Chapter 35: The Conclusion (Please Follow for Updates)

As Cheng Kaiyan wrote the final word, he suddenly felt a strand of ink-black hair brushing against his ear, carrying a faint, lingering fragrance.

Subconsciously, he gathered his manuscript and tucked it into his briefcase, then asked with feigned casualness, "Aunt Jiang? Is something the matter?"

Jiang Ting stepped back slightly, glanced at the manuscript now hidden in the briefcase, and frowned. "No, nothing. I just noticed you hadn't moved for a long time and got a bit worried."

"I see. Well, thank you, Aunt Jiang."

Seeing the gentle smile still resting on Cheng Kaiyan’s face, Jiang Ting fell silent for a moment. With her keen intuition, she had naturally caught the look on Cheng Kaiyan’s face the moment he tucked the manuscript away.

*Does he get along with everyone on the surface, while keeping people at a distance from his true self?*

"Are you writing something?" Jiang Ting asked after a pause.

"Just scribbling a bit."

"Would you like Aunt Jiang to take a look? Or perhaps offer some advice?"

"Haha, no need, Aunt Jiang. It’s just some random writing. Oh, look, it’s time to clock out. I’ll be heading off now, Aunt Jiang."

Watching Cheng Kaiyan’s receding figure, Jiang Ting bit her lip with her pearly white teeth, a sense of frustration rising in her heart. *He’s so gentle, but the moment someone gets too close, he runs away, doesn't he?*

A moment later, a knock sounded at the door.

Jiang Ting looked up, filled with anticipation. "Please, come in."

It was not Cheng Kaiyan returning, but Lin Xiaohong, who poked her head through the door gap. "Professor Jiang, I’m here to collect the poetry manuscripts. Cheng Kaiyan said he left his on the desk."

*He writes poetry, too? Oh, right, the school poetry competition. Director Fang said everyone had to submit something.*

Jiang Ting turned to look and, sure enough, there was a yellow-brown envelope on Cheng Kaiyan’s desk. She thought of the fragment she had glimpsed earlier and couldn't help but feel curious about his poetry. What kind of poems would he write?

She felt a sudden urge to open the envelope and take a peek, but she straightened her posture, took a deep breath, and suppressed the impulse. "It’s on the desk. You can take it."

After all, she was a judge; she would see it soon enough anyway.

"Oh... wait, why is there a grease stain on the envelope? This guy!" Lin Xiaohong muttered as she took the envelope and left, her voice echoing in the office.

***

Cheng Kaiyan sped through the streets and alleys with his briefcase on his back; having a bicycle made traveling much more convenient. He was in such a hurry because he was rushing to show the next portion of his work to Ye Shengtao.

Soon, he arrived at the small courtyard of the Ye residence.

"Kaiyan, you’ve arrived?"

Ye Shengtao was sitting in the yard, enjoying the flowers and resting. At his age, even the smallest effort easily brought fatigue. *Could it be that he’s finished the manuscript?* Ye wondered, watching Cheng Kaiyan push his bicycle inside.

"Old Master Ye, the manuscript is finished. I’ve brought it for you to see."

Cheng Kaiyan knew he was still a novice in the literary world. Even if his work *The Submarine at Night* had received decent industry reviews, it was merely children's literature, which held little weight in the current literary environment. Serious literature, pure literature, and realism were considered the orthodox standard.

A work like this could make an author’s reputation—much like Yu Hua’s *To Live*, Liu Xinwu’s *The Class Teacher*, Lu Xinhua’s *The Scar*, or Lu Yao’s *Ordinary World*. Once his book, *Fragrant Grass*, was released, he wouldn't just be "Little Cheng" anymore; at the very least, he would be addressed as "Teacher Cheng."

"Let me see!" Ye Shengtao’s clouded eyes brightened, and he looked at Cheng with astonishment. When he had visited last, only a hundred thousand words had been written; now it was finished? This was a massive work of nearly three hundred thousand words! Young people certainly had fast hands.

Clutching the manuscript excitedly, Ye Shengtao turned directly to where he had left off. For the past few days, his mind had been filled with the scenes from the book, playing out like a film. Knowing the outline, he flipped through the pages rapidly.

Over an hour later, reaching the final page, tears welled up in his eyes. With the plot and characters still echoing in his mind, Ye Shengtao took a deep breath. "Phew... this is an epic! Kaiyan, which literary journal do you intend to submit this to? *People’s Literature* or *Contemporary*? I have acquaintances at both; I could have this novel published by the next issue!" His tone was filled with the confidence that a work of this caliber could not possibly be rejected.

"I’m not sure yet. I’ve been so busy writing that I haven't had time to think about it," Cheng Kaiyan replied, shaking his head.

*People’s Literature*, *Contemporary*, and *Harvest* were the premier pure literary journals of the era, each with a circulation reaching the millions. The literary craze of this period swept across China, and these journals became the spiritual medium for a generation, attracting a massive readership. There wasn't a single young intellectual among the tens of millions who hadn't read these journals.

Among them, *Harvest*, *Flower City*, *October*, and *Contemporary* were known as the "Four Great Dan." This title first appeared at a national literary journal symposium in 1980, where an editor compared the four magazines to the four types of female roles in Peking Opera: the "Old Dan" (dignified), "Hua Dan" (vibrant), "Dao Ma Dan" (spirited), and "Qing Yi" (refined).

*Harvest* was called the "Old Dan" for its maturity and composure. *Flower City* was the "Hua Dan" for its elegance. *Contemporary* was the "Zheng Dan" for its forthrightness, and *October* was the "Qing Yi" for its freshness and grace. These titles were widely circulated and highly effective.

There were also the "Four Small Dan." The list was somewhat fluid, as many journals vied for the title, but the ones most recognized in the 1980s were *Jiangcheng Literature (Fragrant Grass)*, *Mountain Flowers*, *Grain Sowing*, and *Harbin Literature (Novel Forest)*.

"That's true... *Fragrant Grass*... I feel like I've heard that name somewhere," Ye Shengtao mused, frowning as he tried to recall.

Just then, Ye Zhicheng walked in, accompanied by a white-haired man in his sixties.

"Dad, I’ve brought Editor-in-Chief Zhang Guangnian from *People’s Literature*! He’s very fond of the *Fragrant Grass* manuscript."

Ye Zhicheng had visited the *People’s Literature* office that day and, in his conversation with Zhang Guangnian, had inadvertently revealed news of Cheng Kaiyan’s *Fragrant Grass*. After hearing the introduction, Zhang Guangnian had been instantly intrigued. Upon learning that the author was a young man in his early twenties, he insisted on coming with Ye Zhicheng to see the work for himself.

Zhang Guangnian greeted them warmly. "Old Master Ye, I hope you are in good health!"

"Very well, Guangnian."

Despite being over eighty, Ye Shengtao held a position of immense influence in the literary world. After 1949, he had served as Vice Minister of Education, head of the People’s Education Press, and held numerous other prestigious titles. His influence was such that a single step from him would make the entire literary world tremble.

"And this must be Comrade Cheng Kaiyan! I’ve been hearing Zhicheng whispering and raving about your *Fragrant Grass* for days during our meetings. I simply had to see what kind of masterpiece this is!" Zhang Guangnian said loudly, his eyes burning as he looked at the thick stack of manuscript pages in Cheng Kaiyan's hands.