Chapter 34: The Regional Cultural Center's Important Guest (Please Keep Reading)

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Inside the office of the Literary Creation Group, the members watched the backs of Liu Yimin and Li Lanyong as they left, quietly speculating about the nature of their relationship. Old Zhang glanced at Sun Yihong and said with a smile, "Yihong, that kid Yimin left without any luck. Come, pour what’s left in the thermos into my cup."

After Sun Yihong left, Old Zhang muttered, half to himself and half as if speaking to someone else, "Young people’s affairs... I really can’t figure them out. Well, if we can’t understand, so be it. It’s not something we can grasp just by thinking about it. Best to let nature take its course."

Old Sun took a sip of tea and said casually, "Yes, every generation has its own ways of thinking."

Old Zhang was about to say something more when the phone suddenly rang. His expression, which had been pleasant, grew serious. After glancing at the group members, he hurriedly got up and left, riding his bicycle straight to the Revolutionary Committee.

The East Is Red was the best state-run restaurant in the county, offering a wide variety of dishes, especially meat. As the largest state-run establishment, they received priority allocation of rare ingredients like meat.

The food tasted good as well. In this era, everyone lacked fat in their diet; just a little extra oil made the dishes delicious, let alone meat. As long as the food wasn’t too terrible, anyone could finish it.

Entering the East Is Red Restaurant, a counter greeted them, behind which stood two lazy-looking waitresses who glanced at Liu Yimin and Li Lanyong, then shifted their gaze to the price board overhead, indicating they should check the menu themselves.

The restaurant had not only a main hall but also a second floor, with seven waitresses in total, all wearing white aprons and white hats. The diners’ clothes were noticeably cleaner and more respectable than those of most people outside.

"Stir-fried pork with chili, stuffed sausage, two bowls of mixed vegetables, and six wheat buns. How much altogether? We only have meal tickets for one pound; if that’s not enough, we’ll pay the rest."

Stir-fried pork with chili cost ninety cents, stuffed sausage eighty, a large bowl of mixed vegetables fifty, and each wheat bun five cents—the prices with grain tickets.

"Three yuan," the waitress said, sizing up the two.

Liu Yimin counted the money and then pointed to the soda bottles on the shelf behind the waitress, saying, "Add two bottles of soda—Arctic Ocean."

The meal cost three yuan and fifty cents, making Li Lanyong’s eyelids twitch; this was extravagant.

"Yimin, when I join the army, I’ll treat you too," Li Lanyong said cheerfully.

"That’ll probably have to wait until you come home on leave; by then, I’ll be at school. How are my parents doing at home?"

While waiting for the food, the two chatted, though Li Lanyong kept glancing toward the kitchen, speaking while carefully swallowing his saliva.

"I can’t take it anymore, Yimin. Don’t talk to me. My mouth’s full of saliva and my stomach is rumbling," Li Lanyong said, slumped over the table, helpless.

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Li Lanyong wanted to hurry the kitchen, but when he caught sight of the sign reading "No unjustified beating of customers," he lost his nerve. It was rumored the kitchen staff were quite adept at dealing with unruly guests.

The mixed vegetables came first—a specialty of Yu Province, combining various veggies and pork, all stir-fried together and topped with a layer of oil. The taste was superb. In rural Yu, this dish was standard fare for helpers at weddings and funerals.

The soft, warm wheat buns—Li Lanyong took a big bite, leaving teeth marks and traces of soup from the mixed vegetables. Liu Yimin was infected by his enthusiasm; neither spoke, both launching into a hearty eating session.

Not until the last piece of green pepper was popped into a mouth did they set down their chopsticks and exchange a smile. A swig of orange soda, a satisfied burp, and the air was still thick with the aroma of mixed vegetables.

Li Lanyong stroked his belly, sighing, "Being a writer truly is wonderful!"

"What, you don’t think being a soldier is good?"

"Being a soldier is good too, but you eat better than me. In the army, it’s often just boiled cabbage, and the meal allowance is only forty-five cents, though you never go hungry. My brother says the air force has the highest meal standard—first-class kitchens two or three yuan, meat every day."

Li Lanyong could talk endlessly about the army, all thanks to his brother’s letters.

After finishing their meal, they put the empty soda bottles on the counter. Each empty bottle was worth one cent; the waitress handed them two cents right away.

On the way back, passing the post office, Liu Yimin went in to mail another poem to Poetry Journal. The county post office was large and busy, with long queues to send mail.

"Yimin, is this a new piece?"

"Yes, but this is a poem, not a novel," Liu Yimin replied with a smile.

"How many words?"

"Not many, just two lines!"

"Two lines?" Li Lanyong scratched his head, eyes wide for a long moment before asking, "Two lines—can that be called a poem?" He didn’t like reading, but he had attended middle school.

"Why not? Poems aren’t defined by length; it’s all about the content."

Liu Yimin laughed. He loved these two lines dearly. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t submit them—payment was only six yuan per thousand characters.

"Amazing, Yimin!" Li Lanyong exclaimed in admiration.

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The two returned to the cultural center and, at noon, spread mats directly on the floor for their nap—it was much cooler than sleeping on the bedboards.

...

In the office of the Revolutionary Committee director, the head of the cultural center, Old Zhang, furrowed his brow. He’d learned from Director Yang Yushan that comrades from the regional cultural center wanted to meet Liu Yimin, but they didn’t know he had already been working at the county cultural center for some time.

They were undoubtedly coming to transfer Liu Yimin to the regional cultural center, and Old Zhang was extremely unwilling. They’d just gotten their talent, hadn’t even warmed up to him yet—his personnel file hadn’t even arrived.

Yang Yushan was also reluctant. It was rare for the county to have a writer, only to have him snatched away.

Suddenly, as if struck by an idea, Old Zhang looked up and said, "Director Yang, even if the city cultural center people come, it may not matter—Comrade Liu Yimin took this year’s college entrance exam. He’s waiting for his results..."

Before he finished, Yang Yushan waved his hand, curled his lip, and said, "Old Zhang, he won’t pass."

"Director Yang, I think..."

"I had the education department check last year’s exam scores for our county. He got zero."

The person checking only looked at last year’s score summary, not Liu Yimin’s file. If they had, they’d know why he got zero.

"Impossible, Director Yang, are you joking... No matter how bad, he should’ve gotten something for the essay."

"I’m not in the mood to joke. I suspect he wrote something he shouldn’t have, so the essay got zero—happened to quite a few last year. Even if the essay was fine, the other subjects wouldn’t get him through."

Old Zhang calmed down. He’d always been concerned about Liu Yimin’s exam results. Whenever he asked, Liu Yimin seemed supremely confident.

Who would’ve thought...

It seemed the county cultural center couldn’t hold onto him!