Chapter Thirty-Three: The Letter

(Page 1 of 3)

Cheng Kaiyan had just gotten up and finished breakfast. Since he was off work today, he stayed home to write. In a few more days, he would be finished.

A letter?

These days, the only person likely to write to him was Liu Xiaoli.

Nearly seven days had passed since the last letter was mailed.

Thinking this, Cheng Kaiyan pushed open the door and stepped into the courtyard.

Beneath a parasol tree with sparse, withered branches stood a young postman in a thick padded coat and postal cap. He held a bundle of letters in his arms and was looking around.

“That many?” Cheng Kaiyan asked, somewhat surprised.

“Yes. I took a quick look just now—there must be more than a hundred. They’ve come from all over the country. Comrade Cheng Kaiyan, are these what people call readers’ letters? They’re all from different parts of the country, and some are even addressed to elementary schools.”

The young postman asked with obvious curiosity. He had been responsible for this neighborhood for several years, having taken over the postman’s position from his father-in-law.

But he was actually something of an artistic young man. The last time he had delivered a letter, he had taken notice of Cheng Kaiyan, who was even younger than himself.

He had said then that they should learn from each other. He had been thinking about it ever since, but work had kept him busy, and showing up uninvited would hardly have been polite.

So the matter had been delayed until now.

“Probably,” Cheng Kaiyan replied.

He reached out. Only then did the postman belatedly hand him the sack of letters.

After taking it, Cheng Kaiyan noticed that the young postman remained standing there, seemingly hesitant.

“Comrade Postman, is there something else?” he asked.

“No… nothing. I was just wondering… could I take a look? I’m simply curious.”

The postman stammered, an embarrassed expression on his face.

“Come in.”

…

Cheng Kaiyan led the postman inside and placed the letters on his desk, examining them one by one. Liu Xiaoli’s letter should be somewhere in the pile, but it would take him quite a while to find it, so he asked the postman to help.

The two of them began rummaging through the stack.

As he opened the letters, the postman introduced himself. His name was Lin Weimin, and he was twenty-one years old. He was a young rural man from the Great Northern Wilderness. A few years earlier, he had married, but afterward his young wife had returned to the city.

Lin Weimin had been heartbroken, convinced that he had been abandoned. Yet, only a few months later, his young wife had returned with a large belly, taken him with her to the capital, and arranged for him to inherit her father’s position as a postman.

After hearing his story, Cheng Kaiyan clicked his tongue in amazement.

“You really did stumble into incredible luck. Of course, most people were abandoned, weren’t they?”

“Yes. Back then, quite a few educated youths from our village returned to the cities and never sent another word. Everything was terribly chaotic. Some wrote letters of complaint, while others swallowed their anger. There were even men who wanted to get back to the city so badly that they had their wives break one of their legs, claiming they had retired from work due to illness…”

Lin Weimin rubbed his nose and gave a bitter laugh.

“It was a mess. Calling those people scumbags would almost be too kind.”

Cheng Kaiyan shook his head.

“Scar literature has been very popular these past two years, but there’s something strange about reading it. We country folk have lived that kind of life our entire lives, while they only spent a few years in the countryside before starting to howl about it. I don’t even know whom they’re sympathizing with. They criticize this and condemn that all day long—why don’t they take a good look at themselves? I really wish some writer would give those people a proper scolding!”

“There will be one,” Cheng Kaiyan said, the corners of his mouth curving upward.

(Page 2 of 3)

At that moment, Lin Weimin’s hands suddenly stopped moving. He exclaimed delightedly, “I found Comrade Liu Xiaoli’s letter! Comrade Cheng Kaiyan, here it is—this one belongs to you.”

“Thank you. If you hadn’t helped me, I’d have no idea how long it would have taken me to open everything.”

Cheng Kaiyan took the letter but did not read it immediately. Instead, he put it away in a drawer.

Half an hour later, the two of them had finally finished opening all the letters.

“I’ve got eight yuan here, more than twenty assorted coupons, and several photographs. They’re all pictures of young, pretty girls.”

Lin Weimin gathered everything together and laid it on the table, his voice tinged with envy.

Being a writer really was comfortable!

Readers’ letters were like blind boxes. You never knew whether one might contain a few coins, some coupons, or something else of value.

Writing did not earn much money in those days, so some kindhearted readers worried that authors might starve to death. They would slip a few large monthly tickets and rewards into their letters, thrusting them fiercely into the author’s arms—as though feeding a distant electronic cyber stray cat.

“I’ve got four yuan and twenty cents here as well…”

After tidying everything up, Lin Weimin prepared to leave.

Before going, he asked the title of Cheng Kaiyan’s previous book. He wanted to buy it and read it.

After sending the fortunate postman away, Cheng Kaiyan opened the drawer, took out Liu Xiaoli’s letter, and began to read.

“Dear Comrade Cheng Kaiyan,

“I have received your sentiments. Beginning on January 1, 1980, the agreement between the two of us has officially begun!

“Comrade Cheng Kaiyan, in your last letter, you mentioned that you had published a story in a children’s literature journal. I have finished reading it, and it was excellent. I hope you will continue working hard and make further progress.

“The theater has been busy preparing performances for the Spring Festival, so these past few days have been rather hectic…”

After reading the entire letter, Cheng Kaiyan saw that Liu Xiaoli had truly kept her promise. She had begun sharing the details of her daily life with him: the things that had gone wrong at work recently, the happy moments in her life, which girl in the dormitory had found a boyfriend, and how she had been scolded by her teacher during training that day.

At the very end of the letter came a small complaint.

“You rascal! You’re awful! Why did you send me a photograph from when you were fifteen or sixteen? Have you grown ugly? Hurry up and send me a recent photograph so I can see you! Let me see you!”

(Page 3 of 3)

The girl’s graceful, fresh handwriting was a pleasure to behold. Cheng Kaiyan could almost see a charming young woman standing with her hands on her hips, lifting her fair, delicate chin and saying haughtily, “Let me see you!”

“What an amusing girl…”

Cheng Kaiyan let out a helpless laugh. When he had mailed the letter that day, he had only been back for a few days, so naturally the only photograph he had on hand was one from before he enlisted.

Besides, in those days, ordinary families did not simply go out to have their photographs taken whenever they pleased. His photograph had been a keepsake from his sixteenth birthday.

However, when he had reported to Beijing Normal University a few days earlier, he had taken several identity photographs.

He still had eleven of them left, but Cheng Kaiyan had no intention of granting Liu Xiaoli’s request.

With that in mind, he began writing his reply, sharing what had happened to him over the past few days.

“Xiaoli, seeing your words is like seeing your face…”

Several days later.

The Chinese Department classroom at Beijing Normal University.

As usual, Cheng Kaiyan attended class with Jiang Ting, sitting among the students and writing furiously with his head lowered.

Perhaps his creative spark had finally erupted. Once his thoughts had been sorted out, he began writing eight thousand words a day. The labor of love he had poured his heart into had only the final section left—the part in which the fragrant grass burned itself—and would soon be complete.

“Teacher Cheng looks so busy these days. He barely says a word before or after class. He’s completely absorbed in his writing.”

“Yeah. Ruixue, do you know what’s going on?”

“Maybe it’s a new work.”

Several girls from the women’s dormitory sat behind Cheng Kaiyan, whispering among themselves.

Zhao Ruixue stared curiously at Cheng Kaiyan’s back. Hadn’t he started writing on New Year’s Day?

After class, Cheng Kaiyan returned to the office.

Lin Xiaohong and Song Jianming came over. The two of them were responsible for collecting the poems this time.

“Cheng Kaiyan, have you written your poem yet? It’s almost time to submit it.”

Lin Xiaohong looked at him with some concern.

Song Jianming laughed.

“It’s all right if you couldn’t write one. After all, you have a perfectly understandable excuse.”

There was a teasing glint in his eyes, as though he were waiting to see Cheng Kaiyan make a fool of himself.