My era, 1979!

Chapter 149: Blue whales from Alaska have jumped into Fudan University's storage room!

Two essays, or rather, personal reflections, one titled "The Sycamore Leaves on Wukang Road" and the other "My First Time Seeing the Sea."

"The Sycamore Leaves on Wukang Road" is about the life he sees in a sycamore leaf.

The ending uses the observation of a leaf to complete the essence of the essay, which is free-flowing yet coherent.

"So, I never got close. Looking back many years later, perhaps my friend was right. All memorable moments need to be kept at a distance. If I had gotten closer that day, I might have noticed the wormholes on its leaves, the curling of its veins, and thus missed the initial awe. But I never went back to that alley, and that autumn of 1979 is gone forever."

Thus, that sycamore leaf can remain forever in my memory, lonely yet retaining that stubborn color belonging to 1979.

What unique spirit, steadfastly upheld through the ages, won't inevitably endure the solitude of time? Yet it is precisely this solitude that makes it a stamp in time, imprinting that autumn, the Shanghai wind, and a secret about perseverance.

"The First Time I Saw the Sea" describes the awe he felt upon first seeing the ocean, creating a resonance between the insignificance of the individual and the grandeur of nature.

This further highlights the greatness of life.

In describing the vastness of the sea, he wrote:

"When the sea unfolds before my eyes, I recall all the images of 'greatness' I've read, only to find that words seem like clumsy children in the face of it."

Blue whales in Alaska glide across trenches two thousand meters deep with their tails, the spray from their dorsal fins cutting through the water's surface capable of capturing the starlight of the entire Arctic; the aurora borealis in Norway spreads a rainbow of colors across the sea at midnight, the light trails kissing the scales of cod schools as they fall, turning the icy water into flowing jewels; the corals of the Maldives weave labyrinthine palaces in the shallows, and as tropical fish swim through the coral branches, the light spots on their scales create a shimmering galaxy on the sea's surface.

But all these distant beauties pale in comparison to the sea beneath my feet right now—it needs no elaborate adornment, only the force of each surging wave, to etch the word 'greatness' into my very bones.

Unlike novels that expose reality, this focuses on the lives of ordinary people.

Like his poems, Xu Chengjun's essays use beautiful and hazy language to paint the most magnificent colors of his life.

Or it may contain insights from a past life spanning thirty years.

Or perhaps we could draw inspiration from the sparks that emerged in 1979.

Like a dream.

Like crying and complaining.

Xu Chengjun looked at Xu Demin with a shocked expression: "I went to the editorial office of 'Shanghai Literature' yesterday. When I came back, I was thinking that I still had some essays and poems that I had promised to submit, so I hurried to finish them. What's with that expression, Brother Demin!"

Xu Demin: "That's the look on my face when I see a madman!"

Geniuses are on the left, madmen are on the right.

Xu Demin glanced at him and nodded with satisfaction: 'Good writing, huh? It's all thanks to your spirit.'
Xu Chengjun curled his lip: "You're jealous."

Xu Demin: "Is jealousy useful?"

Xu Chengjun: "It can show your respect for the master."

Xu Demin's eyebrows twitched, his face contorted, and he turned to leave, ignoring Xu Chengjun. He called out to the busy crowd, "Waiter! Serve the guests!"

He paused for a moment, then said, "Your President Xu has written two more essays. It's like the blue whales of Alaska have jumped into Fudan University's storage room!"

Lin Yimin and Zhou Haibo didn't even look up; the two of them had already been thoroughly defeated by Xu Chengjun.

Speaking of which, Lin Yimin, Zhou Haibo, and Xu Demin, among others in the Langchao Literary Society, all had at least one work selected for the inaugural issue.

This also owes much to the meticulous "editing" by Xu Chengjun, the "big official."

Hu Zhi and Cheng Yongxin raised their heads slightly in agreement, then lowered them again to attend to their own tasks.

The other members, however, were still not satisfied with the blow and surrounded him, shouting and yelling.

This thoroughly satisfied Xu Chengjun's literary vanity.

After all, these people may seem insignificant now, but they will become core talents in various fields of the Republic in the future.

Fudan University in 1979 was no joke!
-
In autumn, the Fudan University campus becomes a world of fallen sycamore and sycamore leaves.

It does add to the beauty of the place.

Over the weekend, Xu Chengjun had just put the manuscript of "Please Answer 1979" into the mailbox.

Then Zhou Jieren rode over on a slightly worn Forever brand bicycle. A canvas bag with the words "Shanghai Light Industry Bureau" printed on it was hanging on the handlebars, and a roll of kraft paper documents was tied to the back seat.

"Chengjun! We've been waiting for you!"

Jay Chou jumped out of the car, his trouser legs covered in mud.

He rode his bicycle from the Light Industry Bureau early in the morning, traveling through most of Shanghai before finally arriving at Fudan University.

He's a pretty big editor; at "Shanghai Literature," he's either the second or third in command.

This sufficiently demonstrates the importance attached to Xu Chengjun.

He pulled out a letter of introduction stamped with a red seal from his canvas bag. "It's all settled with the Shanghai No. 2 Sewing Machine Factory. The factory director's surname is Zhao, and he specifically instructed us to treat them well. However, I didn't mention Chen Jianguo's matter. His factory has just resumed production, and I'm afraid that our visit might disturb their work schedule. Is this alright?"

Many people may not know about the Shanghai No. 2 Sewing Machine Factory.

However, the "Butterfly" brand was a very famous brand in those days.

The predecessor of Factory No. 1 was "Xiechang Iron Cart Shop", founded in 1919. It began producing sewing machines in 1940. In 1956, it was transformed into a joint state-private enterprise. In January 1967, it was renamed Shanghai Dongfanghong Sewing Machine Factory and changed its trademark from "Invincible" to "Butterfly". In January 1972, it was renamed Shanghai Sewing Machine Factory No. 1.

These days, Butterfly brand sewing machines, along with Forever brand bicycles and Shanghai brand watches, are considered the "three essential items" for young men and women getting married.

Xu Chengjun accepted the letter of introduction.

Zhou Jie is a thoughtful person. Knowing Chen Jianguo's situation, the two of them went to his home to gather material.

That wasn't a field trip, it was just looking for trouble!

"Brother Zhou is very thoughtful. We'll do it your way."

The two rode their bikes to the No. 2 Sewing Machine Factory. When they passed the Qiujiang Road secondhand market, they could see people looking for parts for Butterfly brand sewing machines.

I'm reminded of Xu Xiaomei's secondhand butterfly machine.

Xu Chengjun mentioned it to Zhou Jieren as a joke, and Zhou Jieren laughed and patted his arm: "When we get to the factory later, let Director Zhao point it out to you. Your sister's machine might have been produced by their factory in the early years."

"There's no way to find it!"

"What if? Given the current state of industry, with one company after another launching new ones, it's all uncertain."

More than half an hour later, the two arrived at the gate of Shanghai No. 2 Sewing Machine Factory.

The factory gate was brick red, and the slogan "Grasp Revolution and Promote Production" on the lintel was still clearly visible. Next to it, a line of white paint had been newly painted: "Produce one more butterfly machine, add one more family to a better life." Upon seeing the letter of introduction, the gatekeeper quickly called inside: "Factory Director Zhao! Comrade Xu and the others have arrived!"

Before long, a middle-aged man in a gray Zhongshan suit strode out, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he was holding an oily wrench in his hand.

Judging from the looks of it, it just came out of the workshop.

"Comrade Xu! Team Leader Zhou! We've been waiting for you!"

Factory Director Zhao held Xu Chengjun's hand, his palm rough and calloused. "My daughter is from Fudan High School. She talks about your 'Waiting for You to Return to the North' every day. She says that if she didn't have to prepare for the college entrance exam, she would definitely go to Fudan to listen to your lecture!"

"You're joking. Maybe next time I'll explain to the girl how I wrote that song in person?"

"That's exactly what I was waiting for. How about we show you around the factory this morning, and then have a light lunch here?"

Jay Chou smiled and said, "When in Rome, do as the host does!"

Xu Chengjun smiled and exchanged a few polite words, his gaze already captivated by the scene in the factory area.

Rows of red brick factory buildings stretched out in a row, and the "click-clack" sound of sewing machines drifted from the workshop windows, like countless butterflies fluttering their wings.

The bulletin board on the wall displayed photos of the "Monthly Production Model Workers." The workers in the photos were all wearing blue work jackets with instructor badges pinned to their chests, their smiles particularly bright. It was hard not to smile.

If you worked in the "e-cigarette, electric vehicle, and oil" industry, you'd be laughing too!
At that time, the Second Factory consistently ranked among the top ten in terms of profitability among state-owned factories in Shanghai.

"Shall we go check out the assembly workshop first?"

Factory Director Zhao led the two inside, saying, "The factory is currently rushing to fulfill orders for Butterfly brand JB8-2. This model was just improved last year, and it's more labor-saving and durable than the old one. The supply and marketing cooperative has already booked orders until next spring."

As soon as I entered the assembly workshop, a smell of machine oil mixed with cotton cloth enveloped me.

Dozens of sewing machines were neatly arranged, and the workers sat on high stools, their fingers flying as they threaded the needles, installed the needles, and adjusted the bobbins. Their movements were so fast that it was dazzling.

There was a girl with braided pigtails, her apron stained with white thread, but it didn't stop her from working at all. The stitches of the sewing machine were even and dense. When she saw Xu Chengjun looking over, she smiled and raised her head, revealing the dimples on her cheeks.

"That's Xiao Wu, our factory's technical expert. Last month, he installed 230 machines, and not a single defective product came out!"

Factory Director Zhao's loud voice attracted the attention of the surrounding workers.

An old worker wearing an old felt hat put down his work, came over to look at Xu Chengjun, and suddenly his eyes lit up: "Aren't you Xu Chengjun, the author of 'The Granary'? My son copied your poem 'Foxtail Grass on the Hillside' when he was working in the countryside in Anhui!"

The moment those words were spoken, the workshop fell silent for a moment, then erupted in chaos.

The workers stopped what they were doing, and more and more people gathered around. A young man in a work jacket took out a tattered copy of "Poetry Journal" from his pocket. The cover had Xu Chengjun's name printed on it: "Comrade Xu! I have some of your poems published this year. Can you sign them for me? My girlfriend is also a fan of your poetry. She says you are a 'natural lyric poet'!"

Just as Xu Chengjun was about to take the pen, Factory Director Zhao smiled and came to his rescue: "Don't rush, everyone! Let Comrade Xu take a look at the production process first, and he can sign it during the lunch break. I guarantee everyone can get a group photo!"

As he spoke, he led Xu Chengjun deeper into the production line, "Look over here, this is the core component of the Butterfly brand—the shuttle machine. It's all hand-polished by experienced workers; not even a millimeter off is acceptable. Old Zhou, can you explain this to Comrade Xu?"

Old Zhou, who was called out, put down the file in his hand and pointed to the shuttle on the table: "Comrade Xu, look, this thing has to be made of No. 45 steel. First, it needs to be forged, then the grooves need to be milled, and finally it needs to be sanded three times with fine sandpaper, otherwise the needle will easily get stuck when the machine moves."

I've been doing this job for thirty years. I ground half of the shuttles on the old butterfly looms in the factory.

His eyes gleamed as he spoke of these things; it was unclear what level of worker he was.

The term "purely hand-ground" sounds quite sophisticated.

"Last year, with the reform and opening up, the factory was able to order materials independently, which boosted our enthusiasm for grinding shuttles. We wanted to get more people using our Shanghai-made butterfly machines."

Xu Chengjun took out his notebook and quickly wrote down the notes. The sound of the pen gliding across the pages blended with the clicking of the sewing machine, creating a surprisingly harmonious sound.

He asked Old Zhou, "You've spent your whole life working on this shuttle bed, don't you find it boring?"

Old Zhou laughed, his wrinkles crinkling together: "What's so boring about it? Every machine we make adds a helper to people's homes—the girls make new clothes, the wives sew quilt covers, and our shuttle bed can save them a lot of effort."

Old Zhou's words may be rough, but the principle is sound.

Just as he was about to say something more, the break bell rang, and the workshop instantly became lively. The workers carried their enamel mugs to the tea room, and couldn't help but glance at Xu Chengjun as they passed by.

"Comrade Xu!"

Suddenly, a cheerful female voice rang out. It was Xiao Wu, the skilled technician from earlier. She was carrying a cup of hot tea and walked over quickly. "My best friend and I both really love your 'The Fitting Mirror.' The part where Chunlan hides the floral fabric, I cry every time I read it—"

When I first started working at the factory, I secretly hid a piece of polyester fabric, hoping to make a new shirt for my mother.

The surrounding workers gathered around and egged them on. One female worker with curly hair was even more direct, reaching out to pat Xu Chengjun's arm: "Comrade Xu! We've all heard you don't have a girlfriend, is that true? Our workshop's Xiao Wu is capable and beautiful, why don't you two give it a try?"

Thirty is like a wolf, forty is like a tiger; married women are truly not to be trifled with.

In my past life, when the office was filled with dirty jokes, these older women were far more daring than the men.

As soon as he said that, everyone around burst into laughter.

Xiao Wu's face instantly turned red to the tips of his ears, and he reached out to pinch the female worker's arm: "Sister Zhang! Don't talk nonsense!"

Xu Chengjun remained calm, took the hot tea from Xiao Wu, touched the rim of the cup to check its temperature, and said with a smile, "Thank you for your concern, Sister Zhang and everyone, but I already have a boyfriend, who is also a student at Fudan University."

She often said that if she had the chance, she would like to see how a Butterfly sewing machine is made—she said that if they got a Butterfly machine for their home, she would make me a patterned shirt.

This answer addressed the question without being boastful, eliciting a soft "oh" from those around them, their eyes full of amusement.

Sister Zhang laughed the loudest: "So you're taken! Then you'll have to let your boyfriend see this. The clothes made by our butterfly machine are guaranteed to be even prettier than those bought from the supply and marketing cooperative!"

Director Zhao, amused by what he saw, clapped his hands and said, "Alright, alright! Stop crowding around Comrade Xu. The canteen added two dishes for lunch. After everyone finishes eating, let Comrade Xu tell us how to write poetry and sign some autographs!"

"Comrade Chengjun, what do you think?"

What could Xu Chengjun say? He nodded in agreement on the spot, because he needed someone's help!
However, this Factory Director Zhao is quite a character. He turned the visit into a welfare program for the factory workers.

Goodness!

Xu Chengjun followed Factory Director Zhao toward the canteen. As they passed the finished product warehouse, they saw rows of brand-new Butterfly brand sewing machines neatly stacked, the "Butterfly" logo on the machine head shining with a silvery light.

Factory Director Zhao pointed to the machines: "These are all going to be shipped all over the country, some to the Northeast, some to the Northwest, and two more to the Xinjiang Production and Construction Corps."

What he didn't mention was that the sewing machines at the Second Factory were still responsible for earning foreign exchange.

The products of the second factory could not meet the demand. Since the fourth quarter of 1972, the retail market has been purchasing with coupons. They hold special meetings every month to balance the quantity of exports and domestic sales.

in the afternoon.

The enamel plates in the canteen were still splattered with oil, so Director Zhao led Xu Chengjun toward the small conference room in the office building.

Jay Chou's editorial department had something to do, so he left a little earlier.

The corridor was filled with the aroma of freshly brewed jasmine tea, and the walls were covered with posters promoting "Learn from Daqing in Industry." The image of a worker holding a wrench in the poster gradually overlapped with the figure of Old Zhou in the workshop.

"Comrade Xu, our factory's veteran workers, key technical personnel, and union representatives are all waiting inside."

Factory Director Zhao pushed open the conference room door, and a wave of heat mixed with the aroma of tea rushed out.

There were already seven or eight people sitting around the long wooden table: an elderly worker in a work jacket, a technical cadre wearing glasses, and a girl with pigtails.

As soon as Xu Chengjun sat down, Chairman Li of the trade union brought him a cup of hot tea. The enamel cup had the words "Advanced Worker" printed in red on it. He said, "Comrade Xu, we workers don't usually have the chance to chat with a great writer. Today, we'd like to share our thoughts with you."

In your story "The Granary," Old Xu guards the granary, carving tally marks; in our workshop, Old Zhou has been guarding the shuttle machine for thirty years. That spirit is the same!

"Absolutely! Chairman Li is right!"

The discussion lasted until 3 p.m. Xu Chengjun's notebook was filled with two pages of notes, and he also collected Lao Zhou's hand-drawn shuttle machine structure diagram and excerpts from Xiao Wu's workshop diary.

After the meeting ended, Director Zhao asked Xu Chengjun to stay in his office for a while longer.

The two talked a lot about the reform of state-owned enterprises in the morning, and Xu Chengjun quietly wrote down many of his views.

Factory Director Zhao's real name is Zhao Jiren. He is the deputy factory director in charge of production. He is 45 years old this year, which is the time when he dares to fight and strive.

Factory Director Zhao pulled out a yellowed production report from his drawer before slowly speaking: "Comrade Chengjun, to be honest, our state-owned factory is now like an old ox working tirelessly."

They wanted to run, but were held back by a rein. Take raw materials, for example. Before last year, steel and cotton cloth had to be allocated by the city. Sometimes we waited half a month for materials, and the machines in the workshop almost rusted, but we had no choice.

Xu Chengjun took the report and saw the words "three work stoppages due to material shortage" marked in pencil next to it, and he understood the situation.

He recalled the plight of state-owned factories he knew from his previous life and tentatively asked, "Director Zhao, I've heard that some factories have started trying to find their own raw material channels, such as cooperating with cotton mills in the suburbs. Have you considered that?"

Factory Director Zhao's eyes suddenly lit up. He leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers on the table: "You really hit the nail on the head! Last month, I went to Wuxi for a meeting and met the director of a cotton mill. He said that he can now directly connect with downstream manufacturers. As long as a contract is signed, the cotton fabric can be delivered directly to his door, which is much faster than waiting for allocation."

When I got back, I discussed it with the factory's managers. We wanted to try negotiating a partnership with Shanghai Textile Factory No. 2—we need a large quantity of cotton fabric, and if we could establish a long-term partnership, we could not only guarantee our raw materials but also perhaps get some discounts.

He changed the subject, his tone becoming more serious: "But the difficulty lies in the 'rules'."

(End of this chapter)