Writer 1978: I Need to Give the Literary World a Lesson

Chapter 67 Old Ma's View of Beiping

When Zou Huofan rushed to the Writers' Association guesthouse, Liu Yimin was squatting next to the coal briquettes with Lao Ma. Lao Ma had a cigarette in his mouth, and he would close his eyes and enjoy each puff, letting the smoke pass through his throat and lungs before slowly exhaling.

"Peony, you've got some high standards, kid. This cigarette is good. I have to let it linger in my stomach for a while, otherwise it'll be a waste of such a good thing!" After exhaling the smoke, Old Ma smacked his lips to savor the taste.

Liu Yimin chuckled, stuffed the cigarette into Old Ma's pocket, and said, "I don't smoke, this is just for you, please take it!"

"That's very thoughtful of you. You've given Master Ma such good cigarettes; Master Ma will have to give you a good talking to."

Old Ma had barely finished speaking when Zou Huofan interrupted him: "Young comrade, that's not fair! You're all this way, why don't you go sit down at the Poetry Journal? Is that appropriate? Anyone who didn't know better would think you'd been mistreated at our Poetry Journal!"

Zou Huofan spoke with seven parts humor and three parts a hint of a resentful woman.

"Comrade Zou, I haven't had time yet, have I?" Liu Yimin stood up and smiled frankly at Zou Huofan. Old Ma took out a cigarette from his pocket and handed one to Zou Huofan, with some coal dust still stuck between his fingers.

“I think you don’t want to go at all. Are you trying to be like Xu Zhimo, coming quietly as I quietly leave?” Zou Huofan seemed extremely angry, as if Liu Yimin had done something unforgivable: “Before you left, I told you to come to the Poetry Journal more often. The Poetry Journal is your home. It’s been almost a month since the start of the semester, and you haven’t come even once!”

If you don't come soon, I'm even planning to wait for you at your Chinese Literature Department!

Liu Yimin looked directly at Zou Huofan and said with a grin, "I can be much more casual at my house than here. Nobody at my house asks me for manuscripts!"

"Speak, how many poems did you bring this time!" Zou Huofan ignored Liu Yimin's words and immediately challenged him. Old Ma stood aside with a smile, watching this comical scene. For him, this was a rare sight in his monotonous life as a boiler operator.

"Ready, ready!" Liu Yimin said helplessly.

Upon hearing this, Zou Huofan's face lit up with joy, and he enthusiastically grabbed Liu Yimin's arm: "Hey! You lad, I told you you're a kind and honest person, the most principled one! Don't leave tonight, I'll have the cafeteria cook a few extra dishes, Lao Ma, let's have a drink tonight."

"Don't even mention going back to school. I've already called your department's advisor. You still have classes, right? I asked and there are no classes tomorrow!"

"Okay, then I'm all set. I'll go buy the wine!"

"Alright, you'd better not go. I still have a few bottles in my room, gifts from old friends. Let's drink until we drop tonight!"

Old Ma doesn't need to turn on the boiler tonight, because it's broken and hasn't been fixed for days.

That evening, in Zou Huofan's room, there were two bottles of baijiu and several dishes on the table.

Zou Huofan asked the canteen to fry a plate of peanuts and kimchi, and went outside to buy some meat to make a plate of braised beef and another plate of pork skin jelly. Liu Yimin went to the supply and marketing cooperative to buy a lot of roasted melon seeds, and Lao Ma contributed a dish of pickled vegetables and a small bowl of soy sauce.

Under their watchful eyes, Old Ma demonstrated a method of drinking alcohol by dipping chopsticks in soy sauce as a side dish. In the novel *Wolf Smoke Over Beiping*, Wen San dips a stone in soy sauce; Old Ma uses chopsticks. Old Ma is smarter than Wen San; chopsticks are much more convenient than stones.

"Why don't you two give it a try?" Old Ma looked at the two of them smugly, as if showing off his special way of drinking.

Liu Yimin dipped his chopsticks in soy sauce, but there was only a small amount, barely enough to stimulate his taste buds. A sip of Erguotou (a type of Chinese liquor) immediately masked the soy sauce flavor with its spiciness. In this respect, Wen San was smarter than Lao Ma, because he could get much more soy sauce on the stone.

Liu Yimin quickly picked up a few bites of food, and his appearance prompted Lao Ma to tease him, "You can't even handle this?"

"Back then, pulling a rickshaw, we'd earn just enough to fill our stomachs at the end of the day. The worst times were when we were really struggling to make ends meet. The last places we wanted to go were restaurants and the Eight Great Hutongs. It was awful! The aroma of meat wafted from the restaurant entrances, and as we squatted outside soliciting customers, our mouths watered. While we were squatting outside, we'd always wonder if even the plates at Quanjude (a famous Peking duck restaurant) smelled delicious."

Soliciting customers in the Eight Great Hutongs, listening to the seductive voices of the prostitutes inside, my heart aches like it's being scratched by a cat. But these are the only two places with lots of rich people, so I can't avoid them. Don't be fooled by our appearance outside; our hearts are in there, hehe.”

Old Ma admitted he was a little embarrassed, feeling it was somewhat vulgar to talk about this in front of two cultured people.

“The people living in the Eight Great Hutongs also had tragic fates!” Zou Huofan exclaimed.

"Yes, but so are we. They look down on us too. I want to help them with their business, but I can't. But life is good or bad. At least we haven't starved to death. So many people pull carts, and who knows what kind of illness or disaster might happen and they won't come back. I'm still alive. Sometimes, I feel like life is meaningless, but in the end, I'm the one who's still alive, while those who wanted to live are dead."

There was a cart puller who was called Big Toe because his shoes always had worn-out uppers. Eventually, he simply started wearing straw sandals or running barefoot. After liberation, his son, whom he hadn't seen for several years, returned to the city with the People's Liberation Army. He thought life would get better, but he died a couple of days later.

I thought to myself, even if I die, it's not a loss. I'll live a few days longer than him; I'll have gained something. Little did I know that this gain would last for twenty or thirty years!

Old Ma had drunk too much and became unusually talkative. When he was completely drunk, the two men helped him back to his small room next to the boiler room.

"Old Ma is quite humorous!"

"The humor isn't in him, it's in life!"

Liu Yimin was about to go to the next room to sleep when Zou Huofan pulled him aside and asked if he had forgotten something.
"Comrade Zou?" Liu Yimin burped, the smell of Erguotou (a type of Chinese liquor) hitting Zou Huofan directly, causing him to take several steps back.

"Poetry!"

"I'll give it to you tomorrow, I'm going to get some sleep now!"

Liu Yimin returned to his room, patted his head, and felt much more awake. Old Ma had told him a lot of things earlier, and he took out his pen to jot down some details about old Beiping while he was still in his memory.

The main point is to remember some key points, such as what old Beijing residents liked to eat, what the rich ate, and what ordinary people ate; the rich liked to go to Quanjude, Guangheju, Donglaishun, Xilaishun, etc., while the wealthy and powerful went to Liuguo Restaurant. Ordinary people ate sesame seed cakes sold on the street, while the rich ate oven-baked sesame seed cakes.

The old people of Ping like to go to places like Liulichang and Tianqiao. Old Ma likes to go to Tianqiao the most. There are opera singers, street performers, people drinking tea and walking birds, crosstalk, storytelling with drums, diabolo, wrestling, and boxing. There are also sanxian storytelling, storytelling with green leaves, horse racing, stilt walking, lotus flower ballad, bamboo clappers, and places selling plasters. It is extremely lively.

Of course, what he most wanted to visit was the Eight Great Hutongs.

After he had memorized most of it, Liu Yimin patted his head and began to think of a poem for Lao Zou, writing two words, "Ideal," on the manuscript paper in a crooked manner.

(End of this chapter)