My era, 1979!

Chapter 147 The Music Box

Early in the morning, Chen Dengke dialed Xu Chengjun's number.

The signal was coming from the old public telephone booth downstairs.

These days, the phone bill is no longer a problem for Xu Chengjun.

On the phone, Chen Dengke first brought good news.

The first issue of "Red Silk" received a warm response, with the initial print run of 50 copies selling out completely, and sales are still on the rise.

This achievement even broke the first printing record for the first issue after the resumption of "Harvest" magazine!

He then asked Xu Chengjun if he had any new creative ideas, and also explained the arrangements for the second installment of "Qingming" magazine, "Red Silk".

It should be noted that the entire "Red Silk" is 30 words long, and the inaugural issue of "Qingming" could not possibly publish it all at once.

At that time, a single issue of the magazine contained approximately 20 to 25 words, and even so, it was impossible to serialize only "Red Silk".

If that were the case, other authors' works would have no place in the magazine, and the magazine would essentially become Xu Chengjun's "one-man show."

This is obviously unrealistic.

Xu Chengjun isn't that shameless.

Even so, the reason why "Red Silk" was able to be serialized in two issues was because Xu Chengjun replaced Chen Dengke and Xiao Ma in their collaboration on "Breaking the Wall".

At the end of the call, the two exchanged pleasantries.

With his years of experience working within the system, Xu Chengjun was adept at maintaining proper decorum, and when he spoke in official jargon with Chen Dengke, they were evenly matched.

Chen Dengke on the other end of the phone was also speechless.

Holy crap, 20!

During his lunch break, Xu Chengjun was awakened by Wang, the mailroom clerk, knocking on the door.

The old man, afraid of disturbing the other students, lowered his voice but couldn't hide his excitement: "Comrade Xu! Quick! It's an urgent call from the military region, they say there's an important notice!"

Xu Chengjun rubbed his eyes and ran to the gatehouse. He picked up the rusty receiver and heard a familiar static sound, followed by the steady voice of an officer from the Cultural Department of the NJ Military Region: "Is this Comrade Xu Chengjun? After research and decision by the General Political Department's Cultural Department, 'Red Silk' will be distributed to all grassroots companies as recommended reading material for ideological and political education throughout the army."

The People's Frontline newspaper will serialize the full text and will also launch an essay contest entitled "Reading 'Red Silk' and Discussing Our Mission." We would like to ask you to take some time to write a reflection on the creation of the work, so that the soldiers can better understand its meaning.

"Organize reading throughout the entire army?"

"That's right!"

"Didn't we already say we'd organize a reading session?"

"Oh, that time it was only our military region, but now the impact is continuing to expand and has alarmed the military."

After hanging up the phone, he was about to go back to his dormitory to sort out his thoughts when the phone at the gatehouse rang again, before he could even properly put the pen in his pocket.

This time it's Chen Dengke.

It was still Chen Dengke.

Old Chen was a little unsettled this time.

His voice was a little louder than usual, and you could feel his excitement even through the receiver: "Chengjun! Great news! The General Political Department's Cultural Department just sent us a letter to print an additional 50,000 copies of the inaugural issue of 'Qingming' magazine, exclusively for the troops!"
Do you know what this means? Your "Red Silk" will be displayed in every outpost and every barracks throughout the army!

Do I have money?

"Uh, why are cultured people talking about money!"

"This is an honor!"

"Yes, this is honor!"

Xu Chengjun smiled and agreed. Just as he hung up the phone, Su Manshu ran over carrying a stack of class notes, her off-white scarf tinged with the scent of osmanthus: "Chengjun! Look!"
My dad just came back from the department and said that the NJ Military Region sent a letter of thanks to Fudan University, specifically mentioning that "Red Silk" is "a vivid teaching material for military literature in the new era," and even urged you to go to the military base for research!

She held up the letter in her hand, on which Professor Su had circled the words "Comrade Xu Chengjun's work 'Red Silk' depicts the soldiers' patriotism with delicate strokes, providing a vivid model for the ideological and political education of the troops" in red pen.

During lunch.

Xu Xiaomei rushed over carrying a canvas bag, the bow on her braid making one dizzy: "Brother! Brother! I just heard the broadcast downstairs in the dormitory building, saying that your book 'Red Silk' is to be read throughout the army!"

My other roommates were so envious they cried, saying, "Your brother is amazing! Even the military is studying his novels!"

As she spoke, Xu Xiaomei pulled out a kraft paper envelope containing a letter from her elder brother, Xu Jianjun, sent from the front lines: "By the way! My brother also wrote! He said he saw the inaugural issue of 'Qingming' magazine in the company's reading room!"

Xu Chengjun took the letter. His elder brother's handwriting was a bit messier than before, but it was still strong: "Chengjun, the company is organizing readings of 'Red Silk' every day now. A new recruit cried while reading it, saying that he also wants to be like Huang Siyuan and guard the border of the motherland. Your novel is well written, more effective than us telling ten great principles."

The narrative structure and genuine emotions of "Red Silk" allow it to display its charm infinitely in this era.

Look forward to the second episode of "Qingming".

The second installment has ended, and the standalone volume will be released soon.

That evening, Xu Chengjun once again went to the library.

Sister Ru from "Shanghai Literature" has urged me to submit my manuscript two or three times.

He's been putting it off because of his writing, but he should be finishing this novella by now.

He originally intended to write a lighthearted campus story.

But during the day, there were phone calls from the Nanjing Military Region, letters from his elder brother Xu Jianjun, and the good news from Chen Dengke that the news was being circulated throughout the army.
His mind was filled with the "bond between the times and the individual".
Instead, I recalled a story about the Hongqi Machinery Factory that an old worker told me when I was browsing secondhand goods in Huaiguo a while ago.

The old worker, surnamed Chen, had graying temples. He was squatting next to an old machine tool, wiping parts, and holding a tin box with a peony print in his hand. He said, "This is a music box made in Shanghai in 1950. My daughter loved it the most when she was little."

Xu Chengjun leaned over to look, and the melody of "Jasmine Flower" in the box had long since faded, but it still exuded a warm, everyday feeling.

Looking back now, perhaps there was another story hidden in that box.

Just like Huang Siyuan's wooden comb in "Red Silk," which hides unspoken longings, this music box...
Shanghai at that time
Hongqi Machinery Factory has just received a notification.

That was her father, the head of the logistics department at the factory. He was named a "model worker" every year. Everyone in the workshop gave him a thumbs up, saying, "Head Chen is kind and gentle. He even gives hot water to the old man sweeping the floor."

But Chen Zhaodi felt uneasy.

She was young and didn't understand.

She offered to help her father pack his old belongings when he was moving to a new dormitory.

In my father's tin box, besides the yellowed "Model Worker" certificate, there was a familiar object—the tin music box printed with peonies.

On her tenth birthday in 1958, her father held this box, his palms sweaty, and said, "I had someone snatch it from a department store in Shanghai. It's made in China and is more durable than foreign goods."

Back then, she would listen to "Jasmine Flower" while holding the box, even sleeping with it in her arms. Later, when they moved, she accidentally dropped it, and the melody stopped playing. Her father squatted under the lamp for half the night to fix it, saying, "When our daughter grows up, we'll buy her a new one."

As Chen Zhaodi stroked the peony pattern on the box, she suddenly noticed that the base was loose—perhaps it hadn't been repaired after the fall years ago.

She found a small screwdriver and took it apart, intending to tighten the loose screws, but she touched a piece of cardboard—not a part, but a yellowed pass with "Chen Afu" written in the name column and the date 1943.

What chilled her to the bone was that three names were written in pencil on the back of the pass, with a small "X" next to them. She suddenly remembered what her old neighbor Wang Guiying had said to the investigation team a few days earlier: "In 1943, my husband was a member of the underground Communist Party!"

Chen Afu was his father's name before he changed it.

That evening, Chen Zhaodi placed the pass on the corner of the table and watched her father bring in an enamel cup, the rim of which was still stained with rice water.

My father always says, "The new dormitory is well-heated, so we won't have to squat by the stove to heat our food anymore."

But when she pushed the pass over, the cup in her father's hand crashed to the ground, splashing rice soup all over the floor.

After a long silence, the father said with red eyes, "That year, your mother was detained by the Japanese military police. They said if they didn't register her as a 'progressive person,' they would force her to be a 'comfort woman'... I thought I would save your mother first and atone for my sins later, but this sin has been weighing on me for thirty-six years."

Xu Chengjun wrote the words "music box" on the manuscript paper, recalling some echoes of history—

Chen Zhaodi eventually handed the pass to the review team.
The organization's final conclusion was "retain his position, but revoke his title." When the father received the notice, he smiled and said, "Finally, I can get a good night's sleep."

Xu Chengjun learned these details from the old worker.

The old worker was Chen Jianguo. That day at Huaiguo Old Factory, after wiping the machine tool, he held up a music box and said, "My daughter accompanied me to apologize to Wang Guiying. She didn't open the door, but said through the door, 'My son will be taking the college entrance exam next year, and I don't want to talk about the past.'"

Xu Chengjun didn't dare ask more at the time, but now, looking back, he realizes that behind that unopened door lay the "reconciliation" of two families regarding the past.

Just like in "Red Silk," Huang Siyuan's unspoken words, "Look at the golden China for me," were eventually heard by Xu Nian'an; Chen Jianguo's unspoken "I'm sorry" was also caught up by Wang Guiying's words, "Let's not talk about the past."

The library clock struck ten, and Xu Chengjun finally put down his first pen.

He wanted to include the story of this music box in his novella, not to reopen old wounds, but to depict Shanghai in 1979, not only the grand themes of national righteousness in "Red Silk," but also the ordinary people in factories and alleys, being pushed along by the times.

They may have had a "disgraceful" past, but they redeemed themselves with a lifetime of diligence;
They may have been hurt, but they chose to "let go" in the spring.

Like that tin music box, the melody has faded, but the peony pattern remains.

The pass hidden inside is the "past," while the image of the father and daughter repairing the box together is the "present."

Who can say who is right and who is wrong?
He recalled the book "Nanjing Photo Studio" that he had read in his previous life, and his thoughts became more somber.

He looked up at the window and saw scattered lights in the alleyway in the distance. Perhaps behind one of those windows, there was a girl like Chen Zhaodi, helping her father sort through old things and uncovering stories hidden by time from some old object.

Xu Chengjun gripped his pen tightly.

Good stories must keep pace with the times, just like "Red Silk" captured the hearts of the soldiers.

This "Music Box" should also pick up on those "unspoken past events," so that the pages of 1979 contain both the grandeur of the nation and the tenderness of the family.

In this story, Xu Chengjun continues to boldly conduct his "modernization" experiments.

On the one hand, it shifts the narrative background from the countryside back to the city.

On the other hand, it still brings the narrative back to the reader's perspective.

The core of modern narrative is to immerse the reader rather than allow them to observe.

Traditional narrative is more like "telling a story to the reader," while modern narrative is about "getting the reader into the story."

Xu Chengjun abandons the omniscient perspective of traditional novels that "takes his daughter Chen Zhaodi as the sole main character".

The story was transformed from a single narrative thread into a multi-dimensional puzzle of truth by adopting a nested structure of three main perspectives plus interludes from supporting characters.

It is more in line with modern readers' understanding of complex human nature and multifaceted history.

By using multiple perspectives, the author helps readers understand each person's predicament; by employing a non-linear structure to maintain suspense; by using sensory details to enhance immersion; and by using a concise ending to provoke thought.

Of course, he also wrote a novel about love.
-
Xu Chengjun finished writing the subsequent plot in just three days.

With a ready-made outline in mind, the writing will naturally flow smoothly.

Writing is no slower than copying.

After finishing writing, I went to visit Sister Ru early in the morning and personally handed the manuscript to "Shanghai Literature".

And just then, Li Xiaolin went to the editorial office of "Shanghai Literature," so as soon as she put down her manuscript, she was pulled to the neighboring "Harvest."

But speaking of it.

The literary circles of Shanghai and Beijing have always been considered the twin peaks of the literary world in the north and south.

If it's available in the north, we need to get some from the south too.

Beijing has People's Literature and October as its leading publications, while Shanghai has Harvest and Shanghai Literature to support it.

Beijing, relying on the academic foundation of Peking University and Beijing Normal University, and Shanghai, with the literary heritage of Fudan University and East China Normal University, each led the way in the new era of literature.

People in the literary circle often say that "the Shanghai circle is bold," partly because Mr. Ba Jin was in charge, which loosened the restrictions on literary creation.

The other half is that, thanks to the bold selection of topics by the editorial departments in Shanghai, many new talents have emerged in the past two years.

In particular, Xu Chengjun broke the silence of the old-school literary scene with his works "Red Silk" and "The Dressing Mirror," giving Shanghai literature a fresh and "realistic" feel.

In the late autumn of 1979, the lingering smell of cigarettes mingled with the aroma of ink in the editorial office of "Shanghai Literature" at No. 675 Julu Road.

Zhou Jieren, the head of the theory group, pushed a stack of manuscripts to the center of the table. The cover was written in pencil as "Music Box," and Xu Chengjun's signature was in the lower right corner.

This is an unpublished manuscript that Ru Zhijuan borrowed from Fudan University last week, and she specifically asked the editorial department to "check it out" first.

“You should read this passage first.”

Zhou Jieren pointed to the passage in the manuscript about "Chen Zhaodi dismantling the music box": "The labor and personnel officer of the Red Flag Machinery Factory found a tin music box while helping his father sort through old things. When he opened the base, he found a Japanese military pass. This plot is really daring to write, and it really touches on my feelings!"

Editor-in-Chief Li Ziyun approached, holding an enamel mug, his brows gradually relaxing: "That kid Xu Chengjun always manages to put the events of a great era into small objects. Look at 'Red Silk,' which uses a 'wooden comb' to connect the battlefield and the hometown, and this 'Music Box' uses a 'tin box' to contain historical secrets."

"You haven't heard that even Buffett couldn't sit still when he submitted his novel to Hope magazine."

"But what the literary world lacks now is not 'substance,' but 'storytelling ability'!"

Zhou Jieren stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, his tone tinged with disappointment. "Last month I read a piece about educated youth. The author tried to emulate Márquez's 'magical realism,' writing about 'the old locust tree bleeding at the village entrance,' but he didn't even grasp the essence of 'magical realism.' It was all just a superficial copy of the translation! Why doesn't Xu Chengjun do that?"

He slammed his hand on the table. "This is what it means to learn skills, not just fancy moves!"

Li Ziyun smiled and nodded, then casually flipped to the "father-daughter confrontation" section in the manuscript: "Look at this part, Chen Jianguo confessed that he became a clerk in the maintenance committee to save his mother. He didn't play the victim or make excuses, he just said that he was afraid his daughter would look down on him."

Xu Chengjun understands people's hearts too well. Many writers today, when writing about 'historical issues,' either portray people as 'perfect victims' or 'utterly wicked,' but he chooses to write about 'ordinary people forced to make mistakes'—that's the truth.

"you do not say!"

Zhou Jieren suddenly sighed and tapped the cover of the manuscript. "This manuscript hasn't been published yet, but Ru Zhijuan has urged me three times."

(End of this chapter)