My era, 1979!

Chapter 3 Thoughts
Early in the morning, Xu Chengjun had already squatted on the edge of the field and written two pages.

The edges of the straw paper were damp with dew.

In his novel, Xu Chunsheng sneaks to the warehouse wall to count the marks while his father, Xu Laoshuan, is exchanging grain.

Those three horizontal and two vertical "正" characters were the old storekeeper's private accounts. Each scratch corresponded to "three catties of wheat missing". After four years of saving, he actually calculated that "the yield per mu of private plots was 20% higher than that of collective warehouses".

Literary creation needs a background, and these details all came from his observations over the past few days.

In 1979, this land was providing countless educated youth like him with a continuous source of creative inspiration.

Reflective literature, literature about the trauma of the past, and literature about reform.
Regardless of your opinion of him,

All of this is creating ripples on this land.

"Brother Chengjun, breakfast is ready."

“My mom said you were sick and was worried that the food at the educated youth settlement would be too rough, so she asked me to bring this to you.”

Xinghua's voice sounded from behind, carrying a hint of timidity.

Xu Chengjun turned around and saw that she was carrying a bamboo basket with two multigrain steamed buns and a small jar of pickled vegetables inside.

This is a rare treat in a farming family where sweet potato porridge is eaten every day!

Xu, the educated youth, was overjoyed!
"Did my aunt leave me something nice again?"

Xu Chengjun smiled as he took the basket, noticing that Xinghua had changed the red ribbon in her braids today, which made her dark face look particularly bright.

"My mom says you use your brain a lot when you write."

Xinghua's gaze fell on the draft paper, quickly scanning a few lines of text before lowering her head, her fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of her clothes.

"Is the story you wrote about our village?"

"That's it."

Xu Chengjun took a bite of the steamed bun.

"Write a story about a young intellectual who discovers a secret in a barn."

Xinghua squatted down next to him, drawing circles on the ground with a twig.

“You used to love writing, mostly about things in the village, like who got married or who built a house. Now, I can’t understand some of your writing.”

Xu Chengjun looked up and glanced at Xinghua.

The original author wrote mostly about his experiences in the countryside, with a youthful and simple style.

But now, his words are indeed different.

"After writing a lot, I wanted to try a new way of writing."

He couldn't explain it.

He could only mumble vaguely and continued looking down at the manuscript.

"Look at this passage: Xu Chunsheng discovered that his father's jujube wood scale always tilted towards 'collective over-recording,' but the wheat sprouts were leaking from the bottom of the granary."

Xinghua didn't reply, but just stared blankly at the wheat field in the distance.

The sunlight shone on her face, revealing fine downy hairs, and her usually bright eyes were now veiled with a thin mist.

The girl was two years younger than him, which wasn't considered young these days; she was old enough to understand things.

Putting aside everything else, the original owner certainly left him with a good appearance.

What a mess!

Grass!
Actually, what Xinghua was thinking was...

While spreading fertilizer in the morning, Wang Laosi accidentally spilled half a bag onto the muddy dirt road, and he was so anxious that he stomped his feet.

Fertilizer is precious; it loses its effectiveness if it gets even a little water.

Without saying a word, Xu Chengjun took off his cloth shoes, stepped barefoot into the mud, and gathered the fertilizer into the bag.

"Xu Zhiqing, what are you doing! This is dirty!"

Wang Laosi waved his hands anxiously.

"Every little bit we can get back is a good thing."

Xu Chengjun didn't even look up, his hands continuing their work.

When Zhao Gang and the others saw this, they all took off their shoes to help. Xinghua quickly went home to get a carrying pole and baskets, and carried the salvaged fertilizer back to the warehouse in different portions.

During the midday break, Xinghua squatted on the edge of the field and gently wiped the mud off Xu Chengjun's shoes.

“Brother Chengjun, you’re different from the other young men in the village.”

She suddenly spoke, her voice very soft.

“They only think about earning more work points, but you’re different. You have something on your mind.”

Xu Chengjun looked at her lowered eyes and brows, her long eyelashes casting small fan-like shadows under her eyelids.

He knew what Xinghua meant by "different".

It is the sense of alienation brought about by the identity of educated youth, the unique temperament of cultured people, and the ambition in their bones that does not belong to the Loess Plateau.

And these are precisely the places that attract apricot blossoms.

But this is also the source of her unease at this moment. "After staying in the village for a long time, you always start thinking about things outside."

Xu Chengjun tried to keep his tone light.

"Your brother is in the army, doesn't he always stare at maps too?"

Xinghua paused, then handed him the polished cloth shoes: "My brother is going to join the army to protect our country. You...you want to leave, right?"

Xu Chengjun remained silent.

Actually, it wasn't just him who wanted to leave; the original Xu Chengjun also wanted to leave.

He was somewhat speechless, unsure of what to say to this clever girl.

Some were afraid of hurting the girl who always thought of him or the original owner of this body.

"People naturally strive for better things."

He avoided Xinghua's gaze, "I heard that Fudan University is recruiting worker-peasant-soldier students, and you can go with a recommendation. I want to give it a try."

The cloth in Xinghua's hand fell to the ground with a "thud." She didn't pick it up, but just stood up and patted her pants: "Time to get to work."

As he turned around, Xu Chengjun saw her shoulders shrug slightly, and the newly changed red hair tie fluttered forlornly in the wind.

Some things called first love seem to be quietly shattering.

When they finished work in the evening, Xinghua didn't wait for him to leave together as usual.

Xu Chengjun saw her walking home chatting and laughing with several girls from the village. When she passed the educated youth settlement, he only glanced at her quickly before hurrying past.

Qian Ming, a former educated youth, brought over a crumpled copy of the Guangming Daily.

“Chengjun, look at this report. Many university Chinese departments are running ‘Young Writers Support Programs,’ where you can apply to audit classes based on your work!”

Xu Chengjun's eyes lit up, and he took the magazine to read it carefully.

"This is the right path!" Xu Chengjun suddenly realized.

Using a novel to gain admission to Fudan University is much more reliable than simply waiting for a recommendation.

"Thanks, Mingzi, this information is very useful!"

He paced back and forth on the ground, telling Qian Ming his story.

This could be considered the first reader of his articles in this era.
It should count, right?

"In the novel, I plan to have Xu Chunsheng discover his father Xu Laoshuan's cloth account book."

"The records show the amount of wheat that was lost from 1976 to 1978. Every year, it was 20% more than the 'increased production' in the collective accounts. This shows both the real weight of the data and the potential for reform."

Qian Ming listened with great interest, nodding repeatedly: "This is good! It's much more substantial than just writing about things in the wheat field!"

Who wouldn't enjoy listening to a story?

Or do you want to listen to Zhao Gang snoring?

Just then, Xinghua passed by the courtyard gate carrying a bowl. She paused for a moment, then quickened her pace.

Xu Chengjun saw that there were two white steamed buns in the bowl, sprinkled with sesame seeds. This was a dish that the village only prepared to entertain distinguished guests.

"Who is she delivering these steamed buns to?" Qian Ming asked curiously.

Xu Chengjun didn't say anything, he just watched Xinghua's figure disappear around the corner.

The apricot blossoms are distancing themselves from him.

The goodwill that was once hidden in delivering steamed buns and sewing pencil cases was gradually worn away by the word "leaving".

She liked Xu Chengjun, who might settle down in the countryside, rather than herself, who was determined to go far away.

There is indeed a world between them.

When writing under the lamp at night, Xu Chengjun's pen seemed to freeze.

He wrote that Xu Chunsheng pried open the lock of the granary in the middle of the night and found a cloth account book hidden in the haystack by the old storekeeper. In addition to the amount of wheat that had leaked, there was also a "grain distribution map" drawn in pencil. The plot marked in red was exactly where the leaked wheat was sprouting the most vigorously.

He put down his pen and went to the window while writing.

The wheat fields were quiet under the moonlight. The windows of Xinghua's house in the distance were already dark, and only the rustling sound of the wind blowing through the wheat waves could be heard.

Xu Chengjun recalled Xinghua's evasive gaze today, the newly changed red ribbon, and her focused expression while polishing her shoes.

He shook his head and smiled.

We still have to leave, carrying the memories and dreams of two souls.

Picking up his pen again, Xu Chengjun wrote a new chapter title on the manuscript paper, then paused.

He added a role to "The Barn".

A girl who, like an apricot blossom, always brought needles and thread to the granary, was the first to discover that the wheat had sprouted, and in the end, she helped Xu Chunsheng hide the cloth tent in the sole of his shoe.

This can be considered a silent farewell to this unfulfilled affection.

The flame of the kerosene lamp flickered gently, illuminating his focused profile.

The cicadas chirping outside the window gradually thinned out, and a few barks of dogs occasionally drifted from afar.

The night in the countryside is deep.

(End of this chapter)