My era, 1979!

Chapter 180 The Mountain Top (1.2 words today, asking for monthly votes isn't too much to ask, right?)

If time had a scale, then January 1, 1980, would be a mark that was etched with extraordinary force for Shanghai and for the whole of China.

This is not a story about the traditional Lunar New Year.

There was no incense for ancestor worship, and no lamps for staying up late on New Year's Eve.

Before 1980, New Year's Day was more like a somewhat serious symbol existing on calendars and in workplace holiday notices.

It signifies "saying goodbye to the old and welcoming the new," but what exactly this "new" means remains a mystery to many, leaving them both confused and filled with an irrepressible anticipation.

But this year's New Year's Day was different.

There was an indescribable sense of looseness in the air.

Like a string that had been stretched for too long, it relaxed slightly and emitted a pleasant hum.

It lacks the grand celebrations of festive decorations, but possesses a deeper, more intrinsic emotional resonance.

You can clearly sense from the housewives' meticulously calculated ration coupons, from the young people's longing for a new dress, and from the family's focused attention while watching TV that an era centered on XX is slowly coming to an end.

And a vibrant era centered on "life" itself is approaching us with cautious yet unwavering steps.

The whistles of the Huangpu River still sound, but they herald a brand new voyage, heading towards the unknown yet full of hope.

For Shanghainese living on New Year's Day 1980, the word "tomorrow" became so concrete and so worth looking forward to for the first time.

The hearty and warm lunch at Su Manshu's house dispelled the slight chill of New Year's Day.

Xu Chengjun returned to his dormitory in Songzhuang, washed his face with cold water, and still needed to sober up a bit from the slight intoxication.

Looking out at the somewhat deserted campus, he thought of his younger sister Xiaomei, who was alone in the library dormitory. This was the first time she had been away from her parents on such a holiday, far from home...

With that thought in mind, Xu Chengjun put on his coat and strode towards the library staff dormitory.

"Xiaomei, come on, let me take you out for a stroll and let you experience New Year's Day in Shanghai!"

Xu Chengjun knocked on the door and smiled at his somewhat listless sister.

Xu Xiaomei's eyes lit up for a moment, but she quickly composed herself and forced a smile: "Okay, brother! I'll go change my clothes!"

The brother and sister left the Fudan University campus and blended into the streets of Shanghai on New Year's Day in 1980.

The festive atmosphere was a little stronger than usual, with more pedestrians on the street, and most of them had a relaxed look on their faces.

The shop windows were decorated with red paper banners that read "Celebrating New Year's Day" and "Welcoming the First Spring of the 1980s," and occasionally children could be seen holding up newly bought, relatively brightly colored balloons or simple toys.

The cold wind persisted, but the sunshine was lovely, making people feel warm and cozy.

Xu Xiaomei was initially a little reserved, but she was gradually drawn to the street scene. She pointed to some "fashionable" young people and whispered to her brother, her mood seemingly rising.

In the evening, the lanterns are lit.

Xu Chengjun brought his sister to the "Red House Western Restaurant" located on Nanjing West Road.

This long-established Western restaurant, founded in 1935, was one of the synonyms for "high-end" and "stylish" in the minds of Shanghai citizens in the early days of reform and opening up. It was also one of the few places that could provide a good dining experience on New Year's Day in 1980.

Pushing open the heavy glass door, a warm atmosphere mixed with the unique aroma of food wafts out.

The restaurant's elegant interior, with its white tablecloths, gleaming cutlery, and neatly dressed waiters, made Xu Xiaomei feel both uneasy and curious.

After taking their seats, Xu Chengjun skillfully ordered his food, since Western food was not a rare thing in later generations.

Borscht, potato salad, fried pork chop, Portuguese chicken
The staple food is toasted bread slices that are crispy on the outside and soft on the inside.

Xu Xiaomei followed her brother's example, carefully using the knife and fork, and was full of curiosity about each dish.

Xu Chengjun patiently taught her, gently introducing these "foreign gadgets".

However, as they ate, Xu Chengjun keenly noticed that his sister's condition was not quite right.

Although she tried her best to keep up with her brother's pace and eat in small bites, her eyes would often wander, and the forced smile on her lips seemed somewhat strained. Occasionally, she would stop eating and stare blankly at the flashing neon lights outside the window.

This girl, who had always appeared strong and even somewhat feisty since leaving home, ultimately couldn't suppress her longing for her hometown and parents during this festive season of family reunion.

Xu Chengjun sighed softly to himself.

He put down his knife and fork, reached out, and gently patted his sister's head with his warm, broad hand.

"Missing home, aren't you?" His voice was soft, filled with understanding and warmth.

Xu Xiaomei suddenly came to her senses and subconsciously wanted to deny it, but when she met her brother's gaze, her nose tingled with emotion.

She lowered her head, unconsciously poking at the potatoes on her plate with her fork, and muttered softly, "No...nothing."

Xu Chengjun smiled and didn't ask any further questions. Instead, he took out two neatly folded letters from the canvas bag he was carrying.

"Here, my parents secretly gave this to me before they left, telling me to give it to you when the time was right. It seems that now is the time."

Xu Xiaomei looked up in surprise and took the letter.

The envelopes were made of the common kraft paper, with her father Xu Zhiguo's thin, strong, and familiar handwriting on them. One envelope had her name on it, and the other had Xu Chengjun's name on it.

She eagerly tore open her own letter. The paper was school draft paper, and her mother, Lu Xiulan's, handwriting dominated, rambling yet full of concern:
Xiaomei, my daughter:
See the word as the face.

Shanghai is cold and damp. You've always been sensitive to the cold, so make sure you wear that maroon sweater Mom knitted for you. Don't let it make you look nice and cause you to freeze. Also, keep the thermal pants on top of the suitcase. Wear them when you get cold, don't worry about them being bulky. Your dad always says, "Health is the foundation of everything."

Library work may be tedious, but it's good to be in contact with books. Be sincere, diligent, and observant; your colleagues will naturally like you. Don't panic when faced with a problem; think it over carefully. If you really can't decide, ask your second brother.

I've heard Shanghai has a lot of variety; don't be too frugal with food and other necessities. Your brother has royalties; spend them as needed. Being well-fed and clothed is the most important thing. Everything is fine at home; your father and I are in good health, so don't worry. It's just that your father… he doesn't say it, but every day after dinner, he likes to move a small stool to the doorway, look east (towards Shanghai) for a while, and smoke more cigarettes than usual.

If you miss home, write back and we can chat. Though the letter is short, my feelings are deep. I hope you are doing well, focusing on your work and taking time to study.

Mother: Xiulan

At the very bottom of the letter, the father squeezed out a line of small print.

Xiaomei: When you are living alone, think carefully before you act. Don't worry about things at home; focus on your future. Also, the remittance slip is enclosed; it's fifty yuan to help with your expenses. Please don't refuse.

"father"

Looking at her mother's familiar, down-to-earth nagging, especially her father's words "look east" and the fifty yuan he secretly sent—a considerable sum for their family, almost half a month's salary—Xu Xiaomei's tears fell like broken beads onto the letter paper.

She buried her head in her arms, lay on the white tablecloth-covered dining table, and began to sob softly.

The grievances of being away from home, the loneliness of the holiday, and the deep, clumsy love for their parents finally burst forth at this moment.

Xu Chengjun did not try to stop her; he simply sat silently, gently patting her back, letting her vent her emotions.

After a while, the sobbing subsided. Xu Xiaomei raised her tear-filled face, wiped her eyes somewhat embarrassedly, and picked up her brother's letter to read again.

In Xu Chengjun's letter, his mother mostly advised him to "prioritize his studies and balance work and rest" and "maintain harmonious relationships with teachers and classmates," while his father's words were more concise and profound:

Chengjun, my son:
Your letter has been received.

Fudan University is a hallowed hall of learning, and Professor Zhu is a man of profound scholarship. I hope you cherish this opportunity, immerse yourself in your studies, and make the most of your youth. Scholarship, like life, requires rigor, but also breadth of vision. Your ambition lies in literary creation and theoretical research; the road ahead is long and arduous. I hope you will remain true to your principles and forge ahead with determination.

Everything is going well at home, so don't worry. Your mother's bronchitis has flared up slightly since winter started, but she's been taking her medication as prescribed and is fine, so there's no need to worry. Your brother Jianjun wrote the day before yesterday, saying that the situation in the south is gradually stabilizing and that he is doing well. He asked me to tell you siblings to rest assured.

Xiaomei is young and this is her first time away from home. As her older brother and also living in Shanghai, you need to take good care of her, guide her to be independent, and provide her with warmth. The two of you should discuss things together.

The road ahead is long; may your steps be firm and your vision broad. Words cannot fully express my feelings; please take good care of yourself.

Father: Zhiguo
The mother added at the end: "Son, eat on time, and don't stay up too late writing. If you need money, just tell us."

After reading it, Xu Xiaomei felt a bittersweet warmth in her heart.

She sniffed and tried to straighten her back. "If it doesn't work, I'll talk to Director Liu and ask you to take a few days off and go home for a while?"

"No way!" Xu Xiaomei immediately shook her head, her voice thick with emotion but unusually firm. "Going back so soon after arriving? What kind of talk would that be? I can't let others laugh at me, and I can't let my parents think I can't leave home!"

She rubbed her eyes hard with the back of her hand. "I still have to become a great designer in the future!"

Xu Chengjun was amused by her words, which were tinged with tears yet brimming with passion, and teased, "Whose designer is crying like this?"

"Hey, bro!"

Xu Xiaomei scolded him shyly, tears still on her face, but she finally smiled through her tears, and her mood improved significantly.

Parents' love and care are like a shot in the arm for a wanderer, letting her know that no matter how far she goes, home will always be her support.

The idea of ​​buying a house popped into Xu Chengjun's mind again.

Once my parents retire, they can come anytime, right?
Seeing her eyes brighten again, Xu Chengjun felt relieved and then said, "By the way, there's something I need to tell you. The day after tomorrow, I might be going to Japan with a school exchange group. The exact number of days I'll be staying isn't finalized yet, so please take good care of yourself during this time."

"Japan?"

Xu Xiaomei's attention was immediately drawn, her eyes widening with surprise and hope. "Brother, you're going to Japan? What will Japan be like?"

Seeing her curious expression, Xu Chengjun thought for a moment and described it in language that was generally understood in this era: "I've heard that electronics are very advanced over there now. There are cars everywhere, and televisions and tape recorders are very common. There are many high-rise buildings, and people on the street dress differently from us. I heard that the pace of life is very fast. They have retained many architectural and cultural elements passed down from our Tang Dynasty, but they have also incorporated many Western elements. Tokyo is a super metropolis, even more... bustling and modern than Shanghai. In short, it is a country that is developing rapidly, and there are many things we can observe and learn from it, especially in terms of technology, design, and urban management."

He paused, looking at his sister's longing eyes, and smiled, "I'll tell you the details when I get back. You should also work hard so that you can go out and see for yourself someday. I'll bring you a gift, what do you want?"

“I…I don’t know either,” Xu Xiaomei murmured, still immersed in the scene her brother had described. “Anyway, it must be related to fashion design and pretty things!”

“Okay, I’ll take care of it,” Xu Chengjun agreed with a smile.

As night deepens in Shanghai outside the window, neon lights begin to flicker.

The restaurant was brightly lit, with the soft clatter of cutlery and the hushed whispers of conversation.

On this first New Year's Eve of the 1980s, at least Xu Xiaomei's heart was filled with warmth and anticipation because of the letter from home.

After New Year's Day.

Xu Chengjun and his fellow students came to Zhu Lao's home for a small gathering with Zhu Lao and his fellow students.

Upon hearing that he had a chance to go to Japan, Huang Lin joked, "You, Chengjun, have been away on official business for so many years, and you're going to do it while you're pursuing your master's degree!"

Zhu Bangwei pouted: "It's a pity that my senior brother can't write any good works!"

The phrase "brothers are friendly and respectful" naturally led to some playful fighting, but let's leave that aside.

After the meal, Xu Chengjun gave a detailed report to Mr. Zhu about the purpose of his trip to Japan and his preparations, and listened to his teacher's teachings.

Mr. Zhu encouraged him to "travel ten thousand miles and read ten thousand books," to observe carefully and think deeply, to see the strengths of others and to maintain cultural confidence, and to bring back valuable insights and reflections.

With the department's assistance, he went through the complicated procedures of obtaining approval for going abroad and a passport, as required by the university's foreign affairs department. At the same time, in accordance with national regulations, he exchanged a very limited amount of foreign currency, which would be his necessary source of personal expenses in Japan.

To be honest, Xu Chengjun himself had some expectations, wanting to see just how booming Japan's economy was at its peak.

There's only one day left before I depart for Japan.

The plane trees on Fudan University campus are now bare, their simple, strong lines outlining the pale winter sky.

The air was dry and cold, and the white breath exhaled dissipated instantly.

Xu Chengjun was packing his things in the Langchao Literature Society office when the door creaked open and Li Xiaolin walked in, bringing with her the chill of the outside air.

She rubbed her hands together, her cheeks flushed slightly from the wind, but her eyes held an irrepressible smile.

"Is it almost done tidying up?" She glanced around the room, which was piled with manuscripts and books, slightly messy but full of life, and then her gaze fell back on Xu Chengjun.

"Just those things, a few clothes, a few books, and some manuscript paper." Xu Chengjun put down the canvas bag he was carrying and poured her a cup of hot water. "Xiaolin, what brings you here? Is there something else at the publishing house?"

"Can't I come to see you even if there's nothing wrong?" Li Xiaolin took the enamel mug, warmed her hands, and smiled. "I came to tell you some good news. The preliminary sales figures for 'Hope' are in. Guess how many?"

Seeing the light in her eyes, Xu Chengjun roughly guessed what was going on and asked cooperatively, "How much? It can't be more extravagant than the first printing of 'Red Silk,' can it?"

Li Xiaolin held up two fingers, then slowly added a third, her voice filled with an incredulous excitement: "The first issue, 300,000 copies. Sold out in three days. The printing press's phone has been ringing off the hook, and bookstores everywhere are urging us to reprint. Chengjun, your name is truly a golden brand now."

Three hundred thousand copies.

In this era, this was undoubtedly an astronomical figure for a single issue of a literary magazine, enough to be recorded in publishing history.

Although Xu Chengjun had anticipated a positive response, the number still gave him a shock.

I'm awesome!
He took a deep breath, suppressed his surging emotions, smiled, and asked the question a writer is most instinctively concerned about: "What's the reception like?"

Li Xiaolin took a sip of water, her tone carrying a hint of understanding and teasing: "So what do you think? Your works have always been like this—a lot of people praise them, but also a lot of people criticize them. Those who like them say you are the undisputed standard-bearer of neo-realism, opening up a new path for narrative and speaking directly to the heart... As for those who don't like them..."

She paused, mimicking the tone of some people, "They said you prioritize form over content, that you use clever tricks to cover up a lack of intellectual depth, and an old critic even said you 'indulge in personal, sentimental narratives, detached from the vibrant lives of workers, peasants, and soldiers'..."

Upon hearing this, Xu Chengjun was not annoyed at all; instead, he was amused: "That's good. Controversy means there's vitality. If everyone applauded, then it would truly be mediocre."

He was already used to the literary world's tendency to elevate the powerful while belittling the weak, and the clashes of ideas.

"You're quite open-minded," Li Xiaolin said, putting down her cup and speaking seriously. "By the way, you know the itinerary for this trip to Japan, right?"

"Yes, everything has been communicated with the exchange association."

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” Li Xiaolin said casually, but her eyes held a hint of entrustment. “My dad is going too, on the same flight as you. You know his physique, he’s getting old and not very robust, so please take care of him on the way.”

Xu Chengjun was taken aback: "Your dad? Old Ba?"

Li Xiaolin was amused by his reaction: "What else? I only have one dad~"

She then cautioned, "The composition of this delegation is complex, so you should be careful. There are quite a few 'conservatives' among them. You, Xu Chengjun, are currently riding high and are a young man. In their eyes, you are practically a representative of the 'cherishing spring faction'."

"The Xichun Faction?" Xu Chengjun raised an eyebrow, somewhat bewildered by the label. "When did I get categorized into this faction? I don't even know it."

In terms of literary genres, around 80, it was basically the same set of themes: the wounded, the reflective, the reform, the avant-garde, and the Misty Poetry School.

The "yam egg" thing is something that came later.

However, from a literary standpoint, wherever there are people in the world, there must be a distinction between left and right.

Then they can be divided into the "cherishing spring" faction and the "conservative" faction.

The conservatives adhered to the core position of "seventeen years of literature and art" and intended to maintain the continuity of literature and art, but their ideological tendencies were rigid.

The Xichun School was the core force driving the breakthrough of "New Era Literature".

"So, which faction do you consider yourself to be?" Li Xiaolin looked at him amusedly. "Are you going to label yourself a 'neo-realist'?"

Xu Chengjun stroked his chin and nodded seriously: "I don't think it's a bad idea! It's better than being forced to accept a title."

He originally wanted to be a wandering swordsman.

But can you stand being constantly labeled?

“You!” Li Xiaolin pointed at him and shook her head helplessly. “Anyway, I’ve delivered the message, so just keep it in mind. Iwanami Shoten has made very good arrangements in Japan. Fujii Shozo went ahead of time and is probably eagerly waiting. Let’s have a good exchange and see how much of a splash ‘Red Silk’ makes there.”

"Don't worry, Xiaolin." Xu Chengjun nodded. "I know what to do."

"Hey, only you could make me feel at ease saying that. If it were anyone else, I'd roll my eyes a hundred times!"

Have you had any new works recently?

"Yes, I'm really afraid no magazine will dare to accept this one!"

(End of this chapter)