The Emotional Blogger of 1979

After dinner. The sunset glow today was gorgeous, but there was no idyllic peace in the courtyard—only the trivial, messy squabbles of everyday life. Inside the room, Chen Jianjun was repairing a fountain pen by the fading daylight, while Chen Qi kept Yu Xiuli company, helping her wind skeins of yarn into balls. The family of three was quiet, as their only household appliance—a radio—was broadcasting Yuan Kuocheng's *pingshu* performance of *Tracks in the Snowy Forest*. At this point in time, the old master hadn't yet started performing *Romance of the Three Kingdoms*; his repertoire consisted entirely of revolutionary storytelling. *What year was that god-granddaughter of his born again?* *Nineteen eighty-seven, I think—still eight years away. By then I'll already be twenty-seven, which makes the age gap a bit much! Hey, isn't her grandfather a performer of Xihe drum ballads? Maybe I should make friends with her granddad so I can adopt her as my god-granddaughter down the road too?* *Then again, Liu Shishi only grows prettier with age. Especially after having a kid, she had so much more charm than in her younger days...* Chen Qi wound the yarn while bantering silently in his mind, his thoughts casually leaping across decades in what was basically a full-on quantum fluctuation. When the storytelling concluded, a public health educational program followed, and then came a rebroadcast of the daytime news: "At the end of this month, the Ministry of Culture will hold an awards ceremony at the CPPCC National Committee Auditorium to honor outstanding films and young creative talent. This marks the second time such awards have been conferred in the name of the government since 1956." Hearing this, Yu Xiuli suddenly perked up. She was an avid film fan and said, "Liu Xiaoqing—there's bound to be Liu Xiaoqing!" "Tang Guoqiang will definitely be there too!" "The films released over the past two years have all been pretty good. Chen Chong and Li Xiuming are so pretty!" "That Chen Peisi in *Look at This Family* was pretty hilarious as well. Hey, I heard his father is Chen Qiang?" "No need to say you 'heard'—he is." "My, you folks of the Chen clan certainly have no shortage of talent!" Yu Xiuli remarked with dry sarcasm. Chen Qi took offense and said, "Mom, you're wounding my self-esteem." "Oh, goodness no, that's not what I meant. I wasn't talking about you." Yu Xiuli hastened to correct herself, terrified of bruising her eldest son's pride over selling tea. "Is Chen Qi home?" A shout echoed from outside. From the sound of the voice, it was unmistakably Auntie Wang. Like an NPC, Auntie Wang would pop by from time to time to report quest progress. Entering the room, she smiled and said, "My, look at the three of you getting along so nicely. I need the boy for a moment." "What's the matter?" "Nothing major. Just wanted to tell him how things stand with the tea stall." Chen Qi followed Auntie Wang outside. When they reached the courtyard gate, Auntie Wang pulled a long face and said, "Young fellow, I didn't try to brush you off. I really did speak with the plastics factory. They're taking it very seriously, and after they look into it, they'll definitely give you an explanation." "Look into it?" "Of course they have to hold a meeting and look into it! Did you think disciplinary action can just be handed down off the cuff? Doesn't everything require a meeting to study the matter? Don't be impatient; wait a couple more days." "All right, I'll wait a bit longer. Thank you for your trouble, Auntie." Auntie Wang was rather surprised. How had this boy suddenly become so reasonable? She even advised him, "When you can let something pass, let it pass. If you ask me, once they apologize to you in private, that ought to be the end of it." "Uh-huh, sure!" Chen Qi gave a noncommittal hum, saw Auntie Wang off, and returned indoors to continue winding yarn. *** In the small hours of the morning. The sprawling capital was still deep in slumber, yet some people were already hard at work. Outside the printing plant, under the glow of several dim streetlamps, batch after batch of freshly printed newspapers was loaded onto trucks. Nearby deliveries were destined for government agencies and newsstands across the city; those farther out went to the suburban counties; and the rest were sent to the post and telecommunications bureau for shipment to other provinces. One such shipment arrived at a newsstand in Xicheng District. Cao Yulan got up bright and early, packed her dry rations, and headed to the knitting cooperative organized by the neighborhood committee. There were over twenty young women like her whose job was hand-knitting sweaters. Customers provided the yarn, and they knitted it up. Business was booming—within just a few days of opening, they had taken over sixty orders and were completely overwhelmed. Cao Yulan came from an ordinary background and had an honest, upright nature. She did whatever the organization assigned her to do, maintaining an industrious attitude throughout. As dawn was breaking, she reached a street corner. The newsstand had already opened, with the *People's Daily*, *Guangming Daily*, and other papers neatly displayed. The girls usually read newspapers at the subdistrict office and rarely bought their own, but as she glanced over, a line of large print caught her eye: *"Oh, the Road of Life, How Exactly Should It Be Walked?"* *Hm?* Cao Yulan stopped in her tracks. *The road of life?* She had never thought about that. Driven by some inexplicable impulse, she walked over, looked at the papers, and said, "One copy of the *China Youth Daily*, please." "Five fen!" She took out a handkerchief, carefully drew out a paper bill, handed it over, and received a copy of the newspaper. Further down the street stood a dilapidated courtyard that the subdistrict office had arranged as their workplace. She arrived first every day to unlock the doors and do some sweeping, which earned her an extra three yuan a month. Cao Yulan went inside, sat on a battered crate, and strained to read by the morning light. "I am nineteen years old this year, and one could say I have only just stepped out into life... As a child, I listened to people talk about *How the Steel Was Tempered* and *The Diary of Lei Feng*..." It read like a letter written by a young person. It recounted his brief life experiences—the various episodes of his childhood, his early youth, and his young adulthood. It told of how, after returning to the city, he too was assigned to a cooperative to sell tea at Qianmen, where he encountered discrimination and mockery, and spoke of the feelings of inferiority and confusion in his heart: "I often wonder, what do people live for?" "A person must build their own spiritual home; it can illuminate their darkest corners!" "I still believe life is full of sunshine!" Holding the newspaper in both hands, Cao Yulan kept her eyes glued to the page, taking in every single word. They had never met, yet everything written there felt astonishingly familiar, resonating deeply within her. And the person who had written this letter was so positive, so filled with truth, goodness, and beauty, concluding with the words: "I wish for you that you face the sea, where spring blossoms unfold!" *Drip, drop!* Cao Yulan blinked, and tears spilled traitorously from her eyes, blurring into wet circles on the newsprint. She had never imagined—or rather, no one had ever said such words to her: *"Face the sea, where spring blossoms unfold!"* What did people live for? Suddenly, her heart was struck by a tender, gentle power. She had studied, worked, gone down to the countryside, returned to the city, and continued working, and twenty years had slipped away before she knew it... It was as if she had slept through a long dream, only to wake and find she had nothing at all. "Yulan, why are you crying?" "Did someone bully you?" Right then, another workmate arrived and asked with concern. "I'm fine, I was just... touched..." She handed over the newspaper. Puzzled, her companion began reading it as well. After a long while, she looked up, her eyes red: "Yulan, why did you have to show me this first thing in the morning...?" "What are you two looking at?" As the other girls arrived one after another, they fell under the same spell, one by one. Before long, their eyes were all as red as rabbits'. "Truly, no one has ever said anything like this to us!" "This comrade is the same age as us!" "'Face the sea, where spring blossoms unfold'... How lovely. Even though we've never met, he wrote straight into my heart!" The girls nodded in unison. "Yes, straight into our hearts!" *** Dongcheng District. In a cooperative of seventeen youths, the work was even duller and more monotonous: gluing envelopes together. They were all young people in the prime of their lives, yet sitting here day after day gluing envelopes wore down the soul worse than an assembly line, leaving their workplace normally lifeless and dreary. Today, however, broke all routine. Everyone was huddled together, their attention riveted on a newspaper. "Hey, what do you think the meaning of life really is?" "I can't say. I never thought about it." "I don't know either, but gluing envelopes here certainly has no meaning." "I really agree with what this comrade says. Are they any better off selling tea than we are? We're still young, and who knows what the future holds? Maintaining an optimistic mindset and enriching our spiritual world is what's truly important." "Hey!" one of them suddenly piped up. "Why don't we write a letter to this comrade and thank him for speaking our hearts?" "Yes, let's! That's a great idea!" "Quick, get a pen!" *** The *China Youth Daily* was a major newspaper, essential reading for government offices and work units every day. In an office of a small work unit in Haidian District, a young man finished reading the paper, then read the accompanying interview article, remaining in pensive silence. After a long time, he spread out a sheet of stationery and could not resist setting pen to paper: "Comrade Chen Qi, Greetings. Reading your story in the newspaper moved me deeply, while also making me feel ashamed of my own choices. When faced with the chance to take over my parents' post, I lacked your courage... "I hear that your cooperative is near Qianmen. I would very much like to pay you a visit, but fearing I might be acting too rashly, I am sending this letter to the newspaper office first in the hope that you will see it. "If there is an opportunity, we might meet and talk freely. We are bound to share much in common. "Looking forward to your reply!" *** Beijing, Dahua Radio Instrument Factory. Zheng Yuanjie was twenty-four years old this year. Relying on the skills he had acquired repairing airplanes in the military, he had been assigned here after his discharge. His daily work consisted of regulating a water pump: one pump, two buttons. Press green when clocking in to open the water; press red when clocking out to shut it off. Forty yuan a month. He had found a girlfriend at the factory whom he liked very much, but she looked down on his elementary school diploma and wanted him to take the college entrance examinations to become an educated man. Zheng Yuanjie had given it careful thought and decided that sitting for the *gaokao* would only invite self-humiliation, which was wholly unnecessary, so the relationship naturally fell apart. Feeling that lacking formal education had stripped him even of the right to choose a partner, Zheng Yuanjie pondered how one could become a man of culture without relying on a diploma. There was only one answer: writing! At this moment, he too was looking at today's *China Youth Daily*. Reading this piece, though he wasn't particularly taken with its sentimental phrasing, he was deeply stirred by its depiction of confusion and aimlessness. Each generation had its own confusion, and the resonance was unmistakable. *Chen Qi!* Zheng Yuanjie committed the name to memory, then went back to slacking off, writing his own fairy tale, *Heihei on Honest Island*. *** Anhui, Gaohe Town. At Gaohe Middle School, fifteen-year-old Zha Haisheng suddenly gave a violent shudder, inexplicably feeling as though a wisp of his karmic destiny had been snatched away. He shook his head and continued reading his books, preparing for the July college entrance examinations. Indeed, at the age of fifteen, he was already taking the *gaokao*, and he would successfully gain admission to Peking University's law department. *** The *China Youth Daily* had a nationwide circulation of two million, with Beijing and its surrounding areas serving as its primary market. On this single day, at least several hundred thousand people read this letter and the accompanying interview. People had been repressed for too long and desperately needed an outlet. Even though this outlet had only been cracked open the slightest bit, they still passed it around, discussed it with fiery passion, and actively sought out more. It was like a sweet, fragrant loaf of bread drawing starving people toward it. Countless people took up pens to write to the newspaper, sharing their thoughts on life and desperately hoping for a reply from this author of their own generation. Except at the No. 2 Plastics Factory. The leadership of the No. 2 Plastics Factory was also holding a copy of the newspaper—and their faces had already turned green!