My era, 1979!

Chapter 38 East China Normal University Guesthouse 301
Just after the train passed Nanjing Station, Xu Chengjun was awakened by the crying of a child in the back seat, and half of his body went numb!

The hard seat was so quiet that no one made a sound!

At that moment, Xu Chengjun vowed never to brag about his good health again!

I must write a good book and make money!

Next time, I'll ask for a hard sleeper berth!

The older woman next to him was fanning himself with a newspaper, spitting sunflower seed shells all over the floor. When she saw him open his eyes, she laughed and said, "Young man, you were really fast asleep. You're such a big guy and you're still drooling!"

"Young man, you also have the character 'small' in your name!"

Xu Chengjun rubbed his numb legs, making a witty remark as he did so.

Seeing that the eldest sister's basket was half full of green tangerines, their peels still glistening with dew, she grinned and said:

"These oranges look fresh, did you just buy them?"

"No way," the older sister stuffed one into his hand, "It grew on our own tree, I brought it to Shanghai to send to my son."

Wow! This orange is huge!

Relieves fatigue!

This isn't what I wanted! My older sister gave it to me!
Suddenly, there was a commotion in the carriage. The train attendant selling boxed lunches pushed his metal cart through the crowd, the clattering of the aluminum boxes louder than the clatter of the train itself.

"Braised pork belly boxed rice, one dollar and fifty cents a serving!"

Xu Chengjun had just looked up when his older sister immediately grabbed his arm: "Don't buy it! It's so expensive, you could buy five pounds of oranges with that money!"

As he spoke, he took out an oil paper package from his cloth bag.

"My wife makes corn pancakes, which are enough to fill you up when eaten with pickled vegetables."

Seeing his older sister taking things out, Xu Chengjun also took out the pickled vegetables and dry food he had brought from his canvas bag and shared them with her.

The pancakes were so hard they could break your teeth, and Xu Chengjun's temples throbbed as he chewed, but his older sister ate them with relish.

"Last year, when I brought biscuits on the train, the train attendant said I was 'unhygienic,' but this year they don't care."

She pointed to the man squatting on the ground in the aisle, eating a cornbread, and said, "Look at that guy, he's been sitting for three stops with two cornbreads in his pocket. He's much more particular than us."

Just then, the man in the Zhongshan suit diagonally opposite them suddenly chimed in: "What's the use of being particular? Can it put food on the table?"

He slammed the Reference News on the table. “Look, this newspaper says that Shenzhen has started allowing foreigners to open factories, and we’re still fighting over cornbread. Is that even clean?”

The older woman rolled her eyes at him: "What do you know? Cleanliness is respectable! My son said that Shanghainese people use serving chopsticks when they eat, unlike us who squat at the door with our bowls."

Xu Chengjun almost choked on the pancake.

Are you back to selling that same old thing to Shanghainese again?
"Has your older sister been to Shanghai?"

“I went there once,” the older woman said, rubbing her hand on her cloth shirt.

"In 1976, when I sent my son to his apprenticeship, I stood on the Bund looking at those buildings, and my legs went weak. The girls wearing Dacron shirts even walked with more upright posture than us."

When the train went through the tunnel, it was so dark inside the carriage that you couldn't see your hand in front of your face.

Xu Chengjun heard his older sister stuffing an orange into her mouth in the dark.

"Young man, what are you going to Shanghai for?"

"I guess I'll have to go back to school."

Suddenly, it got bright outside the window.

The Huangpu River stretched out like a silver ribbon across the land, with cranes swaying in the mist along its banks, and factory chimneys in the distance spewing black smoke that stained the clouds a grayish-purple.

The older woman, peering out the window, clicked her tongue and exclaimed, "Goodness, this building is ten times taller than the Hefei Hotel!"

When the train pulled into the station, Xu Chengjun helped the older woman carry her basket of oranges and squeeze towards the train door.

As the older sister greeted her precious son, she heard her call out from behind, "Young man, if you have any problems, come to my son! He's from Workshop 3 at the machine tool factory, just say he's Aunt Orange from Anhui!"

This kind-hearted Aunt Orange!
The platform at Shanghai Station is a size larger than that at Hefei Station, and a group of people in blue, gray, and Liberation Green shirts are carrying their luggage and surging forward.

It's not much different from a zombie apocalypse!

"Comrade, need a tricycle?" A man wearing a straw hat approached. "Over near Jing'an Temple, five cents!"

Xu Chengjun had just shaken his head when he saw the man suddenly run to the side. Looking closer, he realized the man in the red armband was heading straight for this speeding life!
But he really didn't dare to take it. What does it mean for someone from out of town to be at the train station?

What a lie!

Following the flow of people out, Xu Chengjun was drawn in by a sweet fragrance and turned a corner.

At the entrance of the state-run food store on the street corner, a worker in a white coat was putting butterfly cookies into the glass display case. They were priced at 50 cents each, and a handwritten note next to them read, "Limit of two cookies per person."

He touched the national grain coupons in his pocket.

Suddenly, I realized that if Zhou Ming were to spend money recklessly, the fifty yuan he had advanced might not last three days!
The editorial office of Harvest magazine is located at No. 675 Julu Road.

I asked Lao Zhou in advance about where to stay nearby.

Old Zhou: Wow! You've come to the right person! You're staying at the Jing'an Temple Guesthouse!
He glanced at the traffic map of Shanghai and saw that Shanghai Railway Station was not far from Jing'an Temple.

Heading west along Tianmu Middle Road from Shanghai Railway Station, and crossing the Suzhou Creek South Road Bridge, you can reach the area around Jing'an Temple.

The No. 11 bus only takes 20 minutes and the ticket is free, so there's absolutely no need to waste your money!

It's not about being poor, it's about choosing green travel!

"Young man, asking for directions?"

As Xu Chengjun walked around, an old lady who was taking a stroll suddenly struck up a conversation, her accent three points softer than that of the Hefei dialect.

These days, Shanghai old ladies dress much more fashionably than Hefei old ladies!
Straight-leg trousers, off-white shirt, small silver earrings, and leather shoes.
Everyone who sees it will say it's "stylish"!
"Judging from your appearance, are you from out of town?"

"Grandma, find the Jing'an Temple Guesthouse."

"What a coincidence, we're going the same way!"

The old lady popped a preserved plum into her mouth. "Go along Tianmu Middle Road, cross three streets and turn right. You'll see Gezuo Pagoda, that's the place!"

She pointed to the spire of the pagoda in the distance, "It used to be a temple, but now it's been converted into a guesthouse. Only scholars like you stay here!"

Hmm! That's a really nice way to talk~
The bicycle bells on the road rang out crisply as a young man in bell-bottoms sped past on a "Forever" brand bicycle.

The tape recorder in the back seat of the car was playing Li Guyi's "Hometown Love".

The old woman suddenly spat out: "Indecent! Men shouldn't be men, and women shouldn't be women!"

Xu Chengjun couldn't help but laugh.

Bell-bottoms began to become popular in China in 79, especially influenced by the films "Homecoming" and "Manhunt".

The Nakamura Sheriff design was a hit in major cities like Beijing and Shanghai that year.

Anyone who learns this will become a sensation!
But in the eyes of the older generation!

Shamate!

By the time we arrived at Jing'an Temple, it was already completely dark.

A sign hung on the wooden door of the guesthouse, which read "Bed 1.2 yuan/night", with a line of small print added in chalk next to it: "Double for foreign guests".

Well, I'm going to have to spend money again!

I hope Harvest will accept my manuscript! It would be best if I could have another chance to revise it.

These days, magazines usually provide writers who need to revise their manuscripts with a guesthouse run by the literary association. Although the conditions are a bit tough, at least they can stay there!
The key point is that it's free!

23-year-old dentist Yu Hua stayed at the Haiyan Guesthouse for the first time, bringing with him his book "Stars" which had been rejected seven times by "BJ Literature" magazine, for a three-month stay!

March, that's considered a short stay!
If we stay here for half a year, we can make a net profit of over 200 yuan.

Harvest magazine asked me to revise the manuscript. If that doesn't work, I'll stay at the East China Normal University Guesthouse, Room 301, for two months!

From now on, the story of Room 301 at the East China Normal University Guesthouse belongs to Xu Chengjun.

Oh, by the way, Anhui Literature reimbursed Xu Chengjun's food and lodging expenses for his trip to Hefei.

The food wasn't very good, so they gave us a subsidy of one yuan per day.

These days, most people who can write something aren't called failures, they're called writers.
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In 2017, Yu Hua revisited the East China Normal University Guesthouse, where Room 301 had been converted into a conference room. He laughed and said, "The wontons I ate after crawling out of here back then were more unforgettable than the bitter vegetable soup in 'To Live'."

(End of this chapter)