Chapter Twenty-Eight: Elder Ye’s Commentary

The next day, Wutong Courtyard.

Cheng Kaiyan got up early to pack his things. He didn’t realize the situation until he stepped outside, at which point he was taken aback. The courtyard was covered in yellow sand, and the air was thick with the scent of dust, irritating his nose and making him want to sneeze.

"Mom! Are there any extra scarves? Why is it all sand and dust out there?" Cheng Kaiyan asked, turning back into the house with his washbasin.

"There are some in the cabinet. Look for yourself," replied Xu Yuxiu, who had already risen. Both of them worked at the school, and their schedules aligned. Yesterday, after buying a bicycle, they had agreed that Cheng Kaiyan would drop Xu Yuxiu off at her school every morning before heading to Beijing Normal University himself.

"Oh my, the courtyard is buried in sand. There must have been a sandstorm last night." Xu Yuxiu pushed open the door to look outside. Indeed, the drainage ditches and the leaves on the wutong trees were coated in a layer of yellow grit. Fortunately, the Cheng family’s windows were well-sealed; in the east and west wing rooms, where some families had neglected to replace their old glass panes, the interiors were likely covered in dust.

The 1980s and 90s were the peak years for sandstorms in Beijing. In March of the previous year, an article titled "Wind and Sand Closing in on Beijing" had sounded the alarm regarding the ecological threat. During that winter and spring, five major wind-sand zones surrounding the city "poured" sand into the capital from every direction. Whenever the wind picked up, the city was filled with yellow haze, leaving houses with poor window seals filled with dust. Women on the street usually wrapped their heads completely in scarves. When the gales blew, streets and alleys were swept by dust, stinging one’s eyes shut. Once a dust storm hit, the sky over the capital turned a murky yellow, making midday look like twilight. On the north bank of the Yongding River, south of Dahongmen, sand dunes had already begun to form—a sign that the desert was tightening its grip on Beijing, threatening the city like an army at the gates.

Cheng Kaiyan pulled two silk scarves from the wardrobe, tied them over his face and knotted them at the back of his head. He looked in the mirror and saw a perfect likeness of a bandit. Xu Yuxiu covered her mouth and giggled, "What are you wearing? You look just like a brigand." She stepped in to help him readjust them.

After packing, they headed out. Cheng Kaiyan dropped his mother off at Dengshikou, where they grabbed a quick breakfast before heading to their respective workplaces. The wind had died down by then, or walking would have been impossible. After a half-hour ride, he finally reached the university.

Cheng Kaiyan had no classes today, so he followed the usual routine of "punching in" at the Chinese Department office corridor. This meant flipping over the nameplate hanging on the wall to indicate he had arrived. After checking in, he walked to his aunt’s office. She hadn't arrived yet, likely still having breakfast, so Cheng Kaiyan grabbed the thermos and headed to the water room to boil water.

In winter, hot water was essential in the office. Fortunately, he worked in his aunt’s office, and since it was just the two of them, their consumption was low. However, there were always people dropping by to "borrow" some. Just then, a woman’s voice drifted down the empty corridor, calling out lazily, "Cheng Kaiyan, pour me a cup too."

Cheng Kaiyan turned to see a woman of about twenty-three or twenty-four, wearing a bright red padded jacket, her hair cut short to her ears, and a smattering of freckles on her face. She held out an enamel mug emblazoned with the words "Harmony and Happiness."

"Sure. Remember to boil the water next time you're here first," he said.

Lin Xiaohong, a Beijing native whose parents were both administrators at the university, was also a teaching assistant in the Chinese Department. As they were close in age, they were friends.

"Don't you worry. As long as Lin Xiaohong is here, you'll have hot water to drink every day," she promised, patting her remarkably flat chest with a resounding thud. There was absolutely no curve there—just the sound of a palm hitting ribs.

"I’m much obliged."

"You're welcome. Oh, and Director Fang said there’s a meeting this morning. Don’t you dare sneak off before it's over," Lin Xiaohong reminded him kindly.

"OK!"

"Stop showing off with that English!"

They parted ways, and Cheng Kaiyan went to the periodical reading room to pick up a copy of the *Yanjing Daily*. A perk of working in the Chinese department was that all sorts of literary journals and newspapers were delivered there regularly. He took a sip of his tea, clutched the warm cup to his chest, and began flipping through the paper.

Soon, he spotted a headline: *"The Best Pure Literary Fairy Tale in Recent Years,"* with the sub-headline: *"One side of growing up is maturity; the other is wear and tear."* The author was Ye Shengtao.

"Recently, a story in children's literature has caused a frenzy of subscriptions among students and parents: *'The Night Submarine.'* It captures the beautiful fantasies of childhood and the deep regrets of adulthood. This story saddened me deeply. It is like obtaining a treasure that only you can see—a matchless, beautiful thing, a miracle gifted by heaven that belongs solely to you. Yet, pressured by reality—that damned, helpless reality—you are forced to discard it simply to return to being 'ordinary' and mediocre. Years later, when you finally have the energy or the regret to try to recreate that brilliance, which once shone like the sun, only you know that no matter what you do, all that remains is a faint, flickering flame like a candle...

"This is a story about the alienation of children by reality, society, and others. In this novella, I vaguely see shadows of *The Metamorphosis*. While Kafka wrote of the unimaginable alienation modern society inflicts upon adults, *'The Night Submarine'* points out that society has long been preying on children, though people are still unaware. Must our meteor-like imagination inevitably fail to escape the gravity of reality? This is worth our deep reflection. Written by Ye Shengtao in Beijing, winter, January 4th, 1980."

"Ahem... Old Mr. Ye is being too generous... Who am I to be mentioned in the same breath as Master Kafka?" Despite his modest words, Cheng Kaiyan’s face was beaming.

He figured that once this review hit, sales of his children's literature would soar. It didn't matter financially, though—no matter how many copies sold, he wouldn't see a dime of it. He planned to finish the first volume of *Fragrant Grass* and then pay a visit to Mr. Ye.

A short while later, his aunt, Jiang Ting, walked into the office with her briefcase. Seeing Cheng Kaiyan focused on his writing, she nodded to herself. *'Kaiyan may be a bit lazy by nature, but he has been quite diligent lately.'* Xu Yuxiu had entrusted her to look after him at work. Though Jiang Ting’s demeanor was cool, she treated him like a nephew and truly hoped he would work hard and improve himself.

"What are you writing?" she asked.

Cheng Kaiyan scratched his head. "Just writing some articles."

A smile touched Jiang Ting's eyes. "Keep up the hard work. If you produce some results, I’ll submit a report to the director before the New Year to get your position formalized."

"Thank you, Aunt." Cheng Kaiyan’s eyes lit up. That was a prospect he could get behind. He had started working on the 20th of the previous month, and in a few days, on the 5th, he would receive his salary—likely only ten yuan. Just like in the future, even in the simple days of the 70s and 80s, you didn't get a full month's pay if you hadn't worked the full month; it was all pro-rated.

"Keep at it. And remember, there’s a meeting later, don't run off."