhuang.

Just then, Xu Chengjun came from the direction of the library, carrying a copy of the History of the Song Dynasty. I quickly went up to him and said, "Comrade Xu! I've been waiting for you!" He hurriedly handed me the letter, "It's a registered letter from the Provincial Writers Association. I specially kept it for you, in case it got mixed up with other letters!"

Xu Chengjun replied with a smile, "Thanks, Master Wang."

He sat down in front of the chair in front of Songzhuang, unfolded the letter, and found it filled with several items.

Printed membership cards, membership registration forms, artwork archives, and association bylaws.

The membership certificate is a hard-cover paper booklet with the words "Membership Certificate of Anhui Branch of China Writers Association" printed on the cover. The inner pages contain Xu Chengjun's name, pen name, date of membership, membership number, and other information, and are stamped with the association's official seal.

Xu Chengjun looked him up and down and found it quite interesting. A 20-year-old member of the provincial writers' association was not bad at all!
Joining the provincial writers' association also represents an improvement in status and some benefits. It can be considered a symbol of literary achievement and can enhance Xu Chengjun's status in the local cultural circles.

Furthermore, joining the Writers' Association makes it easier for his works to be published in provincial journals such as *Anhui Literature* and *Jianghuai Literature*, although this wouldn't have been difficult for Xu Chengjun to begin with.
One particularly attractive benefit for new writers might be this:

The Anhui Provincial Writers Association regularly organizes writing workshops, seminars, and other activities.

In 1980, the Huangshan Writers' Conference invited writers from all over the country, including Feng Mu and Lu Wenfu. New members could register through internal notices to participate and exchange ideas with literary veterans.

Since 1982, cross-provincial field trips, such as the Huaihe River Writing Conference, have been given priority access to members.

In addition, there was a letter signed in the name of the association.

Comrade Xu Chengjun:
Greetings!
As autumn deepens and the rice harvest is in full swing, I would like to formally inform you that, after deliberation by the Third Council of the Anhui Provincial Writers Association, and based on your outstanding achievements and wide influence in the field of literary creation in recent years, a resolution has been unanimously passed to admit you as a member of the Anhui Provincial Writers Association. Your membership certificate (No.: 皖作字1979-087) is enclosed with this letter. Please keep it safe.

From the time you were sent to the countryside in Xujiatun, you used your pen as a plow, cultivating your creative work deeply in the soil of life: the metaphor of "molten copper overflowing the engravings" in "The Granary" hides the reverence of the educated youth for the land and the weight of the era; the floral fabric that Chunlan hides under the bed in "The Fitting Mirror" vividly portrays the thoughts of ordinary people; your poems selected for "Thirty New Talents" by Anhui Literature, with their "warmth of wheat ears," broke away from the singular narrative of scar literature, injecting a long-lost rural resilience into the Anhui literary scene. From your field notes to your creative practice on the Fudan University campus, your works have always been rooted in reality. You do not shy away from the hardships of your time in the countryside; this creative foundation of "finding hope in suffering" is precisely the quality that contemporary literature most needs to cherish.

After becoming a member, you will enjoy the following benefits: First, you will have priority to participate in activities organized by our association, such as "Northern Anhui Rural Field Trip" and "Young Writers Seminar," and exchange creative experiences with well-known writers from both inside and outside the province; Second, your new works will be included in our association's "Key Works Recommendation List" and will be given priority to be recommended to provincial publications such as "Anhui Literature," "Qingming," and "Jianghuai Literature and Art," with outstanding works being recommended to national literary platforms; Third, you can apply for internal publications such as "Anhui Literature Review" free of charge to obtain the latest creative trends and theoretical guidance.

I know that even though you are now pursuing advanced studies at Fudan University, you still remain concerned about the land and people of Anhui. I hope that you will continue to use Anhui as the root of your creative work in the future, whether it is the various aspects of people's lives along the Huai River or the urban and rural changes in the early days of reform and opening up, all of which can become material for your writing; I also hope that you will often return to Anhui, use words to record the development of your hometown, and let more people see the land and people of Anhui through your works.

Enclosed is a copy of the "Anhui Provincial Writers Association Member Registration Form." Please complete the form within fifteen days of receiving this letter and return it to the Secretariat of our Association (Address: No. 161 Anqing Road, Luyang District, Anhui Province) to complete your membership file. Membership fees are payable annually at a rate of 2 yuan per year, which can be transferred to the designated account (Account Number: Anhui Industrial and Commercial Bank of China, Hefei Branch, 0012-8765) along with the registration form.

Anhui's literary scene has seen a surge of new talent in recent years, and you, as an outstanding representative of "educated youth writers," are a particularly bright spot. May you remain true to your original aspirations and continue to use your sincere writing to capture the pulse of the times and the voice of the people, contributing to the prosperity of Anhui literature.

If you have any questions, please feel free to write to our secretariat (telephone: X).

Best wishes for your well-being!
-
Best wishes for your well-being~
The first step to becoming a member of the Writers' Association always feels incredibly exciting.

From now on, a line of smaller characters will be added before Xu Chengjun's full name: Xu Chengjun, member of the Anhui Writers Association.

At lunchtime, Su Manshu sat next to Xu Chengjun.

Upon hearing about the Writers Association incident, I immediately followed Xu Chengjun to Songzhuang.

Looking at the membership card, he smiled and said, "Now I can say that my partner is also a member of the provincial writers' association."

Xu Chengjun: "Let's talk about it when your partner becomes a member of the National Writers Association~"

"Beautiful!"

At 2 PM, the interview with Inspur began as scheduled.

Xu Chengjun let out a soft sigh of relief.

In fact, in his previous life, he always had a thought lingering in his mind.

That was to start a literary society.

In his view, contemporary Chinese writers have never been able to construct a complete artistic system of their own.

Looking at the field of literary creation, from stream of consciousness and iceberg theory to synesthesia, nonlinear narrative and multi-viewpoint narrative, these influential creative concepts and techniques all originated from the original works of foreign creators.

Chinese writers have consistently lacked innovation in literary forms, failing to break through existing frameworks to explore new forms, and failing to systematically and systematically develop new creative techniques.

In his previous life, he used a vivid metaphor to explain this gap: "If others are driving 'creative tools' of the Mercedes-Benz or Rolls-Royce level, while you are still using a 'Mazda,' then it is not surprising that your works become second-rate—if you can't even keep up with the level of 'tools,' you will naturally have no right to be a top writer."

Moreover, Xu Chengjun also has a clear understanding of the generational development of Chinese literature.

In his view, due to the limitations of historical environment and era conditions, it is difficult for truly good writers, let alone great writers, to emerge from the group of writers born in the 50s, 60s, 70s and even 80s.

The breakthrough point for Chinese literature will most likely fall on those born in the 90s and 00s, and may even extend to those born in the 10s.

These generations grew up in the internet age, and whether it's traditional Chinese classics or modern Western literature, as long as they are willing to explore, they can immerse themselves in them from a young age and be influenced by them.

Some people even have the opportunity to travel around the world, allowing them to experience diverse cultures firsthand and even master multiple languages.

In Xu Chengjun's view, only such a group has the ability to deeply integrate and innovatively reconstruct the framework of Chinese and Western cultures, and ultimately give birth to a brand-new literary system that combines Chinese and Western elements.

In fact, during a turning point in history, literature does not abandon itself in such a radical and disruptive way, but rather improves itself in a gradual manner.

Perhaps a Chinese-style literary system and style will develop based on Ming and Qing dynasty novels.

It's important to know that in Ming and Qing dynasty novels, Romance of the Three Kingdoms, Water Margin, Journey to the West, Jin Ping Mei, Dream of the Red Chamber, and Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio all began to explore different perspectives.

It's just a pity that the ebb and flow of history never change according to individual will.

His original intention in founding the literary society was to use his own strength to promote the process and bring about the "new system era" of Chinese literature as soon as possible.

The “Wave” Literary Society was born out of this vision.
-
The wooden window of classroom 103 in the Chinese Department of Fudan University was pushed open halfway, and the fragrance of osmanthus blossoms wafted in.

This is the room that was coordinated with Secretary Qi.

Xu Chengjun walked in just a few minutes before the school bell rang, with neatly stacked registration forms beside him.

Last night, he and Lin Yimin worked until midnight sorting through the 380 forms, categorizing them by "creative type." The forms about educated youth were placed on the left, campus literature in the middle, and cross-department submissions were piled on the right. On top of them was a paperweight, an old inkstone given to them by Mr. Zhu Dongrun.

"Chengjun, you've finally arrived!"

Zhou Haibo was leaning over the podium, testing the video feed, his nose covered in chalk dust.

"Hu Zhi prepared the record book, Li Jihai went to the canteen to buy porridge, and Cheng Yongxin said that they would wait for the last interviewee to arrive before starting the recording."

Xu Chengjun placed the inkstone on the lectern and glanced across the classroom. In the Fudan classroom of 1979, the light-colored slogan "Education serves proletarian politics" was still on the wall, and a yellowed copy of the "Fudan Journal" was pasted on the right side of the blackboard, with Mr. Wang Shuizhao's "On Su Shi's Ci Poetry" on it.

The makeshift interview table they set up was made up of three student desks pushed together, covered with a faded blue cloth that Su Manshu had brought from the staff dormitory.

She arrived half an hour early this morning and sewed a fine stitch to the patch on the tablecloth, so that it was almost invisible unless you looked closely.

"Let's try the process first,"

Xu Chengjun picked up the top sheet. "The first one is Lu Shu from the History Department, the one who wrote 'Wheat Harvest.' He said he's bringing his diary from when he was sent to the countryside this morning."

As soon as he finished speaking, the classroom door was gently pushed open, and Lü Shu walked in carrying a bulging cloth bag. He also had a copy of "Records of the Grand Historian" slung over his shoulder. The strap of the bag was worn shiny, clearly an old item that had been used for many years.

"Hello, Senior Xu, hello to all the seniors."

"Hey, Comrade Chengjun is a senior, we're in the same year as you."

"Oh~"

Lu Shu placed the cloth bag on the table, a little nervous. "I...I brought my diary from when I was sent to the countryside. It was written in 1976 in northern Jiangsu. There are a few poems in it, including the first draft of 'Wheat Harvest' that I showed you before."

When he opened the cloth bag, Xu Chengjun glimpsed a hard, dry wheat cake inside. "I just brought this this year. My mom told me to share it with my classmates. It was made from the new wheat harvested this year."

Seeing his nervousness, Lin Yimin quickly took the piece, broke it off, and put it in his mouth, chewing it with a smile that made his eyebrows and eyes crinkle: "Delicious! Chewier than the cornbread in the cafeteria!"

Lu Shu visibly relaxed.

Zhou Haibo also tried to take it, but Hu Zhi glared at him: "Interview first! Lu Shu is still waiting!"

The notebook in Hu Zhi's hand had a kraft paper cover and was titled "Interview Record of Langchao Literary Society." The penmanship was in regular script, which he had practiced specially, and each stroke showed his seriousness.

He never imagined that this notebook would become an important exhibit in the exhibition hall years later, visited by students from all over the country.

When Hu Zhi visited Fudan University again, he simply shook his head and said, "Life is too rushed."

(End of this chapter)