My era, 1979!

Chapter 22 Is he also called Xu Chengjun?

Around four or five o'clock in the afternoon.

The wooden door of the Workers, Peasants and Soldiers Guesthouse was being banged on loudly, and Xu Chengjun was plucking his beard in front of a mirror.

"Chengjun! Chengjun!" Qian Ming's voice rushed in, carried by the wind, and was a bit hoarse like a broken gong.

It seems they had been calling out to someone all the way.

Xu Chengjun opened the door and saw Qian Ming standing outside with a canvas bag on his back and fogged-up glasses.

He looked three times more energetic than when he went to the exam hall, as if he had been relieved of his burden.

"Finally found you! Hefei is really big!"

Qian Ming threw his bag on the ground, pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, and said casually, "You said you had good news on the phone last night, so stop keeping me in suspense!"

Xu Chengjun laughed and pulled him into the house. The threshold was too high, and Qian Ming almost tripped. His glasses slipped down to the tip of his nose: "What's the rush? Have a hot drink first."

He turned around and poured a bowl of water from the thermos.

Qian Ming gulped down half a bowl of soup, wiped his mouth, and began to mutter, "Those verb fill-in-the-blank questions in English are so confusing! The tense rules I just memorized all fall apart when they're actually in the questions. I stared at 'have finished' and 'had finished' for ages, but in the end, I still made a mess of it. I wrote 'work hard' for 'effort,' and only after handing in the paper did I remember the teacher said 'strive' was more accurate. My heart was pounding like a rabbit's. I couldn't even solve the last big math problem. I drew three nozzles on the scratch paper about the leaking sprayer, but it didn't help..."

"Don't you ever have anything going your way?" Xu Chengjun handed over a dry biscuit.

“Yes!” Qian Ming said, his mouth full of crumbs. “The essay topic was ‘My Ideal’! I wrote that I wanted to be a translator, go to the Shanghai Foreign Trade Bureau to deal with foreigners, and sell our Fengyang vermicelli to the whole world! The proctor stared at me for a long time, probably thinking that this educated youth had big ambitions.”

He suddenly lowered his voice, "By the way, the girl at the next table in the exam room, her pen leaked ink all over her exam paper, and she was crying her eyes out. I secretly slipped her an eraser?"

"Would you consider that a hero rescuing a damsel in distress?"

Someone's fountain pen leaked a whole roll of ink, and you just gave them an eraser to clean up the mess?

Xu Chengjun was amused: "Hero, take a look at this first."

He pulled a military green backpack from under the bed and took out the royalty check that Zhou Ming had given him, which read:

Payment Unit: Editorial Department of Anhui Literature
Payee: Xu Chengjun

Details of royalties:

Novella "The Barn": 40000 words, 6 yuan per thousand words, totaling 240.00 yuan;
The poem "Time": 32 lines, 0.03 yuan per line, totaling 0.96 yuan;
Total amount: 240.96 yuan

Note: Royalties should be sent to the Xujiatun Commune Post Office in Fengyang County before September 10, 1979.

Qian Ming nearly dropped his glasses, his finger poking at the note repeatedly: "It was used? It really was used! That Comrade Liu didn't lie to us!"

After a while.

"Damn, 240 yuan! You're rich! Chengjun!"

"I can buy more than 2000 jin of rice!"

It would be extremely difficult to expect Qian Ming to satisfy Xu Chengjun's vanity.

"Can't you think of anything other than rice with that brain of yours!"

Qian Ming suddenly remembered something and took out a tin box from his canvas bag. "Here, these are candied hawthorns I bought in Bengbu, orange flavored. Consider them a gift."

The candy balls, wrapped in transparent candy wrappers, glittered like glass beads in the morning light.

Xu Chengjun also pulled a new shirt out of his bag. It was a light blue polyester shirt he bought in Hefei, and it still had creases: "I bought this for you. Wear it to school to look presentable."

Qian Ming's face flushed red, and he rubbed his hands against the hem of his clothes again and again: "This...this is too precious. My mother said that cloth coupons are valuable, so you should keep them for yourself."

"Here you go." Xu Chengjun stuffed the shirt into his arms. "When you get into Beijing Foreign Studies University, you might have to meet foreign guests. You can't wear a patched-up shirt."

"After all, you said I made a fortune!"

He suddenly remembered something, "Oh right, Li Erwa asked me to pass on a message to you, saying that he has started to recognize characters, taught by Zhao Gang, and can now write his own name."

"That kid?" Qian Ming's eyes widened. "Doesn't he always say that studying is useless?"

People always change.

Qian Ming suddenly stood up, slung his canvas bag over his shoulder, and said, "Come on, I'll treat you to dinner! The spicy soup outside the Bengbu exam hall is amazing, and Hefei must have it too! I brought half a jin of grain coupons, enough for the two of us to have two bowls."

He grabbed Xu Chengjun and ran outside, not even bothering to fix his glasses which had slipped down to the tip of his nose.

Xu Chengjun suddenly recalled the phone call last night, where Qian Ming was slurring his words, shouting, "I'm sure I'll pass the exam!" In the background, there was the sound of announcements from Bengbu Railway Station, mixed with the shouts of vendors selling tea eggs.
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In the evening, Hefei looked as if it had been splashed with a bucket of gold paint, and the plane tree leaves on Changjiang Road were all edged with gold.

As the newspaper vendor Lao Wang rode his "Forever" brand bicycle around the street corner, the newly printed "Hefei Evening News," still smelling of ink, rattled against the metal frame in the wire basket on the back of the bike.

"The evening paper is here! Look, Libra is shining in the spring breeze!"

He shouted at the top of his lungs, and the bicycle bell rang more enthusiastically than usual. The Hefei Evening News in 1979 was a microcosm of local newspapers in China during the early days of reform and opening up. As the official newspaper of the municipal party committee, it still maintained a Saturday publication, with a deadline of 4 pm and a release date before 6 pm. Its coverage encompassed all groups in Hefei, including scholars, farmers, merchants, and industrialists, and its influence in Hefei was considerable.
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As soon as I set up my stall in front of Mingjiao Temple, three men in work clothes surrounded me, their enamel mugs still steaming.

"Give me one!"

Li, the steel mill worker, was the first to act. He rubbed his fingers on his waistband, pulled out a five-cent coin, and slapped it onto the wooden board.

"I heard there's an article about Nian Guangjiu in today's supplement?"

Old Wang deftly pulled out the newspaper and handed it over, his eyes crinkling with laughter: "That's right! It was written by an educated youth from Fengyang, called 'The Scale Star Shines in the Spring Breeze.' The printing plant just sent it out this morning, and everyone in the editorial department says it's going to be a hit!"

Before the words were even finished, the line had already stretched all the way to the alley entrance.

A girl in a polyester shirt stood on tiptoe, clutching her grain coupons, while an older woman carrying a vegetable basket pulled her eggs closer to her chest. Even the old lady selling popsicles came over.

"Keep a copy for me. My grandson studies at Anhui University and loves reading these new articles."

Mr. Li unfolded the newspaper, and the smell of ink mixed with the scent of engine oil wafted out.

The apprentice Xiao Wang next to him craned his neck and read aloud: "'That scale beam is made of jujube wood, used for twenty years, and is as red as if it has been soaked in blood...' Hey, isn't that describing Old Zhou, the shoe repairman at the factory gate?"

"What do you know!"

Master Li tapped his head with his cigarette, "This is what it means to have a conscience in business!"

"This old Zhou's surname is actually Nian!"

At this moment, at the entrance of the Huaihe Road Cinema, ticket inspector Lao Zhang was spreading newspapers on the ticket inspection table.

As the audience poured out of the theater, someone pointed at the supplement page and exclaimed, "Look! This article mentions Nian Guangjiu's melon seed stall!"

The stalls selling iced soda were even more bustling.

The stall owner, Sister Zhao, nailed newspapers to a wooden board, circled the section about "pumpkin pulp stickers" in red paint, and read it aloud to everyone who came to buy soda: "Look how honest this is! With the policies relaxed, we small business owners can finally hold our heads high and make money!"

"Tch, what do these pedantic babbleers know?"

"You know more than I do!"

A middle-aged man wearing glasses listened intently, then took out a pen and wrote on his cigarette pack: "The author's name is Xu Chengjun? A sent-down youth from Fengyang? That's the story."

The news spread like wildfire, reaching the Anhui University campus in less than half an hour.

Even before the Chinese Literature Department's evening self-study session started, half the windows of the classroom were already crowded with people coming to see the Hefei Evening News posted on the wall.

"'The scales were polished and then carved again, carved and then polished again'—that's an amazing description!"

A girl with a ponytail is drawing wavy lines in her notebook with a red pen.

"It's even more down-to-earth than the 'Class Teacher' we analyzed in class!"

The squad leader, holding a newspaper, climbed onto the podium: "Quiet down! I just received news that the author, Xu Chengjun, is currently at the Workers, Peasants and Soldiers Guesthouse. Let's form a team to visit him tomorrow!"

The classroom erupted in chaos, with pens nibs clicking loudly on the desks.

Someone pulled out a map to find the location of the guesthouse.

Someone poured hot water into an enamel mug as a "gift" for meeting someone.

Even the usually shyest little guy blushed and exclaimed, "I want to ask him if the 'jujube wood scale' really has a real-life counterpart!"

At the same time, the lanterns at the City God Temple Small Commodities Market had just been lit.

Aunt Zhang, who sells buttons, spread a newspaper on her box and read it aloud to the stall owners on either side with great emotion: "'The people from the Industry and Commerce Bureau tore down the signs three times, and each time Old Zhou would work overnight to paste new ones, mixing pumpkin pulp into the paste...' Tsk tsk, isn't that me? Last week when the bureau came to inspect, I also changed the price list overnight!"

The girl selling hair clips next door came over and said, "Auntie, is this author really at the Workers, Peasants and Soldiers' Guesthouse? My cousin works there as a waitress. How about I ask her to pass on a letter and ask if she can write a piece called 'Spring in the Button' for us?"

Aunt Zhang was amused and stuffed a piece of fruit candy into her hand: "You little rascal, you've even learned to take advantage of others!"

A story about "Fool's Melon Seeds" is sweeping the city.
-
At the entrance of the Changjiang Road Post Office.

Qian Ming, who was originally going to take Xu Chengjun to eat spicy soup, suddenly saw the lively scene of newspaper vendors.

I insisted on joining the crowd and buying one no matter what.

Following the crowd's gaze to the supplement, he said excitedly, "They say this short story by 'Scales' is really popular, you should check it out!"

When you see the article title

He was very interested.

When you see the author's name
"His name is also Xu. Xu Chengjun?"

(End of this chapter)