Last year, a major national newspaper had published an article about UFOs in its supplement, officially introducing the term to China and swiftly breeding a generation of armchair scientists.
History was funny like that sometimes, bridging things that seemed entirely unconnected. It was like Zhang Xueliang having heard Jay Chou's songs, or Soong Mei-ling having watched *Happy Camp*—unverified though those internet tales were.
Yet the fact that Chinese citizens were actively researching extraterrestrials in 1979 was entirely true.
The lively debate soon drew a crowd. Jiang Shan pricked up her ears to listen, asking curiously, "Is a UFO a flying saucer?"
"No, it stands for Unidentified Flying Object," Chen Qi explained. "Whatever it is, as long as you can't identify it, you can call it a UFO."
No sooner had he spoken than one of the young men chatting nearby turned his head and chimed in, "Hey there, comrade! I don't agree with your view. A UFO clearly means a flying saucer!"
"Right, sure, you're entirely right!"
Chen Qi had no interest in bickering with him, but the young man pressed forward, taking a few steps closer. "Comrade, UFO study has a rigorous scientific framework. We speak using science, with clear and irrefutable facts..."
His voice dropped to a conspiratorial hush, and he cast a glance at the surrounding crowd. "I'm about to tell you something I probably shouldn't. Don't be alarmed—this is the real truth behind our world."
"What, is the world secretly ruled by the Old Gods?" Chen Qi remarked in mock astonishment.
"Gods? No, no! UFOs have nothing to do with feudal superstition!"
The young man shook his head vigorously, launching into his performance with boundless confidence. "It all began back in 1947, in a place called Roswell, Utah..."
"Roswell is in New Mexico."
"Tsk! Do you know, or do I? Do you know where I come from? I'm from the Beijing Institute of Aeronautics! I have access to tons of data you people have never heard of! Anyway, at this Roswell place, on a night of torrential downpours..."
Spittle flying, the young man regaled the 1979 crowd with the famous Roswell incident.
"In the end, the whole thing was covered up by the American military. In reality, they built a secret base right there to study aliens! Why do you think American imperialist technology is so formidable? It all came from studying extraterrestrials!"
"Whoa!"
His climax left the listeners gasping in shock, their emotions stirred to a fever pitch.
"Those American imperialists really are rotten to the core!"
"Come on, our countries just established formal diplomatic relations. Don't say such things."
"If aliens landed in America, then they're capitalist aliens! We should firmly oppose them!"
"Does our country have any aliens? When that old scoundrel Nixon came to visit China, he didn't even bring along a specimen to show us!"
"Exactly! I heard the American devils brought back hundreds of jin of moon soil when they landed on the moon, but when relations were established, they only gave us a measly single gram! Stingy bastards! When we get up there, we won't give them a single gram!"
*Priceless!*
Chen Qi felt as if he were witnessing a real-life staging of *Bizarre Happenings Eyewitnessed over Two Decades*. Thoroughly amused, he asked, "So you truly believe there are aliens?"
"Without a doubt! The universe is so vast, there must be planets with environments similar to Earth. That means life is bound to emerge!" the young man declared adamantly.
"Let's have a friendly exploration of that, shall we?"
Chen Qi rubbed his nose, smiling. "First off, the very term 'alien humanoid' is inaccurate. You've never seen one, so on what basis do you define them as human? How do you know they must take human form?
"Couldn't they be silicon-based life? Or a tree, a rock, a mass of liquid, an incorporeal psychic consciousness—or even a squid? Ah, sorry, didn't mean to make a bad pun on Semitic...
"So I think calling them 'extraterrestrial life' is far more appropriate.
"Second, you just dismissed gods as mere feudal superstition.
"In the ancient text *Shiyi Ji*, it is recorded: In the thirtieth year of Emperor Yao's reign, a gigantic vessel appeared over the Western Sea, emitting a soft radiance, which the people dubbed the Moon-Traversing Raft.
"That description sounds remarkably close to a so-called flying saucer.
"It was simply that the ancients couldn't comprehend it, so they revered it as immortal deities. Looked at from another angle, is it possible that the legendary gods were actually higher-dimensional entities from deep space—nameless, incomprehensible things?
"Look at the sheer vastness of the universe. How minuscule mankind is! One should always hold reverence toward the cosmos. Remember this: weakness and ignorance are not barriers to survival, but arrogance is!"
*Hiss!*
A shiver ran through the young man, as though he had just received an epiphany straight from the Trisolarans.
His face lit up with fanatical fervor, eyes blazing. "Comrade! What you just said makes immense sense! My perspective was far too narrow. I had no idea UFOs could be interpreted like that!"
"No, no, we're just casually chatting."
"No, no, no! Your profound understanding of cosmic mysteries is more than enough to make you my teacher! Allow me to introduce myself—I'm Jiang Chao, from the Beijing Institute of Aeronautics. A few classmates and I are UFO enthusiasts.
"We've formed a UFO interest group. Could you leave your contact information? We'd love to come pay you a visit!"
"Let's skip that. My interest in UFOs isn't nearly as strong as my appetite for a plate of twice-cooked pork."
"You must leave it, or I won't let you go!"
Chen Qi looked at the fellow—around twenty years old, chubby, radiating the same wide-eyed naivety as college students of later generations, even running a UFO club.
*What a headache!*
Still, on second thought, once the 1980s arrived, two major crazes would sweep across China: the qigong and superhuman-ability fever, and the UFO craze—even Zhang Yimou would later claim to have seen a UFO.
Qigong was politically sensitive and best left untouched; if he could, he would have loved to play the charlatan guru, but that ran too high a risk of getting censored.
UFOs, on the other hand, were interesting. Expanded upon, they led straight to science fiction. Even though sci-fi in China was treated like an unloved stepchild—no, worse, born of a maidservant—he didn't mind.
Might as well make a friend. Who knew when it might come in handy?
And so, Chen Qi exchanged contact details with Jiang Chao, who bounded away in high spirits.
***
"Everyone, quiet down! Please keep quiet!"
"Line up along both sides and let our authors come through first! Don't push, don't push! They've made a special trip to see everyone, so let's not make things difficult for them. It would be awful if the meeting got cancelled!"
By early afternoon, the entire book fair stirred with commotion.
People rushed to both sides of the entrance, jostling for position and leaving a clear path down the middle. Before long, applause erupted like a sudden squall, and living chapters of Chinese school textbooks came walking down the narrow path.
Ye Shengtao: *Three to Five Pecks More*.
Zang Kejia: *Some people are alive, but they are already dead; some people are dead, but they are still alive.*
Bing Xin: *The Little Orange Lantern*.
Liu Shaotang: *Elm Seed Rice*.
Ye Shengtao was already eighty-five years old. Seeing him in such high spirits, greeting the crowd with clear, articulate words, the onlookers clapped with even greater fervor.
They had all come to Beijing to attend the Congress of Literary and Art Workers and took the opportunity to drop by the book fair, demonstrating their support for literary endeavors. During the 1957 book fair, even Mao Dun had paid a visit.
Inspired by the moment, Zang Kejia penned a poem on the spot:
"Gazing upon warm, smiling faces one by one,
Like the morning sun rising above the peak,
Though some of us are already in our seventies or eighties,
We still wish to live another twenty years, to write another twenty years..."
Truth be told, the verses were about as plain and vernacular as could be.
Bing Xin, seventy-nine years old, inscribed a dedication for the book fair and spoke a couple of lines.
Her public reputation wasn't particularly stellar, and plenty of people criticized her, though Chen Qi had no desire to debate the specifics.
Even after her death, she would find no peace: her own grandson would deface her tombstone with red paint, scrawling eight large characters: *Failed to educate her son, unfit to be a role model.* Rumor had it that her son had engaged in an extramarital affair and caused a bitter divorce, prompting the grandson to seek justice for his mother...
Liu Shaotang, at forty-three, was the youngest among them. He had risen to fame precociously, inducted into the Writers Association while still in his teens and hailed as a child prodigy. Alongside Sun Li, he stood as a prominent representative of the Lotus Pool School.
He had a son-in-law named Sima Bubei.
And he also had a close friend who was a high-ranking leader.
As these celebrated figures made their appearance, Gong Xue, Liang Xiaosheng, and the others looked on as if encountering dazzling movie stars, eager to shake hands, exchange a few words, and hopefully snag an autograph.
Chen Qi, for his part, quite liked Wang Zengqi—a pity the man hadn't come.
Chapter 55