My era, 1979!

Chapter 25: Interview with Anhui Youth Daily
In front of the "State-run Jianghuai Noodle Restaurant" on Huaihe Road, the queue of people pushed the blue cloth banner crooked.

Ma Shengli, familiar with the way, went around to the back door and patted Master Zhang, who was wearing a white apron, on the shoulder: "Three bowls of beef noodles, extra spicy!"

"You reporter, you're always freeloading."

Master Zhang smiled as he ladled soup into the rough porcelain bowl, the iron spoon clanging against the rim.

"I read your news report yesterday, 'The New Life for Self-Employed Individuals,' and it was well-written!"

Xu Chengjun was about to take out his money when Ma Shengli stopped him, saying, "Come again next time! I need your help this time!"

He pulled a crumpled grain coupon book from his satchel, tore off three one-ounce coupons, and said, "Last month I published a short article and earned five yuan, enough for the three of us to eat noodles a few times."

When the beef noodles were served, the aroma of chili oil, along with the steam, enveloped my face.

Qian Ming buried his head in his noodles, scooping out every last bit of beef from the bottom of the bowl with his chopsticks, his breath coming in gasps from the spiciness.

Seeing that he was enjoying his meal, Ma Shengli put an egg from his own bowl into his bowl and gave it to him.

As a result, Qian Ming's hand trembled, and the egg rolled onto the table. He quickly picked it up, blew on it, and put it in his mouth.

"What's the panic?" Ma Shengli took a sip of soup.

"Brother Xu told me about your college entrance exam. Even if you didn't pass, with your English, you could easily become a translator anywhere."

"I want to take the Beijing test."

Qian Ming's voice was muffled inside the bowl.

As for the reason, it was Qian Ming's pent-up anger.

Xu Chengjun glanced at Qian Ming.

He lowered his head again without making a sound.

Everyone's life is like this bowl of beef noodles, with chili oil floating on the surface and an indescribable saltiness hidden underneath.

“Oh, right,” Ma Shengli put down his chopsticks and took out a red work ID from his bag. He looked darker and thinner in the photo than he does now, with an “Anhui Youth Daily” badge pinned to his chest.

"I'm a reporter from the Youth Daily, Brother Xu. I really need your help this time."

Qian Ming nearly spat out the noodles in his mouth: "Aren't you from the provincial newspaper?"

“I was seconded to the provincial newspaper for three months, and now I’m back at the Youth Daily,” Ma Shengli said, scratching his head.

“Brother Xu, our leader read your article ‘Scale Star’ and said it was written with ‘youthful spirit’. He wants to invite you to the newspaper for an interview to talk about self-employed individuals and literature, and also to encourage the young people in Anhui.”

Xu Chengjun looked up, somewhat surprised.

"What do you want to ask?" He added some vinegar to the bowl. He liked to eat sour things when he was thinking because "sourness can wake him up."

"Let's talk about how you came up with the idea of ​​writing about sunflower seed stalls, and what you think of young people setting up stalls nowadays."

Ma Shengli tapped the newspaper with his chopsticks. “The leader said that many young people want to do something, but they are afraid of being called ‘capitalists.’ Your article is like giving them courage.”

Qian Ming suddenly looked up: "Go, Cheng Jun."

There was still chili oil on the corner of his mouth.

“Last time the commune secretary said on the radio that ‘individual business owners are speculators,’ your article is actually a reasoning with them.”

After saying that, he pouted again.

"Besides, when writers become famous, they get newspaper interviews."

Qian Ming, that guy,
People become more vibrant after the college entrance examination.

but.

Xu Chengjun recalled the lean melon seed vendor who would go to buy goods before dawn every day. The red rope on the scale was worn gray, but he always said, "If the rope is straight, the scale will be straight."

Perhaps some truths need to be spoken.

Just like when he first arrived, that's what he said and what he thought.

Having come to this era,

Something has to be left behind.

"Let's go." Besides, this is the first time I've ever done an interview, both in this life and the last!
Interviews,
You have to experience it at least, right?
Otherwise, how can we prove that he came?
He drank the last mouthful of soup, his eyes burning from the spiciness.

"This is a good opportunity for Qian Ming to see what a newspaper office is like. If he applies to Beijing in the future, he might be able to get into the People's Daily. I'll be counting on you to help me get articles published!"

Qian Ming hurriedly waved his hand.

I still want to work in foreign trade.
-
In May of this year, the Anhui Youth Daily, which had been suspended for 17 years, officially resumed publication, publishing the front-page headline "Youths should be pioneers of reform," becoming an ideological stronghold for Anhui youth in the early stages of reform and opening up.

The newspaper office is located in an old building on Anqing Road. Most of the paint on the stair railing has peeled off, revealing the wood grain underneath.

Ma Shengli led them uphill, and with each step they could hear a creaking sound.

"The editorial department is on the second floor,"

Ma Shengli pointed to the slogan on the wall, "'Unite the youth, serve the Four Modernizations,' it was just painted this year."

Bundles of newspapers were piled up in the editorial department, and the smell of ink mixed with the aroma of tea wafted through the air.

A dozen or so wooden tables were pushed together, and the editors were all bowing their heads as they revised the manuscripts.

On the table by the window, an old-fashioned typewriter was clicking away, producing crooked and uneven characters, but with a serious and earnest quality.

"This is our Chief Editor, Li." Ma Shengli led them to the desk at the very back.

The middle-aged man in the Zhongshan suit looked up, his eyes behind his glasses crinkling into slits with laughter. He held a red pencil in his hand, the tip of which was drawing circles on a clipping of "Libra Shines in the Spring Breeze".

"Comrade Xu, I've long admired you."

Editor-in-Chief Li pushed a cup of tea onto the table; the enamel mug was printed with "Youth Shock Brigade Member".

“We discussed your manuscript at our expanded editorial board meeting and said that ‘there are profound truths in Libra.’ Young people these days are quick-witted and want to start their own businesses, but they are afraid of being gossiped about. Your manuscript has given them peace of mind.”

Xu Chengjun accepted the tea.

The calendar on the wall was turned to July 10, 1979, and next to it was a sample copy of the Anhui Youth Daily, with the headline on the front page: "Xiaogang Village Youth Strive to Be Leaders in Contracting".

“Let’s do the interview here,” Editor-in-Chief Li said, bringing over two chairs. “Xiao Ma will ask questions, and you will answer. Just do whatever you want, like a normal chat.”

Ma Shengli took out a black tape recorder from his canvas bag. It was printed with "Panda Brand" and had a picture of Chairman Mao on it.

He pointed the microphone at Xu Chengjun and pressed the button, and the machine emitted a "buzzing" electrical sound.

"Comrade Xu Chengjun," Ma Shengli cleared his throat and took out an outline he had already written, "when you wrote 'The Scales Shining in the Spring Breeze,' why did you choose sunflower seeds as the subject? Did you think that individual businesses could become successful?"

Xu Chengjun stroked his teacup and smiled: "I don't have that much foresight. I just think the stall owner everyone's talking about is interesting. He changed his scales three times, from carrying them on a shoulder pole to setting up a stall. Each time he changed the scales, the marks on the scales were denser than before. People buy his melon seeds not just because they taste good, but because they trust his scales."

"So what do you think of private businesses now?" Ma Shengli pressed. "Some people say this is 'taking the capitalist road,' what do you think?"

The wind outside the window suddenly picked up, making the window paper rattle loudly.

Xu Chengjun recalled what Su Zhong said at the Anhui Literature manuscript revision meeting: "Policy is the bottom line, and life is the upper limit."

He has a lot to say, but saying too much would frighten this era.

He carefully chose his words before speaking: "I've seen farmers in the countryside take their surplus sweet potatoes to the market to exchange for cloth coupons, and I've also seen city ladies exchange eggs for matches. These things aren't new; they're the wisdom of ordinary people in making a living."

He paused for a moment, looking at the newspaper clippings on the table: "That melon seed vendor goes to buy goods before dawn every day and doesn't close up shop until dark. His hands are covered in cracks. The money he earns is by bending over to pick up melon seed kernels, by playing hide-and-seek with the industry and commerce bureau, and by polishing the scales until they are shiny. This is not capitalism, it is labor."

At this point, Xu Chengjun hesitated for half a minute.

Ma Shengli's eyes were filled with anticipation; he sensed that Xu Chengjun was about to say something different.

Yes. Based on his intuition.

However, Xu Chengjun didn't just want to say something different.

He suppressed his emotions for a long time before continuing.

“Last month in Fengyang, I saw farmers from Xiaogang Village taking their surplus grain to the market to sell. Some people said this was ‘going it alone,’ but their rice piles were half a foot higher than when they were working collectively.”

"The policy provision 'allowing the appropriate development of the individual economy' is, in essence, about making people's lives more comfortable. Just like the state-run noodle shop this morning, selling beef noodles to support Master Zhang's family; and that melon seed stall, the money earned can cover the stall owner's children's school fees. Essentially, they all earn a living through physical labor!"

"Where is there any distinction between ideologies?"

(End of this chapter)