My era, 1979!

Chapter 167: A masterpiece of Chinese literature in the 70s!

In early November.

Shanghai is showing signs of early winter in the Jiangnan region.

A cold rain drizzles down, soaking my clothes; fallen sycamore leaves carpet the streets; and crows skim across the river.

Ancient poets described the winter scenery of Jiangnan with lines such as "Cold rain falls, wetting the traveler's clothes; withered leaves of the paulownia tree fly in the wind," vividly depicting the desolate beauty of early winter in Jiangnan.

The reeds beneath the Bund's flood control wall are already frosted white, and the morning mist over the Suzhou Creek has not yet dissipated.

The facades of buildings such as the North Building of the Peace Hotel (formerly the Sassoon House) and the Bank of China Building show signs of wear and tear over the years.

But against the backdrop of early winter in Shanghai, it appears even more dignified and elegant.

In terms of physical sensation.

The feeling of Shanghai in 1979 must have been colder than it would be in the future.

The dense concentration of factories along the Suzhou Creek generates waste heat, creating a localized heat island effect. However, the overall urban area is relatively small, resulting in a weak heat island effect.

This also makes it easier for extreme low temperatures to occur.

The breeze from the Huangpu River, carrying the fragrance of osmanthus blossoms, rustled against the pillars of the buildings from all over the world, but it couldn't drown out the voices of people in front of the bookstore on Nanjing East Road.

"The second issue of 'Qingming' is here! Xu Chengjun's 'Red Silk' is in its second half!"

As Lao Wang, a clerk at Xinhua Bookstore, shouted, the crowd in line immediately surged forward.

Canvas bags bumped against canvas bags, the crisp sound of rubber shoes stepping on fallen leaves mingled with shouts of "I want one!" and "Save me two!"

Even the patrolling police officers came over to help maintain order.

When the inaugural issue of "Qingming" sold out, some readers who missed out waited outside the bookstore for three days for a restock. This time, no one wanted to be left out.

Moreover, Xu Chengjun's name has been repeatedly etched into the minds of Shanghainese.

Whether you're a seasoned scholar with genuine literary expertise or a pretentious old man, you have to follow the "Xu Chengjun" trend.

The last debate in the arts and culture circles has just ended.

The second half of "Red Silk" is being released directly here.

That's the most direct response!

Do you think Southerners don't like lively atmospheres?
This kind of gossip from cultured people is the rarest thing.

At the head of the line was Li Meisheng, a disciple of the veteran writer Zhou Shoujuan, clutching a brown paper package containing crab roe soup dumplings for her teacher.

He arrived at 5 a.m. to queue up: "Last time I read Huang Siyuan's half-comb, my husband talked to me at night about how 'this young man understands people's hearts.' Today, I insisted on rushing to send the second half to my husband."

As soon as Li Meisheng received the magazine, she couldn't wait to open it.

When he saw Xu Jianjun taking Huang Siyuan's enamel mug to Huangjia Village, and the part where Huang's mother touched the red cloth on the lid of the box, he suddenly stopped—

The wind rustled the pages of the book, but he forgot to turn the page. Tears fell onto the sentence, "Inside, besides the enamel mug, there was also half a compressed biscuit that hadn't been eaten," blurring the ink.

"Teacher Li, are you here to grab it too?" A familiar voice came from behind.

Li Meisheng quickly wiped her eyes.

Looking back

It is Chen Yang, a student at Fudan University.

He squeezed to the front, holding up the copy of "Qingming" he had just bought and waving it around: "My roommates and I made a pact last night that whoever grabbed it first would read it first, and I ended up coming here at four in the morning! Last time, when we got to 'Ruan Wenxiao asked why they were fighting,' my roommate and I argued for half the night, and today we can finally find out the ending!"

The bookstore was getting more and more crowded.

Wang Xiulan, a textile factory worker wearing blue overalls, tucked a magazine into the cloth bag in her bosom.

She missed out on the inaugural issue last time, so she asked her cousin to bring her a copy from Hefei. This time, she specially arranged to work the early shift to queue up: "I just want to know if Gu Daqiang and Li Xiaoman are together yet. This story is more captivating than any play."

The people around you laughed, but you're in for a good cry.

Times change, and people change too.

Li Xiaoman found a new "youth" in the city, while Gu Daqiang was trapped in the cat-ear cave in 1979, guarding the words that had never been spoken.

"A person who is never treated kindly is the best at recognizing kindness and cherishing it the most; but when kindness meets reality, they can only say goodbye with a smile."

This is the answer Xu Chengjun provides in his book.

When Wang Xiulan turned to this page, she angrily threw the magazine on the ground.

I secretly curse Xu Chengjun as a heartless author!
On second thought, this ending might be the most realistic one.

Old Wang behind the counter was sweating profusely. The boxes of restocked magazines were piled up almost to the ceiling, and his abacus was clicking away: "Five hundred copies just arrived this morning, and in just one hour, there are less than a hundred left! Slow down, don't tear the magazines!"

The river wind suddenly picked up, causing the pages of the book "Qingming" in someone's hand to flutter.

Someone was standing by the flood control wall on the riverbank reading, and the wind blew the passage "Xu Nian'an tugged at Xu Jianjun's clothes and asked about the wooden comb" into their eyes, and suddenly their eyes reddened;
Some people sat on a bench, huddled together with their companions to read, and read the line, "Steel guns can defend the homeland, but they cannot protect the departed souls."
Red silk can bandage wounds, but it can hardly heal the wounds in our hearts. Even so, we must still grip our rifles tightly, guarding the warmth and hope that red silk represents.

A sudden silence fell—it was a veteran who had just been discharged from the south, his military cap still clutched tightly in his hand.

"Comrade, do you still have 'Qingming'?"

A man in a Zhongshan suit squeezed in; he was Zhang Weidong, an editor from the Shanghai People's Publishing House.

He had just returned from a business trip to Beijing and, upon hearing that the second issue of "Qingming" was on the market, rushed over directly from the train station: "The publishing house asked me to keep an eye on Xu Chengjun's work. If the second half of 'Red Silk' can be published as a standalone book, it will definitely be a bestseller!"

Old Wang pointed to the last stack of magazines: "These are all that's left, so grab them while you can!"

Just as Zhang Weidong grabbed three copies, two out-of-town buyers rushed in, shouting in Sichuan accents, "We're from Chongqing, specifically looking for 'Qingming'! We didn't manage to snag any last time at Jiefangbei, but this time we're determined to take a few back!"

The little girl next to him protested: "You think you can't get it in Chongqing, but we in Shanghai can? How can Xu Chengjun not be a writer from Shanghai!"

As the sun rose higher, the Bund's clock struck ten.

Old Wang looked at the empty shelves and wiped his sweat.

This was the first time in all his years of selling magazines that he had seen readers scrambling for a literary publication, and even two issues sold out in a row.

Ships on the river sounded their horns, and the wind carried the sounds of readers discussing "Red Silk": "How could Xu Chengjun write such delicate emotions?"

"I think this is even better than the foreign novels I've read!"

"The characters and their personalities are so well portrayed in this book. The timeline spans forty years, but it doesn't feel distorted at all!"

Li Meisheng carried the magazine and walked towards Zhou Shoujuan's house, her pace much faster than when she came.

He had to hurry and send the second half of "Red Silk" to his teacher. Maybe his teacher could chat with him for a whole afternoon about Ruan Wenxiao and Xu Jianjun, about the human heart that the 20-year-old writer wrote about, which was more turbulent than the autumn tide on the Bund.

This early winter.

Xu Chengjun's epic of "war trauma," "class divide," and "era transformation" constructed from the personal fates of individuals amidst the torrent of the times has given people of this era a baptism of modern literature.

This is not a difference in literary skill, but a dimensional reduction attack in terms of knowledge, writing technique, thought, and philosophical core.

War and peace.

Humanity and struggle.

Development and the future.

At 20 years old, Xu Chengjun seems to be standing on the long river of history, looking down on the present.

This is the intuition of all writers and literary critics who are reading this novel.

They were impressed by the rigor of his literary structure, the complexity of his character relationships, the boldness of his writing style, the disparity in time span, and his achievements in economic development.

I initially thought the first half was an excellent military war novel.

In the second half, the novel reaches a new height, using the first half of over 100,000 words to lay the groundwork for the ultimate sublimation of humanity, war, family, country, and the future in the second half.

Extremely philosophical.

Extremely high level of recognition.

It has extremely high literary value.

Some exclaimed: This is China's own "And Quiet Flows the Don"!
"The mission of soldiers is to defend the dignity of the country with their lives; and our responsibility is to ensure that future generations will always remember this history and cherish the hard-won peace."

"Darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can; hatred cannot drive out hatred, only love can."

"Spirit plus a flag will always prevail over armor with its sharp edges."

"War is cruel, but the light of humanity can shine in the darkness. Every comrade who sacrificed his life became the brightest star in the night sky, illuminating our path forward."

These insightful quotes continue to resonate and echo in this time and space.

There may be controversy over the status of "Red Silk" in the literary world, but it is undoubtedly a pinnacle of Chinese literature in the 70s!

And this trend is still blowing across the land of China.

Carrying the heroic spirits of the soldiers from the south and their hopes for a better future.
-
The wind, carrying a damp chill, crept into her collar. Xu Chengjun pulled the collar of his military coat tighter around Su Manshu's neck, his hand brushing against the edge of her light blue nylon scarf peeking out from her shirt collar.

This was sent from Guangzhou by someone.

It was a rare sight in Shanghai in 1979.

Su Manshu was wearing a light gray polyester shirt with small blue floral patterns, over which she wore a dark khaki Lenin suit. The cuffs were carefully rolled up to her forearms, revealing a Shanghai brand women's watch on her wrist with a light pink dial.

Xu Chengjun himself wore a beige polyester shirt tucked into dark brown corduroy trousers, the creases pressed perfectly straight. His black leather shoes were polished to a shine, and the military overcoat he wore was sent to him by his elder brother Xu Jianjun a while ago. The overcoat was more structured than a regular military overcoat, making his shoulders and back appear even more upright.

The two were tall and had very regular features, and their clothes were exceptionally good for this era.

Walking down the street, it's quite a sight to see handsome men and beautiful women strolling around.

It attracted frequent attention from passersby.

"Walk slowly, it rained a few days ago, and the cracks in the bricks are still slippery."

Su Manshu grabbed Xu Chengjun's arm, while holding a straw net bag in her other hand.

The two walked south along Henan Middle Road, where bicycles lined the roadside like a tide.

The jingling of bicycle bells mingled with the clanging of trolleybuses, creating a lively cacophony in the damp, chilly air.

The No. 27 trolleybus slowly pulled up behind us, its windows packed full, with people pressing their faces against the glass and their breath creating a white mist.

After winter sets in, the daily passenger volume of public transportation in Shanghai reaches as high as 860 million, with the morning rush hour being particularly crowded.

The phenomenon of "1 square meter accommodating 12 pairs of feet" is commonplace.

To alleviate pressure, Shanghai implemented a staggered get off work hours policy on December 15th, with municipal government offices, factories, and schools adjusting their work schedules. This reduced the operational pressure on some bus routes, such as the No. 27 trolleybus, but the carriages were still overcrowded during the morning and evening rush hours.

No matter the time of day, Shanghai is always a frontline city for traffic congestion.

"This issue of your 'Red Silk' magazine looks like it's selling really well!"

"Don't you even look at who wrote it?"

"Beautiful!"

The two had just passed by Nanjing East Road and were thinking of going in to join the fun, but the noisy crowd made Xu Chengjun give up the idea.

Don't let yourself get recognized inside the bookstore, or you'll have wasted your day!
Pulling along the curious Su Manshu like a little girl, they turned and headed straight for the Shanghai Art Museum.

"I heard that the art museum has Wu Qingxia's 'Lady' painting this time. When you inquired about it last time, did the staff mention whether a letter of introduction was required?"

Su Manshu tilted her head and asked. The wind made her bangs a little messy. She raised her hand and tucked the stray hairs behind her ear, revealing a small silver stud on her earlobe.

Xu Chengjun smiled, took out a neatly folded piece of paper from his pocket and waved it: "Don't worry, I talked to Old Li from our school, and he stamped it."

Besides, things are different now than they were two years ago. Just last month, I saw someone taking their child to an art exhibition, and the staff at the entrance only asked which organization they were from.

Cultural life was beginning to show signs of recovery at this time.

The Shanghai Art Museum (now the China Art Museum) is open as usual.

Su Manshu had mentioned wanting to see the art exhibition early in the morning, since there really weren't many suitable places to go shopping or go on a date these days.

Besides that, there's also the "Lovers' Wall" on the Bund.

It's considered a popular dating spot for young men and women.

Every night, the flood control wall is densely packed with couples, facing the darkness of Pudong, whispering sweet nothings to each other in the cold wind.

It often startled a flock of gulls and egrets.

Xu Chengjun pointed to the street corner ahead, "Look, Xinghuo 24-hour store. I passed by last night, and the lights were still on inside."

What are you doing here in the middle of the night?

"Let's go on a date!"

"With whom!"

"And my beloved Forever bicycle!"

Su Manshu rolled her eyes at him: "But life is better now! Shops are open 24 hours a day."

Xu Chengjun laughed: "I'll come back later and do some research on this paper."

Su Manshu nodded seriously: "It doesn't seem like it's impossible?"

As the first 24-hour store in the country, Xinghuo Day and Night Store remains brightly lit even in the dead of winter nights, providing citizens with candy, pastries, daily necessities, and even rationing supplies such as milk and eggs in emergencies.

Xu Chengjun looked around at the scene with curiosity.

By the end of 1979, he discovered that many new things would appear without him noticing.

The pace of change in this era is far faster than he imagined.

Shanghai Television broadcast China's first television advertisement for "Shen Gui Bu Jiu" (a type of tonic wine), and an advertisement for Swiss Rado watches soon followed.

Joint ventures between industry and agriculture, such as the Dazhihe Woolen Mill, had just been established.

The pilot program to expand enterprise autonomy was launched in eight companies, including the Shanghai Diesel Engine Factory.

Full of vitality~
Even the coldest, dampest winter cannot dampen people's enthusiasm for a better life.

The two walked to the corner of Nanjing East Road. The window of the state-run department store was lit with warm yellow lights. Inside, there were Forever brand bicycles and Shanghai brand 14-inch black and white televisions. A red paper was pasted on the glass, which read "Supply of New Year goods, purchase with coupons".

Two little girls in blue cotton-padded jackets were standing by the shop window, tiptoeing to look inside. One of them whispered, "I wish we had a bicycle."

Su Manshu couldn't help but turn around and look, then whispered to Xu Chengjun, "Bicycle tickets are still hard to get these days."

"So where did you get your bicycle?"

"Stolen!"

"Comrade Su, the notorious bandit?"

"That sounds rather creepy."

The incident that occurred on Kongjiang Road in September shocked the entire nation.

Su Manshu was also terrified at the time. He had been shopping with his cousin nearby that day.

However, this also spurred the "Crackdown on Crime" campaign in 83.

A few steps further on, you'll see a long queue in front of the coal briquette shop, with residents carrying tin buckets or bamboo baskets, their breath steaming as they move forward.

An older woman carrying half a sack of coal on her shoulder greeted Su Manshu as she passed by, saying, "Little Su, are you going out with your boyfriend?"

Su Manshu smiled and replied, "Aunt Zhang, I'm going to the art museum to see an exhibition."

The older woman clicked her tongue and said, "You young people are so sophisticated. Our generation, besides going to work, is always queuing up to buy coal briquettes. We don't have the time for this."

The two of them left.

Aunt Zhang turned her head and muttered, "Capitalist girls dress so well. She started dating at twenty. But this young man is quite dashing."

Housing conditions were still generally tight at that time.

Families like Aunt Zhang's still live in narrow alleyways, such as Baoxing Lane, an old-style alleyway with 92 address numbers, where many residents live in crowded conditions and with rudimentary facilities.

Su Manshu seemed to know that she hadn't said anything nice, and spat lightly.

Xu Chengjun looked at her with a grin.

The wind suddenly picked up, and Su Manshu moved closer to Xu Chengjun, smelling the faint scent of soap on him.

It's Bee & Flower soap made by the Shanghai Soap Factory; it smells better than regular soap.

"The art museum is just ahead!"

She pointed to the beige building in front of her. Several people were already standing at the entrance, some holding rolled-up picture books, and others discussing something with each other.

Xu Chengjun nodded: "This time there's also Tang Yun's ink bamboo painting. Haven't you always liked his paintings?"

Su Manshu's eyes lit up.

Do you remember whose paintings I liked?

A vendor was selling roasted chestnuts from a wooden cart by the roadside. The chestnuts in the iron pot were sizzling and the sweet aroma, along with the steam, wafted over. The vendor shouted at the top of his lungs, "Roasted chestnuts, hot—two cents a pound, with ration coupons!"

Su Manshu swallowed hard, and Xu Chengjun, noticing this, smiled and said, "Let's buy a pound after we finish viewing the exhibition."

The more I got to know Su Manshu, the more I realized that although she seemed like a cool and aloof goddess, she was actually a glutton who loved desserts.

But Ben is amazing; he can eat whatever he wants and not gain weight.

It should stand up straight, it should perk up!
Su Manshu: "Is this what you wanted to eat?"

Xu Chengjun: "Yes, yes, it's all my fault~"

As they spoke, the two had already reached the entrance of the art museum. A poster for the art exhibition was posted on the bulletin board at the entrance, which read in calligraphy: "Celebrating Reform and Opening Up, Shanghai Famous Chinese Painters Exhibition".

The Shanghai Art Museum (then known as the "Shanghai Art Exhibition Hall") was converted from the former site of the Kang Le Restaurant.

This three-story brick and wood structure was originally a commercial space in the 1920s, with a floor height of less than 3 meters and an exhibition area of ​​only 2200 square meters.

Last year's sensational exhibition of "French 19th-century rural landscape paintings" even required the use of the Sino-Soviet Friendship Building as a venue.

Enter the museum.

A warm feeling, mixed with turpentine and old paper, spread through the damp chill.

(End of this chapter)