Chapter 10: The Emotional Blogger of 1979

After dinner.

Tonight’s sunset glow was beautiful, but there was no sense of peaceful tranquility in the courtyard—only the trivial, mundane affairs of everyday life.

Inside the house, Chen Jianjun was repairing a fountain pen by the fading daylight, while Chen Qi accompanied Yu Xiuli in winding a ball of yarn. The three of them were quiet because the only household appliance—the radio—was playing Yuan Kuocheng’s storytelling program, “Forest Sea Snowfield.”

The elderly gentleman hadn’t yet begun narrating the Romance of the Three Kingdoms; he was still telling revolutionary tales.

“When was his goddaughter born again?”

“I think it was ’87. That’s eight years away. I was already 27 then—quite a big age gap! Hey, her grandfather performs Xihe drum storytelling, right? Should I try to get acquainted with him? Then I can also recognize her as my goddaughter someday.”

“But speaking of which, Liu Shishi only grows more beautiful with age, especially after having a child. She’s far more captivating now than when she was younger...”

While winding the yarn, Chen Qi mentally complained, his thoughts jumping casually across decades—quantum fluctuations, perhaps.

When the storytelling ended, a health education program came on, followed by a re-broadcast of the day’s news: “At the end of this month, the Ministry of Culture will hold an awards ceremony at the CPPCC Auditorium for outstanding films and young creators. This is the second government-backed award event since 1956.”

Upon hearing this, Yu Xiuli suddenly perked up. A devoted film enthusiast, she said, “Liu Xiaoqing will definitely be there!”

“Tang Guoqiang for sure!”

“The films these past two years have been great. Chen Chong and Li Xiuming are quite stunning!”

“Chen Peisi in ‘Look at This Family’ is pretty funny too. I heard his father is Chen Qiang?”

“No need to hear—he is.”

“Oh, your Chen family is full of talented people!” Yu Xiuli teased sarcastically.

Chen Qi was displeased. “Mom, you hurt my pride.”

“Oh no, no, that’s not what I meant. I wasn’t talking about you.” Yu Xiuli hurriedly corrected herself, fearing she might wound her eldest son’s dignity.

“Is Chen Qi home?”

A voice came from outside—Wang Da-ma. Like an NPC, she occasionally dropped by to report on tasks. Entering with a smile, she said, “Oh, the three of you are here. I need to talk to the boy about something.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Not anything big. Just to update him on the tea stall situation.”

Chen Qi followed Wang Da-ma outside. At the courtyard gate, her face creased with concern. “Boy, I’m not fooling you. I really communicated with the plastics factory. They take this seriously and will give you an answer after studying it.”

“Studying?”

“Of course, there has to be a meeting for research. You think they’d just hand out punishment casually? Everything requires a meeting. Don’t be anxious—just wait two more days.”

“All right, I’ll wait. Thanks for your trouble.”

Wang Da-ma was surprised at how agreeable Chen Qi suddenly was and even advised, “Where there’s room to forgive, forgive. In my opinion, a private apology to you would be enough.”

“Mm-hmm!”

Chen Qi chuckled as he saw Wang Da-ma off and returned inside to continue winding the yarn.

…………

In the dead of night.

The vast capital city still slept, but some were already busy.

At the printing factory’s entrance, under dim lights, fresh batches of newspapers were loaded onto trucks—some destined for government offices and newsstands in the city, others sent to suburban counties, and still more to the post and telecommunications bureau for distribution to other provinces.

One batch arrived at a newsstand in Xicheng.

Cao Yulan had risen early and brought her own food, heading to the street-organized knitting cooperative.

There were over twenty young women working by hand knitting sweaters. Customers provided the yarn, and they did the weaving. Business was booming; in just a few days, they had already received more than sixty orders and were overwhelmed.

Cao Yulan came from an ordinary family, honest by nature, always following the organization’s arrangements with a positive attitude toward her work.

At dawn, she reached a street corner.

The newsstand was open, neatly displaying papers like People’s Daily and Guangming Daily. Usually, they read newspapers at the street office and rarely bought their own. But her eyes caught a headline: “The Road of Life—How Should One Truly Walk It?”

Hmm?

Cao Yulan paused. The road of life? She had never thought about that.

Drawn by some inexplicable impulse, she stepped forward and said, “One copy of China Youth Daily.”

“Five cents!”

She pulled out a handkerchief, extracted a bill, and handed it over, receiving a newspaper in return.

Walking past the corner into a rundown courtyard—her workplace arranged by the street office—she was the first to arrive every day, opening the door and cleaning, earning an extra three yuan each month.

Cao Yulan sat on a broken box, squinting in the faint daylight to read.

“I’m 19 years old this year. I suppose I’ve just begun to step into life… When I was a child, I heard people talk about ‘How the Steel Was Tempered’ and ‘Lei Feng’s Diary’…”

This seemed to be a letter written by a young person.

It recounted his short life experiences—from childhood, adolescence, to youth.

He spoke of returning to the city and being assigned to a cooperative selling tea near Qianmen, where he faced discrimination and ridicule, leading to feelings of inferiority and confusion. “I often wonder, what is the purpose of life?”

“A person must build their own spiritual home; it can illuminate even the darkest corners of oneself!”

“I still feel that life is full of sunshine!”

Cao Yulan held the paper close, reading each word carefully. Though they had never met, she felt an uncanny familiarity and resonance with the writer’s positivity, kindness, and truthfulness. At the end, he wrote:

“I hope you face the sea, with spring blossoms blooming!”

*Tap, tap.*

Cao Yulan blinked, tears unwillingly falling, blurring the ink on the paper.

She had never thought about it, or rather, no one had ever said such words to her: “Face the sea, spring blossoms blooming!”

What is the purpose of living?

Suddenly, her heart was struck by a gentle force. She had studied, worked, gone to the countryside, returned to the city, and kept working for twenty years without realizing she had been asleep for a long time—waking only to find she had nothing.

“Yulan, why are you crying?”

“Who bullied you?”

Just then, another companion arrived, concerned.

“I’m fine, just moved…”

She handed over the newspaper. The companion, puzzled, read it too. After a while, her eyes reddened as well. “Yulan, why did you show me this so early in the morning?”

“What are you all looking at?”

More companions arrived one after another, and one by one, they too were touched, their eyes red like rabbits’.

“Really, no one has ever said such things to us!”

“This comrade is our age!”

“Facing the sea, spring blossoms blooming… it’s wonderful. Though we’ve never met, what he wrote touched my heart!”

The girls nodded in agreement. “Yes, it truly touched our hearts!”

……

In Dongcheng.

A cooperative of seventeen members engaged in an even duller, more tedious task: pasting envelopes.

All young and in their prime, they sat daily pasting envelopes—more soul-draining than a factory assembly line. Usually, their spirits were deadened. But today was different. They gathered around a newspaper, focused intently.

“Hey, what do you all think is the meaning of life?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.”

“Me neither, but pasting envelopes surely has no meaning.”

“I agree with this comrade’s view. Are those selling tea any better off? We’re still young—who knows what the future holds? Maintaining optimism and enriching our spiritual world is very important.”

“Eh?”

One suddenly said, “Why don’t we write a letter to this comrade, thanking him for voicing what’s in our hearts?”

“Great idea!”

“Quick, get a pen!”

……

China Youth Daily is a major paper, a must-read at government offices.

In a small office in Haidian, a young man finished reading the paper and the interview transcript, silently reflecting. After a long pause, he unfolded a letter sheet and began to write:

“Comrade Chen Qi, hello:

I read your story in the paper and was deeply moved. At the same time, I feel ashamed of my own choices. Faced with the opportunity to carry on my parents’ work, I lacked your courage…

I heard your cooperative is near Qianmen. I would very much like to visit you, but fearing rashness, I wrote this letter to the newspaper in hopes you will see it.

If possible, I hope we can meet and talk; I’m sure we have much in common.

Looking forward to your reply!”

……

Beijing, Dahua Radio Instrument Factory.

Zheng Yuanjie, 24, had good skills fixing airplanes in the military. After discharge, he was assigned here, where his daily task was adjusting water pumps: one pump, two buttons—press green to turn on water, red to turn it off.

He earned 40 yuan a month.

He had a girlfriend at the factory whom he liked very much, but she looked down on his elementary school diploma and hoped he’d take the college entrance exam and become an intellectual.

Zheng seriously considered it but thought taking the exam would be self-humiliation and unnecessary. Naturally, the relationship ended. He felt he was not an intellectual and thus had no right to choose a partner. So he pondered how to become an intellectual without a diploma.

There was only one answer: writing!

At that moment, he was also reading today’s China Youth Daily, this very article. Though he wasn’t moved by its sentimentality, he deeply resonated with its depiction of confusion and uncertainty.

Every generation has its own bewilderment—universal resonance.

Chen Qi!

Zheng Yuanjie memorized the name, then went back to idling and writing his fairy tale “Blackie on Honest Island.”

……

Gahe Town, Anhui.

At Gahe Middle School, 15-year-old Zha Haisheng suddenly shivered, inexplicably feeling a loss of fortune.

He shook his head and continued reading, preparing for the July college entrance exam.

Yes, at 15, he was already taking the exam—and had been admitted to Peking University’s law department.

……

China Youth Daily’s national circulation was two million, with Beijing and its surroundings as the primary market. On this day, at least hundreds of thousands read that letter and interview.

People had been suppressed for too long, urgently needing a breakthrough. Though the opening was slight, they shared, discussed, and eagerly sought it.

It was like a fragrant, sweet loaf of bread, attracting the hungry.

Countless people picked up pens to write to the newspaper, sharing their thoughts on life and hoping the young author would respond.

Except the plastics factory.

The plastics factory’s leadership held the paper, their faces turning green!

(Thanks to the cuteness of Gaoshan Yangzi, that’s all for now…)