Chapter 071: At Last, a Deposit in the Little Treasury (Please Vote for the Monthly Ticket)

The short story he mailed to Shanghai Literary Arts was titled “The Female College Dormitory,” a tribute to Yu Shan’s award-winning masterpiece.

Winner of the 1983 National Excellent Short Story First Prize!

The entire piece was over twenty-six thousand words. Shanghai Literary Arts rounded it up for payment, and after some self-pity-laden negotiation, he managed to secure seven yuan per thousand words!

Cheng Xue-min pushed his bicycle along as he read the reply from Shanghai Literary Arts.

In the letter, they explained that it was only to support his continued creative endeavors that they had made an exception and approved the highest possible rate of seven yuan per thousand words.

After all, Cheng Xue-min had written in his submission letter:

“Having just returned to the city after years of hardship, my home is bare and poverty-stricken. I must care for octogenarian parents above, and feed five or six hungry children below. I hope the minimum payment per thousand words can be at least five yuan. If you offer a generous rate, your publication will be my benefactor, and I’ll always submit my work to you first.”

Well then!

Cheng Xue-min would have been satisfied with five yuan per thousand, but Shanghai Literary Arts raised it to the top rate of seven yuan without hesitation!

One could only say—true generosity!

From now on, Shanghai Literary Arts would be his “patron,” and any good manuscripts he produced would go to them first.

Along with the contributor’s copy and reply, there was also the payment slip.

The remittance amount was one hundred and ninety yuan!

In an instant, Cheng Xue-min could hardly contain his delight. His “private reserve” was finally underway—money had started to flow in!

He was also looking forward to responses from two other submissions: one to “Harvest” in Shanghai, and another to “Yanhe Literature” back home—his piece “The Yellow Earth Highlands.”

Both were long short stories, each over thirty thousand words. If he could once again “play the sympathy card” and secure the highest rate of seven yuan per thousand, it would be a windfall!

Unfortunately, these recent stories were completed under the watchful eye of his wife, Feng Jiayou, and could not be secretly funneled into his private stash.

But that was all right!

Now his writing speed had increased, and the archive of ideas in his mind was becoming clearer. In the future, he would only produce more and more tribute works—how could his “private reserve” enterprise fail?

What’s more, Cheng Xue-min had begun to pay attention to prize-winning foreign works, considering whether he might use his father-in-law’s connections to submit translations and earn some foreign exchange certificates.

His piece “The Horseman” was said to be going through the process for publication on the front page of “Chinese Literature,” the foreign-language journal, and was slated to be translated by Old Qian in their courtyard.

If Old Qian, out of spite toward Yanjing Literature, refused to translate after all, Cheng Xue-min would do it himself—after all, he had several versions of “The Horseman” in foreign languages in his mind and could easily pay homage once more.

This way, he could also earn some translation fees, and in foreign exchange certificates, no less.

Today was a good day. Tonight, he would go home and celebrate with his wife!

As he approached Feng Jiayou’s dormitory building, Cheng Xue-min carefully hid the contributor’s copy, letter, and payment slip from Shanghai Literary Arts.

He couldn’t let Feng Jiayou discover it; his “private reserve” couldn’t be exposed before it had even begun.

“Cheng Xue-min, wait downstairs. I’ll get Jiayou for you!”

As soon as he arrived beneath Feng Jiayou’s dormitory, Huang Beijia’s voice called down from above. Cheng Xue-min replied, “Thank you! Sorry to trouble you!”

By now, word of Cheng Xue-min had spread throughout Feng Jiayou’s class, especially in her dorm. Everyone knew he was the husband of their freshman classmate, Jiayou—a family member.

Bringing a spouse to college was nothing unusual for the so-called “third new batch.”

Even among the students of the class of ‘80, after the third new batch, there were still many married students who brought their spouses to accompany them in their studies.

After all, the previous decade had delayed the ambitions of so many young people, and when the college entrance exam was restored, it was a fierce competition.

If they failed the first year, they tried again the next; if not the second, then the third—year after year, some even into their thirties and forties, kept trying.

People of their generation truly had a spirit of perseverance—never giving up despite repeated setbacks.

“Jiayou, your husband is here to pick you up. He’s downstairs!” Huang Beijia entered the dorm, addressing Feng Jiayou, who was still hunched over her desk, diligently writing.

“Are you still working on your critique for Old Xu the Horseman? Jiayou, you’ve never seemed all that enthusiastic about Old Xu before!”

She glanced over—it was still the manuscript that had been rejected by the Wen Hui Daily, the one critiquing the Horseman.

Feng Jiayou hadn’t been particularly passionate about Old Xu the Horseman, and only wrote the critique after she and Cha Jianying decided to do it together.

But now, the ever-rising bar for critique submissions had discouraged them both.

Currently, only well-known writers and editors could get their critiques of Old Xu published; even Ding Ling had submitted one recently!

It seemed there was no place left for ordinary readers or new writers, unless their critiques were exceptionally good and offered a unique perspective.

Huang Beijia and Cha Jianying felt it was hopeless, so they no longer obsessed over submitting critiques.

Ironically, it was Feng Jiayou, who’d never made a big show of her efforts, who continued to stubbornly revise her manuscript—earning a new respect from Huang Beijia.

“Hmph! You call that enthusiasm? I’d say it’s more like being madly in love!”

With her husband waiting downstairs, Feng Jiayou hurriedly tidied her papers, joking back at Huang Beijia.

She claimed not to be particularly enthusiastic—but it was Huang Beijia and Cha Jianying who had been truly passionate, even lovesick!

Yet a single critique had made them give up.

They decided to write directly to Old Xu the Horseman himself, sending him movie tickets and asking him out to a film.

Could Feng Jiayou compare to that?

So what if they’d given up? It didn’t matter! But who was Old Xu the Horseman?

He was none other than her own husband, Xu Lingjun!

How could she, Li Xiuzhi, not publish a single critique for him?

So after Huang Beijia and Cha Jianying quit, only she kept at it.

She wasn’t fighting for glory but for pride. Her husband had made a name for himself with “The Horseman.” Could she really not even get a critique of her own published?

“Hehe, Jiayou, why don’t you show us what being in love really looks like? Your husband’s waiting downstairs!”

“So you’re not like us at all!”

Huang Beijia raised her eyebrows, teasing Feng Jiayou.

“You’re right, Beijia, I’m not like you. After all, I’m a married woman!” Feng Jiayou shrugged, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “So writing manuscripts and critiques is all I get—Old Xu the Horseman, our great Yanda talent, is all yours, Beijia!”

“Oh, and if you’re busy Saturday and can’t go to the movies with us, don’t let me hear you secretly invited Old Xu yourself!”

As she headed out, Feng Jiayou grinned and teased Huang Beijia one last time.

“Go on, go! Your husband’s waiting—don’t start rumors about me and Old Xu!”

Huang Beijia, caught off guard by Feng Jiayou’s jab, blushed and shooed her out.

Feng Jiayou tapped her playfully, almost saying something more, but forgot and turned to leave. She poked her head over the railing, saw her husband waiting below, and called down, “Coming!”

“Take it easy!” Cheng Xue-min called back, alarmed by her hurried steps. “What’s the rush? You’re pregnant!”

“So, tell me—what did the big boss say to you?” As soon as she got on the bike and they were under the trees, away from familiar classmates, Feng Jiayou asked in a low, eager voice.

“Not much! Just said my piece passed, but needs some revisions. I’ve already brought the original back.”

Cheng Xue-min pedaled as he gave her a simple rundown of what had happened in the office of the Zhonghai leadership that day.

“What?! You mean even Master Mao and Teacher Ding Ling were there, helping you review and edit?”

“And the big boss wants you to make it deeper, to better reflect the new reform spirit?”

After hearing Cheng Xue-min’s story, Feng Jiayou’s already-bright eyes widened like twin bells.

Too shocking!

Even the literary giant Master Mao had been present to meet her husband!

And the manuscript her father had thought was a bit rushed was now being called too conservative by the leaders?

It needed to be revised?

“Yes! Do you know, dear, my manuscript made waves over there!”

After leaving the university gates and ensuring no one was around, Cheng Xue-min leaned in to confide the most explosive news to Feng Jiayou.

“Where exactly?” Feng Jiayou’s face was a picture of incredulity.

She knew her husband always saved the biggest news for last—he really could keep his cool.

Master Mao’s involvement and the depth of the manuscript had already floored her, and now he was being secretive again.

It was almost too much.

She asked, her voice trembling with anticipation—she thought she already knew which “side” he meant.

“At the plenary session!”

My God!

Feng Jiayou could hardly believe it—she’d guessed right. It really was that side!

Did this mean her husband’s words had reached the highest level?

“What did they say?”

Shaking, almost shivering, Feng Jiayou held tightly to Cheng Xue-min’s sturdy waist, trembling with excitement.

“They gave their official assessment—said my manuscript was ‘timely rain’!”

Cheng Xue-min also felt a bit lightheaded. In just over a month since arriving in this world, he’d managed to draw attention from the highest level, and even received their official praise.

It was easy to imagine that in the future, the title of “Pioneer of Reform”—a badge of honor with enormous career significance—would undoubtedly belong to Cheng Xue-min, the author of “The Chronicle of Director Qiao’s Appointment!”

With such an honor, history would surely remember his name.

After all, whenever reform was mentioned in the future, the word “pioneer” would be unavoidable. Even if it was only in the literary world, it was still “pioneer!”

“What? Oh my heavens! Xue-min, this is incredible!”

Words failed her—Feng Jiayou was so overwhelmed she didn’t know how to praise him.

If the highest authorities had given their verdict, didn’t that mean her husband’s stock had just skyrocketed?

She knew why her mother was so invested in this manuscript—it was to help her son-in-law, like Liu Xinwu at her office, gain a foothold before entering officialdom.

This was the path for intellectuals in literary circles; her mother hoped her son-in-law would go into politics.

She hadn’t expected this windfall!

“Comrade Feng Jiayou, keep a low profile, be humble—and hold on tight!” Cheng Xue-min was also elated, but managed to restrain himself a bit. Feng Jiayou, on the other hand, was about to float away—he worried she might fall right off the bicycle.

“Understood, understood! Low profile! My mother will adore you after this!”

Feng Jiayou nodded vigorously, almost babbling in her excitement. She could only imagine how her mother must have looked at that moment—surely as thrilled as she was now.

She must be so proud of her choice of son-in-law. Now, she would be bursting with pride.

…