My era, 1979!

Chapter 20 will be published in the newspaper the day after tomorrow!

The guesthouse was already bustling with activity early in the morning.

"To the Evening News?"

The middle-aged man who worked as a salesman, sitting diagonally across from the bed, was tearing open a tube of toothpaste with his teeth. He said, "That place is upstairs in the old post office on Huaihe Road. The stairs are so steep you could twist your ankle. I heard from reporter Ma yesterday that his cousin, editor Chen, is off work today."

Xu Chengjun also heard Ma Shengli say that yesterday.

He also said he would take Xu Chengjun to see his cousin tomorrow.

However, Xu Chengjun doesn't have the habit of bothering people; whether a manuscript is accepted or not ultimately depends on its quality.

Xu Chengjun put the remaining half of the cornbread into his pocket and smiled: "Keep the manuscript for now, we'll see someone eventually."
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As the morning light of Hefei spilled over the arcades along Changjiang Road, bicycle bells were already ringing incessantly.

Xu Chengjun pushed the borrowed "Forever" brand bicycle, the canvas bag in the basket swaying slightly with the bumps.

Besides the manuscript, there was also a letter I wrote home last night.

He traced the address "Dongfeng County No. 1 Middle School" on the envelope three times, afraid that the postman would make a mistake.

These past few days, Lin Xiaomei's bicycle has been a great help to him.

When I leave Hefei, I must remember to treat him and his sister to a meal.

As I passed Mingjiao Temple, the aroma of caramel wafted over from the roasted nuts and seeds stalls.

The lean stall owner was packing freshly roasted melon seeds into paper bags.

The editorial office of the Hefei Evening News was on the third floor of the post office. The wooden stairs were worn smooth by footsteps, and each step was dented with varying depths.
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In 1979, the Hefei Evening News was still in the transitional period of its resumption of publication. Its predecessor, the Hefei Daily, was renamed the Hefei Evening News in 1961.

At this time, the Hefei Daily was still a small tabloid, belonging to the HF City WXC Department, with an editorial staff of less than 4 people. However, it had already begun to break through the propaganda constraints of that period and tried to publish reports that were close to people's lives.
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Xu Chengjun had just passed the guard post and climbed to the second floor when he heard the "clack-clack" of a typewriter coming from the third floor, mixed with the sound of someone reading a manuscript.

He stopped in front of the door with a wooden sign that read "Supplement Editorial Department".

Just as his knuckles were about to knock on the door, the door opened first.

A young man wearing an "Anhui University" badge nearly bumped into me, scattering his manuscript paper all over the floor.

"sorry Sorry!"

The young man hurriedly reached for the bag, but when he saw the canvas bag in Xu Chengjun's hand, his eyes suddenly lit up. "Fengyang...you are...Comrade Xu Chengjun from Fengyang?"

As Xu Chengjun nodded, the other person had already piled up the manuscript papers on the table and reached out to shake his hand: "My name is Li Hongwei, Editor Chen's colleague! Ma Shengli came over specifically yesterday to say that your article 'Time' has been circulated throughout the editorial department!"

His voice was so loud it sounded like he had a megaphone; people in the next office were peeking out.

An elderly woman wearing reading glasses adjusted her glasses and sized him up: "Is that the Xu who wrote 'Time is a tree, and annual rings are letters'? My husband was still reciting that phrase 'broken porcelain pieced together a window' this morning!"

The girl typing by the window turned around, the bow at the end of her braid swaying: "Comrade Xu, your poem has already been read by the editors at the Federation of Literary and Art Circles. Your 'Time' hasn't been published yet, but your name has already spread throughout our Hefei Evening News!"
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Xu Chengjun's ears burned from the commotion. Just as he was about to take out his manuscript, Li Hongwei pulled him into the house.

"Please sit down! Brother Chen is off today, but I can still deliver your manuscript!"

He pointed to the submission guidelines on the wall, "That's right, new submissions need to be reviewed by three people, so you may have to wait a few days."

The office suddenly became lively.

The old lady brought over a porcelain mug of tea, the tea leaves unfurling into a tender green color in the water;
The typing girl took out fruit candies from the drawer; the glass candy wrappers shimmered in the morning light.
Even the photographers from the neighboring photography group came in with their cameras, saying they wanted to take a picture of "the educated youth who wrote 'Time'".

"Don't rush, don't rush."

Xu Chengjun quickly took out his manuscript paper.

"I'm here to submit a short essay called 'Libra Shines in the Spring Breeze,' which is about..."

No introduction needed!

"Let me read it! I'm from the Anhui University Broadcasting Club!"

The young man's enthusiasm was overwhelming for Xu Chengjun.

Before he could react.

Li Hongwei had already begun reading from the manuscript, his voice rising and falling with intonation, “'The scale beam was made of jujube wood, used for twenty years, and was as red as if it had been soaked in blood…'”

When he read the line "Buy two ounces and get half an ounce free," he suddenly slapped his thigh and exclaimed, "Isn't that Nian Guangjiu? The city just held a commendation meeting for self-employed individuals yesterday, and they were exactly looking for a piece like that!"

The old lady also chimed in: "The details are so realistic! My husband used to weigh salt at the supply and marketing cooperative, just like you described."

As they were talking, the office door was pushed open, and a middle-aged man in a Zhongshan suit walked in, the fountain pen pinned to his chest gleaming in the sunlight.

Li Hongwei quickly stood up: "Deputy Editor Zhang, you've come at the perfect time! This is Comrade Xu Chengjun, the author of 'Time'!"

Xu Chengjun also stood up.

Deputy Editor Zhang adjusted his glasses, his gaze sweeping over Xu Chengjun before finally settling on the manuscript paper Xu Chengjun handed him. He didn't speak, his fingers slowly sliding across the pages, from "Teacher Xu taught how to recognize scales in 1965" to "People from the Industry and Commerce Bureau tearing down signs," then going back to "Pumpkin pulp mixed in with the paste," and a smile gradually crept onto his lips.

"You're Xiao Xu, right?"

He slammed the manuscript on the table, his voice slightly hoarse with excitement, "I think this manuscript is good! We'll use it!"

Xu Chengjun was taken aback: "No need... to change it?"

"The Barn" was revised five times before it was finalized.

Deputy Editor Zhang laughed, pointing to the "buy two ounces, get half an ounce free" section: "What should we change? This 'half an ounce free' is brilliant! It shows the flexibility of individual business owners without crossing the line into 'speculation and profiteering.' Look here,"

He pointed to "Old Zhou pasted new signs overnight," saying, "Using pumpkin pulp to stick them together is both rustic and lively, much more practical than shouting 'Reform and opening up is good!'"

He turned around and pulled out an internal communication from the filing cabinet, pointing to the headline: "See this? The provincial party committee just issued a document saying that it will 'encourage individual business operations and protect legitimate income.' Your draft is perfectly aligned with the policy direction!"

Li Hongwei chimed in from the side, "Deputy Editor Zhang, how about we put it in tomorrow's supplement? We had a blank page yesterday!"

"Tomorrow is too early, there won't be enough time for typesetting."

Deputy Editor Zhang pondered for a moment, “The day after tomorrow! Add an editor’s note, and write ‘Looking at the Spring Breeze from the Scales.’ Xiao Xu, your article is full of life and has a good sense of proportion. We need to let the readers see that reform is not just about shouting slogans, but about the real sweetness on the scales.”

Before Xu Chengjun could react, Deputy Editor Zhang had already taken out a register from the drawer: "Leave your mailing address, and I'll send you a sample copy and payment within three days."

He paused, then added, "Don't leave Hefei. One reason is to send you some things, and the other is that we might invite you to the editorial department to talk to other authors about how to catch 'live fish' (contributors)."

Li Hongwei quickly handed over paper and pen.

When Xu Chengjun wrote "Room 302, Workers', Peasants' and Soldiers' Guesthouse", he heard Deputy Editor Zhang saying to the old lady, "Submit this manuscript for review this afternoon, and say that I said it was my idea, and we'll handle it as a special case!"

When I stepped out of the editorial office, the sun was already scorching hot.

Li Hongwei chased after him and handed him two movie tickets: "Recently, the cinema is showing 'Little Flower.' These are tickets for the night after tomorrow. Brother Chen just called and asked me to give them to you, saying it's an apology for not being able to personally greet you."

Xu Chengjun hurriedly declined, but he couldn't refuse the young man's sincere offer.

In 1979, "Little Flower," starring Liu Xiaoqing and Tang Guoqiang, was the first "emotionally-oriented" film to break through the traditional revolutionary narrative after the Bibi era. The value of its movie tickets far exceeded the face value, making it a cultural symbol of this period.

Tickets are extremely hard to come by!
That year, domestic movie ticket prices were generally between 0.15 and 0.3 yuan.

As a blockbuster of the year, "Little Flower" had a ticket price that was the same as that of ordinary films, but its actual "circulation value" far exceeded the face value of the ticket.

A movie ticket is equivalent to one to two days' basic living expenses for an average person, making it a "light luxury" purchase these days!
The vendors at the roasted nuts and seeds stall downstairs were still hawking their wares.

As I rode my bicycle back home, the bicycle bell rang especially cheerfully.

When I came out of the newspaper office, the sun was past noon, and my stomach was growling with hunger.

Xu Chengjun felt his pocket; inside were three 50-cent banknotes and four ounces of grain coupons.

Enough for a decent lunch.

A queue had formed in front of the "State-run Jianghuai Snack Bar" at the corner of Anqing Road, and the four characters "Public Canteen" on the blue cloth banner fluttered in the wind.

The people in line were all clutching their food coupons, and someone was saying, "My husband set up a shoe repair stall yesterday, saying it's allowed by the neighborhood committee, so we don't have to sneak around anymore."

When it was Xu Chengjun's turn, the waitress at the window smiled and asked, "Comrade, what would you like? Today we have red bean paste, sesame cakes, and freshly made sugar cakes."

Although I'm short of money.

But since he'll be receiving his royalties from "Libra" soon, the great writer is indulging in a little luxury today.

He looked at the food in the glass cabinet, swallowed hard, and said, "A bowl of red bean paste and two sesame cakes, please."

"Okay," the auntie said deftly, scooping out the paste and adding the pancakes. "Red bean paste is eight cents, sesame pancakes are three cents each, totaling fourteen cents, plus one tael of grain coupons."

After paying the fare and receiving the rough porcelain bowl, my hand recoiled from the heat.

The red bean paste was cooked until thick, with a layer of rice oil forming on the rim of the bowl, and it tasted sweet.

The sesame seeds on the sesame cake are fragrant and slightly burnt. When you bite into it, the rock sugar melts in your mouth, mixed with the saltiness of pepper and salt, which is the taste of old Hefei.

He found a bench against the wall and sat down. Next to him, a young man in a shirt was eating a sugar cake and said, "I heard that Nian Guangjiu's melon seed stall can sell 200 jin a day, which is more popular than the state-run food store."

“That’s because they dare to do it,” the uncle across from him chimed in. “Last year they were called ‘speculators,’ but this year they’re ‘model individuals.’ Policies change faster than flipping through a book.”

Spring breeze.

It came rushing towards us so quietly.

(End of this chapter)