Chapter Twenty-One: The Verdant Grass of 1980
The days that followed flew by swiftly, and in the blink of an eye, it was the final night of 1979.
That evening, Cheng Kaiyan continued to lean over his desk, engrossed in writing his latest novel, "Fragrant Grass."
The title was inspired by two characters—a mother and daughter, Xiaofang and Xiaocao, who had been cruelly abandoned.
The novel was divided into three parts: summer, autumn, and winter.
At the very beginning, Cheng Kaiyan wrote a heavy line:
"Why is there no spring? Because here... there has never been any spring."
The first volume took place in the scorching summer, portraying a young country girl experiencing the stirrings of love.
In this volume, Cheng Kaiyan painstakingly described the love story between a young educated youth sent to the countryside and Xiaofang, the village party secretary’s daughter.
But by the end of the volume, all the previously beautiful moments were shattered, completely overturning the characters’ images.
...
In the summer of 1973, under the blazing sun in Dayu Village, near Annan in the southern border region, a truckload of sent-down youths arrived at the village brigade headquarters.
A group of passionate young people from all over the country, who had voluntarily given up their urban household registrations to dedicate themselves to rural development, reached this hot, humid, remote, and impoverished place.
Among them, Song Jingming from the capital city was the most unique. Born into a scholarly family and exceptionally learned, he immediately drew attention upon arriving in Dayu Village to join the farming team.
One day, after heroically rescuing a girl, Song Jingming unexpectedly met Xiaofang, the beautiful daughter of the village party secretary. Hoping to secure better treatment during his stay, Song Jingming instinctively drew closer to her.
During work, he would pay special attention to Xiaofang; when peers teased them, he would gently stroke her head with a warm smile, saying, "I only see Xiaofang as a little sister."
Sometimes, Song Jingming would take Xiaofang to lie quietly on the dam overgrown with fragrant grass by the reservoir, gazing at the crescent moon resembling a silver river, and discussing their life aspirations.
He would buy candies and fashion flower crowns from fresh field blossoms for her…
In summer, he would fan her and recite poetry to her…
In autumn, he would bring sour-sweet fruits…
Song Jingming brought this country girl a beauty that did not belong to her small patch of the sky.
Gradually, Xiaofang’s feelings blossomed.
She fell in love with this gentle, refined man.
But he always said he only saw her as a sister. Seeing himself made her think of his own sister. The sweetness and anguish intertwined in Xiaofang’s heart.
She did not want to be his sister; she wanted more…
Slowly, while lying on the riverbank watching the moon, Xiaofang noticed Song Bro’s eyes were always filled with melancholy when gazing at the moon.
Looking down at his eyes, the moonlight, as clear as water, rippled in his deep gaze.
Her heart trembled; Xiaofang knew Song Bro was homesick. He longed deeply to return to the hometown that had nurtured him for over a decade.
A sudden surge of courage made her stand up and say, “Song Bro… can I be your… sister?”
But when she saw Song Jingming’s cold eyes, devoid of any emotion, Xiaofang knew she had made a grave mistake. She hurriedly apologized and fled, covering her face.
The next day, Xiaofang lay in bed, refusing to work, tossing and turning with a bittersweet heart, thinking how wonderful it would be if she were a city girl…
She thought, it must have been her words about wanting to be his sister that displeased him…
Yes, someone like her, uneducated, unable to read poetry fluently, and speaking imperfect Mandarin, a rustic country bumpkin—how could she dare to replace Song Bro’s sister, who was born in the capital, stunningly beautiful, gentle, and charming?
Days passed slowly.
One night, Song Jingming received another letter from the capital…
Xiaofang did not know what was written inside…
She only knew her Song Bro was very sad, and she had to do something.
That night, in the sorghum field, Xiaofang’s passionate and dazzling summer arrived.
Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes as she said, “I have bloomed without regret.”
But she was not a flower.
...
Cheng Kaiyan paused, stretched long and leisurely, and looked outside. Dawn was breaking.
“Hmm? Is it five o’clock already?”
Cheng Kaiyan felt a little dazed. What was going on? Had he been writing all night?
“Tsk, tsk, as expected of me. Once inspiration strikes, nothing can stop it…”
He quickly did some eye exercises; he did not want to ruin his eyesight.
After finishing, he stood up to stretch his limbs.
With a swoosh, he drew back the curtains. Outside, white mist drifted through the courtyard. Looking at the old facilities—the well, the crooked tree, the water ditch, the moss-covered walls in the corners...
Everything was so familiar, yet so strange.
He turned to look at the wooden bookshelf where the zodiac calendar hung. Only the last small gray-white page remained, dated December 31 of the Year of the Goat.
He murmured, “There really is no going back…”
Snap!
He tore off the last page, not to throw it away but to keep it safely in the drawer.
...
Snap~
Far away in Jiangcheng, at the Jiangcheng Song and Dance Theatre.
In the girls’ dormitory, the creaking of old wooden bedboards echoed as the girls turned in their sleep.
On the lower bunk by the window lay a girl.
Covered with a thick quilt, her slender figure could be faintly seen beneath. Her limbs were perfectly proportioned.
From top to bottom, her curves started with a slightly full chest, like budding young rice shoots—delicate as jade, plump yet graceful.
Below was a slender waist small enough to grasp, rounded and firm hips like a full moon, and a pair of straight, jade-like legs pressed tightly together. The quilt at the foot of the bed was playfully pushed aside by her sock-clad feet.
“Mmm~”
A soft, cat-like clear voice sounded. A pair of bright, clear eyes blinked slightly, a bit dazed, as beautiful as the springtime East Lake—utterly enchanting.
“It’s time to get up.”
Liu Xiaoli’s slender waist tightened, and magically, she sat up.
She got dressed and went to the window.
In the distance, the mighty Yangtze River was shrouded in a few meters of white mist.
With a crisp morning river breeze, the mist swirled over the water like a snake, drifting toward the city’s wharf.
“Good thing the faucet isn’t frozen. If this were Harbin, it would have frozen long ago.”
Liu Xiaoli held her washcloth and basin at the sink, preparing to wash her face, murmuring to herself.
Clearly, Jiangcheng’s temperature wasn’t low enough to freeze the pipes.
Splash, splash~
The faucet gushed cold water into the enamel basin, submerging the two mandarin ducks painted at the bottom.
Liu Xiaoli cupped a handful of clear water and splashed it onto her face.
The biting cold did not faze her; instead, she gently washed with her delicate, jade-white hands.
Looking up, the clear mirror purchased by the girls reflected her lily-like face—fresh and radiant.
A droplet slid silently down her finely shaped nose.
Her complexion, once porcelain-white, now resembled translucent, pale green jade.
Her jaw was slightly rounded, with a delicate beauty spot at the edge.
...
After washing, Liu Xiaoli left for breakfast as usual.
Downstairs, she habitually checked the mailbox by the door.
Since graduating a few years ago, she had been working alone in Jiangcheng. Every once in a while, her mother Jiang Wan sent letters from Harbin, and her aunt in the capital wrote even more frequently.
Her anticipation wasn’t truly for her mother or aunt, though.
Not long ago, Liu Xiaoli had sent a letter to her nominal fiancé, entrusting her aunt to deliver it.
One item in the letter was a breakup...
Liu Xiaoli understood that her request was harsh. At any time, when a woman initiates a breakup, it deeply wounds the man’s pride.
But...
She was still a young woman in her early twenties—while not overly romantic, she still longed for love.
She could hardly imagine spending her life with a man she barely knew—his past, appearance, and character all unknown.
Because of this, Liu Xiaoli resolutely proposed the breakup in the letter, though worried about causing bad consequences.
She expressed willingness to communicate, suggesting that if love did not blossom within a year, they could part amicably.
Surely this would make everyone happy?
Creak~
The rusty hinge of the mailbox groaned as she opened it. Inside lay a letter.
In the dim morning light, Liu Xiaoli clearly saw her name written in elegant, timeless script on the paper.
She took it out, and looking down, noticed the letter was signed by a man:
Cheng Kaiyan.
Her delicate, snow-like fingers nervously traced the rough, yellowed envelope.
She whispered, “He writes so beautifully.”
Excitement and fear welled within her heart.
She wondered if the letter contained endless scorn toward her.
She thought, “If that’s the case... I might as well die.”
Determined, Liu Xiaoli quickly tore open the letter—she never dawdled when handling things.
“Dear Comrade Liu Xiaoli, I have long admired your grace, though never met face to face…”
Liu Xiaoli raised her brows; this person seemed to be a cultured man.
She continued reading, her elegantly arched eyebrows relaxing like distant mountains, and a sense of relief washed over her, dispelling the troubles that had weighed on her since adulthood.
A faint smile curved her glossy lips, like the charm of an April breeze. At that moment, she held up a photograph toward the faint morning light.
In the golden sunshine, the photo was clear.
It was a boy of about fifteen or sixteen, sitting at a piano. His features were upright and handsome, bright and refined.
He leaned against the piano, smiling at the camera.
There was an innate elegance about him, tinged with a subtle melancholy.
The young girl lifted her smooth, fair chin, speaking deliberately:
“This Comrade Cheng seems like quite a good fellow...
He can write books, a submarine of the night?
I’m actually looking forward to it, little Comrade Cheng!”