Chapter Twenty-Seven: Black and Red
Xu Chengjun knew better than anyone else what it meant to launch this column.
For him, it was far more than a short-term leap in status—it was the beginning of a long journey down the literary path.
He wanted his writing to carry meaning and purpose.
Yet for words to evoke feeling and convey ideas, they ultimately needed a proper platform to bear them.
This column in the Anhui Youth Daily was just such a foundation, rooting him firmly in the literary world.
And in the eyes of people of this era, it was tantamount to a respectable livelihood.
A relatively easy yet stable income afforded him a measure of confidence, enough to anchor himself amid the turbulence and change of these times.
Such an invitation was hard to refuse.
...
“What should we call the column?” Editor-in-Chief Li’s eyes brightened, seeing his resolve soften.
“I’ve been thinking—‘Youth Observations’ would be a good name. What do you think? Just write about what you see and hear, no need for formality, like chatting with readers.”
Deputy Editor Zhang, in his blue cloth shirt, pushed up his glasses and added, “Two issues a month, around a thousand words each. No subject restrictions—stories about new self-employed ventures, the dreams of educated youth, fresh happenings in the village, anything goes. The fee is six yuan per thousand words, one more than our veteran contributors.”
“That’s generous,” Xu Chengjun drew a deep breath, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “But Editor Li, there’s something I need to make clear.”
“I may soon go to Shanghai to study. I’m halfway through the worker-peasant-soldier recommendation process for Fudan University.”
The editorial office fell silent.
Qian Ming tugged nervously at his sleeve, anxiety in his eyes.
Such an opportunity was something many could only dream of.
Why was he stirring things up now?
But Editor Li smiled, “That’s wonderful!”
“You should write even more if you go to Fudan! There are more self-employed people in Shanghai than in Hefei, so even more material.”
“If you’re willing, you’ll be our Shanghai correspondent. Just mail your articles to the paper—Ma Shengli makes frequent trips to the post office, nothing will get lost.”
He pondered for a moment.
“I’ll write,” he said suddenly, his voice soft but resolute.
“But the column must reserve a section for reader letters.”
Xu Chengjun tapped his fingertips on the table. “It shouldn’t be just me writing; they should have their say too.”
After a moment of contemplation, the two editors exchanged glances.
Deputy Editor Zhang smiled, “That’s a great idea! Let’s add a ‘Reader Echoes’ section—you can select some letters to respond to. It’ll be livelier than writing alone!”
...
Editor Li stood up at the right moment, reaching out to shake Xu Chengjun’s hand, grinning. “So, it’s settled?”
Xu Chengjun bowed slightly, gripping the handshake with extra strength.
“It’s settled. Working with the Youth Daily is a stroke of luck for me!”
...
Half an hour later.
Editor Li folded the agreement into a square and tucked it into Xu Chengjun’s pocket.
Xu Chengjun instinctively supported his wrist, waiting until the paper settled securely in the pocket, then smoothed down his jacket.
“This month, submit your first piece whenever you like—write about anything, just introduce yourself to our readers.”
Editor Li paused, expectation shining in his eyes. “The editors all have high hopes for you.”
-----------------
Hefei Evening News Editorial Office.
Chen Jianguo held a utility knife, staring in dismay at the mountain of envelopes piled on the table.
All of these were letters from readers, addressed to the author and the editorial department of “Spring Winds Under the Weighing Star.”
Since the story was published, half a sackful arrived daily.
“Editor Chen, this afternoon’s mail is here!” Old Zhang from the mail room called from the stairwell.
Chen Jianguo rubbed his stiff neck and stood, Adam’s apple rolling. “Stack them by the wall, let me catch my breath.”
The Hefei Evening News was a small operation!
Since the paper resumed publication, Chen Jianguo had always worked in the supplement section, but he had never seen any article attract so many letters!
He picked up the top envelope at random.
A letter from “HF Machine Tool Factory” addressed to the editorial department, written in bold but somewhat awkward penmanship.
“Old Wang from our workshop read the article and immediately had his wife set up a shoe repair stall at the factory gate. Now they earn fifty cents a day! Your story is more effective than ten factory meetings!”
Chen Jianguo was about to flip through the rest when a stiff kraft envelope caught his hand.
The letter was unsigned, stamped only with a blurry seal.
“Another tough one?” Editor Zhai Ying from the supplement section entered, carrying a bound volume of the Hefei Evening News.
“Take a look at this.”
He pointed to a bolded paragraph in the article. “The author is Professor Li from the Provincial Academy of Social Sciences—the same one who was most vocal in criticizing ‘The Class Teacher’ back in the day.”
Chen Jianguo grabbed the cigarette box, flicked out the last one, and struck the match three times before it finally lit. “Yesterday, Jianghuai Forum published Liu Zuci’s article, saying this short story is the most vivid interpretation of ‘Labor is Most Glorious.’”
“So contradictory!” Zhai Ying laughed. “Contradiction is good! Contradiction means sales!”
Deputy Editor Zhang was about to frown when Old Zhang from the mail room hauled in another half sack of letters. “Editor Chen, the post office called—they’re assigning two more couriers starting tomorrow! Today’s mail is simply too much to handle!”
Chen Jianguo held his unlit cigarette, his gaze drifting to the subscription statistics chart on the wall.
Since the paper resumed publication, the Hefei Evening News had maintained a steady print run of eight thousand copies. Yesterday, it was increased to twelve thousand; the print shop just called to say the street vendors had pre-ordered all of tomorrow’s quota and were urging another three thousand copies to be printed.
“Editor Zhang! Editor Chen! The news is spreading like wildfire!”
Zhai Ying flipped through the reader letters and suddenly burst out laughing.
“The newsstand outside the department store had queues starting at six this morning. What used to take three days to sell is gone by noon.”
Deputy Editor Zhang tapped his fingers on the provincial newspaper’s theory section but his tone relaxed. “The Provincial Supply and Marketing Cooperative just called—they want to subscribe for the entire system and organize staff ‘study discussions.’ They ordered two thousand copies, taking up half of tomorrow’s extra print run.”
“But the most important thing—”
Zhai Ying pulled a copy of Anhui Literature from the drawer, pointing to the lead editorial in issue 8 of 1979.
“Even Chief Editor Zhou Ming of Anhui Literature is supporting him.”
...
“When Xu Chengjun’s ‘Spring Winds Under the Weighing Star’ sparked a wave of discussion in the Hefei Evening News, I reread the original manuscript three times. This short piece, less than three thousand words, is like a precise jujube wood scale—on one side, it weighs the faint glow of self-employment; on the other, it bears the burden of an era in transition. In the literary landscape of 1979, it measures the true heft of the word ‘reform.’
‘Weighing Star’ is remarkable in that it avoids the grand narratives common to reform-themed works, instead making every detail a footnote to the times. This ‘seeing the big in the small’ style is precisely the clarity contemporary literature needs.
...
How can literature carve a path through the forbidden zones of its era? ‘Weighing Star’ gives the answer: it does not shy away from contradictions, but tempers its sharpness with the warmth of lived experience. When Old Zhou lays out the blue cloth of ‘Serve the People’ beside the scale, the faint glow of self-employment and the underlying color of collectivism achieve a subtle reconciliation. This is the most authentic spiritual landscape of China in 1979: a yearning to break free from constraints, yet a nostalgia for stable roots.
...
While most works still linger in the wounds of the past, ‘Weighing Star’ already carries the scent of earth, marking a new coordinate for reform literature.”
...
With the publication of this review,
“Weighing Star” now had its place in reform literature.
Chen Jianguo and Zhang Qiming read in silence for a long moment, until Chen Jianguo finally spoke.
“The wind in Hefei has settled!”
“Tomorrow, I’ll personally deliver the reader letters to Xu Chengjun!”