Chapter Forty: Fragrant Grass Is Here—A Piece Called “Fragrant Grass”

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Jiang City.

Jiefang Park Road, Jiang’an District.

The editorial department of Jiang City Literature and Art, administered by the Municipal Federation of Literary and Art Circles, occupied several small buildings in a secluded, peaceful compound. One of them, a six-story structure, housed the editorial offices.

In the open space of the courtyard, several workers were removing the large characters reading “Jiang City Literature and Art” from above the first-floor entrance and replacing them with the words “Fragrant Grass.”

The era belonging to Jiang City Literature and Art had officially come to an end. From then on, 1980 would belong to Fragrant Grass.

The name Fragrant Grass was taken from a famous seven-character regulated verse by the Tang poet Cui Hao, “Yellow Crane Tower”:

The clear river reveals Hanyang’s trees,
Fragrant grasses flourish on Parrot Isle.

As one of the four leading “little literary stars,” Fragrant Grass had always adhered to a policy of publishing pure literature and maintained a refined style distinctly its own.

The journal had published many celebrated works, including Wang Zhenwu’s “The Last Basket of Spring Tea,” Yu Shan’s “The Women Students’ Dormitory,” and Sun Shuyang’s “Between Life and Death.”

The Women Students’ Dormitory was later adapted into a film.

Fragrant Grass also worked extensively to unite leading figures in the literary world, winning the support of such renowned names as Ba Jin, Xiao Jun, Hu Feng, Ye Junjian, Zang Kejia, and Wang Meng.

At the same time, it paid close attention to discovering and nurturing promising newcomers. The early works of many later-famous writers first appeared in Fragrant Grass, among them Jia Pingwa, Ye Wenling, Wang Anyi, Shi Tiesheng, Han Shaogong, Zhang Kangkang, Zheng Wanlong, Zou Zhian, and Wu Guozheng.

…

“Comrades, the report in my hand contains the statistical results sent over by our colleagues at the Distribution Bureau. As of last week, the January New Year issue of Fragrant Grass has been piling up badly in bookstores and book distributors across the city. According to our estimates, monthly sales may be cut in half!”

Editorial Department office.

The office was unusually quiet and dispirited. Facing the fury of Deputy Editor-in-Chief Yang Shuan, the editors did not dare utter a word.

In the new year, Jiang City Literature and Art, now renamed Fragrant Grass, had suffered a catastrophic collapse in sales. From its original figure of more than five hundred thousand copies, sales had been cut in half. By January fifteenth, fewer than one hundred thousand copies had been sold.

Yang Shuan, deputy editor-in-chief of Fragrant Grass, had vented his anger at the assembled editors. Now that he had calmed down, he pushed up the glasses resting on the bridge of his nose and said solemnly, trying to rally them:

“Although sales have been cut in half, I believe this is normal.

“When a publication changes its name, failing to issue proper notices—and even printing the old name on the cover—is a serious mistake.

“When readers see an unfamiliar publication, naturally they will not choose to buy it.

“Therefore, I do not blame anyone. That is all I have to say. I hope Fragrant Grass will rise to new heights and become bigger and stronger! Comrades, do we have confidence?”

“Yes!”

Hearing the young editors shout with flushed faces, Yang Shuan immediately felt that morale could still be relied upon.

During the two years since the launch of reform and opening, Jiang City Literature and Art had been struggling forward along a difficult road. Manpower, material resources, and funding were all in short supply.

The editorial department had therefore established one guiding principle: cultivate editors who were also writers.

Recruit talent from among the ranks of writers.

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“Editor-in-Chief, there’s a call for you. They say it’s Teacher Zhang Guangnian, editor-in-chief of People’s Literature in the capital!”

At that moment, an intern editor came running from the office and shouted.

Old Mr. Zhang Guangnian of People’s Literature?

The editors in the office finally could not help raising their heads.

When Yang Shuan heard the name, he was astonished. He had no idea why Mr. Zhang would be calling.

“Understood. I’ll be there at once. You continue reviewing the submissions—there are plenty of new manuscripts. Also, write to more writers and ask them for work. As long as the quality is high enough, we can raise our payment rate by one or two levels above that of our neighbor, Yangtze River Literature and Art. There’s no reason we can’t do that!”

After giving his instructions, Yang Shuan glanced around the room.

He then went to answer the telephone.

“Ah… Editor-in-Chief Zhang, how have you been? It’s been a long time…”

“What? Editor-in-Chief Zhang, are you saying that a manuscript rejected People’s Literature’s invitation right in front of you—even after you offered the top rate of ten yuan per thousand characters? And yet the author submitted it to Fragrant Grass instead? What’s more, the manuscript is also called Fragrant Grass?”

Yang Shuan repeated the words slowly, one by one.

After the call ended, he still found it difficult to believe what he had heard. For a while, his mind buzzed.

Someone had actually rejected People’s Literature and insisted on submitting to Fragrant Grass.

It was simply inconceivable!

Fragrant Grass might be one of the four leading “little literary stars,” but compared with People’s Literature, it was not even in the same league.

Even Yang Shuan himself might not have been able to refuse an invitation from the national literary journal, People’s Literature!

Yet this young man named Cheng Kaiyan had resolutely turned down People’s Literature, choosing instead to cast his work into the arms of Fragrant Grass.

“And the novel is called Fragrant Grass too? Isn’t that exactly the same as our new name?”

“Can it really be that good? For Mr. Zhang Guangnian to praise it so highly, it must be extraordinary! He even called specifically to tell us about it.”

Yang Shuan rose and walked to the window, gazing at the mighty Yangtze flowing in the distance.

His curiosity had become unbearable, as though a hundred claws were scratching at his heart.

He gritted his teeth, turned around, and hurried back to the editorial area.

“Everyone stop what you’re doing! Search through all the manuscripts that have arrived over the past few days. Right now, immediately—find the novel titled Fragrant Grass!”

“What is the editor-in-chief doing?”

“Is there really a novel called Fragrant Grass? Isn’t that the same as our newly adopted name?”

At Yang Shuan’s command, the editorial department dissolved into chaos. Everyone abandoned their work and began rummaging through the sacks at their feet.

“There probably is one. Didn’t Teacher Zhang Guangnian from People’s Literature just call?”

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In the corner, a female editor named Chen Shanshan, whose hair was tied in a long braid, instantly understood. She bent over and began searching through one of the sacks. Before long, a package nearly as thick as several books caught her attention.

“You really are clever. No wonder you’re a top student from Wuhan University, Shanshan.”

The older woman beside her, who was knitting, thought it over and nodded.

“Who sent this? It’s such a thick stack. There must be two or three hundred thousand words here, right?”

Chen Shanshan lifted it out with curiosity and weighed the hefty bundle in her hands.

“Probably some writer who has spent years accumulating manuscripts, hoping to make a great breakthrough all at once. The last time I dealt with that professor from your French Department at Wuhan University—the one whose name was An something—he translated The Hunchback of Notre-Dame the same way. He wrote a great deal at once and brought it all in together later,” the knitting woman muttered.

“It’s An Shaokang! Professor An is refined, elegant, witty, and humorous. Lots of girls at Wuhan University like attending his lectures.”

Chen Shanshan pursed her lips and shot the older woman an annoyed glance.

At the mention of Professor An, even her own face flushed faintly.

“Yes, yes, yes. I think it isn’t his lectures you like—it’s him. The campus heartthrob, eh?” The older woman continued knitting without looking up.

Chen Shanshan was momentarily speechless. She stopped paying attention to the woman and lowered her head to examine the manuscript in her hands.

The first thing she saw was a line of exceptionally beautiful handwriting, pleasing to the eye.

Fresh and expansive, yet vigorous and powerful.

The return address read: No. 56 Xiaowei Alley, Dongcheng District, Beijing. From Cheng Kaiyan.

Chen Shanshan was curious. Why had this author named Cheng Kaiyan sent such a thick stack?

How long would it take to read all of this?

Shaking her head, Chen Shanshan carefully opened the package. Sure enough, she found page after neatly arranged page of manuscript, all written in the same hand as the envelope.

“Fragrant Grass… Fragrant Grass?!”

Chen Shanshan’s eyes widened instantly. This had to be the Fragrant Grass the editor-in-chief had mentioned!

She sprang to her feet, held up the manuscript, and shouted, “Director! We found Fragrant Grass!”

“Bring it here at once, Comrade Chen!”

Yang Shuan’s eyes lit up. Old Mr. Zhang Guangnian had been telling the truth!

The Fragrant Grass editorial department had really received a manuscript titled Fragrant Grass!

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