My era, 1979!

Chapter 29 A Little Irritated
Early in the morning, Xu Chengjun squatted in front of the wooden box and looked through the letters.

The topmost kraft paper envelope had the red seal of the Provincial Academy of Social Sciences printed in the upper right corner; when it was opened, the paper crumbled and fell apart.

Inside,

It was the same thing that Editor Chen mentioned when he came to visit.
Some people say he advocated for liberalization and so on.
What's so special about it?
But he tightened his grip on the letter.

At the beginning of the year, there were 2000 million unemployed people nationwide.

1600 million were in urban areas, 700 million were sent to the countryside, and 320 million remained in the cities…

Professor Li and his ilk spoke so lightly,
There was a pile of letters from readers next to Xu Chengjun.

Editor Zhai said there will be more later.

The content is very heartwarming.

One worker said, "Old Zhou told my dad that he wants to set up a stall in the county."

One educated youth wrote, "Your article illuminated our path."

But it is these heartwarming words that
It was so hot it made his heart tighten!
What makes him nervous isn't that he's come to this era; he no longer has a cell phone, no food delivery, no computer, no refrigerator, and no large-screen TV.
When he first started working, he served as the Party Secretary in one of the poorest villages in Southwest China for two years!

He has suffered hardships.

He had long been able to endure those material shortages.

It made his heart feel like it was being squeezed.

It's his own internal conflict.

He knew the future would be bright.

He also understands that life is getting better day by day.

so he
It was lit.
-
The figure in the tin mirror flickered.

Xu Chengjun's hand holding the razor blade shifted half an inch, and a bead of blood immediately appeared on his chin.

"hiss-"

He clicked his tongue and ignored it.

The blade rubbed against the rim of the enamel mug, and rust mixed with blood droplets slid into the water, spreading out in a crooked red pattern.

"Chengjun, what's wrong?"

Qian Ming squatted on the doorstep, munching on a cornbread.

He stared at the bloodstain on Xu Chengjun's chin. "Has your soul been stolen?"

Xu Chengjun didn't turn around; he wiped his fingertips on the mirror.

"Nothing much," he said in a muffled voice, pressing the razor blade against his face again. "Maybe I'm a little inflamed."

"fire?"

Qian Ming mumbled through his biscuit, "Who upset you? The newspaper writer?"

"No one."

Xu Chengjun threw the razor blade back into the vat, splashing water all over the mirror.

He recalled fumbling through the grain ration book in the dark last night.

Three national grain coupons and two feet of cloth coupons, combined, were enough to exchange for a palm-sized piece of Dacron.

But his sister's floral shirt, which was washed until it was completely see-through, had frayed edges on the cuffs that were more glaring than razor blades.

She always said that her second brother needed the cloth ration coupons that her eldest brother sent back from the army more.

A fire suddenly surged up from my stomach for no apparent reason.

In the winds of 1979,

My younger sister was wearing a tattered shirt.
They saved up their cloth ration coupons and carefully calculated the days to make him new clothes.
It is a "Dacron" material.
People around her praised her as a "good girl".

When I first came to Hefei to revise my manuscript.

The kerosene lamp stung my eyes.

The pen moved over and over on that little story, making revisions again and again.

Officer Liu said it was well written, that it "concealed its sharpness".
Zhou Ming said that his writing didn't sound like that of a 20-year-old; it was "prudent."

This sharp edge has been hidden from its past life until now.

I don't know how much profit is left.

The fire was burning in my throat.

Write an article,

First, you need to coat it with a layer of sugar coating.

"This sugar coating is fucking hard on my teeth." He laughed at himself in the mirror.

Having lived two lives and accumulated rich life experiences, he shouldn't be like this, but the bewilderment of being transported to 79 has been weighing on his heart. His passion and desire made him instinctively think of using his own way to benefit more people.

In my previous life, with the development of online public opinion and the crackdown on corruption, the status of ordinary people in front of officials and so-called intellectuals was vastly different from that of 79. Don't think Xu Chengjun is stupid; his upbringing taught him what conscience, the collective, and the people are.

He is selfish, but he has principles and bottom lines; he knows what he should at least do.

He went to Tibet to provide assistance, stayed in villages, and saw the poorest people living in the world.

To put it bluntly, he was empathizing with people of this era.

After ten years of drinking ice, it is difficult to cool the hot blood.

With a "clatter," the enamel mug was accidentally knocked over.

Qian Ming was startled, and almost dropped his cornbread: "Chengjun, what's wrong with you?"

Xu Chengjun smiled and said it was nothing.

My mind suddenly went to Ma Shengli's interview.

Ma Shengli asked, "Are individual business owners considered capitalists?"
He said, "It's labor."

There were some things he didn't say.
He recalled supermarkets in 2024, with shelves piled up to the ceiling.

I remember the breakfast stall at the entrance of my neighborhood, where the owner dared to write "Add Egg and Sausage" on his sign.

When I think back to when I was writing online novels, even if they flopped, I could still curse that "the editor has no taste."

"Hold."

Xu Chengjun laughed and cursed.

Then he laughed at himself, realizing he should do something.

Literature serves as a vehicle for conveying moral principles.
Qian Ming was a little confused: "Chengjun! What's wrong with you?"

What can you do?

Xu Chengjun took a deep breath and smiled brightly: "It's hot, so I might be a little feverish."

He wiped his face with water, and the blood flowed into his mouth, salty and fishy!

"Let's go out for a walk."

Xu Chengjun grabbed Qian Ming and started walking out.

The fence of the Workers', Peasants' and Soldiers' Guesthouse collapsed behind them, and Aunt Wang's loud voice chased after them from afar: "Xu Zhiqing! You haven't handed in your grain coupons yet!"

He didn't turn around.

On the bluestone slabs of Huaihe Road, bicycle bells jingled incessantly.

The woman in the blue cloth shirt carried a bamboo basket, inside which a tin can was swaying, containing corn porridge for her husband who ran a stall.

The porridge was so thin you could see your reflection in it, but her smile was sweeter than anyone else's.

Xu Chengjun suddenly slowed down.

He recalled his own writing about "Old Zhou using pumpkin pulp to stick his signboard," which he thought was clever and a writing technique at the time, but now he understands its significance.

Those are the sprouts that ordinary people painstakingly grow out of the cracks in their lives.
-
I walked into the department store without realizing it.

Behind the glass counter, Dacron fabric hung like a rainbow.

A shop assistant in a blue cotton jacket was holding up a piece of floral fabric in front of the mirror, pinching the corner of the fabric with her fingers and sticking it to her body, her eyes shining like a child who had just tasted candy.

Someone pushed the door open and came in. The shop assistant was so startled that she let go of the fabric, which slid back onto the shelf. She hurriedly turned around, her face flushed even more brightly than the floral pattern on the fabric.

Xu Chengjun stood at the door and suddenly felt less agitated.

He touched the wound on his chin; the blood had congealed and formed a thin scab.

“Qian Ming,” he suddenly laughed, “what if we wrote about a character who works as a shop assistant during the day and secretly tries on customers’ new clothes at night? Wouldn’t that be interesting?”

Qian Ming scratched his head: "What do you mean? She stole something?"

"It wasn't stealing."

Xu Chengjun glanced at the shop assistant behind the counter who was secretly glancing at the fabric, and a smile played on his lips. "Yes... the body hasn't changed, but the soul has put on new clothes first."

The wind blew through the glass doors of the department store, carrying the scent of fabric and herbs.

Xu Chengjun turned around and walked back, his steps becoming lighter.

He knew the fire hadn't gone out; it had just moved to a different spot.

It burns in my heart, burns at the tip of my pen, burns in the words yet to be written.

One day, all those things that are hidden, concealed, or feared to be seen will be exposed to the light of day.

Just like that piece of floral fabric in the department store right now, which the shop assistant secretly touched, one day it will be able to be worn with dignity.

He needs to add some spice to this era.

　Chapter 29 is the climax. I've revised it countless times, and by the end I don't even know what I wrote anymore. Please bear with it.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)